#I drew this a week ago holy shit

[nebulaerage]

The freaks are multiplying!!!!!!

[bayleaf-2]

Assorted screenshots relating to Lyra I've been collecting haha

[jennastokesart]

Tiny Ancient one 🩸⚔️🍷

Here is my take on Amren from A Court of Thorns & Roses

I personally pictured her as drake-like considering she acts like a dragon who likes to hoard baubles and jewels. It definitely would make her more off-putting if she didn’t look *entirely* fae. I originally drew her in early fall of 2024 and just hated how I rendered her face until I repainted it a week ago. And holy shit…I am in love with her now. You don’t understand how obsessed I am with her nose and eyes.

Also I am unashamedly slapping my watermark everywhere now because people on TikTok and Pinterest don’t know how to act properly and repost my artwork without tagging me (this was literally my only request if you’re gonna repost my work). Definitely did not appreciate my artwork going viral and not finding out about it until some people shouted me out in the comments of a TikTok post….the same post where people were being outright rude and making ignorant comments on my Sinbad x Nessian art. This is what happens when reposters don’t tag the artist where context behind the art can be given.

[jewish-vents]

i’m a teacher and i had a kid draw a swastika in my classroom on like. the second day of school. so one of our admin came in to two of my classes the next day to talk about it. and she started by telling this story about how she had a hijabi student. and a boy in the class was “really curious about what her hair looked like.” and had the students guess what happened next (pulled the hijab off, gross and awful) and how that might have made the hijabi student feel. at this point i’m sitting at my desk like “it’s been five minutes are we going to talk about the swastika” and then she finally goes “yesterday someone drew a symbol that represents division. and hate. and those aren’t things we stand for” and a kid (of course) was like what was it? and this fucking woman turns to me and goes “are you comfortable sharing what it was?”

?????? i thought that’s why you were here?? i thought you were here to explain why swastikas are not okay, and we are seven minutes into your little presentation and you haven’t said the word swastika or even jewish. so i said it was a swastika and several of the kids didn’t know what that was. which was disturbing on its own as i teach middle school but i digress. i said no way in hell am i drawing one so my admin looks at me and is like “could you google a picture?”

can’t believe i did this but i didn’t know what else to do in the moment so i pulled up a google image search of swastikas and projected it on the board. at no point did the admin say “hey you can take that down now” it just sat up there until i got uncomfortable and sick to my stomach enough to close it myself. and then she came back the next period and did the WHOLE song and dance again (no jewish, no antisemitism, not even the word NAZI which is insane to me) and STILL told the opening story about the hijabi girl even with two hijabi girls sitting in the class this time who were clearly uncomfortable.

this was like three weeks ago and it’s been quietly bothering me for a while and i finally told my (nonjewish) work friends about it and they were all like “holy shit that’s so fucked that she asked you to do that” and i told my (jewish) partner and he went “she couldn’t have picked up a fucking marker??” and that was when it really hit me.

maybe she didn’t want to be in a situation where she drew a swastika on a jewish teachers whiteboard. ok. but she apparently didn’t consider the WORSE implications of asking that same jewish teacher to google an image of a swastika and project a google image search of a page FULL of swastikas on her board.

AND she never once checked in with me after that. she left the class without talking to me again and hasn’t said a word about it since. i remember i even asked her “do you want me to leave the room” beforehand because im thinking i don’t want to have to look at swastikas but she asked me to stay because “the impact is real and they need to see it” which. uh. i’ve been pushing this experience down for weeks bc at the end of the day it “wasn’t that bad” but like. holy shit. she really wanted to put my trauma on display for the students instead of just asking me to leave and explaining what a swastika is/showing them one. and it took her nearly ten minutes to get to the actual swastika!! i’m just. so done

.

[badlydrawnbabydirk]

i drew this a week ago n forgot to send it in lol

// OMGMGMGM HELLO??@9?? GET HIM OUT OF TJERE !?9?00!? This is so cute holy shit his eyes. His LASHES. Ougghgj I just woke up so I can’t come up with anything smart but this is so cute. Holy shit. Tysm

[randomyuu]

i keep the warmest truth.

Well you look at that. Another comic hahahaha why did I do this to myself—

But I do enjoy drawing this comic! It was a different kind of challenge, where this one focuses a lot on close-ups, so I need to learn about the subtlety of expressions. Can’t say I learn a lot (I use lots of copy-pasting of the same position lmao), but I still learn... something!

This beautiful one-shot fic is titled i keep the warmest truth by Dehawny. If I have to summarise the fic, it’s basically Ace!Gojou and Adorable!Yuuji. It's more like gray ace but better keep the “A” going, haha. And as usual, the fic is NSFW, so please do read the tags before you decide to give it a read.

Ace!Gojou is something I don’t know I need. I think I love almost every kind of Gojou headcanons, but Ace!Gojou holds a special place in my heart. I could be biased as someone in the ace spectrum, but the way Dehawny wrote Gojou and Yuuji’s interaction is truly heartwarming. And also a bit possessive, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Possessive Gojou is my jam.

And Yuuji. Oh, dear lord where do I even start with this boy. I don’t have enough vocabularies to express how much I adore Yuuji. Him being his horny teen-self and constantly worrying about making the pleasure mutual is too much for my heart. And he’s still understanding of Gojou’s sexuality. Yuuji is kind, like that. Don’t mind me as I’m crying out happy tears in the corner.

Alrighty, below are my thoughts as I drew this, as usual haha:

After I got a taste with comic-making from my previous GoYuu comic, this one is a bit easier to plan once I narrowed down the scene I want to draw. I wanted the comic to start with Gojou positioning himself and Yuuji in the futon, bringing up Yuuji’s question weeks ago, but that means I have to draw 10+ pages and I was like, “haha nope”. I still love my hands, thank you very much. So I start with Yuuji’s reaction after Gojou explains a bit about his sexuality.

Panelling is still a struggle. In a way that I still feel that the layout can be improved, but I can’t for the life of me figured out what needs to be improved. I guess this kind of thing will come eventually, but not now.

During the sketching, I must say I got super hyped drawing Gojou’s eyes. That eye close-up? I really want to try making it as ethereal as possible in an achromatic setting. It’s intimidating, don’t get me wrong, but I have always loved drawing eyes since I was a kid and this is a fun thing to test my love for eyes.

If I have to complain… it would be the intimate position of them laying on the futon. I never really try drawing “couple-like” positions before, but it was really hard! Like, holy shit, can you guys stop being so awkward looking? Where the hell did I draw it wrong??? Thankfully references have helped me a lot with positioning.

The line art took sooo much time because I realise I want to make Gojou and Yuuji more… buff (kinda) so I need to re-sketch a bit :(( but the result is better than the previous one, so I’ll take what I can get haha. And I start to really like using screentones for shading—once I properly learn how to do manga layout, I think I might fall in love with drawing mangas!

But overall, this is a fun process to do, and I hope you enjoy the comic and this rambling of mine! :D

[strawhatghost]

ASL PONIES!!!

Sabo by himself that I drew like a week ago because he's so fun to draw lmao

Luffy's design is bugging me I might remake it later... Something about it just doesn't spark joy... 🤔 I made Ace's design on the spot and I LOVE IT holy shit he's such a little guy wtf, I cooked there...

I tried to think of MLP similar names before immediately giving up LMAO (like Cozy Glow for Sabo but that is an actual MLP character, or Sapphire but nothing stuck.)

[kooksvspogues]

Happy 1st Birthday Lillian! 🥳

Part 6

Authors Note: so sorry for just now being able to post, last few weeks have been insane between tests, finals, and then family was in the hospital. Hope this makes up for the time gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When we get to the bar, we meet up with Austin and Chase in line, immediately giving them both a hug.

“You look gorgeous” Austin tells me putting his hand on my lower back, ushering me forward as the line gets shorter.

We wait for everyone to get our ID’s scanned and our stamp before walking inside, me and Mack grabbing each other’s hand and lead everyone to ‘our spot’ from all those years ago, right behind one of the bars and beside the pool table.

“Mack, is that Grant??” I pull her beside me and point watching as one of the security guards walking towards us making their rounds

“Holy shit, yes it is” she said pulling me towards him, “Grant!” She yells catching his attention

“I thought that was y’all, how are y’all? Ain’t seen both of y’all here in years!” He yells over the music pulling us both into a hug

“We’re doing good! I’m actually married and have a baby now! Mads just graduated from vet school” Mack answers for us both as Grant gives us both a high five

“I’m happy to hear y’all are doing good, that’s amazing! Y’all stay safe and let me know if y’all need anything!” He smiles as we nod and smile back before walking back over to the group.

“Who was that?” Drew asked us

“Grant, he was one of the security guards that always kept an eye on us” I tell him and he smiles

“What do you want to drink?” Drew asks me

“Crown and coke” I say and be nods, “you need help getting everything?”

“Yeah, that’d be great” he smiles as he runs down the list of everything we need making sure he’s got it all before we walk over to the bar.

We waited for a few minutes waiting on the solo cups and the beers, I immediately start sipping on my drink the second I get it.

“You gonna dance with me any or is Austin gonna keep you tied up?” Drew asks putting his hand on his hip looking down at me

“Little do you know, I’m into that kind of thing” I wink before laughing at my own joke as I watch his eyes go wide, “but for real, all you gotta do is ask me, I’ll dance” I assure him

“If you’re already talking like that, take your time on the drinks Ms. Taylor” he warns

“I will do as I please Mr. Starkey” I tease grabbing 5 beers, purposely bumping into his side before walking back over to the table handing the beers out.

Drew came and stood next to me at the table, handing the cups out he had. I quickly chugged my crown and coke, sitting it down.

“Slow down cowgirl” Austin teases pulling me in between his legs.

“I’ll be fine” I say, watching as one of the workers are walking around selling Jell-O shots, “Mack?” I say pointing over at the girl.

“You already know” she winks and I smile waving the girl over, she quickly walks over

“What can I get you fine people tonight?” She smiles

“We want the whole tray” Mack yells from across the table, making my eyes widen, Mack and I both start to pull out our cash but Drew beats us to it, taking the tray out of her hand and sitting it on our table.

“I’m gonna pay you back” I tell him

“No you’re not, my treat, congrats Dr. Taylor” he winks keeping our eyes locked as he grabs one of the shots and puts it up to my lips, I take hold of it and suck it out of the mini cup. When I look over, I see Austin watching me closely

“What?” I ask

“That was hot” he said making me laugh

“Want one?” I ask, holding one up for him, which he happily takes from me.

Garrett had done brought me and Mack both a few more drinks, taking the edge off when one of our favorites songs to line dance to, comes on; Fuego by Pitbull

“Come on!” I yell reaching for her hand before we both take off to the dance floor, immediately feeling like we’re 22 again. I felt eyes on me and every time I glanced over, there was for sure always one set of crystal blues not leaving me while the other pair seemed to be interested in anything that walked by, but I didn’t care, but because of the set of eyes that were still watching, I decided to add a little more sway and slowness to my moves… or maybe that was partly the alcohol mixed with an attractive man staring.

~~~~~ Drew’s POV ~~~~~

From the tone of her voice earlier at the bar, putting the shot up to her lip, to the sway of her hips on the dance floor right now, I didn’t know how to control myself. I didn’t know how to not go out there and dance with her, hold her close to me, how I’ve wanted her for years now.

“She looks so fucking good out there, can you just imagine how she’d move in bed?” Austin says bringing me out of my thoughts

“Dude, chill, stop talking about her like that” I tell him

“I’m sure your thinking the same thing about some girl here already” Austin says patting my shoulder

“No I’m not” I say crossing my arms looking him in the eyes.

“Suuuure you’re not, good luck buddy” Austin says walking towards the dance floor grabbing Maddie’s hand pulling her to the middle. Mack walks over next to me, grabbing another shot

“You okay?” She asks me

“I really don’t think you should be pushing Austin and Maddie” I say

“What why? I think they would be really cute” She defends

“Cause of that right there” I say pointing at him trying to keep her against him when she clearly wants to actually dance, not grind.

“Oh God, She looks uncomfortable, will you please go get her” Mack pleads

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice” I say immediately making a bee line for her.

“Austin, stop” I hear her tell him laughing nervously trying to push away from him

“Cmon, I’m just trying to have some fun” Austin says

“Austin, let her go” I say grabbing Mads hand, pulling her to my side. Austin steps closer to me, keeping our eyes locked

“What’s your fucking deal Drew?” He asks pissed off

“She didn’t want you on her like that” I tell him

“Maddie was fine, weren’t you?” Austin asks looking down at her with a smile before reaching out to grab her arm

“Don’t touch her” I warn keeping my eyes locked with his

“I don’t know what your problem is the past few days but figure it out Starkey” Austin says before walking off

I turn to look at Maddie, “want a drink?” I ask

“Yes please” she smiles before taking my hand and leading us off the dance floor and towards the bar, asking for 2 crowns and coke when the bartender gets to her.

“You okay?” I lean down and ask her

“Yeah, just glad you came and saved me” she smiles up at me, locking her eyes with mine keepin a light hold on my arm

“Glad I was able to” I smile down at her, “you look really beautiful” I say watching as the corners of her mouth turn up into a big grin and her cheeks turn a extra shade of pink

“You look good tonight too” she says, bumping her shoulder into my arm

“Here you go ma’am!” The bartender says sitting the cups in front of us, I reach over her and grab both cups, handing her one as she grabbed the same hand and led us back to the group

“Are you okay?” Mack asks her as soon as we walk up

“Yeah, huge thanks to Drew” she smiles nudging me, our eyes lingering on each other longer than they should’ve

“Yeah, Drew’s the best” Mack says making my eyes cut back to her, giving her a smile

“I try” I wink patting my chest making both of them shake their heads

~~~~~ Maddie’s POV ~~~~~

“I really gotta use the bathroom, come with me” Mack says grabbing my hand

“I’ll walk y’all over there” Drew says quickly following us over. I take a few quick sips out of my cup before handing it to Drew for safe keeping following Mack into the bathroom.

“I don’t think he’s gonna let you out of his sight now” Mack whispers to me before laughing as I walk her to a stall

“Well I’d much rather have your brother as a body guard than Austin trying to grind up against me” I say from the other side of the door

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that” Mack says

“It’s okay, but can you please stop pushing for the whole Maddie and Austin thing now?” I plead as she opens the stall door

“It’s gone and never will return” she smiles at me

“About time” I playfully roll my eyes as she swats at my arm before putting her hands back under the water, “maybe next time you’ll listen to me” I tease

“My bad for wanting my bestie to be happy” she throws her hands up

“I am happy, I’m surrounded by great people” I tell her grabbing ahold of her arm as she stumbles a little

“I mean with somebody romantically dummy” she says

“I know but I’m not worried about that right now” I defend

“You haven’t been worried about it in years…” she mumbles “part of me thinks Drew has a little crush on you which is weird” she adds

“Nah he’s just being a good friend” I tell her

“Yeah, that’s fine, just the look he gives you, I can’t pinpoint what it is” she tells me

“What look?” I ask

“Like eyes sparkling, can’t help but smile around you, he even blushes with you Maddie! I have not seen him blush since he was in middle school… see, that look right there” she explains as we go around the corner before we both look up at Drew, waiting a few feet away with a big toothy grin when he seen us

“Austin is making a fool of himself” Drew tells us when we walk up, pointing towards the dance floor where he is drunkenly dancing next to a girl but his dance moves almost favoring a 4 year old

“What is he doing?” I laugh

“Maybe that’s why he was only trying to grind” Mack says making Drew and I laugh

“As long as he keeps it away from me, I am good” I defend laughing as we walk back over to the table with Logan, Chase, and Garrett

Logan immediately pulls me over to him, “are you okay?” He asks

“I’m good, why?” I ask

“Austin, he looked really uncomfortable, I didn’t realize what was going on until Drew was basically running to you” he laughs taking a drink raising his eyebrows

“He was just being good friend, stop reading so much into it” I laugh pushing his cheek playfully

“Mhmmm… I’m just saying, I’m all for it” Logan whispers the last part

“For what?” I raise an eyebrow

“You and Drew” he says making my eyes go wide

“There’s nothing between me and Drew, just friends” I defend

“Just friends don’t look at each other like y’all do” he states

“We don’t look at each other anyway” I say

“Yeah okay, keep telling yourself that sweetheart” Logan says patting my head before pulling me over to the pool table where the rest of the boys are at

“You play?” Drew asks picking the rack up

“Eh not really, more of a pool watcher” I say taking a sip as he nods, giving me a smile, before picking up and his cue and getting ready to take the first shot.

After watching them for a while, chase and Garrett had wondered off when they were supposed to just go get more drinks and Logan had made his way back to our table.

So not knowing where or if our drinks were even got, I go over and grab two more crown and coke from the bar quickly and go back to where Drew is.

“Here ya go” I smile as he takes the drink

“Thank you ma’am” he says taking a drink, “wanna try?” He asks gesturing towards the cue.

“I’m good” I say

“You won’t get any good at it if you don’t work on it” he says leaning against the pool table, crossing his arms as good as he can with the drink in his hands, and looking down at me with that adorable smug smirk

“I have no reason to need to work on it” I shrug

“Yea ya do” he says

“Whiiich is?” I ask

“That way you can be my partner, hell, if I get you doing it good, we could win some money” he chuckles

“You and chase seemed to be good partners” I point out

“Yeah… but I’d much rather have you by my side than Chase..” he smile and I laugh “what?” He chuckles

“I’m too drunk to listen to cheesiness Mr. Starkey” I grin up at him

“Just one time, I’ll even show you what to do if you want me to, do it and I won’t bug you about it again” he says grabbing the cue and leaning it towards me. I roll my eyes and grab the cue from him before getting into the same position that I watched them do. “Wait.. hand here…” he says grabbing my hand and placing it where it needed to be “put your fingers like— there ya go, atta girl.. now lean over, focus on one ball and use your other arm to shoot” he tells me and I feel his hand land on my back “you got it”

I couldn’t help the feeling in my stomach, most of his hand being skin to skin contact and a few of his finger tips right above the hem of my tank top. I look back at him partly confused and partly just wanting him to take his hand off so I can focus

“Sorry” he says pulling his hand away leaving the area feeling extra cold. I turn my head back to the cue and aim it directly for the striped 5 ball and shoot. I watch closely as it slowly makes its way to the corner pocket, dropping in.

“Did I actually just do that?” I say standing up straight and looking up at Drew

“You’re welcome” he smirks holding onto a cue

“That was me, not you sweetheart” I tease

“You wouldn’t have gotten it in if I didn’t show you where to put your hands”

“I woulda figured it out” I say handing him my cue and patting his bicep before turning to walk away but he quickly grabs my hand to pull me back

“I’ll make a deal with you, hot shot” he smirks

“And that is?” I ask

“If you can knock in…” he focuses on the table “stripe 12, I won’t keep trying for something that we both desperately want, but if you can’t, pick a ball for me and if I can knock it in… I get to take you out, one time, and it can be when your moved back if need be” he tells me

“Deal” I say raising my hand waiting for him to shake

“Deal” he smiles ear to ear

“What’s funny?” I ask

“Take a look at 12 sweetheart” he whisper yells over the music, I raise an eyebrow before looking down at the table, searching for 12.

12…Right in the middle of two other balls, “Drew, that’s not even fair” I whine

“Deals a deal babe” he winks as I roll my eyes, “let’s see what you can do”

I walk around the table, looking at different angles trying to find the best spot. Every spot was gonna be a miss unless you were just lucky, every hit would hit one of the other balls and throw 12 off course. But, I had to try so I took the spot that looked the less threatening, leaned down and got the cue set up as good as I knew. I moved a little to get the right angle and took my shot, saying a little prayer in my head. I watch 12 collide into 5 slightly and kept going, getting closer and closer to going in… and it would’ve, if the ball hadn’t hit the corner of the side and took off to the other side.

I throw my head back and groan. “I’m actually proud of you for that” Drew says

“Proud enough to just say I won?” I ask

“Not a chance” he smiles making me roll my eyes again, “what ball?” He asks as I glance around the table, looking at the 3 against the side.

“Ball 7” I tell him

“Oh.. wow.. I don’t know if I can do that…” he says in a serious tone. I look up at him starting to grin until I see his smirk replace his ‘concerned’ look

“Oh you’re such an asshole” I say pushing him slightly laughing before watching him find his spot, getting into place, and taking a shot. The cue hits the ball on one sides, knocks into ball 7, and it knocks into the ball on the other side and it keeps rolling towards the pocket, 7 not far behind it. Drew places his hand over his mouth watching the ball closely as it makes it to the edge of the pocket, feeling like it paused for 10 minutes before falling into the pocket. I cross my arms and look at Drew watching him raise his arms in victory

“That is complete bullshit” I laugh as he makes his way over to me doing a somewhat victory dance, before picking me up and spinning around making us both laugh

“I get to take you out” he says putting my feet back on the ground

“When I move back” I tell him

“Don’t think your gonna get out of it, I won fair and square” he says mockingly

“Okay okay, just don’t tell Mack” I warn

“Figured that” he laughed

“One date” I say as he locks eyes with me

“Yeah… one date” he rolls his eyes but agrees

“C’mon” I say grabbing the cues and sitting them down on the table and grabbing his hand pulling him to the dance floor “you know how to two step?” I ask looking up at him

“A little” he said as I grabbed his hand and push it to go behind my back as I kept hold of his other hand

“Just go with the flow” I tell him as I take the lead a little to get him started, but after he few minutes, he pulls me closer and is dancing like he knows everything there is to know “Thought you said you only knew a little” I tease

“You just make it easy” he teases back

“Oh.. I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult” I laugh

“Definitely a compliment” he says before dipping me, one hand on my back and the other on the back of my leg. Our eyes lock and it feels like we’re the only people in here

“Drew” I say after what feels like eternity

“Don’t.” He says pulling me back up and pulling me off the dance floor and towards a vacant hallway, immediately placing me against the wall, placing his lips on mine. The alcohol giving us all the confidence in the world…? Maybe…? I feel him pull away slightly, “please” he begs as I place my hand on his cheek and the other on the back of his head pulling him back down to meet my lips. One of his hands in my hair and the other on my hip keeping me close to him.

“What the fuck?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @percysley @dilfs-4life

[roosterbruiser]

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓����𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈-𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓) 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟖.𝟒𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒

The tough leather football catapults off the laces of Jake’s right cleat and soars across the true-blue sky through the yellow guideposts staked at the opposing side’s endzone. It’s clean--doesn’t so much as skim the chipped paint before it bounces off the net gloriously.

Triple.  

And just like that, the game ends the way everyone already knew it would: with Jake Seresin’s jersey blown up on the jumbotron, with the home team’s score dwarfing the opposing team just barely, with the crowd roaring in abundant approval.

The loyal crowd packing the stadium, all dressed in a sea of morning yellow and teal, erupts like an undefeated crowd should. Everyone is on their feet, breaths no longer held and fingernails no longer bitten, with their hands in the crisp autumn air surrounding them. The bright stadium lights wash over the field--all the celebrating players, the exuberant turf, the moping opposing side glitter inside its glow and beneath the evening sky.

Thunderstruck by AC/DC is screaming through the speakers. At this point, you’re well-versed enough in your school’s football history to know that this song is synonymous with victory. It’s the only reason you put up with the trash.  

“Holy shit!” Bob calls out. He’s grinning, his lips a bit pink and wet and his eyes wide and watered with joy. “Bullseye, man! Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye!”

Bob rarely curses so liberally--you’ve noticed this over the past year between late night runs to the corner store and lazy afternoons in Jake and Brad’s dorm. He says things like good Lord and have mercy and now just hold on a darn second there. But during football games, his lips are looser and he isn’t as quick to flush. He can say shit and damn and sometimes fuck. It is partly because of the sticky, nippy atmosphere and partly because of the few cheap beers Javy always buys for him.

“I told you! I told you he never misses!” Javy returns excitedly. “Fuck outta here, ‘Bama!” 

Javy brings his pointer and his tongue to his mouth, glancing over at you to make sure you see--you do and you’re already covering your ears. He gives you a courteous warning before he whistles after he nearly made you jump out of your skin during kick-off a few weeks ago. 

He heard all about it from Jake when you let it slip casually in conversation. 

“You trying to maim her or something, you dick?” Jake had said with his brows furrowed, his cheeks still pink from running though the football game had ended hours ago. He took a long, languid drink from his water bottle and then drew it away and pointed at Javy with it. “How about some warning next time, big guy?”

“Let’s fucking go!” Javy calls out, his voice ragged from calling out referees and hollering Seresin and Bradshaw, the paint on his face crumbling as his mouth stretches into a grin. “Don’t Trip on your way out, bitches!”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side--he smells like face paint and sweat. Bob, all his excitement bubbling over, blows a yeasty breath out and wraps you up in his arms, too. Bob, somehow, always smells like he’s only just stepped out of the shower. 

Jake can hear everything from the field--everyone screaming, the noisemakers snapping, the hands clapping, the other players cajoling, Javy’s absurdly loud whistling--for only a moment. He only experiences the win for a few fleeting seconds, teammates punching his shoulder pads and slapping his ass through his tight game pants, until he turns his face to the bleachers.

It is easy for him to find you. Maybe if he told someone that, someone like Javy or Bradley or Bob, they would tell him that it’s because he’s the one who bought your tickets, picked your seats. That he simply memorized where you’re gonna sit, glances over during practice, always checks on you. 

But Jake knows better than that. 

He knows that it is so easy for him to find you because he looks for you in every room now--even if it’s the chem lab he knows you aren’t even enrolled in, even if it’s his family’s living room in Texas over the summer when you’re home in Virginia, even if it’s his dorm room at four in the morning and he’s just dropped you at your own hal, even if it’s the crowded dining hall he knows you wouldn’t ever step foot in on your own. 

He’s good at finding you--always has been. 

And now, a year to the day he first saw you at that shitty house party that only played a few good songs, he finds you wedged in between Bob and Javy. 

Jake’s chest is tight as he looks at you. You’re standing between two of his best friends, who have now become your friends, grinning like there is no other place in the world you would rather be than this close to the football field and drowning in beer breath. 

There you are, like you have been since November of last year, standing in the first row of bleachers. You’re clapping and laughing as Javy and Bob hold you and undoubtedly insult the opposing team. You’re wearing the sweatshirt Jake gave you, that soft yellow thing that’s been faded with time since it was first worn by Jake’s father all those years ago, and there are little butterfly clips in your hair--team colors, of course. 

It’s funny, Jake thinks. A year ago you didn’t own even one school team shirt. Not a hat, a keychain, a hand-me-down, not even one of those rubber bracelets you can get for free literally anywhere on campus.

“Didn’t have a reason to have school pride before. You know--before you. But doesn’t everyone have school pride now that we’re undefeated? I bet you’re the reason a lot of people buy sweatshirts, Trip,” you told him when he asked about it. It was December of last year and he was reclined on your bed, watching you brush your hair as you slipped into his father’s sweatshirt. “This is really nice, you know. Vintage.” 

“It was my dad’s,” Jake told you softly, trying to be sly about his lingering gaze. 

But still, you saw him when you turned suddenly to look at him with furrowed brows. The two of you had only known each other for a month and some change and already he deemed you important enough to will down his father’s sweatshirt. 

“Shouldn’t you be saving this for some gorgeous girlfriend in a little tank-top?” You asked, only half-joking. 

He caught your gaze in the mirror and shook his head. 

“Nah,” he answered. “It looks good on you.” 

But now, here you are, all these months later. In the same sweatshirt, the one you keep in pristine condition and wear almost every gameday. And now you have matching hair clips. 

Almost instantaneously, you know he’s looking at you. Even when he’s across an entire football field, even when he’s being crowded by the rest of the football team and the coaches, even when his eyes are nearly hidden behind his helmet--you know. It’s a feeling that you get, one that is almost indiscernible from other big feelings like exhilaration or delirium. 

And because you know he’s looking at you, you know that when he jams his finger in the sky and angles it--he’s pointing at you. You. That’s who the win was for. You. It’s always you. If someone were to be writing it down, they would know that every single win this season--and every single one during the latter half of last season--is dedicated to you. You own them, really. Technically. They’re gifted to you, thrusted into your lap, by Jake. 

Just like you do each time he points to you after a win, you hold your hands in a heart--a juvenile and crooked thing. But you hold it high and proud in the sky as confetti reigns down from the bleachers above. 

Jake’s beaming underneath his face mask, filled to the brim with unadulterated joy as you hold your hands up in a heart. It’s for him--it always is. 

He can’t remember when this all started--the hearts, at least. He thinks they must’ve started the way nicknames do; on a whim, randomly, fleetingly. It’s that sweet thing where you don’t know where something begins or how it will end, but you know everything in-between because it just is.  

But he does remember the first time you came to a game after you met. It was the next game, the one he promised he’d get you tickets to, and you sat in the front row like you said you would despite him offering to nab you some nosebleeders. 

His fingertips tingled with adrenaline the entirety of the game, only gaining more momentum the closer the team got to a fourth-quarter victory. Everyone could tell that Jake was on his A-game, which meant that he was unstoppable. 

He was the one who kicked the field goal that won the game--and with only ten seconds left on the clock. He remembers vividly the way the crowd went animalistic, the way everyone erupted in howls and cries and hollering. 

Before the game, he memorized the exact seat you were going to sit in. During practice, he watched it--imagined you there. Your exuberant smile, your unrelenting good mood, which he partly attributed to the company of yours truly and partly attributed to you losing the dead weight of Spit Sabler. 

And when he kicked the field goal, when he heard the crowd go wild, he turned towards where he knew you were sitting. It wasn’t even on purpose--it was just like a natural reaction. There you were, just like you said you would be. Grinning. Clapping. Laughing. 

He was so overwhelmed with joy, so overwhelmed with having met you and immediately adored you, that he pointed to you. 

You. 

His girl. 

He doesn’t remember what he was doing after wins before this--before he started looking for you. Maybe he was indulging in the celebration. Maybe he was letting Bradshaw tackle him to the turf. Maybe he was running to the sidelines. He can’t remember. He experiences this a lot when he thinks of life before you--it’s all blurry. Unimportant. 

“You fucker! You dumb fucker!” Bradley laughs in his ear as he jumps into Jake’s arms, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and knocking Jake’s helmet with his own. “Just take me already!” 

“You fucking goon, get off me!” Jake howls, stumbling backwards with Bradley’s entire weight on his torso. But he’s still grinning. “You’re giving the other team way too much ammunition right now!” 

“Ammunition-shammunition!” Bradley says gleefully, panting and laughing as he hugs Jake close to him. They both stink--almost indistinguishable from each other. “We won! We fucking won! Let ‘em talk!” 

“We always do,” Jake says, planting Bradley’s cleats back on the turf. “We’re literally 10-0!” 

Bradley slaps his hands on the sides of Jake’s helmet and pulls him close so that the hard plastic clashes roughly. Jake starts to whine, but Bradley is too amped to notice or mind. 

“I love you, man! I love you!” 

“Stop!” Jake insists. The grin is devouring his face. “Be normal!” 

“I can’t! Something’s happening to me! Something big and-and--!” Bradley’s already starting to gyrate, spreading his arms out and running in place on the tips of his toes. “Oh, God--it’s happening!”  

“Don’t!” Jake warns, shaking his head seriously. “Please--just this once, don’t do it--!” 

The team is already watching the two of them, amused. They know what’s coming. It’s the same thing at the end of every game that Jake wins for the team--which is almost every single one at this point. 

Bradshaw is notoriously an idiot--bonafide. But he might be the most beloved member of the team; he has an irresistible goofy charm about him that even the quarterback is susceptible to. That’s pretty much what happened with you, too. You fell in love with his big, cow-like eyes and unrelenting unwillingness to be embarrassed. 

“It’s taking me! Oh, Lord! It’s taking me!” Bradley cries. He’s really getting into it now, clutching his chest and marching in place on beat. “Help me, Jake! Help me!”

“Uh-oh,” Bob says with a fond smile tugging on his lips. He squeezes you and Javy. “Trouble! One o’clock!” 

You and Javy grin at the scene on the field. The other team dejectedly fielding sneers and boo’s as they sulk off the field as AC/DC shakes the ground beneath their cleats. Your football team watches on in amusement as Bradley howls and breaks out in dance while Jake desperately tries to get away. 

“The Bradshaw Boogie,” you sigh, beaming. “Who could've guessed?” 

“Me, you, Bob, that guy over there, that guy over here, even the lady down there,” Javy lists, shaking his head. “What an idiot.” 

“But he’s ours,” you sigh lovingly, leaning your head against Bob’s. Bradley tackles Jake to the ground and your chest grows warm, pulses with love. “Both of them.”

𖥔

“Doesn’t this all feel so…American?” Bob asks. He’s pushing the cart, squinting beneath the harsh fluorescents flickering above the lot of you. He’s in his costume already--a freakishly accurate Indiana Jones costume that has gotten more than a handful of compliments since arriving at the grocery store. “Going to a football game and then buying pumpkins at the local twenty-four hour superstore?” 

“Winning a football game,” Bradley corrects from his spot inside the cart, knees against his chest as he cradles a few bottles of the cheapest vodka in stock. His face is partially painted--which means he just looks partially rabid. He scratches the real dog collar around his throat and the metal name tag that he sharpied the Hell hound’s name on jangles melodically. “And we’re not just buying pumpkins.” 

“Yeah,” Javy echoes from ahead of everyone, skimming the aisles absently as he reads all the price tags. He’s the certified sales finder, which is always why he walks ahead of everyone. The bright read-and-white sweater of his Waldo costume, ironically, sticks out like a sore thumb in the dull, white-washed aisles. “We’re buying Bradshaw a leash, too. Finally.” 

“Ha-ha,” Bob says. “Funny. But I don’t think Cujo had a leash.” 

Javy pauses and glances over his shoulder at Bob and Bradley. Bob’s watching him, brows knit and lips quirked. Bradley hasn’t even noticed that the cart’s halted--he’s too busy chewing his fingernail. 

“No. We were supposed to get around to it last week,” Javy says. “He keeps wandering.”

Now Bradley looks up--suddenly realizing that Bob and Javy are looking at him.

“Oh. Kinky,” Bradley grins, waggling his brows. He adjusts himself in the cart, uncomfortably packed against the metal grates between bags of Doritos and robust pumpkins, but unwilling to get out. “I like it. Wanna take me for a walk, Goldie?” 

Bradley leans out of the cart to grin at Jake, like he always does when he puts the faux moves on you, but all he sees is an empty aisle. He was totally expecting a firm smack on the back of the head from Jake and a sweet laugh from you. Nothing but cereal boxes, though.

“Hey. Where’d they go?” Bradley asks, pouting. “I totally just said that for loverboy.” 

“Who?” Javy returns, starting down the aisle again as he straightens his crooked glasses. “Sonny and Cher?”  

“They’re Daphne and Fred,” Bob says, shaking his head. 

“More like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass,” Bradley says good-naturedly. He releases his fingernail from the wrath of his teeth and then sighs dejectedly. “Anyone got any clippers on ‘em? I have a hangnail.”

Two aisles over, you’re sorting through the various bags of candy sitting on the beige shelves. Nothing is striking your precise fancy and Jake can tell from the careful way he’s watching your brows crinkle. You take your Halloween candy seriously--really, you take everything about Halloween seriously--and he knows he’s already on thin ice taking you to a superstore to get pumpkins instead of a patch. 

“Who the fuck likes Dots?” You whisper to him, shaking your head disapprovingly. “Do you know someone who likes Dots? I don’t. I never have.” 

Jake shakes his head fondly. 

“Yeah, I do,” Jake says. 

“Nuh-uh,” you say dismissively, brows loosely knit.  

“I’ll give you one guess,” Jake says, tightening the orange ascot around his throat. 

Glancing at him through your lashes, your belly already in a puddle at your platform heels right beside your heart, you meet his gaze. He’s always already looking at you--just like he always is. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him after you two met for coffee on November 1st of last year, a mere twelve hours since you broke things off with Spit Sabler. Jake was the one who stood from the table he snagged for both of you, the one who was watching the door for thirty minutes before you arrived, the one who called your name across the cafe and waved you over.

“Hey,” he’d said when you crossed the cafe shyly and ended up at his feet. “You look great out of costume, too! I think you could still pass for a doctor.” 

“Jokes on you,” you’d told him, eyeing the ridiculously good-looking denim jacket he had shrugged over his The Innocence Mission t-shirt. “You don’t.” 

You cheek your grin and whip a bit of your stringy red wig over your shoulder. When he sees you struggling, two little strands of artificial hair stuck in your lipgloss, he reaches up and carefully peels them away from your lips. His fingers graze your cheek as he retracts--a ghost of a touch, the hint of a touch, the hint of a ghost of a touch. Enough for both of you to curl your toes identically in the safety and privacy of your own socks. 

Both of you pretend not to be warm from the interaction. 

You clear your throat.  

“Nobody likes Dots,” you insist. 

Jake shakes his head smugly. 

“Somebody you know and love likes Dots,” Jake insists. 

He doesn’t bother checking his grin--he can hardly muster when you’re looking up at him so prettily. Fuschia eyelids and candy-apple lips, all that sweet softness and playfulness sitting in the fat of your cheeks as you try not to smile.  

“You lie like a rug,” you challenge, crossing your arms indignantly. “I’m calling your bullshit.” 

“Error 404. Bullshit not found,” Jake says, holding his palms up in defense. “C’mon. One guess. You’ve got it.”

“You,” you say with a devious smile. 

He holds his chest in mock insult and you beam at him. 

“Ouch,” he says. “No. I underestimated your ability to be wack as Hell.”  

“Okay, Fresh Prince,” you bite back, open-mouth laughing now. “Then who is it? Hm? Who do I know and love that likes Dots?” 

“Scrappy Doo,” he says confidently. 

He watches your face contort--first confusion and then realization. 

“Bradshaw really does make it hard for himself, doesn’t he?” You say quietly. “But, like--now that you say that? I can see it. Unfortunately. I can see it.” 

“He went to the movie theater one time to--like, literally just to buy Dots. Brought, like, five boxes back to the dorm and ate them overnight.”

“Ew,” you say, nose wrinkled. “Did he get sick?” 

“No,” Jake says, rolling his eyes. “He has an industrial stomach.” 

“Shit,” you say, laughing. “Go figure.” 

“Unlike someone here, he’s also not picky,” Jake says, widening his eyes and nodding towards you. 

Sticking your tongue out at him, you roll your eyes. 

“It’s not so easy!” 

Jake glances down at the mounds of candy before you, scouring for a bag you would actually enjoy. He’s learned a lot about you--he feels like he’s learned everything about you--in the past year, so he knows how tricky this is going to be. You won’t eat coconut or dark chocolate--nor do you like non-sour gummies. You only tolerate Smarties and you can’t stomach M&M’s after last year’s milkshake incident. 

“Here,” Jake says, tugging a variety bag out from the bottom of the pile. He hands it to you and nods for you to follow him as he starts down the aisle again. “That one.”

“That’s ballsy,” you say to him, not moving from your spot. You squint as you read the labels of the candy in the variety pack. “You know this is a most sacred process for me.” 

He turns, now in the middle of the aisle, and watches you read it silently. He already knows--before you even do--that this is the one you’re going to choose. He knows little things about you like this--like your In-N-Out order, your favorite kind of pen to write with, your dislike of baseball caps. But he knows big things about you, too--like how old you were when your parents divorced, what your favorite color was in the second grade, who you consider to be your personal hero and why it’s Dolly Parton.

“You underestimate my fondness for you,” Jake says. Heat blooms all cross his chest and his ascot suddenly feels tight when you glance back at him in amusement. He laughs dryly. “Idiot.” 

“I stand corrected,” you tell him with a shrug and sigh, slinging the candy over your arm. “And you know how much I hate standing.” 

“Who hates standing?” Jake grins, shaking his head. You are slowly making your way over to him in that strangely authentic Daphne costume, the one you put together over the course of three months with him in tow. “Nobody hates standing.” 

When you come close to him, you can smell the aftershave on his face, the sandalwood on his pulse points. He grins down at you, unrealistically handsome even in this truly awful Fred wig--truly, it’s less Fred and more of a tow-headed Sonny Bono.

“Someone you know and love hates it,” you tease, pressing the bag of candy in his awaiting arms. “Right?” 

He looks down at you in between taking measured, deep breaths. He can’t believe how much he adores you. Well, he can because he does and he has been since the moment he first saw you. He felt like he already loved you when he saw you in the cafe the day after Halloween, when you walked across the checkered tiles with your glasses on and your backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“What--you didn’t bring your backpack? Do you not care about passing midterms?” You’d asked him seriously. But you were smiling softly as your lashes kissed the tops of your cheeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of doctor?” 

Sometimes he wonders when it happened--when something happened between the two of you that halted both of you in your tracks, something that stalled anything real and romantic happening at the party or the dorm room. He thinks about it when he zones out in class, when he’s trying not to fall asleep during film in the locker rooms. 

Maybe it was when some John puked all over your legs. When he told you to look up at the night sky while he wiped your legs down and free from marigold flowers and puke. 

Maybe it was when he didn’t walk you to the door of your dormitory. When he stayed in his truck and waited until you got into the building before he drove away. Maybe he should’ve stuck his hands in his pockets and walked all the way up to your room, should’ve met your roommate and seen what pictures you hung on the walls.

Maybe it was when he didn’t bring his backpack for coffee. When he had to sit on the same side of the little bistro table as you and read over your shoulder, when he had to borrow one of your pens to take notes on scrap paper you happened to have.

Maybe it was when you were the one to ask for his number first, scribbling it on the corner of your notebook with a smiley face. Smiley face. Not a heart.

Maybe it was on a Tuesday in April or maybe a Friday in September. Maybe it happened while the two of you were watching Apocalypse Now or Dazed and Confused. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever know--doesn’t even know if he wants to know. 

But Jake isn’t one to complain, though. 

Maybe you’re not what he wants you to be--his girlfriend, even though that feels too juvenile a word for what he really wants you to be--but you’re still the best person he knows. And, in a lot of ways, he considers himself very lucky to have landed you at all. Even as a friend. 

You have quickly--effortlessly--become one of Jake’s favorite people on God’s green earth. He thinks about you each morning when the sun touches his face for the first time, thinks about how warm your hands always are when you pinch his cheeks. He thinks about you each night as he flicks off his lamp, glancing at the framed photograph he has of you on his bedside table--one Javy took of you on a disposable camera, one where you’re decked out in team colors and holding a foam finger with Jake’s number on it.

Sometimes, though--like right now--he gets overwhelmed with everything. It’s like there’s a ball of light in his chest that’s starting to puncture his skin. Like there’s something bright and hot and big that wants out and wants out now. 

“Right,” Jake whispers now, pretending like he’s not choked up. He grips the plastic bag in his arms to keep himself from holding your cheeks. He’s watching your lips. “You are someone I know and love.” 

There is a hotness radiating from Jake, but you hardly notice. If you did, you’d be fanning yourself and un-pinning your wig. But your gaze is unwavering, even if you feel like Jake isn’t quite meeting your eyes right now. Either way, you still feel seen by him. Always.

“Prove it,” you whisper to him. 

It sounds like an invitation--maybe it is. 

Yes, it lingers there in the air between you, the one that smells like dead leaves and artificial apple and gardenia perfume from the lady a few aisles over. You and him both see it, clear as day, as if it’s some sort of bright red mist surrounding you. 

You have a supremely good eye for detail. You notice eyelashes on sidewalks and memorize license plates on speeding cars and have never once missed foreshadowing. That’s why Bradley has you proofread all his essays, why Javy has you watch football games with him, why Bob studies with you, why Jake loves to watch movies with you. 

So, you notice it whenever Jake’s eyebrows pinch. Whenever he looks confused, like he’s just about to sputter out a what? and step away from you. That’s when you realize, flushed as ever before, that your faces are a mere inch apart. 

“Buy my candy,” you say, straightening out and moving your face away from his. 

Jake’s heart is hammering in his chest.

Fuck.

He was going to do it. He was going to ask if he could kiss you--Hell, he was just going to hold the stupid wig in place and press his lips to yours before he lost the nerve. 

But it’s too late. You’re already smiling at him, expression unreadable to him even though he’s well-versed in you, nodding towards the register. 

“Goldie--!” 

“Hey!” Javy says when he sees the two of you. “Simon! Garfunkel! Let’s get a move on, huh? We’ve gotta get our drink on!” 

Both you and Jake turn to find your three friends standing at the end of the aisle. Javy with his hands on his hips and his lips pursed, Bob smiling almost apologetically like he knows he interrupted something, and Bradley struggling to his knees in the very-full cart to get your attention. 

“Hey, Goldie! I made a really good joke earlier and you weren’t there,” Bradley starts, grinning as he gestures wildly. “Okay, so Javy said--!”

“Down boy,” Bob says, nudging Bradley. 

You and Jake trudge towards the three of them, a strange aura of embarrassment and disappointment permeating the air around the two of you. It’s strange because the two of you, as close as you are, never seem very embarrassed about being so obliviously in love as you both are. 

“What?” Bradley asks, genuinely oblivious. He’s gesturing to you as you sheepishly make your way over to the cart. “She missed it! She’s my audience!” 

“Audience of one?” Javy asks, brow raised. “Lame.”

“Boo me all you want, but I’m loyal. A one-woman kinda guy,” Bradley defends. You’re smiling at him, rolling your eyes, when he pats his thighs while waggling his eyebrows. “Hey, pretty lady. Wanna take a seat?” 

Jake thumps the back of his head hard, even if he knows that Bradley’s adoration for you is purely platonic and flirtation if in complete jest. And Bradley keens at Jake, strangely accomplished.

“Nah,” you say softly. You hold your own hands and try not to breathe in too much of Jake’s cologne. “I’ll stand.”

𖥔

Technically it’s still Halloween when you and Jake stumble into his dorm room. The two of you have been in Bob’s dorm room for the better half of the evening, drinking away a couple bottles of vodka between the four of you while having a horror movie marathon. 

Things feel alright now--better than they did at the beginning of the night, in the direct aftermath of whatever the fuck happened at the store. With every drink the two of you had, you moved closer to the middle of the room from the prospective sides you’d initially settled in. By the time Jaws II was being discussed, you were laying your head in Jake’s lap and letting him stroke your wig. 

“Jinkies, I gotta get you back,” Jake had sighed, glancing at the clock and then you. He dropped his eye in a heavy wink, one that was not as sly as usual, and nodded towards the door. “Gotta celebrate our anniversary.” 

“Oh, right,” Bradley had interjected, leaning over the two of you with a pink-tinted grin. “What’s the first anniversary? Silver?” 

“Paper,” Bob corrected, slightly inebriated. 

“Do candy wrappers count?” Jake had whispered, thumb pressed against your cheek. 

“Yeah,” you yawned. “So does cash.”

Time is ticking by quickly and so are you as Jake shuts the door behind the both of you, a broken laugh falling from his vodka-flavored lips at something you said on the elevator. Something he can’t even remember now. 

“Jesus, it’s dark,” you say as you pull your lop-sided wig off your head and let it slink to the wooden floor. It will, undoubtedly, live there for the next couple weeks. You can already imagine Bradley eating shit after slipping on it. “You live like this?” 

The room is dark and empty besides the two of you, completely quiet besides the usual clanging and hollering outside his window from the drunk boys in the courtyard. And, of course, the laughter still dying on Jake’s tongue and the thumps of your heels. 

You have been in this room more times than you can count--so much so that several of the floors RA’s have approached you about blowing off floor meetings. So, despite being a bit drunk and despite being in the dark, you’re able to find the radio sitting on Jake’s dresser. It’s where it always is beside a pack of gum and his favorite bottle of cologne. 

“Like a hermit,” Jake says. “A Norman Bates type.”

“Spooky,” you whisper to him. “Really getting me in the mood over here.” 

“Yeah? Sitting in Bob’s room and watching creature features didn’t do that for you already?” 

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head despite the fact that he cannot see you. “You know I like more high brow stuff.” 

“Right,” Jake says distantly as he reaches blindly for the switch to the lava lamp. “Slashers.” 

“Uh huh,” you mutter. Then you clear your throat and drunkenly giggle as you sing. “Gimme, gimme, gimme some gore after midnight.” 

“You know how I can tell when you’re trashed, Goldie-girl?” Jake grins, still fumbling for the switch. “You start singing ABBA parodies.” 

“You like my parodies,” you whisper back. 

“Love ‘em,” he says and he really does mean it. 

The lamp suddenly illuminates the room. The both of you squint in tandem, on opposite sides of the small dorm room, stumbling in your steps in surprise. 

“Hi,” you whisper to him. 

Your makeup is smeared--bleary. His wig is gone and his ascot is untied. 

“Hey,” he returns. “What are you in the mood for? Pick your poison.” 

He nods to the CD’s you’re sorting through. 

“Julee Cruise,” you whisper back. “She’s been stuck in my head all day.”

“On the left,” he tells you. “Towards the bottom.” 

Nodding, you dig it out. Jake rubs his eyes, trying to sober up. It isn’t that he wants to even be sober--he feels good right now. But after what happened at the store, the way you have been inside of a hard shell all night between Jaws and The Blob, he wants to have a clear head. 

Fumbling only slightly, you manage to start the CD. And without looking back at Jake, you wander over to his twin bed and flop down on the brown plaid bedding, sighing in relief. 

“I’ve been awake for too long,” you whisper to him, blinking up at the ceiling. 

He’s still standing beside the lamp, watching every one of your moves with his heart in his throat. 

“How long?” He asks. 

You turn to him, biting a smile and blinking your bleary eyes. 

“My whole life,” you return. 

Now he’s biting a grin. 

“Wow,” he whispers. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yup,” you confirm. You point to your platform heels and crooked stockings. “Too exhausted to take my costume off.” 

A bubble pops inside of Jake, inside of you, in tandem. You blink at him. He blinks at you. There are only a few feet separating you and him, only a few paces across a shitty rug and old hardwood floors. 

He swallows hard. You notice it when his Adam’s apple bob. 

He considers what could happen next. He could press forward, tell you that he can help with that. And then maybe you would sit up and draw your knees to your chest and tell him he’s just like every other guy you’ve ever been friends with. Or he could stand right where he is now and just nod like he didn’t quite hear you, then sit on Bradley’s bed while you huddle up by yourself in his. Neither of which sound palatable to Jake right now--or ever. 

Your heart is racing as you watch him. Fuck. You keep word vomiting, keep accidentally inviting him, keep telling the truth too voraciously. 

When he moves, he doesn’t say anything. That’s what he’s decided on--he won’t say a word. He’ll just…walk towards you. And you watch him as he crosses the floor, his footing suddenly a bit more sober than it was when the two of you left Bob’s dorm after Bradley insisted on a second screening of Critters. 

Then he’s standing before you--you’re laying below him. Both of you watch each other, drink in every movement--there hardly are any. His palms are damp and your throat is dry. 

His movements are slow, but calculated. His fingers wrap around your right ankle and your leg feels weightless as he lifts it and places the bottom of your shoe on his pristine Fred Jones sweater. The color of your shoe, that sweet purple-pink, is a stark contrast from the muddy print the sole of your shoe will leave. 

Jake doesn't look away from your face as he reaches for the buckle. 

It’s a tiny thing, flimsy and delicate. But he’s dextrous. 

“Thanks,” you whisper preemptively--just to say something. 

Falling by Julee Cruise is playing. You can only hear the blood rushing through your ears--you’re sure Jake hears it, too.  

“Jesus,” Jake says and he’s still looking you right in the eyes. Your heart rate spikes--your back almost leaves the bed in a sudden arch at just the sound of it falling from his lips. All rasp, all football player, all Jake. “How’d you get these things on?” 

“With a little help from my friends,” you say back pathetically. You shift slightly and he re-secures his grip on your ankle like you are trying to climb away from him. “You know. Fingernails.” 

You hold your hands up to him weakly and he nods, still not smiling as he fingers the buckle. 

“Right,” he says. “Something I don’t have.” 

“Right,” you say. 

“But anything you can do, I can do better,” he says. 

His heart is hammering. 

But you smile--smile despite the apple vodka staining the back of your throat and the heat pooling in your belly and the thoughts of him muddling your ever-present attention. 

“Tell it to the heels, baby,” you whisper to him. 

And, like you’ve said a magic word, he gets the first heel unbuckled. 

With a raise of his eyebrows, as if to say ha!, he delicately removes the heel from your foot and sets it on the floor. He’s still holding your ankle, softly stroking the light pink nylon tights. Wishing it was your skin. Burning all the same. 

There’s a muddy shoe print on his chest now. He sees it--so do you. But neither of you say anything about it. You’re too nervous to accidentally invite him to something he doesn’t want to come to--he’s too nervous to say the wrong thing and make you retreat. 

Your socked foot rests against his chest even after he releases you, which is what he wants. Any part of you against any part of him. 

He makes quick work of the other buckle and you watch, sobering quickly beneath the warmth of his touch and the velvety music flooding the radio. 

“You’re a pro,” you whisper. Your voice is somewhere between a whisper and a jive. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Here you are, below him in his bed. Here you are, your legs open and your ankles in the stronghold of his hands. Here you are, a year to the day since he first saw you. Here you are, listening to his dream pop in his dorm after hanging out with your friends that used to be his friends that you now share. 

Here you are. It astounds him, really. 

How lucky he is that you’re here. Now. 

Right now. 

There is an intensity to his gaze, one you see fleetingly, rarely in certain instances. If you were someone else and so was he, you would call those instances stolen glances or maybe pensive longing. 

But you’re you. 

He’s him. 

So you don’t know what to call it.  

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“No,” he answers. 

He clears his throats, ignores the ringing in his ears. 

Fuck. He didn’t mean to answer like that. 

You’re already scrambling to sit up, to probably interrogate him and press your knuckles to his forehead and check for a fever, but then he’s pressing his flat palm to your belly and pushing you back against the bed. 

It is not a hard touch--nor is it a violent one. It is a guidance, a suggestion. One that takes your breath from your lungs and smacks his face with it. One that renders you almost voiceless. 

“What’s wrong?” You whisper. 

“No, nothing, I--it’s nothing,” Jake tries, knowing how much of a liar he sounds like right now. 

“But you just said--!” 

“--Forget what I just said,” Jake tells you. He means it. He pushes down and feels all the skin of your belly, all the warmth and blood and flesh. You’re thrumming with life. “Really. I’m fine. It’s fine. I just…” 

He stops talking--knows he’s digging himself in a deeper hole. 

Swallowing hard, you think about the grocery store. Your quiet, accidental invitation. If it was really accidental at all. You still aren’t sure. You can't be sure right now when he’s looking down at you the way he is.

You have to ask. It’s overwhelming you--the thought that you did something wrong. 

“Did I…do something?” 

His response is immediate. Instantaneous like he’s rehearsed this before.

“What could you have done that would ever make me not okay?” He asks, a strangely kind bite to his tone. As if he were saying Don’t you know that I love you, you idiot? “I mean, really. You’re kinda the best.”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Words are tugging on your lips. “Buy you a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD?” 

A dry laugh falls from his parted lips, but he doesn’t smile. He can’t. Not when his throat is so dry, not when you two are so close. So, so close. Close enough to smell that warm amber in your hair and against your throat. 

“Get serious,” Jake insists after a moment. 

Shifting beneath his palm, you stare up at him. 

“I am,” you try. 

“No, you’re not,” Jake says back, brows furrowed. 

You glance down at your costume. 

“I can’t be serious in pink tights.”

Jake doesn't have time to think--doesn’t have time to stop himself. He’s reaching up, up and under your dress, hooking his fingers in the band of your pink tights and tugging on them. They come loose much easier than the buckles, practically purr at Jake’s touch as he draws them down your legs, leaving a trail of gooseflesh on your skin. 

You’re gasping, nearly moaning before you choke on it, as he swiftly removes your tights. And then your legs are bare before him and your legs are still open and he’s standing and you’re sitting and your pink tights are in his fist. They’re still warm from your skin--still smell like you. 

Jake drops them on the floor, not peeling his gaze from yours. They’ll live on the floor for a few weeks, too. He knows it. So do you. 

Now you’re speechless, which doesn’t happen often. 

Jake’s heart is battering inside his ribcage like a bird attempting to flee. 

“What happened at the grocery store?” He asks. 

He has to ask. He needs to know.

“What?” You sputter out. Your heart races. Fuck. You were hoping to just forget it all. “What are you--what do you--?” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Jake says. He flushes when he realizes that your legs are still open, when he realizes that you couldn’t close them if you wanted to since he’s standing so close to you. “C’mon. Don’t bullshit me.” 

“You tell me,” you demand. “I thought you were gonna…I don’t know…” 

You’re too flustered to continue, throwing your arm over your face under the guise of shielding your eyes from the light. Your face, your arm, your skin, your breath--it’s all so hot. You want to melt into the plaid bedding and become one with the dust bunnies. 

“Marigold,” Jake says and it sounds like he’s begging. “Don’t hide from me. C’mon. C’mon, we’re friends!” 

Friends. There’s that word. 

You want to roll over on your side, want to just apologize and go to your dorm and pine privately for him, but you can’t. You can’t because he’s leaning forward and tugging your arms away from your eyes. 

He’s suddenly infinitely closer to you. So close that you feel tipsy just breathing in his breath, all the alcoholic apples that have died there. 

The two of you stare at another. You’re searching his eyes, his nose, his lips, trying to get a read on him and what he’s thinking and what he’s doing. He’s leaning over you, slotted between your legs, his hips only a breath away from your core. He feels it when you squirm--he isn’t sure if you’re trying to get closer or farther, so he shifts backwards a few centimeters. 

“Did you want me to do something?” Jake asks. It’s a quiet demand. A plea. 

“What do you mean?” You ask even though you know. You’re stalling. “Where? At Bob’s?” 

“Don’t be a chickenshit,” Jake says, shaking his head. “Back there. At the store.”

You swallow, don’t know what to say. The light is suddenly too bright and the music is suddenly too loud. Your breaths are paralyzed in your lungs. 

“Did you want me to want you to do something back there? At the store?” 

He scoffs--it’s a mean, but soft sound. He needs to hear you say it. Yes, you wanted it. He didn’t overstep. He missed the chance, but he knows now. He won’t miss the chance again. If you just say it. Say you wanted it--wanted him. 

“You’re impossible,” he whispers.  

“I’m trying not to be,” you say back. “Sorry.” 

“We almost kissed,” he says and his lips are quivering. “Right? That’s what that was, right? You wanted me to kiss you.” 

When the words fall on your ears, in your already heightened state, you feel like they’re accusatory. You wanted him to kiss you. And it made him knit his brows and falter, stumble. 

You’re fucking everything up. 

You can’t afford to fuck everything up with the best friend you’ve ever had.

“No, I didn’t,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, thin.

“Yes, you did,” he whispers. His brows are totally furrowed. “You’re a bad lair.” 

He almost says that he couldn’t look away from your lips all night. He almost says that he wished you were closer to him. He almost says that he wants you to kiss him, too. He almost says that he’s wanted to kiss you for a year--an aching, throbbing year. 

But he doesn’t.

“Stop it,” you tell him quietly. Tears are welling in your eyes. You blink rapidly, try to ease yourself from the absolute comfort of his heat. “Why would I want that?” 

Now he says nothing. There it is--that crippling fear he always has, the one where he fucks it, the one where he’s rejected, the one where he fumbles the ball, the one where he misses the goal. Except it feels realized suddenly. Suddenly as you’re looking up at him in artificially warm light, your tights tugged off your naked legs by him, you look hurt. Your eyes are watery and your lips are twisted and you’re not drunk anymore. 

And he’s the one caging you in. Holding you against the bed. 

At once, he lays on his back. He’s no longer between your legs, no longer hovering you and looking into your eyes. He’s laying beside you. 

The both of you lay there, side-by-side, blinking up at the ceiling. You’re desperately blinking, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. And you’re curling your knees to your chest, holding yourself together with flimsy tape.

His chest is heaving. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what to do. 

But he doesn’t have to because as he’s running his hands over his face, shaking his head and opening his trembling lips, your hand is on his forearm. 

You’ve never been one to hold a grudge. You even wave at Spit Sabler when you see him around campus. But even if you were someone who held a grudge--you know it would be fruitless when it comes to Jake. You’ve never been able to feel anything but love towards him. Pulsing, jovial love. Red-hot and American. 

“Hey,” you whisper. You’re watching him, lying on your side now, trying not to sound as desperate to keep him as you feel right now. “Jake. Look at me.” 

He does at once. 

Plaid bedding separates your mouth from his and your eyes aren't as watery anymore. It’s good. That’s good. Jake still can’t muster a word. He can’t believe what he just did. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“We’re just drunk,” you say dismissively. And even you sound like you don’t believe that bullshit. “Saying dumb shit when you’re drunk is, like, a rite of passage. Right?” 

He nods meekly after a long, sober pause. 

“I’m…” he starts. His cheeks flood bright red. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t be,” you tell him. “Like--it’s…don’t worry about it. We can talk about it when we’re sober.” 

He nods. Grateful, kind of, for your grace. But also angry that he couldn’t make it work--angry that things didn’t end up the way he needs them to. 

He glances at the clock just as it strokes midnight. 

No longer Halloween. Time to take the costume off.

 Absently, carefully, you reach forward and press the pads of your fingers against the muddy heel print on his chest. He won’t be able to wear this sweater again, but you feel like this isn’t going to be something that he throws away. And if he did--you would climb into any dumpster on campus to retrieve it. Just to hold it. Just to keep it. 

“Wanna get coffee tomorrow?” You whisper. 

The hint of a smile tugs on his lips. He finally tears his eyes away from the clock and looks at you. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I know a place.” 

Your lungs deflate slightly--with relief, with grief. It all feels the same. 

“Don’t forget your backpack.”

Another laugh--a sad and pitiful thing. One he might regret later on. But it’s enough that his hot blood is beginning to cool, even this close to you, even with this much of your naked legs on display on his bed in his empty dorm. 

“Hey, Goldie?” Jake whispers. 

You worm your way closer to him, like you always do. And, like always, his arms are already open to receive you when you press yourself against his chest and inhale the mud and cologne there. 

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“You’re my best friend,” he tells you suddenly and it’s true. “Like, you’re my favorite person. Forget Bradshaw.”

Tears well in your eyes again--watery and fat. And you laugh softly, knowing you’ll regret it later. It punctuates this conversation with a casual tone when in reality--this conversation is nothing of the sort. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You’re kinda my best friend, too. Asshole.”

The two of you sit in the music for a while, neither of you looking at each other. His heart is thumping unsteadily and you graciously pretend not to hear it despite your head resting on his chest. The alcohol is fading slowly and the both of you blink lazily. 

Because he can’t stop himself, because he needs something resembling a win tonight, he leans down and gently kisses the top of your head. One feather-light thing, hardly anything really. 

You feel it. You always do. You never miss a thing. 

“Do you wanna stay?” He asks. 

“You already took my shoes off,” you mutter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: OH MY GOD JUST FUCK ALREADY!!!!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

[infiniteglitterfall]

the worst part about the i/p discourse

it's NOT the posters of Nazis with the swastikas on their flags replaced by stars of david. or the pages and pages of blood libel conspiracy theories in instagram posts about why local pride organizers are such big meanies. or the newfound insistence that jews just exaggerate and make up antisemitic incidents to smear the pro-palestine movement....

it's the fact that every. single. time. i try to post anything about any of these things, i end up in a rabbit hole SO DEEP IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM.

Yesterday, I saw a --

YOU SEE? I went to Reddit for a second to find the link to the post about the Melbourne protest this week that had people carrying the Nazi-star-of-David posters. But first, I saw a post that began, "All I see on social media and the news is more and more attacks. Who beat up a Jewish family here, who stabbed a 1 year old in front of a synagouge. Those are two examples, I've lost track of all of the other ones."

and I was like, SOMEONE STABBED A ONE YEAR OLD IN FRONT OF A SYNAGOGUE?!?!

And I started to look that up. AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Two days ago, I saw an article about Cincinnati Socialists setting up a table at North Kentucky Pride without asking, it sounds like, to hand out flyers saying the war in Gaza was Netanyahu's "Final Solution" for Palestinians. Cincinnati Pride organizers alerted the NKY Pride organizers, who kicked them out.

I was like, "okay, well, let's see what Cincinnati Socialists say about it." Then I discovered that their instagram not only "names and shames" the two Cincy Pride organizers and one NKY organizer. Which led to the Cincy ones getting so much harassment and violent threats that they resigned....

But also has a related post that goes on for pages and pages of pure blood libel.

So then I sat there fact-checking all their blood libel and finding out that not only was it untrue and impossible, but half the stuff they referenced didn't even exist.

Then I ended up fact-checking things in the "article" that they'd clearly used as their source. Fact-checking things I found while fact-checking those.

Trying to write a Facebook post about how fucked up it all was. Giving up on the Facebook post after several hours because it made more sense to write it on Tumblr, or at least to write it on Tumblr FIRST.

Then I'm also looking at the post they made "naming and shaming" the organizers, which is like... "the Cincy ones are partners! two days after Hamas's incredibly violent and brutal massacre, one of them changed his profile picture to a photo of them honeymooning IN ISRAEL two years ago! they did it through some group that COVERS A LOT OF THE COSTS FOR HONEYMOONS IN ISRAEL!!!!" and "the other one went to a protest of Hamas's massacre!!! with a sign saying to free the hostages!!!"

oh no. the fucking horror. truly how did these genocidal monsters even end up on the pride organizing committee. this is a shanda scandal.

then I'm responding to people's comments, trying to talk them down from horrible positions. telling people things like, "I know it's asking a LOT, but if people could grasp the idea that "going to Israel for your honeymoon" ISN'T "committing genocide," it would be really great. Or that wanting the hostages freed is actually something that both Israeli AND GAZAN protests have called for, and it's only Westerners who are opposed to it. Or that in fact, saying you "Stand with Israel," a few days after an incredibly brutal attack that burned multiple towns to the ground in one day, killed entire families and their pets, an attack which Hamas has promised to repeat "again and again and again" till Israel is violently destroyed... is opposing that attack, NOT calling for genocide."

then i'm like, "oh, i should edit these images to show the correct info, and i can explain that I drew arrows and added the correct info!" so then i'm doing that and working on writing alt text, and holy shit??? how many fucking hours??? did i spend on this?????? just because i read a frigging reddit post that linked to an article about it?????????

and like. i can go through and debunk all that shit in the comments. (and did. i responded to every single comment that believed this shit.) but ultimately, everyone who pulls this shit has way more reach than I do.

just. like. THAT'S ONE ORG IN ONE PLACE. And it was bad enough that I persevered and finished debunking it and commenting on it today and started telling people about it. Do you even know how many more of those I've seen?! How many I would see if I looked for them on purpose?!

The tsunami of deliberate disinformation is SO FUCKING BAD. All of it is SO FUCKING LAYERED. In any single bullshit post, there are SO MANY horrifically bad and wrong assumptions. So many of them are DESIGNED, BY HAMAS, to lead people down the path to "All Zionists should die! Israel should be violently destroyed!"

There were so many comments on a "Free Palestine Melbourne" group's instagram post (Sydney? Could've been Sydney) asking, pointedly, how many Jews are Zionists. What percentage of Jews are Zionists, again?

One (1) had a response telling them it doesn't matter what the percentage is, no percentage would justify collective punishment of Jews.

The rest all said things like, "Too many."

It feels like constantly being lied to. Just constantly being lied to about things I have looked up and verified myself from solid sources, now and in the past, by people I counted as my community.

Then just now I opened Instagram because I hadn't taken screenshots of a couple of the pics I wanted to add. And I'm hit with these:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by jewsinschool (@jewsinschool)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish on Campus (@jewishoncampus)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish and Proud (@jewishpridealways)

Then some brighter posts (including one of a baby bat!!) and then a post which sums up a lot of what I'm feeling right now.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jess Cook (@jessicagcoook)

It's like, yes, that, plus the uncomfortable sense that some people are getting thisclose to going, "Most Jews are Zionists anyway, so YEAH, I DO think most Jews deserve to die."

[melodygatesauthor]

Dirty Driving

Jake Lockley X f!Reader

Not beta-read - Requested by Anon

Summary:

Jake Lockley is on an undercover mission to do some digging into a dangerous crime boss. He's been tasked with driving and protecting you, the boss' daughter. Your feelings finally come to a head on the way to a party.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, car sex, semi-public sex, smut, porn with a little bit of plot, Jake being Jake, reader is commando, p in v creampie, oral sex f receiving, no MCU, Jake is a limo driver

Word count: 810

Being the daughter of a crime boss had its perks, and you supposed a ridiculously attractive personal driver was one of them. No one, not even you, could’ve expected that you and said driver would’ve ended up in the backseat of the limousine, mouths connected in breathy moans as the windows steamed up around you. Just a little while ago you were afraid of him, after seeing him beat down one man after another who tried to hurt you. There was no telling what those hands were capable of.

It started with light teasing, the brush of his fingers against your thigh in passing, or the casual wink when you thanked him for driving you somewhere. You were on your way to a party when the two of you finally gave in to the building feelings that had been brewing for weeks. All it took was a coy implication that you’d forgotten to wear your panties. It was a lie, of course, you’d omitted them on purpose…easy access and all that.

“Shit, I forgot to put on panties…we should go back so I can get them.”

You had to admit, it wasn’t the most clever way of letting him know that you were ready for him to take you, but it got the point across. He pulled into a quiet, secluded, area and climbed into the back with you, wasting no time kissing you and telling you he was going to, take good care of you like he always does.

He kept true to his promise, kissing softly over your jaw and working down to your collarbone, tucking his fingers under the strap of your dress and gently sliding it down your arm. You tossed his flat cap from his head and grabbed his dark locks between your fingers. He pushed up the skirts of your dress, grabbing your asscheeks and pulling you forward, wasting no time dragging his warm tongue between your slick folds.

“J-Jake, we're going to be late.” You whined with little conviction in your tone.

He responded by pursing his lips over your swollen clit, tongue dancing circles around it masterfully. You still had both hands on his head when you arched your mound into his mouth harder, bringing his face down deeper into you. His lips vibrated while he hummed a moan into you.

“Holy…shit.”

One of your hands, almost involuntarily, flew behind you, grabbing the back of the seat. His large hands were caged around your hips, fingers gripping so hard they left divots in their wake. You gasped as his tongue plunged into your hole. You found your mouth gaping open without a sound while he worked you over.

“I want you to f-fuck me Jake, p-please,” you managed to choke out.

His eyes shot up, meeting yours in an intimidating gaze. You put both hands on either side of his face and started pulling upward gently. His lips were glossy, covered in a combination of fluids. He lunged upward and started kissing you again noisily. You heard his belt clanking while he worked on getting his pants undone. Jake never took his mouth off yours while he tugged down his zipper.

“Don’t think your dad would like you fooling around with your driver do you, princesa?” He was breathing heavily.

“Don’t care what he thinks.” You were completely breathless.

He drew a gasp from your lips when he thrust himself into you fully, burying his fat cock deep in your soaking channel. You melted your body into him while he snapped his hips forward again. Jake was grunting with every strong motion, going deeper and harder. He cradled the back of your head while he started kissing you like a man starved.

“Haven’t been with anyone in a long time hm? So wet.” He hummed into another kiss.

“No one who feels as good as you.”

A growl rolled up through his chest at your comment. It seemed that Jake liked being told he was the best you’d ever had. His cock was dragging against your deepest points, brushing over the spot inside that made you squirm underneath him. A high-pitched whine left your mouth when he started fucking harder.

“I can feel you squeezing me, hermosa, just let go, want to feel you come all over my cock,” he said between thrusts.

You did as you were told with another few thrusts, gushing over him in contracting waves. You felt him grab the seat behind you and fuck faster. Surely there would be bruises on your hip where his hand grabbed so tightly. His hips stopped suddenly. You felt his cock pulsating wildly inside of you, filling you with hot white ropes to the brim.

When you arrived at the party, more than fashionably late, no one would suspect your tardiness was due to a secret affair with your dirty driver.

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Moon Knight Masterlist

AS A FRIENDLY REMINDER - I'm no longer doing a taglist. You need to follow @melodygatesupdates for updates on fics I post here.

[reallyromealone]

hey pooks been awhile ✨

i drew something a few weeks ago and jsut wanted to show you my progress

Holy shit hey! Also I got engaged! That looks amazing!!!

[jennilah]

2024 roundup!

Honestly, I don't know how to start this one. Before looking into my diary for specifics, I know this year was one of the most emotionally difficult years for me in recent memory. And yet, I still just want to take this moment to look back and reflect

cw depression symptoms, eating issues, medical talk, death talk

I started off this year getting more tattoos, and that was fun. I still love them, just taking a small break until I get my next one

I also got to check out Igloofest, which was so enjoyable that I plan on going at least one or two days again this year. A few years ago I started going to these music festivals, and something about them just really hits me. Something about being able to wander around and hang out somewhere quieter or less crowded or grab some food at any point makes it a very "relaxing" party atmosphere.

Then my first temporary layoff occurred pretty early in the year, because the industry still, to this day, is still being affected by the hollywood strikes last year. People are still struggling to find stable jobs because of it, on top of things like AI starting to replace artists in front of my very eyes. it was pretty difficult for me, as everyone else, as you could imagine.

Also at around the same time, my parents lost a good friend of theirs suddenly from undiagnosed cancer. While I didn't know him very well personally, that was immediately also just... awful. Just tragic. And in the background, a few other people I care about were also struggling with cancer themselves.

I spent a lot of my "break" in the worst depressive period I think Ive ever gone through in my life. Not diagnosed, just when thinking about how hard it was to do anything other than sleep all day. I lost so much weight from being unable to eat without getting sick, if I had any appetite. things were very bad.

The fandom and all of my other friends also helped a lot. I had a massive output of fanart this year, with most of it being drawn during the first layoff. People being so kind and supportive and joining in the Coffinshipping fun with me helped keep me sane, and gave me something to look forward to every day.

Once the weather finally started getting warmer up here, around March, I also started taking myself out on little daily walks around my neighborhood, and checked out local museums. That also helped stave away the extreme depressive thoughts.

I did manage to do something I've always wanted to do, and that was fly to Manitoba to hang out with my online friend of 10 years, Jen of riseofthefallenone fame. Finally getting to hug her irl and watch movies and go to museums for about a week was definitely one of the highlights of this year. And while it didn't cure my slump, she can attest that I was still struggling heavily with food and stuff, it really helped a lot.

Late spring, my mental health started stabilizing enough that I was able to start doing things I really love again, like go to the movies and draw even more and write fics, and most importantly- eat like normal.

I was able to see the total Solar Eclipse with friends. Anyone else who was able to witness it probably understands when I say that was another highlight of my year. It was just breathtaking, and a little bucketlist win that I really needed while I was still unsure if I was going to have a job to return to at all.

By June, I was still just being wracked with stress waiting for my job to call me back as I watched my emergency rent funds fizzle away. I spent a lot of quiet time outside enjoying the nice weather, just trying to keep my mind off of things.

I drew more. Wrote more fics. Got more tattoos.

Then, my job DID call me back. and I was so happy!

kind of!

because the MOMENT my job called me back, I had to take a sick day to get an abscess removed from my leg. yeah, I know. gross. but holy fuck, that shit hurt like a motherfucker. I felt like everything was finally turning around, and then I was in immense physical pain every day before and after recovery.

also, the medication was killing me.

the 10 days I was on antibiotics was torture. after spending most of the year so far struggling to eat, the side effect of my medication was really bad nausea, so that set me back again

and changing the bandage alone every day hurt so fucking much until that shit finally healed up after a month

Then the political debates started. and that started affecting me subtly in the background.

Also every global thing, pretty much.

Then my grandfather's cancer was starting to get worse.

Meanwhile, finally back at work, I was working on something that was so stressful that the extent of how stressed out I was is only really hitting me now in hindsight

One fun thing: I was able to make that Strahm cosplay that I really wanted to, and I had a lot of fun at Montreal comic con! I am going to describe that as a brief reprieve from everything else that was going on.

Shortly after, with a fuck ton of surrounding dramas that I don't care to describe in detail because it's too personal, my grandfather passed away.

He's the first person I've lost in my family that really affected me like this. It's been difficult.

I continued working. Summer came and went. I attended Piknic Electronik and Ilesoniq, which were fun. Everything else from that time just feels like a weird blur. I was really feeling so overwhelmed by everything by that point, a lot of days were just spent crying and trying to feel normal. like someone else was living this year, not me.

I leaned on my friends a lot this year. They really helped me feel sane, kept my mind off of everything terrible, and generally just made me feel happy when I wasn't.

I'm reading through my diary to recall events this year, and nearly every entry by this point had a breakdown. I wasn't doing well. Work was stressing me out, the world was stressing me out, the internet was stressing me out, loneliness was stressing me out, it was overwhelming.

I finally managed to find a therapist. Even just knowing therapy was on the horizon and I was finally going to get some help was tremendous for me finding some optimism again

Therapy also came at the perfect time, because I was at the "crying every day" point of depressive/anxiety symptoms again and my second temp layoff of the year was approaching on the horizon, and I really didn't want it to be as bad as last time.

Also come Fall, I discovered hockey. I finally went to my first game after living in Canada for 7 years, and as you may have noticed, I got hooked. I've been going to games and watching them on tv/online and I've been having a genuinely great time with it!

Things still felt tense though. The election was coming up. We were all feeling it.

Therapy was needed.

The election. You know what happened. I was called back into work the next day after the results came in. Same day, I was told I'd have to learn french in order to continue living in quebec soon. I have a learning disorder, language was always difficult for me, and this was suddenly dropped onto my lap with no warning. I had to be a functioning worker after that.

Then, my parents' neighborhood lit on fire.

Yes I'm serious. Not even a full week after all that, a record breaking forest fire raged for 2 weeks in my home town and my parents had to evacuate. There was a fear for a while that they were going to lose everything. Their brand new house that they only just moved into last year.

Between all of those things all at once, you could kiss my appetite and ability to keep food down goodbye again.

But thanks to the help of what might have been hundreds of firefighters from both in and outside of town and state, every single home was saved.

Ever since, things have smoothed out a bit. Work stabilized. I have been given news that our studio should have enough work to keep everyone employed well into next year. Finally, there's a light at the end of the Hollywood strike tunnel. We're not completely free of industry stress... there's still AI and quebec tax credit drama thats threatening to ruin my life and everything I've worked for... but I'm TRYING to not catastrophize things before they happen. (And I'm begging people... please be more forgiving to sequels and remakes that make you seeth and froth with rage. They're giving human artists much needed jobs. Please.. stand behind us right now.)

A lovely string of movies came out that I was able to enjoy!

Red One, Sonic 3, and Long Distance (well, not available in the US yet) all came out in quick succession, and I was able to see those with loved ones!

When movies I work on come out, it feels like my gallery exhibit opening after months or even years of anticipation. Finally! I get to show everyone my art! Sonic 3 especially was super special. I got to see that not only with excited, cheering adult fans, but I also got to see it with my parents and happy, giggling children. Both experiences were special for different reasons.

This was probably one of the hardest christmases I've ever spent home. With Grandpa gone, it was the first christmas where it felt like something crucial was missing.

With cancer increasingly present in even more elderly family members, I'm anticipating another extremely difficult year ahead of me. Knowing christmas is only going to get more emotional and unrecognizable for the rest of my life has been very, very hard for me to compartmentalize

I'm going to continue leaning on my friends and family. I'm definitely going to be leaning on my therapist more.

I don't really have much in terms of a resolution this year. I just want to feel like myself and not someone desperately trying to feel like myself

[datura-tea]

holy shit this year marks 10 years of this blog and moz!! i can't remember the exact date i started posting here - my archive says i have one post from november 2013 but let's disregard that - but i do remember it was around late 2014/early 2015 :)

^ one of the very first moz art pieces i ever drew, for fallout week 2015!!

memories and art through the years under a read more bc it got long

2014 → baby's first rpg!! i started playing fnv on my cousin's jailbroken xbox late 2013 and finished mid 2014 and i loved every minute of it. i remember waking up at 8am and playing almost nonstop until 2am the next day haha!

i didn't play moz on my first playthrough - but i did start creating a character that would eventually become her: a shorthaired ex-boxer who punched her way through obstacles when diplomacy failed. i remember she spent a lot of time with boone. i liked him then, because he saved my ass more times than i can count. but i digress. this is draft 1 moz essentially

2015 → this is the year that i was doing my thesis so i could graduate but i was so depressed and stressed about it that i distracted myself by replaying fnv on pc, where i played through the dlcs for the first time. i fell in love with the dlcs' oversarching story; particularly ulysses, who i became obssessed with, especially since i couldn't find any content of him at the time. in the game, i played as moz; i had most of her personality and choices down, but her backstory was still up in the air.

fun fact: this was an existing sideblog that i remade to be a fallout blog so i could look for ulysses content, and when i couldn't find any, i made some myself, featuring moz as my main courier six. originally, i didn't ship them, but eventually i ended the year as a courier/ulysses otp shipper.

this was the year i started drawing digitally - my uncle let me borrow a drawing tablet and i used an old copy of photoshop i pirated hehe

2016 → i graduated this year!! and promptly fell deeper into my depression. this was the year that it got so bad that i had to be medicated. through it all, this blog and moz and ulysses and my fandom friends were with me. and for that i am truly grateful :) this was the year i figured out how to lock transparent pixels so that i could color my lineart lol

2017 → i started hammering out moz's backstory this year i think. there's a lot of sketches of her and her family in my files. i experimented with shading and backgrounds here but that experimentation was pretty short-lived

2018 → i started using references seriously!!!! i did a lot of oc on oc kissing this year, featuring mostly moz and many friend ocs haha

2019 → didn't draw much this year. actually this year was a blur and i can't remember much from it except from it being the year of my terrible no good bad copywriting jobs... anyway i did manage to continue my courier/ulysses brainrot and make this piece, which i'm still proud of

2020 → pandemic time. i spent a lot of time asleep at home and i think this was also the year i started doing commissions?? shoutout to anyone who has ever commissioned me - thank you so much, i truly appreciate it!!

2021 → i switched from my old-ass pirated photoshop to clip studio paint and never looked back. also i did a bunch of commissions for my grandmother's surgery, which failed, and i distracted myself from the sadness by drawing my ocs over and over and playing disco elysium

2022 → by this year, i've got moz down pat and have started vaguely developing other ocs instead. but she's still always at the back of my mind

2023 → i bought new brushes from true grit texture supply and immediately found new favorites that i started using for everything. i tentatively started incorporating background elements in some pieces!

2024 → while it's still too early to say where this year will lead me art-wise, i will say that i started experimenting in realistic paint studio (which i bought in 2021, the same time as clip studio paint) a few days ago and i'm liking the results so far. we'll see!

all in all, these last 10 years have been quite a ride, but i'm glad i stuck around and i'm glad you guys stuck around too!! much much love 💖💖💖

[its-a-me-mango]

BIG fan of your artstyle! I love how expressive and energetic it is. It's very nice to look at!

I was wondering how you would draw a Character like Boopkins because I personaly Struggle with his design lol

WAAA Holy shit thank you so much!!! ;w; I've been working on trying to get my style more energetic and fun so I'm so glad someone sees it like that!!! It really means a lot! <3 I'm gonna be so real and honest, I also don't know how to draw Boopkins, there's just something about him that's really hard to translate over to drawings, so I think we're all struggling a bit lmao.

I tried drawing him a week ago but something about him is just hard to get right. I think it's the mouth more than anything, part of me wants to do it more snout like instead of lip like but there doesn't seem to be a right way of drawing him, what's this fish guy got going onnnnnnn

I can't give any help or advice, I'll figure out how to draw him eventually and then give advice, maybe. I think it's best to just play around and have fun with him, he's meant to be a silly little guy you can throw at anything so I guess draw him like one jhsfdhbsfgk

On the flip side Bob is extremely easy to draw, drew him at the same time as Boopkins so I might as well share him too, love this weird rapper. He's just cloth.

[clownmantis]

i was gonna send this anonymously because i don't want to be geeking out this bad and have like an actual name behind me but FUCK IT.

ddude are you aware of how much you have impacted my life because ngl THANK YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DRAWING THIS ONE GIEGUE REFERENCE SHEET AND MAKING ME ABLE TO DRAW hol on let me just find it rq uhhhh

PPOW!!! llike, you made this shit years ago, i cannot even fathom how much your art has evolved now, but i can thank you very, VERY much into me starting to learn how to draw in shit in plain 2024. like wow, holy fuck. i'm screaming at the void yeah but i am screaming with tears of joy in my eyes because THANK YOU!!! also uh thank you very much for showing the ear references i was fighting demons trying to draw them

also hold on i gotta show you the oc that i made that is verry fucking cool aand and

shit's a little old (2-3 weeks my art is evolving rapidly) so it's a bit uncooked compared to now but i'm so proud of it man LIKE GOD DAMN!!!

also i feel bad for this other artist i saw that drew giegue in a similar way to you and i geeked out as well to them so i hope this is the right one

just thank you vro

-written by a dumbass 14 year old on the internet

HEHEHEHE yeah im the giegue ask blog guy!! or i was up until tumblr booted me out of that account lol . but YAAAAAAYAYAYA IM SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED HIM!!! enough to start drawing yourself .....

i am beyond flattered . so yknow what i havent drawn geeg stuff in ages but this was so sweet to suddenly find in my inbox that HERES A YOUR GUY!!! FOR THE YOU!!!

tysm for sharing your guy w me im so proud of you and KEEP ON DRAWIN!!!