#and then they just! don't fully follow through!

[banditcoyote]

Shishi shushed her. He knew it was mostly Youko's blood, but he knew there was nothing he could really do at this point either. "We don't." he said honestly. He worried for his mate out there but knew he had been through worse, and knew there were fairies at the ready that would be able to revive him when the fight finally came to a close. There was a moment when Youko made a solid connection that once again sent Raphael sprawling, but the wolf recovered quickly and ran back tackling Youko into a ball on the ground and the fox transformed into his four legged self, whirling quickly to snap at the wolf but transformed in turn and immediately overpowered him with his size. "Stop the fight." Coyote said looking to Echo, who was staring transfixed. "Echo...." He said trying to call it off. Youko yelped as Raphael's mouth closed around his throat and the fox transformed back into his bipedal form, though now the blood was flowing quickly from his neck where Raphael still hung on. He transformed back as well, the transformation tearing somewhat at the fox's skin and Youko gasped as he clung to Raphael. There were three sharp whistle blows that caused nearly all heads to turn, but it was Coyote having manifested his own whistle to stop things in desperation. Youko's yellow eyes seemed to follow the sound and just as Raphael slightly relaxed, about to draw back he was impaled through by one of Youko's plants, the sharp spike glistening with Raphael's blood as it ran through his lower left torso. The action however only caused Raphael to bite down effectively tearing out the fox's throat as he stumbled backwards. "Echo." Yaroslava said turning fully. "Call it." The bat rolled the whistle in his finger tips, the corner of his lip twitching up into a smile. "Echo." She said again and he raised the whistle to his lips and finally called the match. Youko was down on his knees in the snow, his hand to his throat as blood poured through it, and Raphael still stood watching over him, a satisfied expression on his face despite the amount of blood he was still losing. "Fairies." Yaro said standing and gesturing her hand, and the field was suddenly a flutter with them hurrying to heal the worst of the wounds first, Youko's throat and Raphael's stomach, Artemis, Michael, Christopher and Gabriel rushing out to asssess the situation for both of them as Shishi wriggled his way from Sasuga's grip.

Blood and Moonlight

Sasuga woke in what was at first an unfamiliar area but as she blinked fully awake she realized it was their closet that Coyote had decorated for them. She smiled and took a careful kiss from her mate who was still sound asleep next to her. It really had been an amazing night with the family and then with her husband. As she slipped from his arms, she took a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror, her fingers dancing over the fresh marks on her neck and hips. She couldn't have asked for anything more from the night and it was with some reluctance that she dressed. She picked out a pair of warm leggings and a short little skirt to pull over them with some knee high boots and a thick sweater. She slipped from the closet and moved to the bathroom to comb her hair and brush her teeth and get ready for the big day ahead. She gave a stretch and headed downstairs only to find a familiar face waiting for her. "Raphael..." she smiled and moved to greet him with a hug. "I see you are still alive." she smirked. "Want some tea? Coffee?"

@banditcoyote

[lynhub]

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° dean winchester trying to keep you quiet

mature content

IMAGINE... dean’s hand was clamped tightly over your mouth as his hips rocked behind you, slow and deep but relentless. your muffled whines slipped past his fingers, filling the quiet of the bunker bedroom. dean’s grunts were low and warm against your ear, sending shivers down to your core.

“jesus, woman,” he huffs, his breath is hot, “you feel so damn good.”

you tried to push your hips back against him, desperate for more, but dean’s free hand gripped your hip, holding you still firmly. his mouth brushing against your ear, his voice dropping even lower. “easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand flexing on your mouth when you whine. “sammy’s right next door, remember that? gotta be good. gotta be quiet.”

you could practically hear your heart beating against your ribs, the risk of being caught making everything more intense. dean continues to thrust into you slower, deeper, the intense drag of him sliding in and out pulling a broken, muffled moan from your throat. his hand however, stays firmly planted over your mouth, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he hears the needy sound from you. “atta girl,” he rasp, hips snapping harder. “take it – just like that.”

dean's fingers seem to tighten even more over your mouth as he sets a new pace against you, the motion making your knees tremble. his breath is ragged and hot against your neck. “god, baby,” he groans, his voice wrecked, “you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good.” his words send a need pulsing through your body. 

he’s making you feel so good, his hand on your hip sliding down to rub at your clit with a gentle, steady pressure. your body arches into his touch, eager for more, but the moment you try to fight the sound building in your throat, a loud, needy whine slips past his fingers. 

“you’re killin’ me, baby.” he mutters, his voice thick with desire, pace quickening.

your body trembles, the coil in your stomach tightening to the point of breaking. you can’t think straight anymore, all you can think about is dean, the way his fingers move on your clit, pulling desperate whimpers from your mouth under his hand. every thrust, meets that sweet spot inside you pushing you closer over to the edge.

he huffs against your neck sensing your impending release, his hips pick up, snapping against yours with reckless abandon. “let go, i got you, baby.”

with his hand still moving between your legs, your body responding on instinct. the coil snaps and you come undone, your back arching as waves of pleasure crash over you. dean grunts, his thrust turning even more frantic as he chases his own release. he buries his face into your neck as he spills inside you. his hips stuttering as he groans deeply, the sound reverberating through the quiet bedroom. his hand finally falling from your mouth.

before you can even fully catch your breath, the sound of a loud bang echoes through the door, followed by sam’s agitated, muffled voice shouting, “for the love of god, can you two keep it down?” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

WE BACK! first writing in like almost two weeks i think? idk don't quote me enjoy, i will be posting some more :)

my main masterlist if interested.

my dean winchester masterlist if interested.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 49 Chapter 49 | the weight of waking⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You woke up with a gasp.

The sound tore from your throat like it had been waiting at the base of your lungs for hours. You lurched upright, eyes wide, chest heaving—air hitting your tongue like saltwater. For a terrifying moment, you couldn't tell if you were breathing or drowning again.

The world around you felt wrong—not dangerous, not deep—but like something was missing. The pressure. The cold. The weight of the sea pressing in on all sides. Your body still remembered it. Your bones did too. It clung to you like seaweed you couldn't peel off.

Your ears rang.

And through the ringing... you still heard them.

Eurylochus' voice—quiet, brittle, bleeding with memory.

"We weren't supposed to eat them."

"She waited too long."

"Tell me... would you have done the same?"

And behind his words, the others.

Five hundred mouths without sound.

A thousand hands reaching out with want and nothing.

You could still feel their stories—curling up your spine like fog. Like if you opened your mouth, their words would pour out instead of yours.

Your eyes darted around.

You weren't in the graveyard.

You weren't underwater.

But your skin didn't know that yet.

Your body was soaked in sweat, sticky against the linen shift you'd slept in. Your hair clung to your neck, matted and damp, like the sea had followed you here in ghost form. Your hands trembled as you lifted them, like you expected to see sea glass instead of skin.

The small room swam around you—familiar, safe, and yet your heart still pounded like you were trapped below.

Then—a soft sound.

A whine.

Lady.

She pressed gently into your side, her nose nuzzling against your ribs, warm and solid and here. When you didn't move right away, she laid her head on your stomach—slow, careful, like she knew you weren't all the way back yet.

You swallowed hard.

Your hand found her fur, fingers curling tight against it, like she was the anchor and you were still floating.

Your breath slowed. Not easily. Not fast. But it did.

In.

Out.

Not salt. Not silt. Just... air.

You blinked slowly, heart still banging against your ribs like it didn't trust what it was seeing. The soft creak of wood under your hip reminded you: a cot. Not a seabed.

The room swayed gently, not with panic, but with the rhythm of waves.

Your eyes shifted to the far wall—where the porthole sat cracked open just a little.

Light filtered through it. Pale and soft, like early dawn. The sky outside was blushing gray-blue, streaks of gold just beginning to wake the world. You watched it move for a long moment—watched the sun come alive again. Watched proof you were back.

Ithaca's ship. On course for Lyraethos.

You were still going.

You were still here.

Then—a small knock.

You startled.

Lady didn't move, but her ears perked.

"Um—?" Eben's small voice came through the door, muffled but sweet. "You awake? I brought some breakfast rolls. And fruit. And I stole a bit of honey but don't tell the cook. He thinks I'm still asleep."

You exhaled. A real breath this time.

"...I'm coming," you called back, voice a little hoarse but steady enough.

There was a pause. Then a soft, triumphant "Okay!" followed by retreating steps and what you were pretty sure was him sneaking one of the rolls for himself.

You leaned your head back against the wall. Closed your eyes.

Lady huffed softly, her tail thumping twice against the floor.

You reached down, brushing your knuckles against her ear. "I know, girl," you whispered.

Three days in a graveyard... and you still hadn't fully left it.

But your body remembered now. The way light felt. The way wood creaked. The way air sounded when it didn't beg to be earned.

And you'd carry that with you.

Right up to Lyraethos.

Right to the start of everything.

.☆.    .✩.       .☆.

You sat cross-legged beside Eben in a small tucked-away corner of the deck—wedged behind a coil of thick rope and an overturned barrel that shaded you both from the early sun. It wasn't exactly a bench or a proper seat, but Eben had called it "the best lookout spot on the ship," so you didn't argue.

Lady dozed at your feet, her chin resting on her paws, tail occasionally twitching at the cries of passing gulls.

The sea glittered bright and calm beyond the railing, waves slapping gently against the hull. It was hard to believe a storm had ever touched this place.

Eben stuffed a bit of dried fig in his mouth and launched into his next round of updates—his seventh, by your count.

"And then—after the storm just stopped, I mean like poof, like someone flipped a switch—After that? Everything went... better. Like weird-better. Fish keep swimming straight into the nets. Wind had been steady. Sun had been out three days in a row."

He shifted, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes bright with the thrill of retelling.

"And then—" he slapped his palms together for effect, "BOOM! One strike of lightning. Just one. Across a totally clear sky. The sails didn't even twitch, but the whole ship tilted like something shoved it. Hard."

You blinked. "And that's when they saw me?"

He nodded quickly. "Floating. Just... there. In a nest of seaweed, like a bird dropped you in the wrong part of the ocean."

You grimaced faintly, rubbing your arm. "Charming."

Eben grinned. "It was kinda scary-looking, honestly. Your hair was all floating around your face. And your eyes were still closed. One of the older sailors thought you were an omen. Like... like a sea bride or something sent to lure the crew."

You raised your brows. "Was that before or after they hauled me aboard?"

Eben snorted. "After. Captain thought we were in some sort of divine trick, so no one moved at first. I mean it. Everyone just... stared. It took another thunderclap to convince them. The second lightning hit the water, and the waves shoved the boat; half the deck dropped to their knees. They didn't even tie you up or poke you with a stick or anything." He paused, then looked thoughtful. "Okay, maybe one guy did, but Lady barked so loud he tripped over a coil of rope and nearly cracked his skull."

Your mouth twitched. "Good girl."

Lady let out a small woof in her sleep, as if in agreement.

Eben leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky like it might throw out another miracle just for fun. "Actually, we're ahead of schedule."

You frowned a little, glancing toward the bow where a cluster of sailors had begun shouting to one another—loud and fast. Giving directions.

Beyond that, you the distant outline coming into view over the horizon. A thin stretch of land, green along the edges, with what looked like pale cliffs and a few watch-fires flickering faintly along the dock.

"Did we reach Lyraethos already?" you asked, pushing up slightly. "I thought the trip was supposed to be two, maybe three weeks."

Eben followed your gaze, eyes narrowing at the voices. "Yeah, it is." He stood, brushing off his trousers. "We're not there yet. We're stopping at an in-between island."

You tilted your head.

"Port Telonia," he explained proudly, like he'd studied a map or two. "Named after the messenger god's old port. Or tavern. Depends on who's telling the story. Hermes used to visit there back when gods still walked in sandals."

You blinked. "So... a supply stop?"

He nodded. "Yup. Lots of merchant ships swing through. Easy harbor. Good for fresh water, fruit, sometimes minor repairs. We lost a few fastenings during the storm. Captain figured it's smarter to check everything now before we hit open sea again."

You looked past him, toward the approaching land.

The ship rocked slightly beneath your feet as the wind picked up—brisk and sure, not stormy.

You didn't feel panic this time.

Just a strange sense of stillness.

You rested a hand on Lady's back, fingers brushing through her fur.

Port Telonia.

A stopover.

A place for travelers.

Let's see what you find.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

The moment the ship kissed the dock, everything shifted. The hush of sea gave way to the stomp of boots, the hiss of ropes uncoiling, the murmur of orders and greetings.

The crew moved fast—half because they were practiced, half because solid ground meant food, drink, and rest that didn't sway underfoot.

You stayed where you were, perched on the edge of the deck with Lady at your heel and Eben bouncing from foot to foot beside you, trying not to look excited—but failing.

Then the captain found you.

He strode across the planks with a quiet kind of authority, boots thudding with each step. His beard still held salt at the ends, and his sleeve was rolled from where he'd been checking the hull riggings himself. He stopped a few paces from you and gave a short nod—not quite warm, but not unfriendly either.

"We'll be here overnight," he said. "Maybe two if the carpenters need it. Took more damage than we thought near the lower rig." His eyes flicked to Lady, then back to you. "You'll go ashore with Eben and a few others. There's a place near the town square. Decent inn. They'll have a room ready."

You nodded once, keeping your expression steady.

"Rest," he added. "That's an order."

You almost smiled at that. "Aye, captain."

With a wave of his hand, he was off again, barking new directions before his coat had even settled behind him.

A few minutes later, you were descending the gangplank with Eben, Lady, and four other sailors you barely knew by name.

The sun was lower now, warm and gold across the stones of the dock, painting the water in long streaks of orange and glassy blue. The town of Telonia bustled ahead of you—stacked in pale stone and leaning wood, with open plazas and winding alleys blooming with fruit stalls and bright-colored linens.

You felt eyes on you the moment your boots hit the ground.

Not just from the sailors or the children weaving through the crowds—but from the air itself.

As if the island knew.

As if it had been waiting.

You didn't speak right away. Just walked. One hand on Lady's bow, the other loose at your side. Your dagger was hidden beneath your coat, sheathed but close.

The sound of the port grew louder as you stepped deeper into it. People shouted from awnings and porches, voices rich with dialects you didn't recognize. Merchants haggled. Sailors laughed. Dogs barked and children wove between carts like fish through nets.

Then—voices near the fish market caught your ear.

"Did you hear?" one woman said, setting a basket down with a grunt. "{The oracles are leaving at sunrise."

"From Delphi?" another asked, wide-eyed.

"Aye. Whole ship full of 'em," the woman confirmed. "Stopped here last night. Said it was a rest stop on their way back to the temple. Needed the sea to 'breathe on them,' or something sacred like that."

"Pfft," a man nearby scoffed. "They just wanted fresh wine. Always some grand prophecy, but half of 'em couldn't see past the bottom of their goblets."

Another man laughed but then leaned in, muttering under his breath, "Still... might see if one of them has a moment. I've got a question or two I'd pay to get answered. The kind only gods whisper about."

"Good luck," someone replied. "They're guarded tight. Most of 'em won't even look you in the eye unless they're in trance."

You blinked.

Delphi.

The temple.

Your mind ticked through that name like it had teeth. Sacred vows. Pilgrimage. A full ship of psychics. Prophets. Tied to Apollo, no doubt.

You didn't say anything. But you filed the words away in the back of your mind.

Just in case.

The path veered right as the crowd thinned. Eben led the way now, practically bouncing as he pointed toward a three-story building nestled at the corner of a cobbled square. A faded wooden sign hung over the door, carved with the shape of winged sandals and a winding scroll.

"The Quicktongue!" he chirped. "Papa told me how the founder was a priest of Hermes—or a smuggler pretending to be one. Either way, we'll get a warm bed and some stew."

The place looked older than the rest of the town, but sturdy. Smoke drifted from the chimney. Laughter floated from the windows.

The inn creaked as you stepped inside.

Not in a haunted way—more like a pair of old knees. Tired but familiar. The walls were close, the ceiling low, and the space was... cluttered. That was the nicest word for it.

Shelves lined every wall, stacked high with dusty scrolls, chipped cups, coins from islands you'd never heard of, and small statues of gods with varying degrees of artistic skill. One shelf held what looked like a taxidermy owl with a pipe in its beak. Another had a cracked amphora labeled DO NOT OPEN (unless cursed) in three languages.

The smell of roasted herbs and old wood filled the air, along with the tang of whatever someone was drinking at the bar to your left—an open space ringed with mismatched stools and a wall of bottles that looked like they hadn't been dusted since Hermes wore real sandals.

The floor sloped a little.

The lamp near the front desk flickered like it had opinions.

Eben, of course, loved it immediately. "Cool," he breathed, eyes wide as he spun slowly in place.

You were still trying to figure out if that personality would murder you in your sleep or knit you a sweater.

Before you could say anything, a voice called from behind the bar.

"Guests?" it rasped, like the word itself offended him. "No, no, no. I didn't schedule guests. No one books this place on purpose."

You turned.

The innkeeper stepped out from behind the bar with the energy of a man who both owned the building and resented it deeply.

He was tall, sun-touched, with dark curls pulled into a half-tail, gold rings in both ears, and a crooked grin that could sell stolen figs to a fig farmer. His tunic was wrinkled. His sandals didn't match. And his entire aura screamed scheming bastard in the way that made you instantly like him.

"I should rob you all blind," he muttered, hands on his hips. "Unexpected patrons. Traveling with kids and dogs. Probably gods, too. I should triple the rates. I should—"

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

He blinked once.

Twice.

His head tilted slowly. Eyes narrowed. He stepped forward just a bit, as if to get a better look—then squinted like you were the puzzle piece that didn't fit the rest of the picture. "Hold on a second."

You blinked.

"—Παναγία μου**..." he swore under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

He blinked again. Then laughed—sharp, one-note, like something had clicked. His grin stretched wide, teeth flashing as he dipped into a dramatic bow. "Well I'll be," he said, voice sing-song and full of mockery now. "Master told me to be courteous today. Said I'd know why."

He straightened with a flourish and gave you a wink. "Guess I do now."

You stared. "...What?"

But he was already waving you off. "Come on. Come on, little stormbait. Got just the room for you. Don't look so scared—I'm generous when I'm confused."

Eben followed eagerly. You followed because Lady did, and she clearly trusted him. That said more than anything else.

The stairs groaned as you climbed them.

The room was on the top floor—second door from the end.

The man unlocked it with a key pulled from somewhere you didn't want to think too hard about. Then shoved the door open with his shoulder and stepped aside.

"Best room in the place," he announced proudly.

And he wasn't lying.

The room was still chaotic, but in a cozy way. There was a real bed—full-sized, wide, carved wood frame with faded linen sheets that smelled of lavender and maybe just a hint of lemon wine.

There were two chairs, a basin in the corner, a set of cracked shutters letting in pale light, and a cluster of wind chimes made of old shell rings hanging just above the window. They tinkled faintly in the breeze.

Books were stacked in uneven towers beside the bed.

A rug covered half the floor.

A wooden tray with honey cakes and figs waited on the bedside table, like the room itself had been prepping.

You stood there, half-suspicious.

"See?" the innkeeper said, grinning. "Almost makes up for the owl with the pipe downstairs."

Eben darted past you, practically vibrating, then plopped into one of the chairs with wide eyes. "This is the nicest room I've ever been in."

You nodded slowly. "Thank you."

The man gave you another look—half-measured, half-curious—and muttered something like "No lightning yet... that's a good sign."  Then he turned, ruffling Eben's curls.

"I've gotta pop back to the dock," he called over his shoulder. "Check in with your crew. If the rest are anything like you, I'm gonna need stronger wine."

"I'm coming too!" Eben blurted, already leaping to his feet. "I wanna help bring the others."

He grabbed a honey cake off the tray and followed the man out the door without waiting for your answer.

The innkeeper paused at the landing. Looked back at you.

"I'll stop by later," he said, voice softer now. "See if you need anything."

Then they disappeared down the stairs together, already halfway into a conversation about goats, storms, or something in between.

You stood in silence for a moment, then flopped onto the bed.

Lady jumped up beside you.

And gods—It was soft.

So soft you might've believed it was conjured. The kind of bed that held you, like it had been waiting just for your weight to arrive.

You lay back slowly.

Closed your eyes.

Lady curled beside you, head resting on your thigh, warm and steady.

You didn't open your eyes.

Didn't move.

Just... let yourself breathe.

The mattress cradled you in a way the sea never could. Like it wanted you to stay. Your limbs felt boneless, your spine finally starting to uncoil.

You could still feel the hum of saltwater behind your ears. Like it had soaked into your bones. Like if you opened your mouth too wide, the sea might come pouring back out.

You exhaled through your nose and sank further into the sheets.

You didn't mean to think about Ithaca.

But your mind wandered anyway.

You imagined the king—Odysseus—sitting behind that massive desk, fingers steepled, jaw tight, staring you down with that low, quiet fury he didn't need to voice. That 'I told you' look. The kind that made your stomach twist even when he wasn't angry. Just... disappointed.

Then Penelope. Her voice. Gentle but sharp. She'd say your name like it was a question and an accusation all at once.

And gods.

Telemachus.

You didn't even want to imagine it.

He'd probably try to lock you in the palace wing. Again. No door left unguarded, no outing unaccompanied. You could see it already—his hands gripping your shoulders, his voice cracking with guilt and something sharper.

"I told you not to go alone."

But what would you even say?

That Poseidon himself pulled you under?

That you survived three days in the deep, surrounded by dead men and half-memories?

No.

You shook your head slightly and pressed your face deeper into Lady's fur.

Stop thinking. It's over.

You were here now. Dry. Breathing. Alive.

And you still had work to do. Answers to find. A city to reach.

But first...

You needed just a little more time.

Just a little.

Well... after a nap.

You curled your fingers gently through Lady's thick fur, soft and warm and smelling faintly of salt and ash and home. She shifted once, letting out a small sigh, and tucked her nose against your ribs.

Your breathing slowed to match hers.

Eyes still closed, your hand resting over her back, the weight of sleep pulling at your bones.

Your face buried in her fur.

And for a little while... the world could wait.

You slept.

Together.

Quiet.

Safe.

For now.

**Παναγία μου - Holy mother... (another way of saying 'No fuckin way' lololol))

A/N: ahhh! everyday i come here and i'm just blow away by the numbers 😭😭❤️ i'm even getting comments from people telling me my lil fic even inspired them to make thier owns 🥹 but yeah thank you all for the support, i hope i can keep the streak up and if not, i'll be forever happy for this lil pocket of fame y'all gave me--like the 12 year old in me is screaming 😭❤️ but yes, i'm not sure which a/n i mentioned it in but i have an isekai fic already planned set in 'godly things' universe!!! like ahh! it's literally the only reason i made this fanfic hahahah, but yes i can't wait! 

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ but before you all continue, i have an announcemtn, after a few lines dashes beneath my regualr fanart submission, i have been sent some nsfw stuff that i'm estatic to share (so plz if you don't want to see it, thats fine, jus scroll along while the rest of us go wild for some drawn tits/pecs 😩❤️) (email: wattywriter04@gmail.com | tumblr: winaxity-ii)

from anon0219

HELLOOOO this is absolutely precious 😭🧎‍♀️ I literally gasped when I saw the pose. The hands, the eyes, the subtle little smile—you NAILED that sweet mix of humility and boldness she's been dancing between lately. Also Hermes rubbing off on MC is such a funny but ACCURATE note?? It's giving, "please, but I already know you'll say yes" energy. Which is exactly where she is right now in the story. She's still respectful... but she's learning how to ask without shrinking. AND THE OUTFIT?? I love that you thought about the colors reflecting her growth. That deepening red on the trim and belt?? The way you kept the silhouette simple but clean (and yeah no stress about the historical chiton stuff, she's literally in a myth fanfic LOL we bend rules here) just makes her pop even more. She's becoming dangerous fr 😭THANK YOU AGAIN for blessing me with this🧎‍♀️💕 I adore seeing your interpretations of her. Please never stop.

from simp_0207

NOOOO THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹🫶 The curls??? The sweet little eye sparkles??? The sun tattoo and her soft necklace detail?? I literally squealed. You captured a whole vibe with this, like—this feels like MC on a peaceful morning, post-drama, just smiling at someone she loves from across the garden 🥲The pencil work and shading??? STUNNING. Her curls are so fluffy and full and the sun necklace placement is just chef's kiss. Thank you so much for sharing this—I'm seriously honored every time someone draws her 🥹💛

from fvckcare

OH. MY. GODS. YOU ATE WITH THIS??? 😭🗡️💙💚THIS IS EVERYTHING I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED 😭💍Andreia and MC together?? Serving royal duo-core?? The power, the fabric, the EYE CONTACT??? Like I know this was supposed to be a wedding portrait but honestly this feels more dangerous—like two women who've learned to weaponize beauty and diplomacy and now you should be afraid. MC in Ithaca's blue?? The elegance, the pearls, the soft curls—SHE'S SERVING "I look good because I'm loved and favored, not because I'm trying to impress you." And then there's ANDREIA??? The emerald green, the SNAKE TATTOO, the lazy smirk that says "I know secrets that could end bloodlines"—yeah, she wins. She wins fashion. She wins menace. I would commit war crimes for her. Also the little doodle of the fangirling Telemachus in the corner?? Crying. Screaming. Throwing myself into the sea. 💀 Thank you for blessing my day with this absolute MASTERPIECE. The wedding is canceled, the girls are eloping.

from blasted-bass

NO NO NO THIS IS PERFECTTTT 😭🪈💘 You don't understand—I saw this and immediately heard a panflute and some messy giggling. Like. You nailed his whole aura. I AM SCREECHINGGGG 😭😭😭The little  "grown ahh man" note???? "Teasing MC 101"??? THE PANFLUTE??? No bc this is Callias if you distilled him down to vibes and serotonin. His face in the center??? It's giving "I'm trouble but I'm pretty enough to get away with it." You understood the assignment. Also—please don't say sorry for this 😭 this is like a love letter to chaos incarnate and you executed it flawlessly. You have officially unlocked: ✅ Fluffy menace ✅ Golden retriever bard energy ✅ "Would get punched by Telemachus for being too familiar" core THANK YOU FOR DRAWING HIM!!! I will be treasuring every one of these expressions. And yes. I am hearing panflute noises in the distance now. 😌

from skibidi toilet

NOOOO THIS IS SO STUPIDLY CUTE I CAN'T FUNCTION 😭😭😭Like. "Can I please see my parents?"— WITH THE PUPPY EYES — right next to that cold-blooded resting bitch face?? That's divine duality right there. That's the "Apollo blessed me but I have anxiety" pipeline in chibi form. 😭 The little "May Apollo bless her" note at the top?? No literally. Someone better start lighting incense because this girl is gonna accidentally spark a god war just by existing. And the oversized glasses??? The limp little braid??? The "I'm a silly little girl (with a body count)" energy??? PERFECTION. You succeeded in making her look silly, but like... in that intentionally misleading way where everyone underestimates her until it's too late 💅 She will cry and then win the entire narrative arc. Thank you for this glorious chaos, I love her SO much 🫶🫶

from gigi (wattpad said it was too large so i had to ss 😡🥲)

I actually gasped?? Like this is so delicately powerful it feels like a whispered warning in the middle of spring. This whole gif feels like the calm before someone burns down an altar in your name. Thank you SO much for making this—it's haunting and beautiful and I’m gonna stare at it every time I write a foreshadow-heavy scene 😭💌

from chari

STOPPP THIS IS SO CUTE IT HURTS 😭🎮✨ Not you turning MC into a modern-day gamer girl AU with lore-stuffed background details like it's season three of a show???? The hoodie, the headphones, the slightly-tired stare??? She's been gaming for six hours straight and is one "Divine Intervention pls" chat message away from rage-quitting. 💀 AND THE BACKGROUND DETAILS!!! You were not joking—there’s SO much going on back there and I'm LIVING. Lady head peaking from behind the desk?? The cluttered shelf behind her energy?? Is that a mini plushie weapon beside her hand or Andreia corpse 😭?? I SCREAMED. You said "I'm not good at drawing clothes" and then gave MC the ✨perfect✨ oversized cozy fit and layered accessories like a whole character designer. Be serious 😤 Thank you for this modern AU moment!! I'll now be imagining her whispering into her mic: "Chat… do I romance the moody prince or the god with commitment issues?"

from gab137507

STOP. You just casually unlocked an AU that has NO RIGHT to go this hard 😭🩸The laurels? The expression?? That quote in the background—"I'm done playing games. I am who I am." I felt that in my soul. This is MC if she took everything that was done to her—everything—and turned it into quiet, calculated control. I can already hear Andreia gasping at a dinner party when MC drops a veiled insult too sharp to ignore. I am obsessed. Please write the rest of this AU immediately. 😭🕯️

No because this one hurt. That soft smile in the "before" sketch?? "Never a frown"? And then we see her after—the same face, same features, but weighed down by responsibility, crowned in divine favor like it’s a burden more than a blessing. The "with golden brown..." note??? That made me ache. Like you can literally feel the warmth draining out of her life when she starts to realize the cost of being favored. She looks regal. But tired. A little lonelier. This felt like watching her lose pieces of herself panel by panel. You really captured that tragedy without needing a single drop of color. ALSO—don't even apologize for quality, these sketches are STUNNING. The emotion is loud, and I love the ASoIaF inspo (bc SAME. I was just talking about how Divine Liaison MC is giving "cursed crown" energy with my sis). I will absolutely take more if you're cooking them 🫡❤️

from iconic-idiot-con

NOOOOO BECAUSE THIS??? This isn't just fanart. This is narrative. The way MC's body is already moving away—tense, twisting, resisting—but that golden leash is pulling her back?? And Apollo's face??? That carefree, gleaming expression like he doesn't even realize he's hurting her (or worse—he does and he thinks it's divine affection). The glow, the collar detail,. the facial expressions?? You didn't miss a single note. This is exactly what divine favor in Godly Things looks like: beautiful, blinding, and lowkey horrifying when you realize you can’t walk away. You ATE. Thank you for this absolutely deranged masterpiece, I'm always so happy tp see what you have for me 😭✨

now on to the nsfw... I REFUSE NOTHING BUT PRAISE FOR THESE 😤😤 tr

from iconic-idiot-con [HAD TO REMOVE/EDIT DUE TO WATTPAD 😭💔🥀]

HELPPP 😭😭 Not the way I screamed "GOOD FOR HER" out loud. I don't think I'll ever get over the way you flipped the script by making MC the one in control. The teasing?? The way poor Telemachus is trembling??? No thoughts, just stuttering pleas and repressed dignity. You even drew his hand clenching like he's hanging on to hope and sanity at the same time 😭 and MC looks so sweetly evil?? Like "Aww, baby's flustered <3" energy. She's not even breaking a sweat and he's about to implode. And Telemachus little figure in the corner cursing the gods with his whole soul cuz he's so down mad??? ICONIC.

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[skimmingmilk]

Its always funny to see Sonic show favoritism. Like in an episode of AOSTH, Sonic gets pulled into a baby sitting because of Tails' misunderstanding of Sonic's interest in "baes"(Which is so cute). He mentions how he doesn't like babies and don't enjoy their crying, etc, but then he literally took in a baby fox(who was in diapers and was crying when they met) and still is rasing him. I know cartoons don't always follow up or have an explanation for everything but it's still funny

Oh, yeah! I agree, 100%. Sonic might not always openly admit to it, but the favoritism is strong in this hedgehog xD

It's funny and also so sweet whenever there's moments like that in AoStH or even in games like SA1, where in all the Sonic and Tails levels, Sonic waits for Tails. He could easily speed through the levels and do pretty much the entire adventure himself, only needing Tails to fly him up to the Egg Carrier in the Tornado. Like, he's not supposed to wait for anyone, he's the fastest thing alive. But no, they go on this adventure together because Sonic wants him there. And there are moments in other media, too, where we see the corners Sonic will cut off his own claims that he lives by just for Tails. It just makes me happy to see moments like that peppered throughout different iterations of Sonic, even if nothing quite beats AoStH <3

It's also a reminder that not just anyone could've been Sonic's best friend and little bro. It matters that the baby fox he found was Tails, he wouldn't have taken in just any kid. He might've helped them out of their bad situation, sure, but he would've found a place to drop them off eventually and said, "see ya 'round!" But that was impossible with Tails. He looked at this kid who had no reason in the world to be kind and saw kindness and care and curiosity. He saw his determination and resourcefulness and independence, but also his desire to belong somewhere, to someone. To matter. And against all odds, something was still driving Tails forward. Something was still telling him to keep trying. To keep living.

Of course Sonic couldn't help but get himself attached to all that. He might not have been fully aware that was what he was seeing at the time, but that feeling is what still tied them together. Tails is the exception to every rule in Sonic's book, even if he doesn't live by any sort of rules ;P

Thanks for the ask!

[brookediamonds]

what if i told you i’m a mastermind? | Axel Kovačević x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based off this request. Your dad hates your new relationship, and so does Axel. When sensei Wolf catches Axel's lingering gaze on you, he decides this is the perfect opportunity to take you away from that idiot you call your boyfriend.

Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: Possessive Axel, angst, fluff?

gif is not mine

You liked Jake.

He was loud, sure. A little full of himself. Okay, a lot full of himself. But he was confident, funny, and he fought like he actually had something to prove.

And he liked you. A lot. Always showing up to the dojo even when he didn't need to, always throwing an arm around your shoulders, always calling you babe like it wasn't way too early for pet names.

It felt nice. Simple.

You'd just finished a set of drills with Jake, him shirtless, naturally, because "sweat is just liquid gains," or whatever nonsense he said.

And now he was stretched out beside you on the bench outside the dojo, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders like he owned the air you breathed.

"You coming to the bonfire tonight?" he asked, grinning. "Gonna be fun. I've got us covered with drinks, a blanket, the works."

You smiled. "Maybe. Depends if Sensei is in a good mood."

Jake made a face. "Your dad seriously needs to chill."

"Tell me about it," you laugh. Jake took that as a yes and leaned in, dropping a quick kiss to your cheek. You didn't stop him. You didn't even flinch.

But your stomach knotted.

Across the lot, you caught a shadow leaning against the far wall. Tall. Still. Watching.

Axel.

His arms were crossed, expression unreadable, but his eyes were burning holes through Jake's hand on your shoulder. You looked away quickly, heart in your throat.

You looked back again. Still there.

Still watching.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

"Something bothering you?"

Sensei Wolf's voice was low, gruff, closer than Axel expected. He hadn't noticed the older man approach until he was standing right beside him.

Axel didn't flinch. Just straightened his posture, but kept his eyes on you. Wolf followed his gaze. Watched as Jake whispered something in your ear and you gave a strained little laugh that didn't touch your eyes.

The old man’s mouth twisted.

"I hate that punk," he muttered. "Never met someone I wanted to hit more."

Axel smiled faintly. "Yeah. Me too."

Wolf turned his head, studying Axel now instead. "You got a thing for her or somethin’?

Axel didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed, teeth grinding slow and deliberate.

"I'd treat her better."

Wolf narrowed his eyes at the tall boy next to him. "You'd better. You screw around with my daughter, I break your legs. Simple."

Axel didn't blink. Didn't flinch. "I wouldn't screw around."

There was a pause. Then the unthinkable happened.

Sensei Wolf nodded.

"Good." His voice dropped lower, like this was classified information. "Maybe it's time someone took her away from that loser."

Axel turned to him fully now. "You're serious?"

"You're not stupid. You're dangerous, yeah, but you respect strength. Discipline. You'd protect her," Wolf spoke firmly, glancing back toward you and Jake, sneering. "He wouldn't even know how."

Axel's fingers curled into fists at his sides. "So you would be okay with me… stepping in?"

Wolf shrugged. "Not my problem if she leaves him. She's smart. She'll figure it out. Just... don't give me a reason to come after you."

Axel's smirk was sharp, full of things he wasn't saying. "I wouldn't dream of it, Sensei."

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

You waited behind the dojo that evening like always. The back alley was quiet, warm air thick with the scent of pine and sweat and whatever cologne Jake used.

Your wrist still smelled like it, and it made you wrinkle your nose.

Then you felt him. That familiar heat at your back.

"You let him touch you too much today," Axel’s voice came out low, rough with restraint.

You turned just as he pressed you up against the wall, his grip on your waist bruising, breath ghosting your neck.

"We talked about this," you whispered, fingers threading through his brownish locks to keep him grounded. "It sells the story."

"I don't care about the story," he mutters.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you. It was harsh, claiming, all teeth and tongue and frustration. Like he needed to re-mark you.

You barely caught your breath before he spoke again, voice darker now. "Your dad gave me permission."

Your eyes went wide at his words. "What?"

Axel nodded slowly, his burning eyes trailing down your face as he pulled you flush against him "He saw me watching you today. Pulled me aside. Told me to do it. Said he'd rather I steal you away than let you stay with that jackass."

Your heart stumbled in your chest as he ran his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

"No way," you breathed, the corners of your lips tugging up.

"He looked me dead in the eye and said, 'Just don't give me a reason to come after you.'" Axel gave a crooked, dangerous grin. "He wants me to take you."

You squealed, tugging him down for a quick kiss. Soft, full of giddy relief, before pulling back slightly.

"We can finally be together," you grinned.

"And you can drop that idiot," Axel added, resting his forehead against yours.

"Yeah," you nodded, lips brushing his. "But... it was kinda fun watching you get jealous."

That did it.

He let out a low growl, half annoyed, half aroused, and his hand smacked your behind, making you yelp before he yanked you even closer and crashed his mouth against yours.

You giggled against his lips, unable to help it. God, you loved when he got like this; Territorial. Raw. Yours.

"You're not funny," he muttered, voice rough against your skin.

"Sure I am," you teased innocently, arms looped around his neck now.

"You're all mine," he said again, slower this time. A vow. "And I'm done hiding it."

You smiled, breathless. "Then what are you gonna do about it?"

His answer was another kiss, deeper, hungrier. Possessive. Reckless. Let the world burn.

Your dad was finally on his side.

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

The dojo smelled like sweat, wood polish, and tension. You had been successful in avoiding Jake all day at school, but knew you had to face him here.

You didn't notice him at first, too busy slipping off your shoes, smoothing your gi. Just another afternoon practice. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until Jake stepped into your path.

"Hey," he said, blocking your way to the mat with that cocky half-smile. "Can we talk?"

"Now?" Your eyes darted around the room.

"Yeah," he nods. "You ghosted me after class yesterday. You good?"

You averted your eyes from his gaze, looking for a way out but now was better than later, you suppose.

"Actually, there's something I need to tell you—" there's a presence suddenly at your side.

"She's with me now," Axel cuts you off. "You two are done."

Jake scoffs looking over at you as you stood in silence.

"You're kidding right?" He tries to catch your gaze. "You're my girlfriend."

Axel sighs crossing his arms over his chest.

"She was never yours," he says lowly. "You were a cover. A useful one, sure. Kept her dad off our backs. So… thanks for that."

Jake froze.

You didn’t say a word, heart pounding, breath caught in your throat.

"But I've got it from here," Axel added. "So you can back off now."

Jake's face twisted. "She's mine, bro. You don't get to just walk in and call dibs like we're trading baseball cards."

You winced silently, knowing how your actual boyfriend might feel about that.

Axel tilted his head. Smiled without humor. "Then let's settle it."

The dojo was starting to fill more and more with students, but as Axel began to remove his jacket, the kids around him moved out of the way.

"You and me," Axel proposes. "On the mat. Right now."

Jake hesitated, but his pride was too big to let him back down. "Fine."

Jake lunged first, sloppy with confidence. Axel dodged with brutal ease, letting Jake burn energy, letting him swing and miss and embarrass himself.

Then, like a switch flipped, Axel moved. Two hits. A sweep. Jake hit the mat with a dull, satisfying thud.

He groaned, completely dazed by the tall boys roundhouse.

Axel stepped back, eyes never leaving him. "We done?"

Jake blinked up, stunned, chest heaving. "She's not... she wouldn't..."

But you were already running. Your feet carried you fast across the mat, heart soaring as you made a beeline toward Axel, every second of hiding, pretending, finally over.

And just before you reached him, you paused beside Jake.

You leaned down slightly, giving him the gentlest smile you could manage while adrenaline still sang in your veins.

"No hard feelings," you frown, voice soft. "We can still be friends!."

Jake blinked up at you, stunned, as if the sting of your words cut deeper than Axel's fists.

Then you turned, closing the distance between you and Axel, and this time, nothing stopped you.

You launched into him, arms wrapping around his neck as he caught you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your lips found his, fast and breathless and so, so proud.

Axel kissed you back like he'd been starving for it.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were gleaming.

"You really didn't have to go so hard on him," you whispered.

"He deserved it," Axel shrugged with a small smirk.

You laughed, tugging him down for one more kiss. "You're ridiculous."

"Yours," he corrected you, eyes never leaving your own. "And now, everyone knows it."

─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

@maryberry2711

Masterlist

Taglist: @ggrgcribg

(a/n: this was very soap opera and i loved every single minute of it 😈 damn right Axel would fight to the death for you. I hope you liked this!!)

[noiranamnesis]

Marinette gave a curious tilt of her head when he mentioned his age. “Quarante-deux?” she echoed, surprised, though not unsettled. It didn't bother her, she simply hadn't given it much thought. Whether he was in his thirties or forties made little difference. Même si ça explique pourquoi il m’a demandé d’être douce notre première nuit. Still, the number lingered in her thoughts, not as a barrier, but a wonder. Comment j’ai fait pour te séduire, moi? When she retraced their steps, the path was blurry but no less sweet. A conversation. A balcony. Her suite. The pool. And then, everything.

In fact, her only true complaint about her current place was it lacked a pool- though, considering the latest set of photos, perhaps that was for the best.

She slipped her fingers through his, saying nothing as the room cooled. Miranda's voice was sharp and clipped, a common occurrence when denied, but what surprised Marinette wasn't the pressure in her tone. It was Tylio's calm in the face of it. He didn't flinch. He didn't bristle. He merely...stood his ground.

When he answered Rochelle’s question with simple declaration, something in her shifted. She blinked, slightly taken aback, not by the answer itself, but the ease of it. Yes, she knew how he felt, but she'd had this certainty for less than a day. She felt the other's eyes on her- waiting, seeking confirmation. Heat rose to her cheeks as she met his gaze, but only briefly. Long enough to manage a shy, earnest smile before she had to glance away. “Yes,” she murmured, “I feel the same.”

The room was quiet for half a breath before Nadja let out a theatrical groan.

Marinette cast her a look. Sois sage. Then, without saying anything more, she stepped closer to Tylio- subtle, but pointed.

“Oh, you’ll need media training,” Miranda deadpanned, her fingers rubbing her temples with something close to irritation. Her eyes flicked to Rochelle and something silent passed between them- exhausted, calculating. To Miranda, this was a countdown. She didn’t believe it would last. Very few relationships in Los Angeles did. And despite Tylio’s measured demeanor, she saw it coming like weather: the burnout, the fatigue, the split. Her guess? He would be the one to leave. And when he did, she’d already have the pieces to spin the narrative- a soft fall into heartbreak, a carefully sculpted rebound. “If we do this,” she said, now turning to face him directly, “we do it my way. Are we clear?”

Marinette spoke first, her voice soft, composed. “Yes, of course.”

Miranda didn’t sit. She stood still as strategy, drawing a breath before continuing. “Alright,” she said, voice brisk. “Then let’s adjust.” This was no longer about options. This was logistics. “We’re going public. Not whispered. Not implied. Confirmed. Which means we don’t get the luxury of mystery.” She began to pace, slow and controlled. “Step one: the next sighting. It has to be deliberate, but not staged. Something casual. Something warm...Start having breakfast on the balcony.” She glanced to Rochelle, then returned to the couple. “Step two: the follow-up. A second outing within days. Something quieter. Something that reads lived-in. You’re not performing- but every movement, every gesture will picked apart. Go on a date.” Now her gaze moved fully to Tylio. “You’ll be asked. Maybe not by press yet, but by people. You answer simply. Honestly. You’re in a relationship. You’re happy. That’s it. They’ll try to bait you. Don’t bite. No apologies. No defense. You don't owe them an explanation.” She paused, stealing Nadja's glass to drain it in a single go. "Any questions?"

“I don’t have any questions,” Nadja said, stretching languidly in her seat to finally sit upright. “But I also want to go home,” she added with a grin.

Marinette shook her head once. “Moi non plus,” she leaned a little closer to Tylio, just enough to let her cheek rest lightly against the curve of his arm. “I don’t have questions.”

Miranda exhaled, satisfied. “Then we move forward. Rochelle will let you know the date of your next interview. You're doing Hot Ones.”

“Mon dieu,” Nadja muttered, barely containing a smirk, “tu vas crever.”

Marinette blinked, her brows drawing together. “Hot Ones?”

Nadja turned to her, grinning like someone about to witness a live disaster. “C’est une interview…mais avec des ailes. Des ailes épicées. Genre…épicées qui font pleurer ta mère.”

Marinette paled slightly. “Ah.”

Miranda, entirely unfazed, was already jotting down notes. “It’ll be good for her. Shows personality. Toughness. Humor.”

Rochelle nodded in agreement. “And it’s very popular. It’s the kind of interview that turns curiosity into charm.” She nodded once. "The interview will be in four weeks."

As expected, the team was not at all excited about his decision. Save for Nadja, who seemed at the very least neutral. It also didn't come as a surprise to him that the first thing Miranda did was try to paint a worrisome picture of the consequences. She wasn't wrong, it would cause a stir. But he did get the feeling that she was laying it on extra thick. How long exactly would people really be interested in this story? He wasn't even a celebrity, it was Marinette who held people's interest through her acting abilities.

"C’est la vérité." She made it sound as though their story was almost absurd but it was just the way things were. They did meet rather randomly at a party. He was moving in with her. And they did work on the same movie now. "Au fait, j’ai 42 ans", he clarified with a hint of sarcasm because ever since he became involved with Marinette, so many of the people that surrounded him professionally seemed to suddenly think he was ancient.

"Vous exagérez un peu, je crois", he told her firmly, but without derision. While he didn't think she was doing it maliciously, he was almost certain that she was exaggerating. "Il y a un nouveau gros titre tous les deux jours. Et à Los Angeles, des couples avec une grosse différence d’âge, il y en a plein. Oui, les gens seront curieux au début et ils vont cancaner. Et je suis certain que vous avez raison: ils vont nous poser des questions à tous les deux. Mais une fois que nous leur aurons répondu, l’histoire ne sera pas assez intéressante pour qu’ils restent accrochés longtemps. Les gens n'ont même pas la patience de regarder une vidéo de cinq minutes, alors ils passeront à autre chose."

Miranda went on to warn him some more about all of the unwanted attention he would be receiving and he tried to picture it. He'd already noticed how many people came up to Marinette when they were out in public. It was grating. It would be one thing if she were at a social event but most of the time, she was just trying to eat or go somewhere in peace. There was indeed a chance that people would try to do the same thing to him. Come up to him and ask him all sorts of questions about her. He could deal with people talking online. That didn't really affect his day, but being followed or approached was a different story.

"Je doute qu’ils s’acharnent très longtemps sur moi. Mon visage n’est ni sur les panneaux, ni dans le film. Et si jamais ils me collent un peu trop, je mettrai peut-être un masque. De toute façon, je ne sors pas beaucoup." That last part was also true, though he never thought he would ever use it as an argument. He was usually too busy working to go places. Of course when he did go on trips, it would be with Marinette. Maybe they could just lay low for a while and only visit places that were not crowded. So far, it didn't take him too much effort to dodge the talking points that were being thrown his way. He knew it was going to be tough for a while. That's what he was agreeing to.

When Rochelle raised her hand, questioning him about the seriousness of the relationship, he didn't hesitate either. In fact, he was rather quick to answer: "Je peux parler que pour moi, mais je suis sérieux à propos de Marinette. Et elle m’a donné aucune raison de penser qu’elle ressentait autre chose." He glanced at her, briefly, a warm smile spreading across his face as they locked eyes with one another just for a moment. Then he looked back at Rochelle and Miranda, and the neutral cast of professionalism returned to his face.

At first it surprised him a little that this was even being brought up —they had only been dating for a few months but this was not his first or even his second time being in a relationship. The circumstances might be different, he hadn't exactly dated someone before who was at this level of fame but he did have more than enough experience to know what he was looking for in a person. If anything, this was a question he expected them to ask Marinette. It occurred to him only after he'd already answered that perhaps, they simply didn't quite trust him. He couldn't exactly blame them for that either, because from their perspective he came out of nowhere. But from his perspective, Marinette was the one who came to him out of nowhere. "Je suis preneur de tous les conseils que vous pourriez me donner pour parler aux médias", he offered, an olive branch of sorts, because he did want to try and keep the professional relationship between himself and Marinette's team as tension-free as possible. "Vous avez beaucoup plus d’expérience que moi dans ce domaine, je suis sûr que votre aide me serait précieuse. Mais je ne changerai pas d’avis."

[bahrtofane]

yearner

in which carlos cant escape his nature after his move to williams, but its not too bad with you

word count - 1.5K+

watch it - angst but with a positive ending. carlos is a yearner

first actual carlos x reader woho!!

Carlos is a sore loser. He supposes it was born out of competition, the drive and desire to be the best. The pit in his stomach when he realizes his position, the bile that claws at his throat when he rewatches his crashes and stupid mistakes. Knowing he can be better, settling for what he has and battling the past. 

He’s a sore loser the way he takes it out on himself. 

He bites his tongue, accepts the points on days when he gets them, does his interviews. He smiles at the cameras, tossing his hair back in the way he knows will get the attention off the far look in his eyes. Something to distract. 

He sighs when he closes the last door, the last barrier between him and the cameras. Sighing as he finally reaches his motorhome. 

His eyes sag, lips pressed in a thing line, mind racing. He chooses to scrub the thoughts away with a shower, impossibly hot and turning him red but he doesn't care. Tomorrow he will be forced to relive his poor performance and smile while everyone looks at him with pity. 

Sleep comes to him much later than it should, and he can only promise to do better. 

—--

Carlos is a sore loser, but even more so he is doomed to circumstance, his own mind. Mulling things over on his own, brushed with a shade of blue that's one shade too sad. 

You know this well, as well as you can with a man like him. He is hard to figure out and hard to remove yourself from. You have become in a way transfixed into understanding more. The way a dog follows a line of treats. You just hope the big bag of treats at the end is getting close.

He has these big beautiful eyes, but the only things they see to capture is his own suffering. You asked him why he keeps doing it, why does he keep suffering in something that has a way out. “Its all I know how to do,” was all he could say. 

It's true you suppose. But this sport will never love him the way he loves it. You see the way people treat him, the way his words fall into silence when every word he speaks is sincere. He gives so much, carving chunks out of himself just in an effort to remind those that he is alive. As if saying, look at me, I'm still here. And it still doesn't seem like enough. 

You met him on a whim, completely by chance rushing as the may sun blasted against your skin. Miami has its perks but the weather in the summer is not one of them. 

You were in Miami for a new job, working for a team and sport you were unaware of. But a job is a job and you booked the flight to Miami the second the email came in. You were late for your first official day, rushing into the hotel the meeting was set to be at. Begging for the elevator to stay open. A single man was inside, back turned, so you spirited. Heel slipping just as you made it inside, crashing right into his back, a slew of what you assumed to be spanish curses followed. 

The rest is history. 

Carlos liked that you were new to his world. That you had no expectations of him, nothing to hold over his head, no promises you forced him to make. You knew only the man in the moment. Not the man in all the races before this. And he adored this. 

—-

Carlos calls you the following day, as he’s gathering his things to head to the airport. 

“Morning.” you mumble out, voice cracking through the speakers. 

He snorts, “good morning. Did you see what I sent?”

You make a garbled noise, the sound of sheets coming from the other end as you battle your phone to dig through the notifications. 

“What am I looking at?” 

“Tickets to the next race.” Carlos says, half like a question unsure of his own words. 

“For me?” you say clearly now. Fully awake.

“Yes. if you want. No pressure.” he adds the last part quickly.

“No, I want to. Thank you.”

You don't bring up the race from yesterday. You rarely bring up racing on your own. Carlos hopes you stick around, for his sake, his sanity. 

—-

You come, dressed in blue for williams. Carlos can't help the smile that spans his face. You blush, taking his hand gingerly. He shows you around, introducing you to people while you give timid waves and quiet hellos. 

And then the time comes for him to leave your side and be back in the belly of the beast. God why did he pick such a ridiculous job. 

—-

He doesn’t place, no points, no podium. He can't face you and the disappointment he knows will be impossible to hide. So he hides. Doing what is needed, showing his face where he must and escaping. He doesn't pick up your calls, jumping into the boiling shower once more and scrubbing like a ritual that will purify him. It wont. But he still does it.

When he sits on the all too clean bed of the motorhome he looks at his phone. Please call me when you can, I care about you. From you, an hour ago. Hm. 

He settles for a text. 

Hey, sorry I just got busy. Sorry for having you come out here for nothing.

You reply immediately.

You have nothing to be sorry for. 

I came for you, not for anything else. 

He looks at the text for much too long before sending his location and asking you to spend the night with him, if you want. Ditch the hotel and bring your things. 

—-

Security gives you a hard time, so he goes to collect you himself. You stand, brows furrowed, in a much more casual outfit. Glasses on your head while you try to plead to be let in. 

You make it through when Carlos waves his hand, taking your suitcase and bags, leading the way. 

It's much quieter when you get inside. The space is almost unnaturally clean. Whites and creams everywhere. You notice the drop in his shoulders, a stark comparison to the way he held his head high earlier. 

He goes into the bathroom, peeling off the casual clothes for pajamas. Giving you a weak smile as you get your things up. 

“Would you still see me if i quit?” he mumbles out, words fraying at the seams. 

You give him a look, “Carlos, I'm not interested in you for any other reason but the fact that it's you. You could take up crab fishing for all I care.” 

He doesnt look up, “they gave me an out, if I want. Anytime I can stop. There's always a replacement.”

You pad over to where he slouches on the bed, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder. “You're too in your head. It's late. Someone once told me never to trust how you feel about yourself past 9 pm.”

“I always feel like this.” he whispers, eyes glassy as he looks up at you.

You now understand at the root of it all, Carlos remains just a little boy who wants somewhere to belong. To feel wanted. A place to do something he cares about and do it well. Where he can be given the chance by people that genuinely believe in him. 

Carlos is more than just a sore loser, a sore loser. He’s a yearner. 

—--

You don't talk about that night. But you do stick around. He asks to be official a few weeks later, over dinner at a restaurant you can’t even pronounce. You tell him what you think and he mulls it over.

He has an out, but doesnt take it. Not yet. He still has a hunger to prove himself. Even if he doubts he can do it. You know he can, you’ve seen the way he works, the passion that fuels him the hunger. He still chases like a wounded dog. 

For Carlos never really knows when to call it quits does he.

—-

It takes almost half way through the season but he makes a podium. P3 in a williams. He wants to cry, shout from the rooftops that he can do it. He is worth it. He belongs here in f1. 

Charles is on the podium, of course he is. A step above in p2. Carlos tries not to tell the red blind him. A reminder of the past and what once was. He says his wonders of thanks to the team, gives Charles a hug and tries not to fall into the routine they used to have.

He instead goes to you, smiling wide while you mouth the words ‘i believed’. 

Carlos is a yearner, and it strings him along endlessly. Tugging at his heart and wrapped around his mind. But he hasn't stopped just yet. Your soft kisses and the way your eyes twinkle at him under the lights make it that much easier. Who knows maybe he can win driving this thing. 

[lemotmo]

😂😂😂😂 I desperately want to believe this is fake but I'm afraid they totally believe he's a pilot

Q. I'm sorry but the fact that he's an actual pilot is the sexiest thing ever. We deserved the entire scene, I wish they hadn't cut it. That was too difficult for him to pull off for them to not have aired the entire bit. The rest of the episode was trash. I will give you that.

A. Please, PLEASE tell me all of you are aware that he is not an actual pilot. Please tell me that you're at least capable of realizing that he didn't actually fly a helicopter through the air space over Los Angeles. Between the disgusting billboard stunt and the 14! asks all kind of insinuating lou was actually flying that helicopter, I feel like I'm going insane. I need this to be a bit because my belief in humanity is hanging by a thread. But just in case.... his part of the helicopter stuff was filmed on a soundstage in California. No part of what you 'saw' him do was real. It's called acting. He's very, very bad at it but it's all fake nonetheless. He's not a pilot. He's not a firefighter. He is not the Messiah (but the show is going to insinuate Bobby Nash could be). The episode was bad. It was a bad episode. The plot, such as it was, was flimsy and full of holes big enough to drive a truck through, which I'm assuming was the point, so Bobby not really being dead won't be that much of a stretch for the audience. It was a bad idea. It's been poorly executed. Angela's version of how she found out has changed 3 times now. The 'goodbye' posts all focused way more on Bobby leaving the 118 than Peter leaving 911. Oliver and Ryan aren't even trying to sell it. Aisha had to change her post twice. And Kenny overplayed the replying to upset viewers bit too much. It hasn't been done well at all, but we're here. The important thing is that Bobby won't really be dead. And Tim being a co writer for the episode ups the chances of a Buddie grief moment exponentially. I'm going to take the wins. Your character had his full circle moment, like the moron said, so take that and be happy as well. Because I'm pretty sure his part in the Buddie plot comes full circle in episode 16. He has served his purpose and in Tommy's own words the ride is over. But at no time was he ever really flying anything, other than up my nerves.

🤣 Thank you Nonny!!!

Why would anyone believe that L flew that helicopter for real? 🙄

I agree with most of this. It was a bad episode. There is nothing wrong with a character death on a TV-show, but the way they handled this? The random episode? The underwhelming death scene? The useless random helicopter scene that wasted time? The absolute lack of Eddie???

The whole follow-up that reeks of deception?

Yeah, it just wasn't a good idea and on top of that is was badly executed. 🤷‍♀️

But it is what it is. We are here now. So, we've got to move on from this. And we will... as soon as Bobby (and Eddie) returns to them and to us. 😋 I'm fully in the 'Bobby is alive' camp at this point.

As for Tommy? I also believe that his part in the 911, Buck and Buddie narrative will come to an end in season 8. It started with a helicopter rescue to save bathena and it ended with a helicopter rescue to save the 118. It started with him kissing Buck and it'll end with him walking away from Buck to make room for Eddie. His character's journey really has come full circle.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[ddivilove]

Hai! May i request for beom taeha x fem! reader where reader is a librarian and receives cute notes in her books and she thinks that it must be some students messing with her but it turns out to be taeha who is actually obsessed with her (this is so cringe help😞)

୨୧ ﹒ LOVE IN LITERATURE.

➤ synopsis ﹕ literature is an art of many forms, but who knew that such art could be used for romance and courtship with a hint of wrongful stalking.

➤ warnings ﹕ semi - dark themes. involves stalking, mentions of murder, possessive & disgusting behaviour, age gap, vulgar words, mentions of implied masturbation, semi - explicit content. read at your own risk.

➤ the cast ﹕ beom taeha.

➤ author note ﹕ i don't really fully understand taeha, so if i mischaractise, which is might, i apologise ! i am trying my best, and this was fun to write, so i hope i did him some justice.

Literature. That was the world that Name lived in. Ever since she was young, she had wanted to be surrounded by the written works of creativity based on authors' imaginations.

Name worked in a small library, a library in town that was often slow in business. She rarely saw any newcomers. Only old visitors and friends. Not that she minded that, not at all. It was a hard thought about the change if new people began bursting through these halls. After all, she could barely rein the current book borrowers and library users to follow the rules.

She sighs as she opens the library again, her eyes lingering gingerly at the broken vase on the ground by the door. 'Some lunatic again.' She thinks as she enters the building. So many students come here to mess with her, it was tiring sometimes, especially when they break a thing or two while they're at it. As she cleaned up the pieces of broken clay, she heard the sound of someone approaching.

At this hour? She found it odd since most of the frequently appearing people of the city often showed up at noon until late afternoon hours. She turns around to see a young man.

Tall was not even going to cut it as it seemed as though he was towering her, almost like a giant. Even though he was tall, he looked no older than 25. He was probably a college student, she guessed quietly. His sharp silver, almost to the point of being white, eyes entranced her far more than she found comfortable. He had an atmosphere about him that made her think he's not a cheerful type.

"Hello, Miss." The young man says politely as he greets her with a smile, even though she saw right through that forced appearance. "Is the library open?"

She zoned out for a moment, but she got back to reality as she nodded in response. "Yes, yes it is." She responds quickly, embarrassed by her sudden zoning out. "You can go inside, and browse around if you'd like." At least he was polite, so she thought as she continued her work.

The male didn't really spare her a second glance after nodding, so she went back to cleaning the broken vase. When she entered the library, though, the male was nowhere to be found. She blinks, confused. She had seen him come in here, hadn't she? That was strange. She was definitely certain... unless she was going mad which could definitely be a possibility.

Perhaps it was the case of sleep deprivation, causing her to hallucinate again. I should get a check-up soon. She reminds herself as she sits on her chair by the front of the library. She looks at the clock. 9:36. She had some time to kill, it seemed.

She had been dusting the books when she returned to the desk to find a note attached to her book there that someone had given back after borrowing the day before. It had been a copy of a book filled with a compilation of sonnets by William Shakespeare.

She had read it before. It was indeed a clever way with words, but she never understood why people were so into reading them just for fun, but everyone has different tastes and takes on literary arts.

She slips out the note and unfolds it. It quoted the poem of Sonnet 18 in the books.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date."

"You are as beautiful as this poem, and even more so now that I've visited often to see you up close, Noona." It said at the end of the note in a cursive handwriting, befitting the impeccable taste of this mystery person.

She wonders who this person was. For one, she felt flattered, but she also felt incredibly perplexed by it all. It was not very often she be given notes of any sort, compliments, affirmations, or whatnot. Even more so, positive ones, she could recall a few negative notes from back then.

But this could all be a hoax, so she warns herself mentally not to be fooled. She had been played by pesky teenagers far too much in this place to fully trust and think this may be genuine. She tucks the note in her drawer before she grabs the stack of books and brings them back in their proper sections and shelves.

Day by day, the notes kept coming. Simple quotations of literature came alongside a compliment or two. Affectionate words that made Name's heart skip a beat sometimes. She still couldn't put a finger on who this mystery person was. All she knew was he was a man, but that's it. No other tell-tale of sorts.

She convinced herself that this was just another hoax made by those silly students once again. But her resolve was soon tested when letters slowly came with gifts of different prices. Sometimes food, or chocolates or even jewellery. Each was accompanied by a note filled with warmth that left her strangely curious.

As she picked up an emerald necklace from a box she had found in her drawer once again, she rethinks her original conclusion. Students wouldn't have this much money, would they? She admired the emerald's beautiful shining green colour. Unaware to her that there has been a man watching this entire time.

His lips curl into a smile, a sinister one that hele no good intentions. His gaze sweeped upward and then back down, memorising every curve her clothes showed vaguely, wondering how she looks with everything off.

His hands clench and then unclench in a way to surpress his fiery desires of claiming her and controlling them better. Soon. He thought to himself as he turned to pick up a book from any one of the shelves, choosing law to impress her. Even though he didn't know a lot about it, and his lifestyle goes against it.

Anything to talk to her. Ever since he first saw her, that was all he thought. He wants her, no, he needs her. His ache for her was overwhelming, and he needed to satisfy them desperately. It was the reason why he memorised his schedule. Her routines. Her actions were repeated every day. Committing to memory every single time like it was the first he's seen them, even though he's seen them practically a hundred times already.

His grip on the book tightens as he turns the corner and to the librarian's desk where she sat. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips when he notices that she is spacing out again like she does everyday at this same hour because of the slow shift at times like these. He stares at her for a few minutes as she mindlessly doodled on her little notebook.

He knew that was her diary, her journal where she drew her feelings out. She knew that there was trauma behind those drawings. Beyond that, impassive face was an abused fragile girl. And he knew he could use that to his advantage any day. But he won't, no, not yet. It was not time yet.

She looks up when she hears a clearing of a throat, her eyes widening by a fraction when she sees the man. Wasn't he the same one she saw a while ago? She knows he is that same man, his white-grey eyes told her enough. Those damn entrancing things.

"Excuse me, I'd like to borrow this book." He politely requests as she blinks out of her thoughts and quickly nods as she gets to work. Her fingers brushed against his as she took his library card and looked through it, cheeks flushing. That touch was electric, she thinks to herself. Incredibly so.

"Alright, you have a week before you have to return it." She responds quietly as she writes down the date of borrowing and when he would need to return it on the card and in her own record book. While she did so, she missed the man's lustful gaze towards her.

Beom Taeha. So that was his name. She heard of a few rumours on the Beom family. She wonders if they were true. Perhaps they were. He looks like the kind of man to do those things that his family's reputation is known for. She pushes the thought away half as quickly as she thinks it, though. She had no right to judge a man who she didn't know.

As she hands him back the card, their fingers brushed again, and she could've sworn she felt an electric rush against it. And so did he. He clears his throat again as he rubs the back of his neck. "Thank you, Ma'am. See you next week then." He bids her goodbye before he disappears out the door, leaving the flustered woman to figure her feelings herself.

She scolds herself quietly. That male looked no older than 25. It felt morally wrong. Plus, she never did like younger men, so why was she reacting this way? She wanted to bury a hole for herself and never get out. Meanwhile, Taeha makes a beeline for the hotel he stayed in. When he enters the room, he locks the door as he takes out a camera he had used to take some pictures of her.

His heated gaze increases in intensity when he sees the beautiful and perfect body that woman had. What was her name? Yes, Name Last/Name. His eyes linger to his fingers that had gotten fortunate enough to touch hers. He puts them to his lips and draws the tip of his tongue on them as if he could taste her.

"Hah... What am I going to do with, Name?" He asks to himself aloud as he unbuckles his belt, his "problem" springing out, ready to be dealt with. As he took care of himself, all he could think about was that he would have her. He won't take no for an answer. He will keep trying. That woman will be his. Body, soul, and mind. All will be his.

➤ taglist ﹕ n/a. ask to be added for future fics.

[johnnylandslide]

Tataru Week Day 2 - New Job

This was a considerable distance outside Tataru's comfort zone, but she was keeping an open mind.

"Now, take hold of the brush like this," Beruru said, guiding Tataru's arm to the proper posture. "And now hold the palette back here. It's just a conduit for aetherhues, so you don't have to worry about it getting actual paint on your clothes!"

Tataru carefully followed her daughter's instructions. This was different than her first Arcanima lesson in every conceivable way; they'd hopped right into a practical test immediately instead of studying formulae first, the entire discipline seemed to be more about feeling than arithmetic, and her teacher was actually shorter than her as opposed to Thubyrgeim towering four fulms higher.

Given that her brief attempt to become an Arcanist had not gone that well, Tataru supposed that maybe with so many of the factors reversed learning Pictomancy may actually yield better results. However, she was also prepared for the possibility that half of the factors were in her favor, half against, and that with all of them inverted she didn't stand any better a chance now then she had back then.

Beruru was adamant about her trying anyway though, and that was enough to convince her. Pictomancy was her daughter's greatest passion, and that made it a de facto interest of Tataru's as well.

"You're certain this doesn't require any artistic skill?" Tataru asked.

"Absolutely! Dad only started painting after he'd learned Pictomancy. It's not actually about painting the specific shapes with the brush, but using the brush to channel your imagination!"

"I'm not really sure I have an imagination like yours," Tataru said. It was difficult to compare herself to Beruru, the girl from whom visions of moogles, chocobos, and all manner of other creatures would spring forth fully-formed. Tataru shook off her apprehension though; she needed to give this her all. "I'll do my best, though!"

Beruru took her hands and guided them again, a giddy smile on her face. Tataru let herself be led along, and focused on her daughter's lesson.

"Now to do a motif, you just need to think of something to paint," Beruru said. "I like to paint moogles, so I usually start with a pom. It can be anything, though!"

The fact it could be anything was what was tripping Tataru up, actually. With Arcanima, each task she'd been asked to complete had only a single solution, and required merely some quick arithmetic and carefully channeling of aether. With Pictomancy, there were no clear answers.

"What should I try to paint? I'm not much of an artist..." Tataru said.

"You absolutely are!" Beruru protested. "All of the clothing you design? Those fancy dresses? It doesn't have to be paint to be art!"

Tataru pondered Beruru's words. Because of the paintbrush she was holding, she'd been thinking of Pictomancy as only about art in the very traditional sense, but if Tataru's own crafts counted, then maybe she was more creative than she had thought.

"Okay, hmmm..." Tataru said, tightening her grip on the brush. Beruru looked at her in excitement as she began her attempt to paint a motif. Tataru focused on the image of a dress concept she'd thought of a while ago, and did her best to reach for the aether stored within her.

Channeling aether was just as difficult as it was every other time, but it did feel liberating to just send the gathered magical power into the brush without having to pay mind to spell formulae or aetherflow. When she felt the aether in the brush reaching a limit, she swished it through the air with Beruru's guidance, and heard a pop and saw a flash of light.

"Mom, you did it! Look!" Beruru cried, stepping back and pointing down at Tataru's chest.

The dress had taken shimmering form, projecting itself over Tataru's usual coat like some form of glamour. The spell wasn't perfect; the needlework in some areas of the illusory outfit was exactly how Tataru would expect, but in some other areas it was nonsensical and would not properly hold the garment together if it were real.

There were also several patches where Tataru could see straight through, the glamour failing to cover up her physical clothing. They began to multiply as she noticed them, and then without giving her a chance to react the aetherhue dress had winked out of existence.

Tataru had a smile on her face to match Beruru's now. Not only was the feeling of using magic again after so many years exhilarating, Pictomancy was useful. Being able to directly project her ideas into the real world was going to be an amazing tool if she could get better at it.

A second later, she'd been tackled into a hug by her daughter, and her thoughts about the practical uses of this new job went off by the wayside. This was benefit number one.

[frokenkeke]

Making of Today Forever

Well, it finally happened. After much toiling I managed to finish Today Forever, the follow-up to last year's Ashes to Ashley. Like last time, I also want to talk a little bit about where it came from. By all means, check out Making of Ashes to Ashley as well for full context if you haven't already, as a lot of the points brought up there still apply to this new comic.

Today Forever continues the day after Ashes to Ashley. It is a story about what happens after your great coming out, when everything is new but life still moves on in its familiar mundanity. Despite the elation of last night, Ashley has trouble fully letting go of the past. The loss of the Ride shirt becomes a symbol for the jarring and complicated emotions of reconstructing yourself. It is a story about the nature of happiness, it is an awkward romance, it is somehow also about the 90s band Ride.

While writing Today Forever I gave extra thought to the idea of sequels, in particular the second installment of a story. You do something once and it is the whole of itself, you do it twice and it's a mirror reflection of contrasts, you do it any more than this and it's simply "another one". I always intended Ashes to Ashley to be an episodic series with self-contained adventures. The original comic may be complete, starting and ending satisfyingly; it doesn't need to continue, but nevertheless I wanted it to. I don't want there to be just one story, or even two stories. I want "another one" to be in the majority. Yet despite how much you iterate on something, the second entry will always be the domain of contrasts; number two reveals what was unique about number one. In the differences and similarities we establish the boundaries and understand how the story will both change and remain familiar from here on out.

With this in mind, Today Forever is intended to be the polar opposite of Ashes to Ashley. I selectively reuse only the parts that are most crucial. We still follow Ashley, she's on tour with her band, she's rediscovering herself through a trans lens, the tone is cute and lighthearted, everything is drawn on paper with an old worn down Bic mechanical pencil and digitally colored with an ugly sponge brush built into Photoshop. However, this time we go somewhere new, with outdoor scenes in broad daylight, everyone is enjoying their leisure, they're all wearing different clothes, some characters are more prominent while others are less, shoegaze remains a crucial central theme but no one ever picks up an instrument. These points both expand what Ashes to Ashley can be while simultaneously reinforcing its core. The audience understands the story more clearly. Heck, the author probably also understands the story more clearly.

These were the first preliminary character sketches I made for Today Forever, including the cover art concept which remained more or less intact until the end. I went for a "first day of summer" motif to signify everyone being on their day off. I can't remember why, but it's explicitly written in the script that Gabriel and Miki change outfits somewhere after the breakfast scene. This was probably not that necessary, but it is admittedly funny that Miki puts on her Lush T-shirt (featuring the lemon from the Split album cover!) while Ashley is mourning the Ride shirt. Is Miki teasing Ashley?!

It should be noted that the script and story didn't arrive fully formed in my head! Today Forever went through some pretty drastic revisions, and I kept changing around elements until the very end. Above is the beginning of the first draft, you can see how parts were both cut and reshuffled, while a few remain unchanged. In the first version of the story Ashley actually spent the entire day moping in the van. The intent was to focus on her dynamic with Kate, as Kate was the least featured character in the previous story. To reinforce this, I wrote the rest of the cast out of the plot by sending them off to an amusement park. It was a scattered mess of ideas, quite miserable. I felt lost with the whole thing until my girlfriend Alicia took one look at the draft and asked a simple but crucial question; Why doesn't Ashley go to the amusement park? This practically saved the entire comic, giving me a fun central theme to work with. The ideas wrote themselves, the tone got lighter, the initial story became a bookend for the gang running off to the fireworks factory.

Here are the initial panel layouts for the "final" script. Somehow 32 pages became 37.

Today Forever commits the fatal writing cliché of starting with the protagonist waking up in their bed. This was to immediately connect it with the ending of Ashes to Ashley, to the degree where Ashley is wearing the exact same getup, complete with smudged makeup and loose tights. Rules are made to be broken!

The band's van is bigger on the inside for the sheer writing convenience of having a spacious motorhome. This was inspired by the comic Tank Girl where a throw-away panel blurb states that "the tank is bigger on the inside like the TARDIS". No more explanations necessary.

Debbie getting awkwardly up-close and casual with half-naked Ashley is one of my favorite gags. It's goofy while also suggesting a lot about the characters. I like that Ashley feels comfortable enough with her friends to wear nothing but underwear in front of them.

Floppy Park was initially named Playland as one of several Ride references, subtly alluding to the 1990 Play EP. I ended up changing this because it sounded like a playpen for toddlers.

The panel where Ashley is admiring herself in the mirror is another one of my favorites. She has so much self-love! Also, her face looks funny when pressed on a flat circle.

I was worried about having sufficient space for the breakfast scene, but luckily I fit it all on one page without too many compromises. My biggest dilemma was having choose how Ashley would respond to her day off; either with a puzzled "Hmm...? Free day?" or an understated "Wow". Both felt in line with her personality, but there was only room for one. Looking at it now I'm still conflicted on which to choose. The wow line is still funny to me.

Debbie truly is the ultimate romantic foil to Ashley. While Ashley is painfully clueless and uncharacteristically slow for a bunny, Debbie is kind to a fault, accepting the smallest suggestion with full sincerity. Debbie assumes Ashley understands everything about the situation, Ashley doesn't even parse that there is a situation. Ashley's cluelessness is based on myself, I suspect I unwittingly live every moment like Ashley.

Drawing angry Ashley was heaps of fun. I played around with doodling a full-on "aaugh!" Peanuts pastiche, which evolved into other monstrosities like the Ashley blob and the big eyed Ashley I used to represent myself in the Transparency Aquanaut's Holiday video.

Having the cast argue about the number one shoegaze band was among the most crucial pages to me, remaining intact from the very first draft. I'm just really into shoegaze and have no other outlets for this! I get excited whenever someone tells me they actually sat down and listened to one of the mentioned bands. They're all important to me.

I absolutely love the panel of overly melodramatic Ashley sitting in front of the stereo blasting Seagull (she didn't even pick a sad Ride song, she just literally put on the Nowhere album!). Her graceful theatrical display of sorrow contrasts the scene towards the end where she cries for real. Happiness is one of the core themes of Today Forever. Ashley encounters it as a conflict. She declares today the best day and the worst day with equal hyperbole as she flip-flops between emotions. Sadness is a comfort, sometimes sadness is easier, eventually happiness makes her sad, happiness seems forbidden, yet happiness doesn't declare its presence. In the end happiness always finds her again.

Every now and then I needed to do some warm-up sketches, usually after a longer absence from drawing. At some point I drew old pre-transition Ash again out of curiosity.

The scenes at Floppy Park take direct inspiration from my own amusement park memories. In particular, the setting is based on Gröna lund, the local amusement park in Stockholm where I live and grew up. Just like in the comic, their fun house Lustiga huset is accessed through a cumbersome staircase, has a zigzag hallway and ends in a carpet ride slide. Conversely, the hall of mirrors is in a separate building, and there's no Escher Relatively room.

Like with the fun house, the ghost train is inspired by Blå tåget at Gröna lund, a ride where you sit in blue carts while ghastly horrors jump out at you. I went through a bunch of different ideas for the monster that spooks Debbie so much she exists the comic panel, but ultimately a simple jaw creature with dark shading did the job. The burning scarecrows are of course a reference to the Sonic Youth album Bad Moon Rising.

In hindsight, I probably should've cut the claw game scene for brevity, since it's similar enough to the shooting gallery. If I could revise it I would have Ashley fail the game, for contrast and drama. But whatever, I'll let her have this one. Several of the plushies in the claw machine are old comic characters of mine, they live on as commodified kitsch in Ashley's world.

Returning to the rest of the gang in the Ferris wheel for a crucial shipping report and some cocky evil Ashley's on top. Ashley gets a power boost whenever her femininity is verbally reaffirmed, like when Um Jammer Lammy hears "dojo, casino, it's all in the mind".

The rollercoaster is the big climactic payoff to the amusement park setting. The moment Ashley says "ugh... rollercoasters..." we know she'll inevitably end up riding one! The name Grasshopper is taken from the Ride track of the same name, it's a lengthy instrumental piece which features screams that sound like people riding a rollercoaster, the choice was clear from the beginning. Drawing terrified Ashley was a blast, Ashley's soul slipping from her dead body in sheer terror is an obscenely exaggerated visual. I did not use it because it posed too many theological questions.

The shooting gallery scene was conceived by Alicia, she loved the idea of Debbie posing with a gun. It gave Debbie some depth and a slightly rustic lean. Somehow I find Debbie's marksman skills more believable than Ashley's claw game luck.

As Ashley states, the shark plush is a reference to the cover of Ride's Today Forever EP, which is where this comic got its name. However, it is obviously also modeled after IKEA's stuffed toy Blåhaj, whose blue-pink-white color scheme made it a trans icon.

Ashley and Debbie sit down at the end to emphasize the emotional core of the story. Ashley is peculiar, but in a special way. Ashley finally thanks Debbie for what we can presume are years of patient kindness. They have the perfect romantic moment, yet are both too shy to bring it any further. Theirs is not a "will they-won't they" relationship, it's a "please just do it now god damnit" relationship.

The two pages where Ashley cries and the rest of the gang shows up were late additions to the comic. I felt a lack of emotional punch and a too abrupt cut to the next scene where everyone is walking back home. As the sort of "day after" story this is, Ashley is expressing the feelings I felt shortly after I began my transitioning. Just sheer shock at the realization of how sad I had been for my entire life. Like someone flipped a switch to turn on the lights. That the darkness was so overwhelming I hadn't ever noticed it.

In case the young folks were wondering, Kate is working with screenprinting here. A technique in which one covers a mounted net with a special coating that can be manipulated by burning a monotone motif onto it. Essentially you convert a picture into a shadow that preserves the holes in the net. Stroke a batch of paint across the net and you've got a print!

I had immense troubles drawing the ending scene. For whatever reason I had crammed it onto one page in the script, giving it no breathing room and an abrupt ending. Eventually I just spread it out across two pages to spare me continued pain. I'm not quite sure what "makeshift karaoke" entails, but I imagine the reader will come up with their own funny conclusion.

The last two pages to be drawn were the ones where the gang arrive at the park and Kate's phone conversation with Floyd. These were primarily shoehorned in to make every double page spread satisfying and cohesive. They were seeds of ideas that had been cut because they weren't fully necessary, however they ultimately contribute some last minute additions to the story. The park getting a big establishing panel creates breathing room among pages that are otherwise quite cramped, I also get to elaborate Ashley and Rachel's buddy dynamic. In the same vein, Kate yelling at Floyd was important for her redemption, to truly show that she DOES care and will stand up for her convictions.

While I had a clear concept for the cover from day one, I ended up having a lot of troubles with the finer details. Like how the first comic's cover paraphrases Loveless, I wanted Today Forever to paraphrase the early Ride covers for the Ride EP, Play EP and Smile compilation, which feature framed monochrome beds of flowers. Ashley and Debbie were supposed to be superimposed on top of this, but I wasn't fully in the clear on what they would do, how they would pose, what expressions they would wear. I ended up drawing a bunch of different ideas until I ended on the double blushed side-eyes.

On top of a cover, I also wanted a quick recap of the previous comic, as it had almost been a full year since I made it. I ended up with pulpy mugshots of the cast, taking inspiration from the recap pages in the Dragon Ball manga volumes I read as a kid. The mugshot of Ashley accidentally lacks her ear fluff, oops!

I am glad people enjoy Today Forever as much as Ashes to Ashley. I am still partial to the first one. I do have my problems with the new comic. There are parts that didn't quite come together like I had wanted, it's probably a bit too long, I feel the tone may be too juvenile at points. Mostly I felt frustrated going from one month to make the first story to an entire year for the second one. The last comic is strategically set in vaguely defined void rooms while this one keeps having to establish new locations and props. There are more panels of all the characters hanging out together. There was simply more to draw and less time to do it. Somewhere along the way I got lost in being more careful and meticulous about the clean-up and coloring as well. However, it doesn't matter now that it's all out, from here on out it's in your hands either way.

I will have to think over what I learned from Today Forever and keep that in mind while working on the third comic. Hopefully I can balance it all out. Maybe next time I figure out how long Rachel's ears are supposed to be!

/Kiki

[interestsofabookwormbitch]

I disagree on a lot of this tbh. But some of that comes to just a difference of opinion. Hope you don't take offense to this, I just like to debate, so I'm gonna go through and respond to your points. Mainly, it's (b) that I feel the need to argue tbh, but yeah.

For A) I'd not argue. I don't think it necessarily is as egregious an issue as you see it, but I can get the frustration at all the romance.

B) I have to argue the most. Not specifically that Lenore Dove had to be romantic, but that she didn't have to exist. That's wrong. Maybe she could exist as only a friend, but she had to exist. I know in the beginning you called her character valuable and all, but it felt like when you got to describing their relationship as useless you also seemed to miss some of her importance (directly saying she might not even need to exist). So most of this section will be me arguing that. She was necessary as a character to motivate Haymitch in so many ways. The reason he steps out of line and gets chosen for the games is to protect her. He can be rebellious, but his rebellion is typically more calculated. Someone he cares about has to be in danger (as he sees it) in order for him to change that. She's important as a force of rebellion. How she continues to emphasize a desire to stop the games is something that pushes Haymitch to act as he does in the games. To even think it may be a possibility. She's the rebellion, and he follows her lead. When she dies, so too does the rebellion inside Haymitch. She represents his rebellion. And he joins the later rebellion, but remember he only lives to see it because of her desires of seeing the games end. He can't die before that happens. He carries the ghost of her with him, and thus the spark of rebellion.

Her being the main rebel in the relationship also ties Haymitch even more directly to Katniss in that both of them are outright rebels, but do it specifically because of someone they love. Neither Haymitch nor Katniss think of themselves as rebels before the games. Neither think it's really possible to end the games. Both take actions of rebellion in the name of a beloved person or people. Haymitch is more outright rebellious than Katniss, but only because he has a slightly more happy outlook on life, so he has more hope. Some of that hope coming from Lenore Dove.

I also think she's an essential character in tying the Covey and the music into this book. Those are still obviously aspects that Suzanne Collins loves to work with, and so she needs to exist for that connection as well. I think, and don't quote me here since this isn't a fully fleshed out thought, but Lenore Dove also represents the death of the Covey essentially. It is her death that they lose their last real vocalist and thus, their voice as a people.

Say what you want about the actual romantic relationship being unnecessary, but Lenore Dove as a character is essential in her thematic presence and her motivating Haymitch.

C) I want to say, having a romance does not necessarily clash with a theme of friendship. It just doesn't. Both can coexist in a story. I do get being annoyed that Lenore Dove is put on a pedestal above all the other deaths, though. For me, I can excuse that for most of them in that he knew her longer, and as much as the people in the games became a part of him, she was a stable part of him outside of the games as well. BUT that doesn't help when it comes to say Louella, or especially his family. Why does Lenore Dove's death impact him harder than them? From a purely character perspective, I also don't like it. I can appreciate from a thematic perspective in who Lenore Dove was as a person (rebellion and freedom) her death thus would symbolize the loss of those for Haymitch, thus cementing his fate to what he becomes, a slave to the Capitol and alcohol. But still, it just doesn't quite hit perfectly, so I get the annoyance here.

D) This one is really just a matter of opinion and taste. Do you need to see them together specifically to get invested or not? Obviously, you do, ok fair, that just means the romance won't hit for you. I think his love was well written personally, the romance itself, obviously barely there, but his love was, so from his perspective, I could enjoy it. But like I said, that's different tastes. Personally, Lenore Dove's death got me from Haymitch's perspective, not because I actually cared about Lenore Dove herself.

All this to say, certainly there are aspects of Lenore Dove and Haymitch that probably could have been written better, and I'm not gonna sit here and pretend everyone has to love them as a ship (I'm not even invested in it too much. Romance isn't that important to me in this series), I'm just saying it definitely did serve a purpose. Whether that purpose could have been served if you changed how their relationship looked, that could be argued. But it's still vital no matter how it manifests.

i've threatened to post yet another sotr opinion, so here i go: lenore dove is a great and valuable character, but her romantic entanglement with haymitch felt completely unnecessary and tacked on. there was something about the two of them that kept bothering me as i read, but i think i was Feeling Everything Too Much to stop and pick things apart. having sat down and dissected my thoughts with bestie though, i've identified my four biggest gripes; their relationship is (a) repetitive, (b) useless, (c) clashes with the core themes of the story, and (d) undercooked.

(a) the main trilogy does "dystopia with a sprinkle of romance" perfectly (though i've certainly debated the inclusion of romance before, i'll pretend i don't hold those stances for the purposes of this post.) romance here is both useful in the sense of giving us a feel for who each character is wrt their view of it and, in general, is as good a vehicle for character development as any (especially given that we're dealing with teenagers here.) in tbosas, the romance takes a much darker and more twisted turn, though it plays a similar role—it illustrates the rottenness-to-the-core of president snow. neither the trilogy nor tbosas would be the same if the focal relationships were to be taken out, they're absolutely integral to both arcs. and yet... it gets to a point. is there not another means of accomplishing everything above? is there not another way to explore the characters' personalities, motives, values, etc.? can't they have a different driving force? wouldn't it have been perhaps smarter and, arguably, more fun to go beyond what's expected of a book within the ya genre?

(b) tying into what i've hinted at in the above paragraph—the four books that came before sotr all depended upon their focal romances to drive the story forward & hammer the point in. sure, we could've gotten a glimpse of snow's cycle path mind by other means—there was sejanus, there was dean highbottom, there were others who snow has fucked over in pursuit of his own ends. but nothing could've quite captured his rancidness, i think, that the way his obsession and attempted possession of lucy grey did. we're all familiar with villains who miraculously change around that one person, who dote on their specialest little boy/girl, yet that wasn't the case here. snow's [redacted] for lucy grey did not absolve him, did not change him, did not halt him in becoming who we know him to be at a rapid pace. as for the romance in thg, i don't think i can say anything that hasn't already been said before & much better besides. the girl on fire and the boy with the bread, we all know how that went. we all know what their love for one another made happen. & with that in mind, what did lenore dove and haymitch's romance accomplish? what did it do? did it alter the trajectory of either of their lives? ...no. did it change anything? ...no. would the story have been 100% the same if they'd only been friends? ...yes. would the story have been 100% the same if lenore dove had, god forbid, not even existed? ...yes. "oh but nico, why must a relationship be useful? why must it serve a purpose? can't we simply be in love?" why, yes! in real life! unfortunately, this is a story, and at that one where every single detail matters. every detail must serve a larger purpose, or else its value is automatically diminished (prime example.) and at times, i'd argue the value of the entire work may be diminished by the inclusion of an extraneous, frivolous plot point (though i wouldn't go that far here.)

(c) perhaps the most offensive aspect of the whole thing—its existence alone completely clashes with, in my view, one of the core themes of the book: friendship. sotr speaks of the biggest in-game alliance between the tributes thus far (and ever since.) again and again it emphasizes the "kad se male ruke slože" of it all (roughly, "many hands make light work.") unlike the tributes in katniss' time, they all approach each other. they talk. they make promises. haymitch isn't afraid to ally with louella on the train, and it doesn't take much at all for him to see loulou—a girl who is no one to him, nothing—as something precious to protect. not to mention ampert (no really, i won't, i'll get upset.) his and maysilee's entire arc is so, so beautiful and touching—his perception changing, the admission he had been wrong about her, the journey from refusing to ally, to doing so begrudgingly, to calling her a friend and a sister. even wyatt found his place in haymitch's heart. friends, friends, friends, it's all about friends. haymitch in the present timeline could've been that sad lonely drunk wreck just as believably after losing them. just as believably if lenore dove had been his friend (i hesitate to say only a friend—a friend can't ever be only.) haymitch has really lost so much, so many, and there is something about the pedestal lenore dove is put on—when it comes to these losses—that i can't get behind. would he have been any different, really, if she'd been spared? would all that misfortune not find him if she had been spared? no. no, i don't think so. therefore... two plus two.

(d) and finally, the total nail in the coffin—it wasn't even that good. we're thrown in medias res of their romance & we're meant to take suzanne's word for it. we're meant to do this from the get-go and throughout, because—in a book that can be summed up as So Much, All The Time—there was really not a moment to spare for haymitch and lenore dove. their romance was given no time to develop—and how could it have? how could it have, when the characters were hardly in physical proximity of each other for more than a page and a half total? he fed her the gumdrops and i felt nothing but a passing sadness, because all i could think about was ampert, was maysilee, was wyatt, was loulou, was anyone and everyone whose haymitch gave his all for & still couldn't save. we didn't need this romance subplot to begin with, and it wasn't even good.

[seaseren]

I just. I really need to know if Yda was as dumb as Lyse pretended she was. I want to know if that whole act was like. a sick dunk on her dead sister for no reason. Lyse why do you make the choices you do rest of the Scions why do you enable her

[starlingfawn]

send me back in time and i'll bring us back in line

[shopwitchvamp]

Oh I apologize, I didn't realize you weren't using the Shop app anymore. The email I got with my order confirmation said the orders could be tracked through that app, you probably already knew that was happening but that's why I got confused lol. Thank you again! Very excited to own some of your gorgeous skirts!! ❤️❤️❤️

Gotcha gotcha, that's good info for me actually! I'll have to dig around and see if there's some way to change those emails. There might not be tho and tracking is through the app no matter what 🤔 Tbh I'm not sure, and they really don't make it easy to figure out. Thank you too!! 🥰

[glitchstrikr]

"make V1 not fully an ass"

YESSSSSS. All this one ever wanted was to be safe, happy, and accepted. And he got none of that! V3/4 is actually really similar to V1 (Maybe because V3/4 is based off Solars code, who was technically a version of V1?). I can only imagine the similarities with how those two act.

Like, V3/4 is very gruff, very tired (after suffering for so long), and pretty much met his few goals in life. He's accomplished himself, and now just exists for the people around him (which, while sad, is kinda keeping his going at this point. Hence the breakdown episode when he could be useful anymore.)

In comparison, we don't know what exactly V1 has gone through since Oct 2022. What we can speculate though is that he's been outside, extremely damaged, for just under three years. He's had to have been suffering this whole time. There's no way he hasn't been. What happens when you suffer with no escape for too long? You give up. He's probably just as tired if not more so than V3/4. He was already resigned to his fate when Sun expelled him (last minute bravado act or not, he clearly was ready to die, and let his backup take over the job). Then Sun flubbed the spell, and now he's in practical hell on earth? That'll do wonders to someone's mental state.

Something else both have in common? They're protective. V3/4 its not hard to see this, with everything hes done for his family and new friends there. But V1? V1 didn't show it much, but he did care for Lunar. He wanted to keep him safe, doing check-ups to make sure Moon stayed down, shielding him from his past mistakes (tho that also had manipulation uses too). Yeah, im aware V1 hit Lunar, but also? We know he had a temper. Like, major anger issues seems to be a SAMS Eclipse trait, regardless of version. Heck, even Solar has a temper. Up until V1 started guessing about Lunars betrayal, started getting frustrated with Monty (aka temper flaring up to cover all other emotions), V1 didn't do that much to Lunar besides mean comments and the slap. I'm not saying he wasn't abusive; he very much was. I'm saying their relationship was more complicated that just V1 hating Lunar.

We also have the obvious attachment issues, Abandonment issues, antisocial behaviors, gruff honesty, fears of being trapped, and even their motivations being similar.

The only main different between them was their fire; after Ruin was dealt with, V3/4 kinda lost his flame. V1 had his up until he resolved himself to his fate, when Sun expelled him. And ofc, their moral limits. V3/4 has learned some moral limits that I doubt v1 ever had to learn. But V3/4 has said so multiple times; those are other people's limits, he just follows them for convenience. So maybe they aren't so different in that manner after all.

eclipse’s first life

do you ever think that, eclipse’s first life is still in that forest, mangled and broken.

Like, by now, it’s probably overgrown with vines and other things

do you ever imagine that?