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why-animals-do-the-thing · 2 months

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The Woodland Park Zoo is my home zoo, and the possibility of a strike has been brewing for a while. The staff at the zoo have been working without a union contract for over 200 days because the zoo is unwilling to pay them a living wage.

Zookeepers around the country are consistently underpaid, and Seattle is an incredibly expensive place to live. The zoo is losing animal care staff rapidly - I've been told they'd lost five keepers and a vet tech to another nearby AZA zoo this year alone - because they can't afford to live here. And I've been told that because there's no contract, the zoo is on a hiring freeze, which means they're perpetually understaffed.

Photo credit: Yulia Issa

There was an informational picket outside of a big event last month, which got a ton of community support. Then the only content the zoo put out for National Zookeepers Week was a single post about how much gratitude the staff are owed, which... hmmmm, came off a little tone-deaf in the current moment.

Now it looks like staff might end up striking to make their point, after almost a year of negotiations.

"Workers at Woodland Park Zoo, who are members of the Joint Crafts Council (JCC) Coalition of Unions, have been making plans to protect the animals if they go on strike. If the group of 200 workers is unable to reach an agreement with their employer over a new contract, they say they will run a skeleton crew that would provide necessary care to the animals but require the Zoo to close its doors to the general public. “We are making contingency plans to ensure the continued well-being of the animals if we are forced to strike,” said Janel Kempf, a learning coordinator who has been with the Zoo for 25 years and is a Shop Steward with Teamsters 117. “A strike is an absolute last resort and one that none of us takes lightly, but the Zoo keeps pushing us in that direction. If the Zoo doesn’t change course soon, we will have no other choice than to withhold our labor.” Negotiations between the Coalition of Unions and the Zoo have been ongoing for the last ten months with workers growing increasingly frustrated at what they say is the Zoo’s failure to value and retain an experienced workforce. “We are hemorrhaging critical animal care experience which directly affects the standard of care we can provide for our animals,” said Allison Cloud, an animal keeper and member of Teamsters 117. “The Zoo is forcing us to choose between our livelihoods and our animals, a heartbreaking decision no zookeeper ever wants to make.” Workers say low wages, the skyrocketing cost of healthcare, low morale, and high turnover have put the Zoo’s AZA accreditation at risk. Loss of accreditation could cripple the Zoo’s resources and lead to the transfer of animals to other accredited facilities. "Woodland Park Zoo cannot maintain AZA accreditation without us,” said Joe Gallenbach, an Exhibit Technician with IATSE Local 15. “The loss of AZA accreditation would demonstrate catastrophic mismanagement on the part of the Woodland Park Zoological Society.” The Coalition of Unions and the Zoo have one more bargaining session on the calendar: Friday, August 9. If the Zoo does not make an acceptable proposal next Friday, workers say they will take their case for fair wages and benefits to the public through direct, concerted action."

Now, when you bring the risk of AZA accreditation loss into the conversation, things get interesting. I've written before about how some zoos are legally or contractually obligated to maintain AZA accreditation and couldn't choose to leave. Woodland Park Zoo is one of those facilities: the agreement with the city that allows the Woodland Park Zoological Society requires them to be AZA accredited. If they lose it, they default on the agreement.

So, would there actually be a chance the facility could lose accreditation if the staff struck? I couldn't find any recent information about staff at other AZA zoos striking and how it related to their accreditation cycle, but I did find this, in an AZA press release about how the Aquarium of the Bay lost accreditation a few months ago.

"Silver Spring, Md. (May 24, 2024) – The Association of Zoos and Aquariums (AZA) Accreditation Commission unanimously voted to rescind the accreditation of the Aquarium of the Bay. The independent Commission notified the institution on May 13, 2024, following its conclusion that the aquarium was not meeting accreditation standards in a number of key areas, including financial stability, staffing capabilities, and employee morale and turnover. Aquarium of the Bay has until June 13 to appeal the Commission’s decision."

So it looks like staffing issues and employee morale can definitely be things taken into consideration. Let's look at the AZA standards for more info. I found a couple standards that appear to be relevant:

7.3 "There must be an adequate number of trained paid and unpaid staff to care for the animals and to manage the institution’s diverse programs." Justification: "Although there is no set formula for prescribing the size of the staff (paid and unpaid), some of the criteria that may be used to define what is considered “adequate” include the number and type of species within the institution, the general condition of the animals and exhibits, and past staffing practices."

7.4 "Compensation for paid staff should be competitive with other similar positions in the local/regional/national market, as appropriate." Justification: "Institutions must be able to recruit and retain qualified paid staff. Competitive compensation is a key component in recruitment and retention of paid staff. Some positions can be successfully recruited for locally, while others are competitive on a more regional or national basis (e.g., animal care specialists)."

Both of those look like they could quite reasonably be an issue for WPZ at this point. They're losing paid staff due to low wages and operating understaffed due to the hiring freeze. Staff obviously aren't getting appropriate compensation if they're looking for jobs at nearby facilities that pay better.

Now, would the zoo actually lose accreditation if a strike came to pass? Honestly, I doubt it, because WPZ is too big a feather in AZA's cap for them to penalize them that harshly. Columbus - an equally prominent institution - got kicked because of a major public animal use scandal, but it was pretty clearly political because of how quickly they were re-accredited. I'd expect AZA might give WPZ a slap on the wrist, some stern public comment, maybe some minor penalties, but I'd be very surprised if they were willing to kick WPZ to the curb over something "just" as minor as a staffing problem.

Regardless, zoo staff deserve to be paid a living wage. I'll be really sad if the zoo is closed to a strike once the snow leopard cubs get old enough to debut - but I'd still rather the staff be paid a living wage than be able to see the fluffballs immediately. I want the people working at the zoos I visit to not be living in poverty. Zoo staff pub in an incredible amount of effort to care for animal collections and to facilitate the guest experience, and they should be able to do that without multiple roommates or three jobs. I know that the practical reality is that not all facilities can afford to pay their staff as highly as is ideal, but I'd expect a big zoo with reliable city funding to be able to do better. Supporting the zookeepers (and other zoo staff) is supporting the zoo.

I'll be keeping an eye on this going forward, both from a personal perspective (I'm a member, and I have a vested interest in what the organization I give money to does) and a professional interest in industry politics (what does AZA choose to do). I'll update if there's anything interesting on either end.

#zoos #zoo politics #unions #woodland park zoo #labor unions #zookeeper welfare

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elizabethrobertajones · 22 days

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summer scions!! I absolutely love the new portraits for all their smug happy expressions. Except Y'shtola, who is not going to deign to give a camera a proper saucy look because that's silly. Urianger is smirking twice as hard on her behalf.

Glam review under the cut!

I unlocked Alphinaud first of the twins and didn't know Alisaie had a little necktie yet, so I'm deducting a point from my first impression because the sheer delight that he had a silly little necktie of some sort no matter the situation delighted me so thoroughly. Since they're still engaging in matchy twin dressing to some degree, I have to assume they either like it and won't admit it after digging in so hard, or Ameliance sent them off with cute outfits and matching backpacks, and they still don't really shop for themselves.

He's got the practical watch/compass gloves which are good for a technically proficient Sage and probably the most practical gear he's ever worn except for when he was poncho Alphy, but wearing ankle-length jeans seem like the least weather-appropriate choice of the Scions if we assume their average skin coverage is a good weathervane for the temperature in Tural. I chalk it up to teenage awkwardness.

8/10 unless he and Alisaie chose their outfits themselves, in which case it's a 9/10

I think Alisaie is the only Scion to keep a single piece of their default gear, and those are her usual gloves. She's colour-matched around it.

Because of the gloves and boots, she looks the most ready for hardcore hiking, somehow, and her matching Alphinaud with a cute button down shirt with rolled up sleeves along with that particular choice of baggier shorts (when she normally wears more form fitting shorts) do give me the closest to butch vibes it's probably likely to get for main characters. So I'm giving her an extra point I stole from Alphinaud for the lesbian vibes.

9/10 or 10/10 if she made these choices all by herself.

Everything about this cracks me up, from his portrait above to the image of him tanking open shirted once he pulls mobs.

Believe it or not, he's getting an additional point for those shoes simply because the competition in practicality in tanking is G'raha.

I had a moment of excitement when I thought the necklace was pink because that's always a cute Ryne/Minfillia thing fanartists give him with ribbons and such, but once I got zoomed in on him it was red, so I guess he's just been shopping. Although, the turquoise shorts are her eye colour and the actual large diamond shapes are secretly Mothercrystal coded in those colours, which just cracks me up that you can pick out one of the worse days of his life (Urianger's grand Warrior of Darkness plan) in his Chill Summer Beach Vibes look.

Douchebag beach bro shell bracelet as well, which really makes me double down on him and Urianger spending way too much on tourist bait along the stalls in the Famous Turali Market. The hat and sunglasses are giving him one of the Most tourist-y looks thematically reflecting how a lot of the Scion guys were just here to hang out, narratively or literally. Maybe he's trying not to get such an intense tan again, which is the only reason he's not entirely topless.

11/10 I could not stop laughing when I got him and Urianger to 100 and Beheld The Brilliance in the same moment.

Please note the raised sunglasses in Urianger's portrait, which are not the model his character uses.

I am delighted that I had been incorporating that island watch into my healer glams on both the logic you need to know your clock positionals but also they're largely the smarty pants jobs (WHM being vibes only aside - it gets its own glams :P). And here's Urianger and Alphinaud both using watches.

Now, I had a moment of being vaguely disappointed he had trousers not a skirt or something else swishy and androgynous, but then I did realise that I, a nonbinary weirdo who relates to Urianger since he made me nonbinary, have actually gone to a couple of garden parties dressed in some variation of this exact outfit of light trousers and a nice button up. Plus, the earrings are in both ears, so no "Google, which ear is the gay one?", these are just straight up cute femme dangly earrings with his favourite little dudes on.

More importantly, the colours he's repping are those of Lopporit Radio. He probably tunes in every night for his broadcasts :')

Mirrored sunglasses for the guy notorious for keeping thoughts and plans close to his chest and choosing deliberately to be enigmatic even when it serves zero purpose except for I guess gender affirming care. (The gender is Weird Bitch.)

I can't tell how I feel about those dad sandals. I suppose it depends if he's wearing them like a fashion model (brand new and clean with perfect pedicured feet) or if those are REALLY dad at the beach-like and, since I'm not a foot person, this for me is only a choice between "not off-putting" and "AURGH".

9/10 the proximity to Thancred hauls him up several points of misgivings I had, and the lopporit shout outs are killing me :')

I unlocked Y'shtola last and holy fuck I am a lesbian. I don't even recognise where those boots come from, so either a really expensive glam or something I just have not stumbled on. She has toe rings I think? And painted nails? I have no idea if the garter (?) is part of the boots glam or a custom thing as result of not recognising the boots and how much of them is normal. I feel like they customised a lot on her anyway - the back of her top has purple beads that match her staff (not dyable on the real piece)

and I think the necklace has to be part of the top instead of a separate necklace piece with the way it hangs, AND the bracelets are a glove piece with the original summer glam, but I assume they're layered with the false nails, also in the glove slot. All in all it's giving the sort of effort which is starting to creep up to what I'd expect from the modding community not the game. I mean, not THAT good but getting close. Baby steps towards what fandom can make :P

She really is god's favourite meow meow.

Anyway I can't really judge this fairly because it's really hot and I love her so I'm just going to give it 100/10 and move on. :)

how did I get a picture where Estinien looks like he's stooping to get in the frame...

The fact he has Azure Dragoon Blue Top and then Violently Nidhogg Fuchsia shorts is the colour theory that absolutely killed me. When he lights up during his burst and starts glowing pink all over his shorts are like. Taking him over like the eye once did I think.

love a guy who can embrace his past trauma and dress to match all that has passed before and all that he intends to do now (kill something large and tasty, grill it on the beach, fall asleep with a beer in hand until the waves come in and wake him up).

I gave him that wooden bracelet in the glam he has on my desktop screen so once again I'm feeling weirdly vindicated.

Other details: no ponytail despite the warm weather because he's got enough ventilation. The fact there's cactaurs on his shirt when he's on record for eating them is amazing. We should imagine he's wearing his jobstone like that pendant (since he's one of the only guys with a confirmed jobstone despite being the Guy Without A Job notoriously that one time.)

Unlike Thancred's hat and sunglasses combo, which seems fun and boisterous somehow, he seems the most walled off of all the sunglasses wearers even though he's not the most mysterious. The visor really helps make it a sort of wall. Maybe just because his terse upfront personality and somehow despite his clothes horse habits THIS amount of whimsy seems the most out of character at first glance, but he DOES look uncomfortable to me.

Somehow I find everything about this outfit excellent for his character but also like maybe he was forced into it, everyone cornering him and telling him the Scion Beach Party was a mandatory work event and he was not allowed to beg off of it and he did put some work in expressing himself but also is going to go find a much quieter corner to lurk in for the day, when not competing with Thancred (can't grill, loves it) for the barbeque (Estinien can grill, would only do it because the threat of Thancred doing it wrong is too high).

confused 7/10 mostly because I think Krile is blackmailing him and not because I don't love everything about this.

Here's how G'reenha Tia can still win -

Anyway here's the deducted point for tanking in flip flops (PERFECTLY acceptable BLM gear btw but he's Mr Versatile.)

(I joke but the main character of my novels is a flip-flop wearing menace who could and would tank in them)

Between the padlock and key necklace and the woven bracelet right after we all went feral over the Thavnarian bracelets for couples thing so recently (and Corvos is just across the water!) he's absolutely dripping cutie pie love interest coding yet again.

(Also yes I know the lock and key thing is very funny because we were introduced to him learning he was a fancy key to a big door.)

Gains a point back because the other green g'raha thing is I'm pretty sure people use this shirt glam because it kinda looks like it has weed on it.

Don't quote me on that, vibes only.

Anyway he came colour coordinated (with his original eye colour and hair colour not the bright Allagan dalamud red dye that goes with his normal outfit) so so precise and neat, like he's going to some sort of formal event, and even with flip flops he really does seem incredibly put together like the twins or Y'shtola, just for full outfit cohesiveness.

As someone who would hold G'raha's hand on the romantic gondola vibe, 10/10.

3 out of 10 and a huge cringe if you would not. He's got to stop Striving.

Hey it's the star of the show!! Adorable hairstyle out, cute plot-important earring on, and wearing her exact character colours but adorable beach wear :)

I love that she looks kind of like she went to the girls for advice and got the top from Y'shtola and the shorts from Alisaie, and she probably was very serious and stressed about getting this right even though there's no rules and no one's judging her -

oops.

Anyway the ballet shoes are adorable and go with all the cute picto spins and twirls :)

I think the strict colour scheme does speak to the slight lack of fleshing out she got so far in the story (we don't really have any real character reason that picto in particular spoke to her and this glam isn't one of the many fun takes people had on how to dress to meet that brief ). I don't think DT did more than just repeat that she's serious and sweet and trying really hard to get out of her shell and be more fun and creative and also she's been practicing dodging really hard she shouts mid-Trust combat (bless her). But ALSO getting out of the shell is really hard and she only found out everything and got some closure in the final level 100 quests so there wasn't really much to do with her after that.

This is like her First Non-Plot-Critical Whimsy Moment and losing the hood or any cat ears entirely (and there are perfectly functional cat ears to wear in game) is a good step considering we know she wears it precisely because she needed a sort of advance PR campaign to make her look cute and approachable before she opened her mouth and started bringing down the vibe (serious scary children are SO funny though and i love that for her). Having the same top as Y'shtola is a good thing for trying to make her less childish and have her trying to show that now as she takes this huge step out from the background. I mean, it still has a slight sense of her costuming herself and pushing herself out of comfort zones as she always does, but it's 100% in character so I adore it.

1000/10 because Krile is great and there's so much going on here and it's so fun when a character's whole personality is a costume and then they're like aurgh wait do I even want that??

#ffxiv #dawntrail spoilers #I love these goobers #enough to level all the jobs through Trust rather than more varied and faster means :')

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natjennie · 6 months

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okay, bear with me this requires a lot of context. imagine that you wake up on a space ship with an alien species capable of telepathic communication with you. they are also capable of instilling you with the knowledge that everything they say is completely true, there is not a hint of uncertainty in your mind. they have weapons capable of obliterating earth pointed at the planet, and are forcing you to do one of two things in order to not fire. within the fiction of the scenario you are not being given the choice, but you the real you is picking which one of these things you'd rather have happen.

you must eat an 8 ounce serving of human baby meat, by default prepared like a steak (different preparations can be requested). you do not have to keep the meat down once you're done, but you have to get all of it in your body at one point. they do not provide any information about where the baby came from or how it died. if you complete this, they will deposit you back on earth and you will be free from legal repercussions of cannibalism, and it is generally agreed that you are also free from moral blame as it was against your will.

you will be surgically impregnated with a human embryo and must carry it to term and give birth. the embryo does not contain your dna, but otherwise you don't know anything about its origins. the aliens have advanced medical technology that gives you sufficient anatomy to carry and birth the baby, and keeps you healthy throughout, with no risk of long term complications or death. you have the choice to keep or give away the baby once you have given birth, and will be deposited back on earth.

if you refuse to comply in either situation, they destroy the earth and you are forced to live the rest of your life aboard the space ship as a prisoner, until you die of natural causes.

so,

#tw: child death #tw: childbirth #childbirth #child death #tw: cannibalism #cannibalism #tw: pregnancy #pregnancy #aliens #how else do i need to tag this #let me know #i only realized right as i finished typing that this could be triggering im sorry #please tell me if i need to tag anything else

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mcmansionhell · 2 years

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this house may or may not be real

on grayness in real estate

Allegedly, somewhere in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a 4 bed, 5.5 bathroom house totaling more than 6,600 square feet is for sale at a price of 2.37 million dollars. The house, allegedly, was built in 2021. Allegedly, it looks like this:

A McMansion is, in effect, the same house over and over again - it's merely dressed up in different costumes. In the 90s, the costume was Colonial; in the 2000s, it was vague forms of European (Tuscan, Mediterranean), and in the 2010s it was Tudor, dovetailed by "the farmhouse" -- a kind of Yeti Cooler simulacra of rural America peddled to the populace by Toll Brothers and HGTV.

Now, we're fully in the era of whatever this is. Whitewashed, quasi-modern, vaguely farmhouse-esque, definitely McMansion. We have reached, in a way, peak color and formal neutrality to the point where even the concept of style has no teeth. At a certain moment in its life cycle, styles in vernacular architecture reach their apex, after which they seem excessively oversaturated and ubiquitous. Soon, it's time to move on. After all, no one builds houses that look like this anymore:

(This is almost a shame because at least this house is mildly interesting.)

If we return to the basic form of both houses, they are essentially the same: a central foyer, a disguised oversized garage, and an overly complex assemblage of masses, windows, and rooflines. No one can rightfully claim that we no longer live in the age of the McMansion. The McMansion has instead simply become more charmless and dull.

When HGTV and the Gaineses premiered Fixer Upper in 2013, it seemed almost harmless. Attractive couple flips houses. Classic show form. However, Fixer Upper has since (in)famously ballooned into its own media network, a product line I'm confronted with every time I go to Target, and a general 2010s cultural hallmark not unlike the 1976 American Bicentennial - both events after which every house and its furnishings were somehow created in its image. (The patriotism, aesthetic and cultural conservatism of both are not lost on me.)

But there's one catch: Fixer Upper is over, and after the Gaineses, HGTV hasn't quite figured out where to go stylistically. With all those advertisers, partners, and eyeballs, the pressure to keep one foot stuck in the rural tweeness that sold extremely well was great. At the same time, the network (and the rest of the vernacular design media) couldn't risk wearing out its welcome. The answer came in a mix of rehashed, overly neutral modernism -- with a few pops of color, yet this part often seems omitted from its imitators -- with the prevailing "farmhouse modern" of Magnolia™ stock. The unfortunate result: mega-ultra-greige.

Aside from war-mongering, rarely does the media manufacture consent like it does in terms of interior design. People often ask me: Why is everything so gray? How did we get here? The answer is because it is profitable. Why is it profitable? I'd like to hypothesize several reasons. The first is as I mentioned: today's total neutrality is an organic outgrowth of a previous but slightly different style, "farmhouse modern," that mixed the starkness of the vernacular farmhouse with the soft-pastel Pinterest-era rural signifiers that have for the last ten years become ubiquitous.

Second, neutrals have always been common and popular. It's the default choice if you don't have a vision for what you want to do in a space. In the 2000s, the neutrals du jour were "earth tones" - beige, sage green, brown. Before that, it was white walls with oak trim in the 80s and 90s. In the 70s, neutrals were textural: brick and wood paneling. We have remarkably short memories when it comes to stylistic evolution because in real time it feels incremental. Such is the case with neutrals.

Finally, the all-gray palette is the end logic of HGTV et al's gamified methodology of designing houses with commodification in mind: if you blow out this wall, use this color, this flooring, this cabinetry, the asking price of your house goes up. You never want to personalize too much because it's off-putting to potential buyers. After twenty years of such rhetoric, doesn't it make all the sense in the world that we've ended up with houses that are empty, soulless, and gray?

A common realtor adage is to stage the house so that potential buyers can picture their own lives in it. In other words, create a tabula rasa one can project a fantasy of consumption onto. Implied in that logic is that the buyer will then impose their will on the house. But when the staged-realtor-vision and general-mass-market aesthetic of the time merge into a single dull slurry, we get a form of ultra-neutral that seems unwelcoming if not inescapable.

To impose one's style on the perfect starkness is almost intimidating, as though one is fouling up something untouchable and superior. If neutrality makes a house sell, then personality - at all - can only be seen as a detriment. Where does such an anti-social practice lead us? Back to the house that may or may not exist.

In my travels as McMansion Hell, I've increasingly been confronted with houses full of furniture that isn't real. This is known as virtual staging and it is to house staging as ChatGPT is to press release writing or DALL-E is to illustration. As this technology improves, fake sofa tables are becoming more and more difficult to discern from the real thing. I'm still not entirely sure which of the things in these photos are genuine or rendered. To walk through this house is to question reality.

Staging ultimately pretends (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) that someone is living in this house, that you, too could live in it. Once discovered, virtual staging erases all pretensions: the house is inhabited by no one. It is generally acknowledged (though I'm not sure on the actual statistics) that a house with furniture - that is, with the pretense of living -- sells easier than a house with nothing in it, especially if that house (like this one) has almost no internal walls. Hence the goal is to make the virtual staging undiscoverable.

If you want to talk about the realtor's tabula rasa, this is its final form. Houses without people, without human involvement whatsoever.

But what makes this particular house so uncanny is that all of these things I've mentioned before: real estate listing photography, completely dull interiors and bland colors all make it easy for the virtual furniture to work so well. This is because the softness of overlit white and gray walls enables the fuzzy edges of the renderings to look natural when mixed with an overstylized reality. Even if you notice something's off in the reflections, that's enough to cause one to wonder if anything in the house is real: the floors, the fixtures, the moulding, the windows and doors.

This is where things are heading: artifice on top of artifice on top of artifice. It's cheap, it's easy. But something about it feels like a violation. When one endeavors to buy a house, one assumes what one is viewing is real. It's one thing if a realtor photoshops a goofy sunset, it's another to wonder if anything in a room can be touched with human hands. I won't know what, if any, part of this estate costing over 2 million dollars actually exists until I visit it myself. Perhaps that's the whole point - to entice potential buyers out to see for themselves. When they enter, they'll find the truth: a vast, empty space with nothing in it.

The better this rendering technology gets, the more it will rely on these totally neutral spaces because everything matches and nothing is difficult. You are picking from a catalog of greige furniture to decorate greige rooms. If you look at virtual staging in a non-neutral house it looks immediately plastic and out of place, which is why many realtors opt to either still stage using furniture or leave the place empty.

Due to the aforementioned photography reasons, I would even argue that the greigepocalypse or whatever you want to call it and virtual staging have evolved simultaneously and mutualistically. The more virtual staging becomes an industry standard, the more conditions for making it seamless and successful will become standardized as well.

After all, real staging is expensive and depends on paid labor - selecting furniture, getting workers to deliver and stage it, only to pack it back up again once the property is sold. This is a classic example of technology being used to erase entire industries. Is this a bad thing? For freelance and contract workers, yeah. For realtors? no. For real estate listings, it remains to be seen. For this blog? Absolutely. (Thankfully there is an endless supply of previously existing McMansions.)

The thing is, real estate listings no longer reflect reality. (Did they ever to begin with?) The reason we're all exasperated with greige is because none of us actually live that way and don't want to. I've never been to anyone's house that looks like the house that may or may not exist. Even my parents who have followed the trends after becoming empty nesters have plenty of color in their house. Humans like color. Most of us have lots of warmth and creativity in our houses. Compare media intended for renters and younger consumers such as Apartment Therapy with HGTV and you will find a stark difference in palate and tone.

But when it comes to actually existing houses - look at Zillow and it's greige greige greige. So who's doing this? The answer is real estate itself aided by their allies in mass media who in turn are aided by the home renovation industry. In other words, it's the people who sell home as a commodity. That desire to sell has for some time overpowered all other elements that make up a home or an apartment's interiority to the point where we've ended up in a colorless slurry of real and unreal.

Fortunately, after ten years or so, things begin to become dated. We're hitting the ten year mark of farmhouse modernism and its derivatives now. If you're getting sick of it, it's normal. The whole style is hopefully on its last leg. But unlike styles of the past, there's a real, trenchant material reason why this one is sticking around longer than usual.

Hence, maybe if we want the end of greige, we're going to have to take color back by force.

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#architecture #design #2010s #mcmansion #mcmansion hell #nc #2021 #essay

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shapelytimber · 4 months

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Late night kebab ⭐

[PRINT] - [COMMISSIONS]

This is based on sw 5 :) in that movie we're shown that Han and Lando were at the very least good friends and are now giving off major exes vibes. So this is them younger, after a long night at the casino, eating a kebab ! And Chewie is here because Han without Chewie just feels wrong (and I love them)

Process and usual rambling below vvv

My pain my curse my burden is that I love a cluttered scene- I love to draw a mess, with a million little objects and things....... The problems come when it's time to color everything flkflflfk

It's finaly finished ! Lando is now part of my sw sapphic au <3

For their design I went for a 70s inspired outfit, while keeping the cape because let's be real is it still them if I don't keep it. I also kept the mustache thanks to this ask ! They made me see the light of enby Lando :) I'll eventually make sketches to show the full outfit, and do some others because I really want to draw them in an outfit inspired by what they wear after joining the rebellion for a more masc look :3c

And for the colors I chose them based on the younger Lando's outfit because one of the only things I like about disney's star wars, is their young Lando design ! The bright yellow and blue, the tie, the hair- I think it works really well as both a younger, and "modernized" design ! Only thing I found a bit desapointing is that it's too safe- you really want me to believe Lando Calrissian is the type of man to wear the same-ish shirt, pants and cape for 10+ years ? (But that's a default all of disney's sw have, playing it safe to make as few original choices as possible, desperately reminding you of what came before to try to make you forget what you are whatching is mediocre. A constant flow of garbage that's not even brave enough to be bad, just mediocre- But the less I think or talk about disney the better gkgklgkf)

#omg this drawing gave me so much trouble kfkfkf #I started this other 3 or 4 times- but I'm glad I did because I'm very proud of this drawing #star wars sapphic au #han solo #lando calrissian #hanlando #chewbacca #star wars original trilogy #star wars fanart #han solo fanart #lando Calrissian fanart #art #my art #digital art #fanart #illustration #star wars #original trilogy #lesbian

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flokali · 4 months

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𓂆 | Write for Gaza

. . . . .

𓄷 Note: As a member of the Palestinian diaspora, I feel like this is the least I could do to help my people back in our beloved homeland. After 76 years of silence from the world, please do not look away and do not keep quiet – you can make a difference, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Due to the nature of the blog, I ask that you be at least 18 years old before requesting or interacting.

You can use the following links to pick a fundraiser of your choice to donate to: palestinescharitycomissionassoc, palestinian-fundraising, Hussein’s Masterpost and GazaFunds.

𓄷 Rules:

i. Take the time to read the post carefully and decide if you wish to participate. Pick a fundraiser from the list and make a donation considering the prices mentioned below, you are tasked with calculating the donation cost and what it translates to. For requests, make sure to check if there are slots available as I will only be able to take a small number at a time.

ii. Once you have made a donation to a vetted fundraiser, take a screenshot and blur out any identifiable/private information. The screenshot will be necessary for verification.

iii. Reach out to me via ask or DM with the screenshot of your donation, you can specify what it is you want to either [Sponsor a WIP] or [Make a Request] – slots can be reserved for MaR for up to five business days, please tell me if you wish to remain anonymous or not.

iv. I am not making any money from this, the money is to be donated to a vetted fundraiser directly. I am not an intermediary but serve as an added bonus to donating.

v. Donations made to “Khaled and His Family” will be prioritised.

𓄷 Sponsor a WIP:

𓂃 $1 USD equals to 100-150 words; therefore, 500 words is $5 USD and so on.

𓂃 If you want to ask for smut to be added to a fic (all the included WIP have space for smut) , that’s an additional $10 USD and will be asked for only once; if the “Smut Fee” is paid, the word count will increase by default of 500-1000 words, additional words by the original donator will be added to the $10. If the SF has been paid, it will be noted in the post and won’t be required to be paid for the same WIP again.

[If the SF is paid and the donor wants 1.5k words added, they’ll have to add $5, making the total $15].

𓂃 All WIPs have a goal of a minimum of 3k words, the word count will be updated as well as an estimate for the final count – however, it may increase if necessary.

. . .

𓄷 Make a request:

𓂃 $1 USD equals to 100-150 words; therefore, 500 words is $5 USD and so on.

𓂃 For reactions: each additional character is $0.25 USD (¢25) maximum amount of characters is 6 ($1.25 USD). The first character is not charged.

[A request for three characters and 1k words would total $11 USD ; Example: “How would Kaeya, Diluc and Albedo react to a Reader who is cold?” + “1k words” *A request for a one shot does not have the “Additional Character Fee”]

— Available slots for requests: 1

More information down below;

𓄷 WIP

—#๋࣭. I love you, I Own you ; Part 3

Final part to the “ILYIOY” series, meant to tie up the story and finish telling what happens to Reader’s family, Reader herself, and Childe’s feelings about what he’s done.

Current word count: 600~ words • Estimated word count: 9k words

Sponsored:

—#๋࣭. 777

You’re one of the last remaining people of your species, now seen as a luxury to be passed around to the highest bidder. In a twist of fate, Aventurine finds himself with the key – or price – to your freedom, although he never fancied himself a hero he doesn’t mind the way you look at him as your saviour.

Current word count: 1200~ words • Estimated word count: 6k word.

Sponsored: NSFW paid + 1k (700 left) words — Remaining 4k~ words ; estimated.

𓄷 Make a Requests :

—#๋࣭. I will write: yandere, non/dub con, most kinks, death, cnc, gore, cheating, peggings, dom/sub, etc. We can discuss more through message but I’m not open to debating on anything that is specified below;

—#๋࣭. I won’t write: Underage characters, bodily fluids (mainly piss nd scat), cxc, necrophilia, beastiality, unhygienic, vore, ddlg, etc.

. . .

—#๋࣭. Fandoms: Genshin Impact, Star Rail, DoL, Spy x Family, Tears of Themis, Enstars, Love and Deepspace, Wuthering Heights, Twisted Wonderland, Persona 5, Fire Emblem 3 Houses, Ikemen Villains, Identity V, A Date with Death, Chainsaw Man, Haikyuu!!, and What in Hell is bad?

* I’ll also accept unique OC’s made just for the request that you will be able to request for again in the future.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 7 months

Text

gamers

words: 800

warnings: vague descriptions of video game violence and gore, established relationship

“is it scary? i don't wanna play if it's scary.” you pout as rafe places the controller into your hand.

“ill protect you, promise.” rafe says, reaching over to flick the lamp on the side table on, that way more than just the light from the tv is illuminating the room.

“fine, but you can't get mad at me if i get your character killed.” you watch as rafe navigates the game easily, opening it up to the character customization screen, just doing default settings for himself.

“oh my god, im gonna make my girl look so cute!” you gush, taking your time to carefully choose her hair and outfit, even though none of the options are stylish, you create the best look you can out of the post apocalyptic clothing choices.

rafe doesn't care that he has to sit and wait for you to perfect your character, not when he finally got you to agree to play with him.

“okay, done.” you nod as you choose a pair of pink sneakers, practical but still cute. “so what's this game all about? just running from zombies?”

“basically.” rafe says with a light chuckle. “we gotta get to the safe house for this round. just follow me, gonna pick up some weapons.”

you pick up the hang of the controls easily, concentrating on the tv as rafe drops a knife and gun for character to use to protect yourself just in case.

“this isn't so bad.” you hum, pausing to admire the scenery in the background of the game, mountain peaks poking up into the sky. “where are all the zombies?”

“they give you a few minutes to get weapons before the storms start.” rafe says, eyes scanning the screen as you head into a building, rafe knows there's med packs in there that he will need when he sustains damage keeping your character safe.

“storms? that sounds scary rafe.” you scooch so you’re closer to your boyfriend. “and it's getting dark.”

it's already dark outside your actual window, but you can tell that it's getting darker in the game as well, the sun setting as you follow rafe down the desolate street, crashed cars and trash strewn about just like if it was a real apocalypse.

“here they come!” rafe warns, clicking the buttons quickly as his character shoots at the zombies moving slowly towards you. your eyes widen upon seeing the gore, cringing and turning to hide your face in rafes shoulder once your character is hidden behind a stopped car.

“i don't like this rafey!” you whine once the gunfire stops, peeking up to see a literal pile of dead zombies. “it's scary.”

“i know, but i kept you safe, didn't i? we are almost done with the first level, just gotta get to the safe house then we can take a break, okay?” rafe offers, keeping his eyes on the screen but turning his head to press a kiss to your cheek.

“fine.” you groan. you like playing games with rafe, but your preference is him watching you dress your sims or decorate their houses after using a cheat to get them more money, only wanting your sims to have the best furniture.

you navigate your character to follow him down the sidewalk, occasionally stopping to kill the zombies. you even manage to shoot a couple.

“wait, baby, be careful.” rafe warns. “dont go that way.”

but his warning comes too late as a zombie jumps out of a dumpster that you’re standing directly next to, making you scream as it takes up your entire screen, not just attacking your character but also jumpscaring you.

“i got you, hold on.” rafe is pressing the sprint button as hard as he can, as if that can somehow make his character get to you faster. rafe manages to kill the zombie before it has the chance to bite you.

your chest is heaving up and down like you were the one to get attacked. “come on, the safe house is just around the corner.” rafe wraps an arm around your shoulder, using one hand on the controller until you’re both behind the barbed wire fence, the game switching to a cutscene.

“i hate this.” you look to rafe with a pout on your face. “can we play stardew valley instead? please?”

rafe sighs. he should have known better than having you play with him. you are extremely adverse to any sort of shooting game. “yeah, sure.” rafe saves his progress, just in case he can convince you to play with him again before switching to stardew valley and handing you the main controller.

“yesss, thank you.” you smile, pressing a kiss to rafes cheek as your character wakes up. “you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“you just say that because you need me to go into the mines for you.” rafe says with a laugh.

“well, its scary!”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @die4niyahhh

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ohnoitstbskyen · 6 months

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I know it would probably bring a lot of hate comments but I am begging you to roast the hazbin character designs because I'd love to have someone properly articulate why they don't work so I could send it to people who won't believe me when I tell them. 🫠 Understandable if you don't want to get into it though.

I don't think there's that much there to roast, honestly?

Those designs are clearly an extremely specific stylistic choice, and because that style is consistent throughout the show, it ultimately feels coherent with itself.

There are trade-offs being made. Because Hazbin's design style is SO stylized and so heavy on decoration and detailing, because it puts a lot of emphasis on costuming, it isn't as good at communicating specific character storytelling as a more grounded style could be (it's kind of the same tradeoff that stuff like Genshin Impact makes).

Like, why does Sir Pentious' hat have an eye and a mouth on it that makes its own expressions? Apparently not for very much reason at all, except that Pentious has a bit of an eyes-motif going on in his design and it was one more place to put an extra eye. And that's a valid criticism of his design, but also the entire show is designed like that, so frankly it would be weirder and more out of place if his design alone didn't have that kind of overelaborate decoration going on.

It does create a situation where I have a hard time "reading" the character designs sometimes. For example, Vox, Alastor and Pentious all wear a similar style of suit with upwards-turned shoulders, butterflies and pinstripes. Now, am I meant to read that as Vox imitating Alastor due to his crippling need to replace and outdo him, and Pentious imitating the style of powerful Overlords because he thinks that possessing their level of power will finally give him relief from his paranoia and self-loathing?

Or is it just a design fixation of the creator who keeps putting their characters in suits because that's just what they like? I can't really be sure, because sometimes design elements are used to intentionally tell stories about how characters relate to themselves, their world and one another, but plenty of other times designs look the way they do Because Of Vibes.

But again, that lack of clarity is clearly an intentional trade-off - and the benefit of that trade-off is a design style that is extremely varied, wild, expressive and memorable. Hazbin Hotel seems like a very easy show to draw fanart of, and a very fun show to draw fanart of. Those designs (especially the hyper-expressive faces) are begging to be the subjects of traumatic headcanons, unbearably cotton-candy soft fluff fantasies and weird, taboo, homoerotic power dynamics. Slaps roof of character design, this bad boy can express so much vicarious emotional intensity.

It's very exuberant, very excited about itself and very self-indulgent, it's a style that prioritizes visual impact and visual interest over readability (something which the animators of the show navigate with real skill, props to them) and individual aesthetics over worldbuilding.

And I don't blame anyone for being turned off by that (I certainly was the first time I started seeing those designs going around), but I would struggle to call the show's designs "bad" when they are clearly achieving exactly what they want to achieve.

I have some criticisms, especially re: how the show treats skinny bodies as an unquestioned, desirable default, and employs fatness as a means of alienating and abjecting the audience. That sucks very badly, and is a serious disappointment, and one of the few places where the show feels like it is being cowardly in its design philosophy. But I don't have it in me to do some kind of Hazbin Hotel Sucks And Here's Why takedown, its problems are not unique or extreme enough to warrant it, at least not as I currently understand them.

#tb answers #hazbin hotel #character design

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meanbossart · 2 months

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I do love how Astarion, lovingly, tells DU Drow to stfu about his breeding kink lol

Astarion, for the first time in two hundred years can have sex the way he likes. Do you have any headcanons about him and DU Drow discovering what he actually likes?

(I'm pretty positive this was in reference to this, (un)fortunately my inbox is a little hard to keep up with so I must have missed this one at the time)

Kind of! I try not to overthink his internal processing of sex following everything that has happened, as I feel like that runs the risk of setting too clear a line between good and bad recovery and experimentation - y'know, that concept I have delved into a few times by now about how I assume he continues to do things that make him uncomfortable/that he doesn't necessarily wants to do, not to self-harm but simply because he doesn't want to be held back by by his experiences and (mostly) has the ability to deal with the emotional consequences of it, as long as it was a choice he made of his own free will.

Which is to say that I think Astarion was willing to try a lot of things with his partner. Especially after "vanilla" sex became normalized between them past the end of the campaign (as they weren't really fucking during it at all) and things like putting small fantasies of his own the table started to feel like a strange, but tempting excursion. This is a trigger for the both of them to be much more blatant about their desires with each other, especially once DU drow gets over his perception of Astarion as some kind of wounded bird who needs to be handled with kid gloves.

While Astarion doesn't strike me as someone who'd ever get into wizard sex inflation or whatever gimp parties the Loviatar people are throwing, I do think he likes it when sex is injected with a degree of weirdness, even awkwardness. Keeps him from the temptation of defaulting back to a script like he used to do - even if whatever they got up to wasn't particularly titillating, at least he was present all throughout it, which would be a priority. I think it will take decades for Astarion to figure out what he's actually into into.

In the meantime, he is very fond of his partner's body, his general behavior in bed and of taking his time, also a bit of an oral fixation. Unless purposefully leaving his comfort zone, Astarion prioritizes his own fun and enjoyment because he knows DU drow gets off on being the source of it. This is a very body-worshippy couple overall, but Astarion is the main perpetrator since it is an invigorating experience to not be in the role of the Desired after having his identity revolve around that very concept for so long. Naturally, DU drow lets him do whatever the hell he wants to him and doesn't even demand that he finishes, or that it escalates to actual sex at all. It works out well for them.

#ask #du drow and astarion #suggestive text #astarion

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wannabehockeygf · 1 month

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Wild Side - Auston Matthews

“I learned to read between the lines,

You’re talking truths,

You’re talking lies.”

Summary: When you wake up in the bed of Toronto's most eligible bachelor, you decide to stick around. Pairing: Auston Matthews x fem! reader Word count: 6.5k Warnings: Talking about sex (oral, f and m receiving, and then regular p in v stuff) talking about general naughty things, William Nylander slander. Notes: - this is just a silly little idea dump bc I miss am34 and I wanted to write about him - briefly proof read. definitely not much.

he could definitely throw me around 🫶🏼

***

Your 9-to-5 job has conditioned you to enjoy the sweet luxury of sleeping in on the weekends, but today is an exception.

An alarm slices through the peaceful silence like a buzz saw, blaring that dreadful default 'radial' tone. Who even keeps that sound as their wake-up call anymore? Honestly, it feels like a war crime against your ears. Your brain is still a foggy mess, trying to piece together where you are, and why the hell that sound is assaulting you so early.

As the alarm continues its torturous duty, you catch a groan—deep, gravelly, and full of regret. Ah, the mystery man whose bed you seem to be occupying. Right. The events of last night are a bit of a blur, but you’re sure he’s equally as hungover, possibly even more so given how he seems to be wrestling his phone like it’s personally offended him.

The bed creaks in protest as he shifts his weight, and before you can even muster the will to open your eyes, you feel the prickle of his beard grazing your cheek as he leans over you. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough and tired, “I have to go. You can stay as long as you want, use my shower, sleep in my bed, whatever. Just… if you never want to see me again, I’ll be back by ten, so, you know, leave before then.”

His words drift into your consciousness like wisps of smoke, barely registering as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You give a noncommittal hum, a universal noise of “sure, whatever,” and within seconds, the rustling of clothes and the click of the door shutting have you sinking back into blissful oblivion. ***

A few hours later, you're jarred awake by something wet and warm on your face. "Ugh, what the…?" you mumble, peeling one eye open. A pair of big, soulful dog eyes meet yours, tongue lolling out in a doggy grin. It’s a doodle, of course—because why wouldn’t mystery man have an adorable dog to complete the fantasy?

You blink, taking in your surroundings. Yep, still in his bed. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to gather the scraps of last night. Your head throbs as you scan the room, landing on the trash can by the bedside table. The shiny foil wrapper inside it nearly makes you weep with relief. No walk of shame to the pharmacy for a Plan B today. Thank you, Past You, for at least being responsible in your drunken haze.

You quickly realize, however, that you’re stark naked, and the thought of shimmying back into that tiny dress from last night makes your skin crawl. But you also smell like a hot mess—a combination of sweat, alcohol, and, well, him. The allure of a hot shower becomes too tempting to resist.

You peel yourself out of bed and find the bathroom easily enough. It’s a shrine of white marble and fancy fixtures, the kind of bathroom that screams, “I have my life together!” You take a moment to gawk at the luxury before turning on the shower. The sight of separate bottles for shampoo and conditioner catches you off guard—this man clearly knows that 2-in-1 is a sin, even if his choice is Old Spice.

Post-shower, you wrap yourself in the first towel you find, not caring if it was used, and venture back into his room to find something more comfortable. You rummage through his dresser and pull out a soft, worn t-shirt emblazoned with ‘Toronto Maple Leafs’ in bold letters. "Of course," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "A sports bro."

Still, the shirt is cozy, and it smells like laundry detergent with a faint hint of his cologne—pleasantly masculine, and somehow comforting. You pull it over your head, feeling like you’ve just donned a uniform for a team you never asked to join.

The bedroom is surprisingly tidy, with only a few personal touches here and there. A photo on the nightstand catches your eye—mystery man and a bunch of other dudes, all grinning like they’ve just won the lottery. Everyone’s in matching jerseys, which only cements your suspicion that you’ve stumbled into the lair of a hardcore hockey fan.

You wander over to the window and pull back the curtains, and holy hell. The view hits you like a slap to the face. You’re at least thirty-five floors up, and the sprawling cityscape of Toronto unfolds beneath you like a living postcard. You’ve seen this city from above only once before—during that one awkward date at the CN Tower where the guy couldn’t stop talking about crypto.

Stepping over a pair of discarded sneakers, you make your way to the kitchen. The place is as sleek and modern as it gets—high ceilings, massive windows, and a panorama of the city that’s enough to make anyone feel on top of the world. The kitchen is stocked like a health nut’s paradise, with fresh produce that’s clearly more expensive than anything you’d buy on your budget.

The doodle, whose collar reads “Felix,” pads along beside you, tail wagging like he’s known you forever. You can’t help but smile at the little guy as he nudges your hand, begging for attention. You oblige with some ear scratches, mentally piecing together the night before. Bits of the club come back—flashes of lights, music pounding in your chest, and his smile as he approached you, confident but not cocky. Beyond that, though? Total blackout. Well, except for the hickeys he left all over you. Those are pretty memorable.

You open the fridge and see that it’s packed with enough gourmet ingredients to make a Michelin-star chef weep. Feeling oddly domestic, you decide to whip up a frittata—might as well enjoy a good meal while you’re here. The sound of eggs cracking against the bowl echoes in the otherwise quiet kitchen. You start humming to yourself, a random tune you can’t quite place, as you chop onions and bell peppers. Felix sits patiently at your feet, eyes locked on your every move.

The scent of sizzling veggies and freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and for a moment, you almost forget you’re in some stranger’s kitchen. You sprinkle cheese over the frittata, watching it melt into gooey perfection, and slide it onto a plate with a flourish. Not bad, considering you’re technically trespassing.

Just as you’re about to dig in, the door clicks open, and you freeze.

There he is—mystery man in the flesh. His damp hair sticks out from under a backward baseball cap, and there’s a moment of surprise in his eyes when he sees you still there, wearing his shirt, barefoot in his kitchen. Felix, traitor that he is, bounds over to him like he’s just won the lottery.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice much steadier now than it was this morning. His eyes flick to the frittata, then back to you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t expect you to stick around. Smells good.”

You blink, trying to play it cool despite the sudden surge of self-consciousness. “Good morning,” you reply, suddenly aware of how oversized the shirt is on you. You fidget with the hem, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “I… I can change if you want. I just—”

“Nah,” he interrupts, shaking his head with that same small smile. “It’s fine. Looks good on you.” He steps further into the room, his gaze lingering on yours, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged with something unspoken. Eventually, he cracks a smile, and of course his teeth are absolutely perfect. “You remember my name?” He teases.

Your brain scrambles like the eggs you’ve just made. His name? You mentally sift through the fog of last night, trying to unearth any trace of a name, but all that comes up is a blank slate. Not even a hint. Just those damn dimples and a very nice smile. Great. You’re in a stranger’s kitchen, in his shirt, cooking like it’s some kind of Sunday morning domestic bliss, and you can’t even remember his name.

Panic starts to bubble up in your chest. Okay, play it cool, you’ve got this. You give him a casual smile, one you hope doesn’t betray the sheer terror of your mental blankness. “Of course I remember,” you lie smoothly, buying yourself time to figure out the rest of this disaster. “How could I forget?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Damn. His skepticism is written all over his face. The worst part? He doesn’t even seem mad. In fact, he looks more amused than anything else.

You internally curse yourself. Why does he have to be so annoyingly attractive even when he’s being condescending? You rack your brain for a strategy. Okay, think. Just ask him something that forces him to say his name. Maybe pretend like you don’t know how to spell it or something. But before you can settle on a plan, he’s already walking toward you, the smile still tugging at his lips.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he says, leaning against the counter as he grabs a fork, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that’s both unnerving and somehow magnetic. “It starts with an A.”

Your heart nearly skips a beat. Oh, come on. Seriously? You already have one “A” name on the brain that you’ve been doing your best to avoid thinking about, especially given the current situation. As if things weren’t complicated enough.

“A?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady. The last thing you need is to accidentally call him by the wrong name. That would be worse than forgetting it altogether. You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the room as if the answer might be written on the walls. Alex? Adam? Adrian? None of them feel quite right, and you can’t exactly ask without making things even more awkward.

He’s still watching you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “Yeah, A,” he says, popping a piece of the frittata into his mouth. “But don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you if you don’t remember. I know last night was... well, let’s just say, a lot of fun.”

You catch the teasing glint in his eyes, and it only makes your embarrassment worse. Seriously? You’re in his kitchen, in his clothes, with his dog, and now he’s throwing that kind of look at you? Not fair. But he’s right—last night was fun. Even if you can’t remember every detail, you’re pretty sure the highlights were worth it. The orgasms definitely were.

He’s still watching you, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. Felix seems to sense your discomfort and nudges your leg, offering silent support—or maybe he just wants more ear scratches. Either way, you reach down to give him a quick pat, grateful for the distraction.

“Okay, fine,” you concede, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “I’m terrible with names, and last night was… well, let’s just say it was memorable in a way that didn’t include name retention.”

He laughs, and it’s a deep, genuine sound that makes your heart skip a beat. Damn him and his stupidly charming laugh. “Fair enough,” he says, setting the fork down and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m Auston. Not exactly a tricky name to remember.”

Auston. Right. That actually fits him perfectly—a strong, solid name for a guy who looks like he could bench press you without breaking a sweat. You mentally kick yourself for not guessing that. But now that you’ve got his name, you feel a weird mix of relief and embarrassment. Relief because, well, now you can stop fumbling around, and embarrassment because he’s obviously been enjoying watching you squirm.

And… oh no, that’s why he looked familiar.

“Auston,” you repeat, trying to regain some semblance of cool. “Got it. I promise I’ll remember it from now on.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says with a wink, which only makes you feel more flustered. You’re not used to this—being the one who’s off-balance, caught off guard. Usually, you’re the one with the quick comebacks. But here you are, standing in this guy’s kitchen, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and suddenly you feel like you’ve lost control of the situation. And you hate it.

You lean against the counter, trying to look like you’re not still reeling from the fact that you spent the night with Auston. As in Auston Matthews, the hockey star whose name you’ve heard a thousand times but never in this particular context. Because, of course, the universe decided that you, who know absolutely nothing about hockey, would end up in the bed of one of its biggest names. And now, you’re standing here in his kitchen, pretending that you’re not about to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

"Cool," you say, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to a faint wheeze. Your mind is scrambling, pulling together the shards of last night while also panicking over how you’re going to extricate yourself from this situation with some dignity intact. Because you? You’re supposed to have it together. This? This is decidedly not together.

Auston raises an eyebrow, clearly still amused. “You cook often?”

Damn it. Now you’ve trapped yourself in a conversation you don’t even want to have. Why does he have to keep talking to you like this? Couldn’t he just leave you to eat in peace? But no, he’s leaning against the counter, looking like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad, and here you are, trying to maintain some semblance of cool while battling the remnants of a hangover.

You take a deep breath, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I cook. But, you know, only when I’m not nursing a headache the size of the CN Tower.” You give him a pointed look, hoping he’ll get the hint.

Auston nods, still smiling in that maddeningly charming way. “I think it’s good. Just make yourself at home—like I said, no rush to leave.”

You nod, muttering a vague “thanks” as you try to focus on your frittata. You’re halfway through a forkful when he speaks up again, completely disrupting your fragile sense of peace.

“So, you’re a hockey fan?”

Of course, you groan inwardly. Of course, he’d bring up hockey. You’re wearing his Maple Leafs shirt, after all. It’s practically an invitation for him to start grilling you about your favorite players and whatnot. And the last thing you want right now is to discuss sports, especially with a guy who plays and clearly has his life way more together than you do at this moment.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you reply, trying to keep it casual. You decide to leave out the part where you haven’t watched a game in about seven years, and your main association with hockey is… well, complicated. No need to drag your emotional baggage into this kitchen.

Auston’s eyes light up at your response, which only makes you feel more trapped. “Oh yeah? Who’s your favorite player?”

Abort, abort! This is a trap! Your mind screams at you. There’s no way out of this conversation that doesn’t end with you looking like an idiot, and you know it. But you also know that if you try to dodge the question, he’ll probably see right through it. He probably wants you to say his name, after all.

So you take a deep breath and go for the safest answer you can think of. “Oh, you know… I’m more of a team fan than a specific player fan.”

Nice save, you think to yourself, congratulating your brain for once.

But then, he grills you further. “Leafs?”

You can’t exactly tell him the truth, which is that your entire knowledge of the Leafs consists of whatever you picked up from your dad yelling at the TV during playoffs. Admitting you’re not a die-hard fan would feel like a betrayal of the shirt currently hanging off your shoulders, not to mention the fact that Auston probably expects you to know, well, him.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, your voice an octave higher than usual. Play it cool, play it cool. “Big fan. Love the Leafs.”

He nods, clearly satisfied, and for a brief moment, you think you might have dodged a bullet. But then he hits you with the follow-up. “Nice! Who’s your favorite player? Other than me, of course.” He smirks, clearly enjoying himself.

Of course he’d say that. You can’t tell if it’s charming or a little bit insufferable that he’s so confident. Either way, you’re trapped. There’s no way out of this conversation without revealing the gaping hole in your hockey knowledge. Your mind races as you try to come up with a name that won’t make you look like a total fraud.

“Uh, well,” you start, stalling for time. Just pick one, any name—just not a goalie. Or someone retired. Please, brain, I’m begging you.

Your internal Rolodex of hockey players, which you didn’t even know existed, spins furiously. You blurt out the first name that pops up, hoping for the best. “Nylander! William… Nylander. Love that guy.”

Your brain screeches to a halt as soon as the name leaves your mouth. Nylander? Really? Of all the names you could have picked, you went with the one guy on the team who has the kind of perfect hair that screams, “I have a daily five-step hair care routine.” This is a guy who, if he wasn’t playing hockey, would probably be modeling for some high-end Scandinavian fashion brand. And now, you’re committed.

Auston’s smirk widens, and you can tell he’s loving every second of this. “Nylander, huh?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Solid choice. Slick hands, good speed, and the guy’s got style. You got a thing for blondes, or is it just the way he plays?”

Oh, come on! You didn’t need this. Not now. Your face flushes, and you scramble to respond, praying that the ground will open up and swallow you whole. “If I had a thing for blondes, we wouldn’t have fucked last night.” You blurt out.

Auston was mid-chew, and the sharp inhale from your sudden statement caused him to choke on his food ever so slightly. Your eyes widen, and you immediately hit his back, “Fuck, you okay?” You question.

You slap Auston’s back a little harder than necessary, half out of panic and half out of sheer embarrassment. His shoulders jolt forward as he coughs, trying to recover from the food-turned-projectile incident you just caused. Great. As if your morning could get any more mortifying, now you’ve nearly killed a professional athlete in his own kitchen.

“Sorry!” you squeak, retracting your hand as if his skin had suddenly turned red-hot. You’re positive your face is as crimson as the tomato you just diced for that frittata. Auston waves off your apology, his face still slightly red, though now it’s more from laughing than choking.

“Wow,” he says, his voice still raspy but amused. “That’s one way to answer a question.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a grin spreading across his face. “You know, you could’ve just said you liked his slapshot or something.”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off the embarrassment with crossing your arms defensively, but your heart is still pounding in your chest. “Well what do the other girls say?” You snap at him.

Auston’s eyes widen slightly, clearly caught off guard by your question. For a split second, you see something flicker across his face—surprise, maybe? Amusement? You’re not sure, but whatever it is, it quickly disappears behind that infuriatingly confident smile of his.

“Well, believe it or not,” he begins, clearly enjoying himself a little too much, “I don’t really bring girls home all that often. You’re probably the first one in like, I dunno, a year and a half?”

Your arms are still crossed, but now you’re raising an eyebrow, trying to process what he just said. “A year and a half? You expect me to believe that?”

Auston shrugs, leaning back against the counter as if you’re discussing the weather and not his sex life. “I’m serious,” he says, and his face is earnest, though there’s still that infuriating smirk lingering at the edges. “I’m a busy guy. Hockey season, training, traveling… it doesn’t leave a lot of time for this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, and you feel your face heat up again.

You narrow your eyes, trying to gauge if he’s messing with you. Because come on. A guy like him? Good-looking, rich, famous? He’s probably got girls throwing themselves at him on the regular, and you’re supposed to believe he’s been celibate for eighteen months? But he doesn’t seem to be lying, and that makes you even more uncomfortable. Why would he say something like that unless he meant it?

“Okay, sure,” you say, trying to sound like you totally buy his story. “So, what made you break the streak for little old me?”

You’re aiming for sarcastic, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity there too. Because seriously, why you? You’re not exactly someone who gets tangled up with pro athletes. You’re not even sure how you got here, in his kitchen, trying to play it cool while your brain is still catching up with the fact that you’ve spent the night with Auston Matthews. It feels like some bizarre fever dream, one that you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to wake up from.

Auston’s smirk softens into something a little more thoughtful, and he takes a moment before answering. “You were… different,” he says finally, and his tone is surprisingly sincere. “At the club, I mean. You weren’t like everyone else. I don’t know, it was refreshing. You didn’t care who I was; you just seemed like you were having fun.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. Different? Refreshing? You’d spent most of the night trying not to think about work, trying to forget all the stress piling up in your life, and apparently, that had made you stand out in a sea of people who were probably all vying for his attention. You’re not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed.

“Uh, thanks?” you say, the words coming out more like a question. You’re still not sure what to make of this whole situation. The conversation feels too real, too serious, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. You’d much rather keep things light and easy, like the frittata you’re desperately trying to finish before you lose your appetite from all this emotional whiplash.

He chuckles, sensing your discomfort, and the tension between you eases just a bit. “I’m just saying, it was nice. You’re nice.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Nice? You picked me up because I was nice? I thought guys like you went for, I don’t know, Instagram models or something.”

Auston laughs again, and it’s a genuine, warm sound that might be starting to get a little addictive. “Trust me, I’ve had enough of those,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re great for the public, but not so much for anything else. Most of them lack personality, it seems.”

Your mind is racing, trying to figure out where this conversation is headed and how the hell you’re supposed to navigate it. Did Auston Matthews just compliment you? And not in the generic, “You’re hot” kind of way but in a way that implies he actually noticed something about you beyond the surface? This is not how you expected your morning to go.

“Personality, huh?” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “So what, you’re saying I’m butt ugly and you just picked me because I wasn’t falling all over myself for you?”

On one hand, it’s kind of sweet that he’s noticed something beyond your looks (even if you’re still not entirely convinced that’s true). On the other hand… well, what does that say about your looks? It’s not like you have an inferiority complex or anything, but “different” isn’t exactly the adjective you’d use when dreaming about some star athlete sweeping you off your feet.

Auston seems to catch onto the shift in your mood because he leans in, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “Okay, first of all, no one said anything about you being ugly,” he says, his voice a mix of teasing and reassurance. “And second, yes, I do like that you don’t kiss my ass.”

You bite your lip, feeling a little bit of that earlier bravado slipping away. “Yeah, but you implied it,” you mumble, crossing your arms again in a way that you hope comes off as nonchalant but probably just looks defensive.

He laughs, that warm, addictive sound filling the kitchen again. “Alright, fine, I’ll clarify. You’re not ugly. In fact, you’re pretty damn gorgeous, if you want my honest opinion. But what I meant was that you’ve got personality, too. You didn’t spend the whole night telling me how amazing I am, and that was a nice change.”

Your brain screeches to a halt again. Did he just… did he actually just call you gorgeous? And then follow it up by saying that you have personality? You’re not sure if you’re being flattered or subtly roasted, but either way, it’s throwing you for a loop.

“Interesting,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady even though you’re failing miserably, “So… what did I spend all night doing?” You end up squeaking out, genuinely curious because he probably remembers more than you.

You try to maintain your composure, but the combination of his proximity, that smirk, and the insinuation in his words has your mind spinning in a million different directions. Did you do something particularly embarrassing last night? Or worse, did you do something particularly memorable?

Auston smirks, leaning in slightly as if he’s about to let you in on some grand secret. His voice drops to a low, teasing murmur. “Before or after you begged me to bring you home with me?”

Begged him to bring you home? Really? Your brain feels like it’s running at double speed trying to recall any semblance of that night. All you remember is a whirlwind of cocktails and dancing, but nothing quite as explicit as Auston is suggesting.

“Well,” you start, your voice coming out a bit shaky, “I’m sure I wasn’t that bad.”

Auston chuckles, shaking his head with that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “Oh, trust me, you were memorable.” He leans back against the counter, looking like he’s about to settle in for a good story. “You spent a good part of the night dancing up against me, and then said if I took you home you’d ’rock my world.’”

Your brain screeches to a halt again. “I said that?” you ask, trying to mask your horror with a shaky laugh.

Auston nods, his grin widening. “Oh yeah. And when I did bring you here, you kept talking about how much you loved my beard, and how you wanted to know how it would feel against your—“

You cut him off, your face feeling like it's on fire. “Okay, okay! I get it. Let’s just… maybe not relive every detail of that night. My ego might not survive it.”

Auston laughs, a deep, infectious sound that seems to reverberate through the kitchen. “Fair enough. You definitely enjoyed it, though. And for what it’s worth, I had fun too.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, did you actually…“

Auston’s grin becomes more mischievous as he leans closer. “Mm-mhm,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “You seriously don’t remember? I had to hold you down because you couldn’t stay still. And when we got to the main event, I had to convince you that a condom was indeed important.”

Your brain feels like it's short-circuiting as Auston’s words sink in. Hold you down? Couldn’t stay still? A condom discussion? Scratch thanking yourself for being responsible, you’ve gotta thank him. Your cheeks are burning, and you can’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or dig a hole in the kitchen floor and crawl into it. You knew you’d had a wild night, but this? This was a level of embarrassment you hadn’t even considered.

You’re trying to play it cool, but the way Auston’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he watches you squirm isn’t helping. He’s enjoying this way too much, and part of you wants to wipe that grin off his face… but the other part, the part that’s still processing the fact that you were the one who dragged him into bed, is kind of curious.

“So… what else did I say?” you manage to ask, your voice trembling just a bit, though you try to pass it off as nonchalant. You’re aiming for casual curiosity, but it’s coming out more like desperate need-to-know.

Auston raises an eyebrow, that damn smirk still plastered across his face. “Oh, you really wanna go there?” he teases, leaning in closer. His voice drops again, taking on that low, husky tone that you’re starting to realize could be very dangerous for your sanity. “Because I’m telling you, it wasn’t exactly PG-rated.”

Your stomach flips, both from the implications and from the way his breath brushes against your skin. You try to keep your cool, but it’s hard when the mental image of whatever the hell you said or did last night keeps flashing in your mind like a neon sign. You take a deep breath, mentally bracing yourself for whatever steamy details are about to spill from his lips.

“Alright, lay it on me,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel. “I’ve come this far, might as well hear the rest.”

Auston chuckles, clearly enjoying the fact that you’re squirming. “Okay, so after the whole beard thing—” he starts, and you wince, because of course, he wasn’t going to let that one go, “—you pretty much made it your mission to see if you could make me lose control.”

You blink, your mind stuttering over his words. “What? How?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter with a grin. “Let’s just say you have a very persuasive mouth.”

Your jaw drops, your brain reeling. Did he just—? Is he saying you—?

“Wait,” you stammer, your voice rising a few octaves. “I did what?”

Auston just grins, relishing your reaction. “You were very determined,” he says, his tone playful but with an edge that makes your stomach flip again. “And let’s just say, I wasn’t exactly complaining.”

You can feel your face burning, your mind scrambling to catch up. You want to deny it, to say that there’s no way you’d ever do something so bold, so out of character… but then again, you did wake up in his bed, so clearly, last night wasn’t exactly a typical night for you.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess of embarrassment, curiosity, and—if you’re honest with yourself—maybe just a little bit of pride. Because, okay, if you did all that, and he’s not running for the hills… maybe it wasn’t as bad as you think?

Or maybe it was, and he’s just too polite to say so.

“Okay, but what happened after?” you ask, your voice coming out a little breathier than you intended. “Because there’s no way I was coherent enough to, you know, actually… follow through with all of that.”

Auston’s grin widens, and he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “Oh, you followed through,” he says, his voice low and dripping with implication. “And then some.”

Your breath catches, a mix of anticipation and anxiety curling in your chest. “And then some?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah. After the, uh, persuasive mouth routine, you decided to test just how good my endurance was.”

You swallow hard, your mind spinning with the possibilities of what that could mean. “And?” you ask, not sure if you really want to know but unable to stop yourself from asking anyway.

Auston chuckles, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. “And let’s just say, I passed with flying colors. You, on the other hand, needed a little extra… assistance.”

Your eyes widen, and a thousand thoughts race through your head all at once. Extra assistance? What the hell does that even mean? You open your mouth to ask, but Auston beats you to it, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers the next part.

“You couldn’t stay still,” he murmurs, his voice sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “So I had to hold you down. You loved every second of it, too. Begged for more.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it, and you can feel your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something that makes your skin tingle and your pulse race. Did you really do that? Did you actually beg Auston Matthews, star athlete and professional heartthrob, to hold you down and… and…?

Before you can fully process that thought, Auston pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression softening just a bit. “Honestly, you were incredible,” he says, his voice sincere now, without any of the teasing edge it had before. “It wasn’t just about the sex. It was… you. You were present. Raw. Real.”

Incredible? Raw? Real? The words are reverberating in your mind, crashing against the mental walls you've built to keep your self-esteem from plummeting into the abyss of "Why did I say that?" and "How did I do that?" You're oscillating between sheer terror and a weird sort of pride, as you try to reconcile the version of yourself Auston’s describing with the version of you that prefers to binge-watch Netflix on Friday nights rather than seduce professional athletes with—what was it? Oh, right. Your “persuasive mouth.”

Incredible, though? Okay, you can work with that. Let’s not focus on the “holding you down” part because that’s a whole can of worms you’re not ready to open just yet. Your mind flits between horror and a sort of bemused acceptance that, yes, you apparently did beg for… more. What kind of ‘more’ are we talking about here? Maybe, just maybe, you’re the kind of person who, when sufficiently drunk and caught in the orbit of a hockey god, turns into some kind of sex goddess with a penchant for… what exactly? Testing endurance? Needing to be restrained? You’re not sure if you should be embarrassed or if you should just own this.

“So, let me get this straight,” you start, your voice shaking slightly, but you soldier on because if you’re going to crash and burn, you might as well do it spectacularly. “I was not only wild enough to require to be pinned down, but I also made a good impression?”

Auston’s grin widens at your question, a slow, mischievous smile that makes your stomach do somersaults. “Oh, you made more than a good impression,” he says, his voice dripping with that same mix of teasing and sincerity that’s been throwing you off balance all morning. “In fact, you’ve pretty much ruined me for anyone else. I don’t think I’ll ever look at another woman without wondering if she’s got half the fire you do.”

Your brain is officially short-circuiting. Ruined him? For anyone else? Is he serious, or is this just another layer of his expertly crafted charm offensive?

Auston, however, still seems to be thoroughly enjoying your inner turmoil. "Look, I get it. You're trying to piece together a wild night that seems a bit... out of character," he says, leaning back against the counter, still smirking that infuriatingly charming smirk. "But believe me, that’s not all I care about. I want to actually get to know you, if you’ll let me.”

Getting to know you? Seriously? You can’t help but replay the absurdity of the night in your head. You’ve just discovered that you have an unrecognized talent for aggressive persuasion and that you’ve apparently made such an impression that Auston Matthews—and his stupidly fitting moustache—wants to spend more time with you.

You try to keep your composure, but your brain’s still scrambling. “Oh, sure. Get to know me,” you say, your voice a tad too high-pitched for comfort. “Because nothing says ‘relationship material’ like getting tipsy, hitting on you, and then sucking you off the first moment I could.”

Auston’s chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh, the kind that makes your cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson. The sound is surprisingly comforting, as if he's not just laughing at your expense but with you, which is oddly reassuring. You shift on your feet, trying to hide the fact that you’re still trying to process the avalanche of mortification and awkwardness that just buried you.

“Yeah, you’re really selling yourself short there,” He says, plainly, “If I only wanted that, I could’ve just stayed at the bar and picked someone who didn’t talk so much. But guess what?” He continues, taking a step closer and tilting your chin up with his finger so you’re looking right at him, “I didn’t. And you talk a lot, but so do I. That’s kind of perfect, no?”

You bite your lip, feeling a strange mix of flattery and disbelief. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit, not sure if you’re ready to dive headfirst into whatever this is—or could be.

Auston’s smile softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sends a small jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to make any big decisions right now,” he says softly. “Just… think about it.”

The sincerity in his voice, in his touch, makes you feel a little breathless. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this guy than just a famous name and a pretty face. And maybe, there’s more to this situation than just a one-night stand gone right or wrong.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Okay,” you finally say as a smile betrays your straight-faced expression. “I’ll think about it.”

Auston’s smile widens, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and letting out a chuckle. “Score. By the way, do you actually think Nylander is cute?”

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