#but that’s not a good way to think about art

[paintedcrows]

In my heart, Ford once went to an ice dimension and got Really Good at ice skating, and now he's absolutely insufferable about it.

[strwberri-milk]

Hiii I love your work 🥺♡ can I request reader comforting LADS boys over their insecurities? Since we're always the one being comforted, I think they deserve some love as well 😌♡✨️

its slightly adjusted, just a little for me to like. make it fit better for them lol

Zayne struggles with feeling good enough for you. He doesn't ever voice it but he hears the way other people talk about their partners and wonders if that's how you feel about him. He worries that he isn't around enough for you, that his genuine desire to help every patient that comes into his unit giving him incredibly long hours. Then, by the time he gets home he's exhausted and unable to give you the attention you deserve.

You watch him puzzle over his schedule, a deep furrow in his brows as he tries his best to figure out how to balance these two priorities in his life. It's normal for him to try and figure out the schedule best so you can spend time together but this is the first time you hear him muttering about not being good enough for you.

Before he can continue his quiet ramblings you throw your arms over his shoulders, hugging him tightly from behind. He's surprised you're there and even more surprised when you tell him that you heard him talking to himself. He sits quietly, taking in your words as you comfort him. You remind him that you love him, that everything he does makes you fall in love with him more and more. He likes being told directly these affections, making it easier for him to accept your love.

Xavier knows he's not the most emotive and he worries that you don't know how much he loves you. He shows it to you through gifts, buying you little things or through acts of service and cooking meals for you - well, trying to.

You've never doubted his love for you because you've learned all the quiet ways he does so. You adore him and know he does you. You've never told him so in so many words, thinking that he already knows you know. However, you can tell that something is off when his affectionate patterns seem to increase tenfold.

You get the sense that he's overcompensating for something, asking him if something's wrong. He doesn't want to say anything directly to you, a little embarrassed by his inability to cook you proper meals. When he tells you what's wrong you laugh a little, holding his hands and reassuring him that you know he loves you. You don't mind his quiet way of loving you, knowing that it's comforting to have something so gentle to come home to.

Rafayel is always worried about being forgotten, something you know well because of how much he talks about it. He thinks he's being subtle but that's because to him, he doesn't tell you often enough how desperate he is for him to remain in your memory indefinitely. The thought of you forgetting him, even just for a moment makes him want to curl up in a ball and die.

The only way for you to reassure him would be by holding him tightly, gently running your fingers through his hair. You let him rest his face in your neck, mutter whatever it is he wants to about you forgetting him and abandoning him. You let him get whatever it is he needs to get off his chest, then comfort him through your words.

You reassure him that you would never forget him willingly, that you think about him all the time. He occupies your every thought. You're obsessed with him, and you show him so by showing him all the photos you have of him, of his art, tell him that you constantly re-read the texts he sends you because you like to remember that he loves you just as much. He needs this closeness often, and that's the only way he can cope with his feelings of abandonment.

Sylus thinks you don't know that he does indeed love you. The two of you tease each other and he likes to mess with you sometimes. He's not good with his words, not really able to verbalise "I love you" without tripping over the simple syllables. It's something he's trying to work on but can't quite comprehend, finding himself growing frustrated from his repeated failures.

You overhear the twins teasing him about not being able to say "I love you", Sylus simply ignoring them both because he's got far too much work to do to really worry about it. He doesn't know that you're listening in, quietly shooing them off so you can speak to him personally.

You tease him just a little bit at first, amused that somehow, he's been so obvious about worrying about this shortcoming that the twins caught on. He doesn't really blush, but you can sense that he is a little flustered with the extra line between his furrowed brows and the way he pretends he doesn't hear what you're saying to him. Soon enough though you climb into his lap, holding him tightly as you reassure him that you know he loves you and you've never doubted it for a second.

[parker-d-bloodrose]

I went ahead and wrote my take on this scene. I don't do much fanfic so I hope it's enjoyable somewhat.

The wind rushed through Luke’s hair as his father’s lightsaber clashed with Darth Vader’s. His feet moved across the catwalk as Vader steadily pushed him back under the onslaught of the masked Sith Lord’s assault. Darth Vader was so much older, so much more skilled in the art of lightsaber combat and Luke couldn’t help but feel the void of the gulf between the two of them. He was an indomitable titan, cloaked in void-black robes. And then came the fateful blow. It was an overhead blow. Sparks flew from the contact of the lightsabers as Luke blocked it, but after a moment his knee gave out beneath him. He collapsed under the weight of Darth Vader’s strike and fell backwards.

Vader pointed the tip of his lightsaber at Luke’s throat. For Luke there were only four things in his mind at that moment. The feeling of the metal digging into his back as he lay there against the catwalk. The heat radiating from the lightsaber at his throat, the incessant hum of the weapon, and the black clad hand that wielded the saber.

“You are beaten. It is useless to resist,” the Sith lord said, his voice filled with the static of the vocalizer and the hiss of the air from his mechanical lungs. “Do not let yourself be struck down as Obi-Wan did.”

At the mention of his mentor’s name, Luke felt a surge of anger rush through him and he knocked Vader’s lightsaber aside with his the blue blade of his father’s lightsaber. Vader recovered to swing another over head blow – a killing blow. Luke jumped to his feet, and took advantage of Vader being off balance and slashed the Sith Lord’s shoulder. Their duel continued, Vader’s red blade striking Luke’s father’s blue. Luke was being steadily forced to give ground to that damn Sith. He crossed a pair of pylons and found himself on the catwalk to one of the anti-grav control spires for the city. He ducked another strike from Vader, which cut through the pylons like a hot knife through bantha butter. It was at that moment that Luke made a fatal mistake. He tried to swing as he got up, but Vader was prepared for this and in one searing hot blow, he cut Luke’s lightsaber hand off.

The young man screamed, just as much in rage as in pain. Luke watched in slow motion as his hand and more importantly, his father’s lightsaber fell down the shaft and out of sight. He looked to the stump where his hand used to be in shock and clutched at it as a million billion nerves lit up at once with pain. He found himself again lower than Vader. He clutched the catwalk’s railing with his good arm as the Sith approached him, that red hot killing weapon radiating the heat and hum. Black boots filled Luke’s vision.

“There is no escape,” Vader said. He didn’t even sound winded. “Don’t make me destroy you.”

Luke slowly crawled backwards, staring up at the man. He could feel every emotion welling up in him at once – anger, despair, and strangely pity.

Vader continued, “Luke, you do not yet even realize your importance.” He raised his hand toward Luke, offering it to him. “Join me, and I will complete your training.”

Luke felt his foot touch the base of the spire and he turned around, clutching at it. In this moment, his head was filled with everything Obi-Wan had told him. How Vader had killed his father and his mother. The memory of how Vader struck Obi-Wan down too flashed. The way his aunt and uncle’s bodies were burnt. The stench of their seared flesh. This one man had been responsible for taking so much from Luke. And it was all Luke could think about.

“With our combined strength, we could end this destructive conflict,” Was it Luke’s imagination, or was there a hint of tiredness to Vader’s mechanical voice, “And bring order back to this galaxy.”

Luke clutched the anti-grav spire and spat, “I will never join you!”

Vader clutched his fist and those jet black eyes of his mask stared deep into Luke’s as he said, “If only you knew the power of the Dark side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

Luke hooked his only remaining hand around a pole as he turned to face Vader again. “He told me enough,” the young man said as he swung down and onto a thin pipe. “He told me you killed him. And then you killed my mother.”

There was only the wind in the air as Vader drew back, staggered by Luke’s words. Finally, shaken not by a blow from Luke’s lightsaber, but rather his words. Vader straightened his back and then gripped the railing of the catwalk as he leaned forward, shaking. Was it rage he was shaking with?

“No,” Vader said, his voice strangely somber, “I am your father.”

Luke looked up at the other man – his father – with horror. He shook his head in quiet denial. But despite everything he knew it to be true. It explained so much of Vader’s actions towards him.

“And yes. I did kill your mother,” the man’s voice was broken with more static as his shoulders began to shake. Was he crying? “I killed her just as I killed Obi-Wan.” He turned his saber off and clipped it onto his belt. Darth Vader – no, Luke realized, Anakin Skywalker, turned his back on Luke. “The guilt of that deed flows through me daily. It weighs upon my back like a boulder. I thought I could do better with you, my son.”

Then Anakin turned back toward Luke, and he was once more Darth Vader. He clenched his fist again, and said to his son, “That is why I want you to join forces with me. Together we can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this. He is afraid of this. Join me, so we can rule the galaxy together as father and son.” Vader extended his open hand to his child again. “Come with me. It is the only way.”

Luke looked between his father’s out stretched hand and the yawning pit below. He shook his head. He let go of the anti-grav spire and fell backwards, down that impossibly long shaft.

“No!” Anakin cried out in that shuddering, static voice that was somehow filled with tears, his hand reaching for his son. But it was too late. He could only watch helplessly as Luke fell into the darkness below.

what if instead of being under the impression that Darth Vader killed his father someone told Luke that Vader killed his mother and then Luke hit him w that accusation in the middle of their confrontation and Vader just started crying

[drchucktingle]

I watched the 2004 Klaus Nomi documentary and his story reminded me of how you talk about creativity and being genuine. The interviewees talked about how the first time he performed with the persona Klaus Nomi at a vaudeville-style variety show in NYC in the 70s, everyone was stunned. Several of the people describing this event mentioned how the show was meant to be ironic, everyone was doing nudge-wink joking acts and goofing around, the audience/scene was apparently very cynical, but he got up and took it seriously. He was earnest, he was himself, and after a frozen moment of silence, everyone went crazy.

THANK YOU yes this is very reminiscent of what the journey of my career has been like, and this particular trot makes me very proud. all of the buckaroos who mean a lot to me artistically, from the andys (andy kaufman and andy warhol) to the davids (david byrne and david lynch) have had similar ways from 'strange' outsider to legend.

was talkin with some buds about how i think there is possibly a connection between this and my autism trot. there is a sort of ability to see a path that nobody else takes but say to yourself 'that makes sense to me, i do not really care if nobody else takes this path'. others can be bogged down with the 'right' way of doing something

so really being ridiculed like i have is this beautiful artistic TROJAN HORSE, where initially very few people take you seriously but they still let you in. they let you trot around in their brain for a while and very slowly they start to get it.

i think it also goes to show how much art is in PERCEPTION of the creator (i talk on this a lot already but this is very good example). look at something like SPACE RAPTOR BUTT INVASION getting nominated for hugo award. EVERYONE said some variation of 'this is obviously a joke and making fun of gay people and autistic people and erotica itself' and on and on. buds on the left said this, buds on the right said this. it was VICIOUS. and all the while i said 'no this is real serious art and i am doing something that goes outside of the way you see the medium itself' and that just made people MORE MAD.

but now looking back, when i presently have award winning best selling books from major publishers and so on, it is easier to see that the erotic tingleverse, as a whole, is a valid piece of art and expression that resonates with a lot of people.

really the only thing that changed was the perception of ME as a creator

anyway. i am proud of my art and where i sit in the world of artists. i like being a sort of chaotic queer punk rock force. so i cannot complain really

i will say this though. this is all a PERFECT example of how queer and neurodivergent artists have to go above and beyond to even get basic respect from both the left and the right

the years of saying 'i am serious. i am real' the years of taking vitriol, or being constantly made fun of are PERSONALLY okay with me. i am a tough buckaroo. in a strange way, that story is kind of part of the art in itself. HOWEVER we still have to acknowledge that a straight neurotypical person would NEVER have to constantly prove themselves like i have.

i dream of a world where queer and autistic artists are not harassed by one side and gatekept by the other, and believe it or not i think we are moving in a good direction. there is still a LOT OF WORK to go though

fortunately, i think there are easy ways to help. you can support outsider artists you like by reading or listening or just buying their art and puttin it on your shelf (PREORDER LUCKY DAY BY CHUCK TINGLE HERE). but ALSO, if you are an outsider yourself JUST CREATING IS SO POWERFUL. build and craft and speak your unique way into the universe. FILL THIS SPACE WITH YOUR UNIQUE WAY. THAT is how we prove love is real.

see that path that makes since to you but nobody else is willing to try? take it

[melmedarda]

Those in the fandom calling Mel manipulative are suffering from a severe lack of media literacy. Mel being framed as manipulative is a misdirect, said by the writers themselves in the Art of Arcane book. And those who refuse to see Mel as anything other than manipulative are falling into that trap.

The writers have set her up to appear as one thing while being another. She is a woman of mercy. She has all the tools to be like Ambessa, all the upbringing, but she actively pushes against it. She's pragmatic and utilitarian in her political approach. It's not about what is best for her, but what is for the greater good. For Mel it's about giving back. She did not invest in Hextech for herself, but to protect the city of Piltover from threats like Ambessa, while Ambessa only wanted to use it for their family. A lot of the fandom is painting Mel as the woman Ambessa is, and frankly, that is a disservice to Mel's character. She is not perfect. Yes she is wealthy, and yes she was either unaware/inactive in regards to the state of Zaun, I will not deny that. Her inaction caused her much regret, as she says in her game lines, which shoes she can learn the hard lessons from her mistakes. She is not the villain you all believe her to be

She is complex, but she is filled with good will. She never manipulated Jayce but mentored him to operate in the political arena of Piltover so that Hextech would not be monopolized or crushed by those in the council. When she did use her influence within the council, it was to save Jayce from exile, to prepare appropriate measures to protect Piltover by someone who would not taint its purpose (which is why it had to be Jayce), and to grant independence to Zaun. Yes, her decisions appear self-serving at first, but when you take a step back, you see it. It was her way of giving back to the city, she says as much to Jayce. To protect her city and the lives within it. Her approach may not be as straightforward, but she is no less well intentioned for it.

In season 2 she says, "No life is expendable." To Ambessa, she says "If you care for me at all, spare their lives." And her in game line reiterates this sentiment, "To think these gifts were hidden within me. The lives I could have saved…" This is her driving force in all that she does. Her respect for the sanctity of life is what Ambessa considers Mel's weakness, but really, it is her greatest strength and I will always love her for it. It's the reason why I am so eager to see how she fares in Noxus, where strength is glorified, and the only way death is decided is by taking life. It's my hope that she doesn't change, and that her compassion will continue to be her strength. I hope she breaks the cycle, and is free of Ambessa standards. I do not want Riot to make Mel into another Ambessa. I do not want Noxus to taint her.

[amberstruck]

Chocobo AU Masterpost

In which Scar is a magi-zoologist, and Grian is a shapeshifter who can become a bird at will. He’s also on the run from the watchers, and helps Scar run his magical zoo because he can communicate with other creatures when he’s in his bird form.

Concept Art

Character Designs Magical Creature Designs

Comic Parts

Part 1: the reveal

Answered Asks

Grian’s knowledge Platonic or Romantic? Can Grian talk?

Grian’s name

FAQ

These are just questions that I’ve got lots of asks for, so I’m answering them here instead of each one individually!

1. Is it ok to make art/fics of the AU?

Of course! I would absolutely love to see any works that were inspired by it, so definitely tag me if you do! I would prefer to be either linked or credited in fics as the creator of the AU if they’re on a site other than tumblr, but it doesn’t matter that much.

It would also be great to use the tag ‘chocobo AU’ for anything that is on tumblr so it’s all in one place, but that’s down to personal preference! Honestly just go wild

2. Can Grian become more than just a bird?

I’m still fleshing out a lot of aspects of the AU, so this might change in future but for now I’m gonna say no. He’s magical, and potentially could learn to be other creatures if he figured out how to harness his magic in such a way, but he never has in the AU so far. He’s just a bird!

3. Can Grian do partial transformations (ie, only keeping certain features such as his wings)?

It’s probably obvious now just because he has wings in his human form in both the comic and the art pictured above, but yes! He can. However he won’t generally be depicted with any other features than his wings when he’s in human form, just because I can’t see it being necessary

4. Will it become a long comic/a fic?

Actually about to get onto that!

This part of the post will be removed later on, but..

Finally: I’m looking for a fic writer

I’ve had a little thinkity think, and decided that I’d rather make the AU into a longfic (ie 80-100k words) than a long comic, although there will still be plenty more art and comic parts to come.

The issue is that I don’t really have enough time to continue making regular art and regularly updating a fic, so it would have to be one or the other. I also don’t have much experience in fic writing, so I’ve decided to ask if any fic writers would want to work with me to make it!

Obviously I understand if nobody wants to, so it might now happen, but I want to clarify that it wouldn’t just be me bossing you around. We would work together to create the plot, worldbuilding, and you could have plenty of input into what the characterisations are and also the designs for any future creatures and concept art I create.

It would be a team project, not just me getting you to write my AU, but yeah! I totally get if it’s not anyone’s cup of tea. Either way there will be plenty more to come for this AU.

If you are a fic writer and you would be interested in working on it then shoot me a dm and maybe link some of your fics so I can see them! If there’s more than one person I might have to decide between multiple people so it would be good to have a reference for your writing

Anyways! That was a very long post so if you did manage to read all of this, then thank you!!!

[makeitmakesomesense]

Starry Night

Natasha Romanoff x Jealous!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Day 10: I've merged a very fun request from a lovely anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 10th of January, which is 'religion'.

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Your linked hands swung absentmindedly in the space between you. 

Natasha’s head tilted as she observed the painting.

After a moment, you felt her attention inevitably turn back to you. You tried to focus on the brushstrokes, the colours, something. At least this one wasn’t about religion.

‘What do you think?’ She prompted.

‘I like the stars.’ You said carefully.

Natasha’s lip twitched. 

‘That’s good. Given it’s A Starry Night.’ She rasped dryly.

You nodded, pretending to keep staring at the painting. Natasha brought your hand to her lips and held it there for a moment. 

Your focus turned readily  to her. It was much more enjoyable anyway, watching her look at the paintings.

‘What do you think?’ 

Natasha glanced back at you. Her eyes crinkled with a more hesitant smile.

‘I love it.’ She admitted. 

You leaned forward and kissed her cheek, ignoring the bustling crowds of tourists around you.

You stayed together, lost in the tiny moment, until a short woman elbowed her way in front of you to take a photo of the painting. 

Natasha’s eyes were full of mirth as she pulled you back to the centre of the room. Her arms snaked around your waist as she stood behind you. 

‘What do you want to look at next?’ She asked softly, her head resting on your shoulder.

You chewed your lip and tried to decide. The paintings all looked the same to you. 

This trip was already perfect without the art. It had been Natasha’s idea. A tentative gift for your one year anniversary. A long weekend spent in Paris. 

It was strange to live, for even the briefest of moments, as if you weren’t part of the Avengers team. Your life had become something unrecognisable in the time that you’d been part of it.

Now, here in Paris, you’d never seen Natasha so relaxed, so completely herself. 

The very first evening, she’d disappeared out of the apartment almost as soon as you’d set your luggage down. She’d returned within minutes, holding all the components for a charcuterie board and a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine.

You’d wanted to unpack and get organised after the long flight but Natasha had insisted that you join her on the balcony. You’d sat together for hours, sharing food and drink and staring out at a nighttime view that didn’t seem real.

You’d understood the magic then. Slow kisses that heated the chilled night air. The sparkling lights of the city reflected back in Natasha’s eyes.

Nothing in any gallery could beat that. 

‘You choose.’ You told Natasha, leaning back in her arms as you surveyed the gallery room. ‘I always like your choices best anyway.’

Natasha hummed to herself, trying to decide. You let yourself focus only on her. The constant thrum of people wandering around the room created an almost overwhelming level of background noise. 

At last, Natasha nodded over to another painting, one with two women watching each other in bed. 

You smiled before you could help it, remembering that morning. 

‘Okay.’ You agreed. 

Suddenly, you felt Natasha stiffen behind you. Then, after a moment, you felt her purposefully relax. You were immediately on high alert. You scanned the room with a new intention, trying your best to identify any threat. 

Your attention caught immediately on a woman across the room. Her stare was entirely focused on your girlfriend. 

‘Is everything okay?’ You asked tensely, staring at the woman whose focus refused to flicker from Natasha’s face. 

Natasha moved easily from behind you to by your side. She looked distracted but her smile was reassuring.  

‘Yes.’ She promised. ‘I know her. Let me go say hello.’

You watched her walk away from you over to the strange woman. The beautiful Parisian woman. The upsettingly beautiful Parisian woman. 

You watched Natasha kiss her cheeks and hug her. You watched their obvious delight at reconnecting. You watched the disgustingly beautiful Parisian woman reach up to touch a piece of Natasha’s hair, you watched her mouth form a comment about its new length and colour. You watched Natasha smile shyly. 

You felt small and then you felt angry. You felt an instinct lock your body in place.

It took a minute for Natasha to look over to you. She took a few steps back in your direction, not quite closing the distance. 

‘There’s this wine.’ She started, clearly excited. ‘I’ve been looking for it all weekend. Elodie knows this place that sells it. It’s right around the corner’

You kept your expression neutral. You hated that Elodie was obviously looking over at you. 

‘Do you mind if we-?’ Natasha trailed off, gesturing between herself and the woman who you were going to make a voodoo doll of later. 

You nodded, throat tight. 

Natasha kissed your cheek.

‘Stay, enjoy the art. I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone.’ She promised, an excited glint in her eye. 

You watched Natasha’s hand brush Elodie’s back as they walked out together. 

When you were finally alone in a sea of strangers, you let the feelings wash over you in quick succession. 

Jealousy. Hurt. Anger. 

Your fingernails dug into your palm as the feelings simmered. 

Who the fuck was Elodie?

You walked blindly past the remaining masterpieces and headed for the exit.

Natasha caught a hold of you in the foyer. She looked startled to see you there. 

She nodded back to the endless gallery rooms and gave you a curious smile. 

‘Have you seen it all already?’ She teased lightly.

‘Mmhm’ You hummed tightly. ‘Let’s go back to the apartment.’

Your sharp tone set off the first alarm bells. You watched the realisation dawn on Natasha’s face, the slight widening of her eyes. 

You didn’t give her a chance to speak. You walked out the building and headed towards your apartment. 

Natasha kept pace at your side. You could feel her nervous glances towards you. Her hesitating indecision to say something. 

Something about your stony expression kept her quiet.

By the time you’d reached the apartment, after climbing the endless winding staircase inside the building’s courtyard, the unspoken tension was almost at a boiling point. 

Natasha’s tote bag clinked occasionally as her new purchase bumped against her keys. Your jaw tightened every time you heard it.

You opened the door and walked straight to the kitchenette. Natasha followed cautiously behind you.

It occurred to you then that you’d never had a proper fight before. Never had a reason to be really angry. More than a year had gone by in relative peace. 

Until Elodie. 

You opened the fridge door violently and pulled out the ingredients for lunch automatically. 

You could feel Natasha hovering in your blind spot. 

You hooked a dining chair with your foot and pulled it out from the table.

‘Sit.’ You directed tightly. ‘I’ll make us some lunch.’

Natasha sat with the obedience of a hostage victim. 

You arranged the jars of beurre de cacahuètes and confiture next to the wooden chopping board and placed the bread that Natasha had bought fresh that morning on top of it. You yanked open the cutlery drawer and retrieved the large bread knife.

You felt Natasha wince behind you. You ignored her as you started sawing at the bread.

‘So.’ You said loudly. ‘How do you know Elodie?’

Natasha’s hesitation this time was blatant.

‘Uh.’ You heard her stall for time. You sawed quickly through your first slice and tossed it onto the waiting plate. ‘From a long time ago.’

‘Mmhm.’ You hummed again, eyes trained on the moving knife. ‘And you knew each other well.’

You didn’t frame it as a question but Natasha answered anyway.

‘...Yes.’

‘Very well.’ You said under your breath, tossing another brutalised slice of bread onto the plate. 

‘...Yes.’ Natasha said with obvious alarm as you began to hack at the loaf again. 

‘Lucky Elodie.’ You muttered bitterly. ‘I bet you’ve got wonderful memories of Paris together. Did you drink that wine on a balcony with her? What sort of name is Elodie anyway? I mean that’s practically too French. I mean come on. It’s like a Russian girl being called-’

‘Natasha.’ Natasha supplied.

You kept moving your knife thoughtlessly. 

‘Exactly. Whatever.’ You cut yourself off into abrupt silence as you stewed internally on things you really shouldn’t say aloud.

‘Y/N.’ Natasha called out carefully.

‘What?’ You snapped.

‘Love. You’re sawing the chopping board in half.’ You froze and stared down at the small pile of sawdust mixing with the breadcrumbs. You yanked the knife abruptly out of the wooden board and placed it down on top of it. You stared for a long moment at the counter. You couldn’t escape the truth of it. The fear that ached behind everything.

‘Did you take her to see those paintings before?’ You asked at last in a small voice. ‘Before me?’

‘Love.’ Natasha said quietly again in a low voice that always made your insides go warm. You heard her move closer and felt her arms wrap around you, tentatively. You let your back press against her.

‘Before you.’ She murmured slowly, and you felt each word vibrate through you. ‘I know it’s not that simple. But before you nothing really mattered.’

Her lips touched your neck and you let your eyes close. You thought about her and you. About the 400 nights you’d spent together. About the sleepy mornings and the date nights and the future plans. 

You thought about the painting you’d seen of the two women watching each other in bed.

‘Before you.’ Natasha whispered again. ‘There was art and good food and fancy wine.’ Natasha’s hand trailed lightly down your front and the back up. Your head tilted back and Natasha dragged her finger along your exposed neck. 

You thought about the starry night reflected back to you in Natasha’s eyes. 

Your body shuddered as Natasha’s fingernails tapped gently over your trachea.

All you could hear were her soft breaths and your shallow ones.  ‘Before you. I wasn’t me.’

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Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

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[celuere]

lockjaw

pairing: sub!arlecchino x fem!reader

context: when your husband comes home drained of her energy and completely exhausted, you decide to return the favor and give her a nice… treat…

cw: needy arlecchino, faceriding, teasing, overstimulation, there is only one hing that can make the knave scream and it‘s her wife‘s mouth, will be using wife and husband on arle in this one because i see her not minding what of the two you‘ll use on her, she lowkey loosed it idk man

word count: 2.5k

art creds: lilly of the valley

on a rather rainy saturday you were sat comfortably underneath the warmth of your covers, dragging a red pencil over the children’s recent homework. with the clock chiming in for 11pm, the other side of your bed was still suspiciously empty. 

weird. usually she should be home by now… perhaps she is staying in her office at zapolyarny palace tonight due to the heavy downpour, which would be inconvenient. the two of you still had to plan the upcoming vacation for the hearth, a break with the children has been long overdue. you were thinking of visiting inazumas‘s watatsumi island, the cultural aspect and stunning scenery of the inazuman region always appealed you, but given your husband‘s status and the latest events between the last fatui harbinger and the shogun… maybe chenyu vale would also be a lovely destination.

your head jerked up as you were pulled out of your train of thoughts by the sound of a heavy door being shut, followed by some faint fontainian cursing echoing through the halls.

seems like your husband did make it home through the awful weather. you did not bother leaving the comfort of your bed as you already heard the soft thuds of her feet dragging her up the stairs while your gaze was still fixed on the mathematical equation before you.

eventually you‘ll have to give the kids another lesson about addition and multiplication. the old metal hinges of the door creaked softly in response to your husband pushing her way inside. 

„i‘ll get them oiled tomorrow.“, she‘d say almost every time, only to end up forgetting it in the midst of her harbinger work.

but not today.

today you were simply just greeted with a soft, almost inaudible „good evening, love.“. the lack of her usual deeper, serious tone caused you to lift your eyes up from the papers you were currently holding and… dear archons.

„what on earth happened with you?“

„don‘t mention it.“, with her hair dripping wet from getting caught in the weather, down to her… dirty and crinkled clothes… your husband looked like she‘s seen hell. you could swear she looked around five years younger when she left the house this morning. even her hair looked like a mess.

you watched your spouse slowly starting to shed out of her clothed, starting by unbuttoning her silken blazer, you could audibly hear her taking a very deep inhale through her nose, „i wanted to be home two hours ago, if it were not for the glorious ideas of our children.“, by now you could see they’ll steam slowly emitting from her wet strands, gotta put that curse to use somehow.

„what kind of idea required you to come home looking like… a dirty cat...?“, you put the homework aside to focus your attention fully on her as her hands fumbled with the buckle of her belt. what a sight.

„they thought it to be a clever… almost glorious idea to play hide and seek in the forest nearby the town. only to come back with not one but two of their siblings missing.“, your eyes widened as she explained the recent of you, but just as you wanted to speak up, arlecchino raised her hand and continued talking, „i naturally… reprimanded them and walked with them back to their… playground where i spent the last two hours looking for the rest of these buffoons. with my footwear. in muddy terrain. [name], they will spend the rest of the month helping around in the house. no missions. strict bedtime. the garden is long overdue for a change anyway. and we‘re not getting them the two dogs they have been begging for.“, she clicked her tongue in frustration as she failed to open up the belt before simply giving up and letting her head sag along with her shoulders.

it has been a while since you saw her so fed up. 

„honey… calm down now…“, sighing, you pushed back the blanket that was covering your lower half and rose up from the mattress. crimson eyes fixating your face as you came to a stop before her and slowly started to open up her belt.

„the children learned their lesson… sure, that idea was indeed not of high intelligence but they‘re kids at the end of the day. nobody got hurt and they‘re all safely tucked in the security of our house now… and that is all what matters.“, your hands slowly pulled the leather away from her pants and placing it neatly over the chair in front of your make up desk.

„i am very well aware of that, it‘s just… archons above, they scared the living daylights out of me…“, a sigh so deep and heavy left her throat that it had you staring up her for a good few moments, finally taking a closer look at her beautiful face which was laced with exhaustion.

„i can understand that more than well enough… but getting yourself worked up all over again will do you no good, darling. was the rest of your day at least better?“, you hooked your fingers underneath the hem of her pants to tug them down for her.

„don‘t. get me started. not now. not when i‘m with my wife…“, her black hand reached up to tug some of your lost strands back behind your ear.

and something clicked inside your head.

it has been a while since she was on the receiving end. actually… it has been months since then. and seeing how… exhausted she was right now as she got changed into her sleepwear…

before you could stop yourself, your hand grabbed after her wrist just as she wanted to put on her pants. your husband raised a questioning eyebrow at your move.

„something the matter?“

„get on the bed. please… i have just the right idea to relieve you.“, tugging her now gently towards the bed by her wrist… arlecchino did not protest. at all. maybe she was clueless. or maybe she was just too exhausted to care.

she wordlessly watched you crawl onto bed and lay down flat on your back before she sighed, „ma cherie… i would love to take care of my wife, but i really am not in the mood to buckle up one of our various toys today.“

she gave you one of her rare apologetic smiles as she wanted to proceed with putting her pyjama pants on.

„peruere.“

the usage of her real name caused her to look back at you in slight bewilderment. that name was reserved for serious, intimate situations after all. whenever you wanted her to either listen to you or when she had you gripping and moaning into the sheets until your voice grew hoarse and your knuckles white.

„sit. and i don‘t mean in front of or besides me.“, your face showed not a single sign of amusement nor sarcasm as you gestured with one of your manicured nails to your face. you could see her visibly gulp at the realization of what you were implying.

„i… ma chérie, tu ne peux pas t'attendre à ce que je…“

„my darling, you can‘t possibly expect me to…“

„i am. now sit. please… you‘d do the same for me, i‘m certain…“, that seemed to do the trick for her because just mere moments later her pants found themselves discarded on her side of the bed and she making her way up to your face, even if she was hesitant at first.

„don‘t be shy now… come here, gorgeous…“, you allowed yourself to grab onto her hips to speed up this torturously slow process, the mattress sinking down further beneath her weight. she lets a soft gasp out at your grip before you were met with a wonderfully sweet view on the small wet spot that formed on your wife‘s plain red panties.

„excited, are we, hm…?“, you could not keep that teasing grin off of lips even if your life depended on it. seeing the usually composed and dominant woman struggling to maintain eye contact with you was too adorable to not bathe in her embarrassment.

„quit that attitude or i‘ll-“, a sharp inhale followed as you interrupted her by pressing a soft kiss right onto the wet stain on her clothed pussy before you invited yourself to pull the fabric aside.

„i barely touched you and you‘re almost dripping over my mouth… who would think the knave is so easy to rile up…“, your mouth almost started to water at the sight of her slick folds, waiting to be licked clean by none other than you.

„a-are-“, she had to clear her throat, „are you done with torturing me- Oh-!“, a strong hand found its way almost immediately into your hair the moment you pressed her down on your mouth, your tongue gliding up her cunt, gathering her arousal before you almost eagerly swallowed. this woman tasted so unbelievably good and she had no idea. not a single clue of how every small gulp of her fluids snapped the restraints of your self control one by one. sharp nails scratched along your scalp as you finally paid her almost aching clit some attention by sucking her into your mouth, nibbling on the sensitive bundle of nerves and believe it or not. it did not take long until her hips started moving against your face. 

arlecchino peruere tried her utmost to keep her voice down, to not let you know how badly she enjoyed her wife eating the living the daylights out of her pussy, but she gave it all away by how she almost desperately humped your face. one hand keeping your head in place as the other had an almost deadly grip onto the wooden headboard. she did not know how badly she needed this, to just hand over the leash every once in a while. 

and as expected. it did not long for your husbands first high of the evening to hit her like an aquabus. thighs quivering around your head. her juices running down both sides of your face as she rode out her orgasm on your face, but even then she barely made any sounds besides the occasional gasp and „shit“ being muttered underneath her hot breath. 

much to your dismay.

that is why you kept her pressed down. kept her wet pussy right on your mouth as you pressed your tongue flat against her before you let movements of her own hips do the rest as her arousal ran down your throat. 

„fuck…yes…“, the humping slowly turned into a more rocking motion, dragging her whole cunt over your messed up face. you ignored how soaked your own panties were by now. or how you were clenching around nothing. all of that did not matter when the first soft moan slipped past her lips as her second orgasm came crashing down on her way sooner than expected. she was trembling by now. you could even feel the hand gripping your hair shivering slightly and she has the ridiculous idea to try and get off your face. we couldn‘t have that. right?

„you are not going anywhere…“, bringing her dripping pussy back down on your face by her thighs, you knew exactly what do with your tongue this time. 

„ah-!!! hold on-! th-that is not- hah-!!“, a moan from the depths of her throat so guttural bounced off the walls, it sent a fucking shiver down your spine. slipping your tongue inside her obviously seemed like the perfect choice. 

she was so incredibly sensitive, every little move of yours seemed to sent her jolting against you. and she was whining. whining and whimpering, begging for a short break, to just let her breathe for a second when you continued to tonguefuck her, your nose nuzzled against her swollen clit, your whole face was covered in sweat and other bodily fluids by now from her earlier faceriding. 

so celestia help this tortured soul when the wooden headboard seemed to slowly start cracking underneath her literal deathgrip. she could not handle her wife. she couldn‘t handle the overwhelming pleasure sending bolts of ecstasy through her body and she certainly couldn‘t handle the third orgasm you shoved down her throat. you coul barely see anything down there other than few black and neatly trimmed pubes, but you were drowning in her.

and did she really think it would stop here?

„b-break- l-love please… i-“, was the knave sobbing right now? sobbing over getting her literal soul sucked out of her pussy? you will never let her live this down. ever.

but in the back of your mind you already knew she will pay you back. tenfold. but that was a problem to worry about for another day. the only thing that mattered now was getting her through a fourth orgasm now. 

clearly, you weren‘t nearly as skilled as her when it came to mouthwork, but you memorized quite a lot from your past experiences with her. for example how to nicely curl up your tongue in an enjoyable manner for her and you didn‘t know if hated or loved it by the way her moan rung in your ears.

pathetic, was she not?

amidst the fog of her taste covering your mind, you could not help but moan into her warmth, pressing your legs together to somehow soothe the almost hurting emptiness between them. it has been a while since you were this down. you are sure that there must have formed a stain on the sheets underneath you already.

and you did not even notice when the juices from her fourth climax dripped into your mouth. you were so fixed, so obsessed with savoring every single drop of her arousal as the poor woman above you tried calming down from the raw energy clouding her mind, lungs burning along with every single one of her poor muscles. her thighs were practically numb by now.

but neither of you noticed the smell of burnt wood filling the room until you finally opened your eyes to look up at your poor husband.

only to see the headboard she was holding onto for dear life simmering and smoking underneath her hand, with a small flame slowly starting to form right underneath, her arm completely drowned in a bloody red.

„m-mh-!!!!“, now slapping her thighs and trying to catch her attention, you were the one getting nervous now.

„hm…? what is it now…?“, she groaned as she slowly lifted her head up- and groaned even more at sight of the destroyed headboard.

„archons above, not again.“, she ran a hand over her sweaty face before snapping her fingers and getting off of your face. the fire simply seized from existence.

with a soft tint of pink decorating her face she looked down at you, crimson eyes screaming anything but soft, „just to be… clear… this never happened.“

„you were a bit too loud for that to be true-“, another snap echoed from somewhere far away, rendering you silent. you just stuck out your tongue to her.

but it was worth it when you watched her try to get out of bed the next morning without looking an old grandma.

[hees-mine]

More Loser virgin heeseung thoughts

NSFW MDNI hard thought/Drabble

Loser virgin hee: who nearly loses his fucking mind cause he must be dreaming someone must be playing tricks on him. There’s no way that you’re actually taking video requests from your viewers, but no matter how many times he refreshes your page, the options still lingers, a blue button waiting to be clicked on with the price tag reading an amount he doesn’t even pay attention to before he clicks pay.

Loser virgin hee: who sends back to back requests for you to do a blowjob pov, and missionary pov with a bigger dildo so he can really get immersed and imagine it’s him and of course, a doggystyle pov. He loves seeing your pretty little hole getting stuffed from behind.

Loser virgin hee: who, when he receives said requested content, will thank you over and over again even though he knows you’ll never see it, but still he’s grateful for these works of art, a perfect canvas for him to paint in his pearly white.

Loser virgin hee: will cherish the fuck out of those videos, religiously busting a nut to each one every single day. He thinks the amount he’s cum in the last week is probably not healthy, but he can’t stop as he watches you fuck yourself with a new dildo, one much closer to his size.

Loser virgin hee: who can’t stop requesting videos of you, and he doesn’t know what’s dryer, his balls, or his bank account, but that doesn’t matter when he gets a notification that you’re live. He tuned in immediately, ready for a night of endless pleasure. He’s cum so many times in just a few minutes that the overstimulation makes him feel like crying, but he just can’t stop himself when it comes to you.

Loser virgin hee: who at three am is so sleepy but so horny that he pulls back his blankets and his sweats along with boxers to snap a dick pick and send it to you with the caption. “I’m so hard for you, wish I could feel your sweet wet pussy gushing and squeezing around my thick cock, bet it’d feel so much better than that stupid dildo” In his tired brain, he hits the send button, not thinking much of it until he sees a response like a real response, not the automated ones he’s used to. “Hmm, I bet it would 👅��”

Loser virgin hee: who shoots up from his laying position. Suddenly, he’s not tired anymore, and his shaky hands send a text back. “I’d do you so good, beautiful. You’re so perfect. You deserve everything.” he feels his heart race, waiting for your response. He’s ridiculously nervous yet horny at the same time, which is a first for him, and he slowly tugs on his thick length till it’s fully erected, a bead of precum decorating his tip.

Loser virgin hee: that almost busts his load just from seeing your three dots typing. Your response makes his eyes roll in his head at just the thought. “What would you do to me?” “Take my time with you. Kiss every inch of your perfect body, prep your sweet little hole with my fingers make you cum on my face and my tongue before giving you my cock. I’d feed it in real slowly just to watch your pretty face while my thick cock fills you up, stroke every inch of your walls so deep till your begging for more, till you clamp and squeeze around me till you cum from how good I fuck you.”

Loser virgin hee: who would probably lose it if he knew you were rubbing your thighs together as you read his text. You didn’t usually text with your clients, but since he was your highest paying one, you made an exception. You’re not disappointed, especially when he sends you a video moaning your name as he strokes his cock. It’s thick, long, and veiny, and the drop of precum he spreads on his shaft makes your mouth water. When he cums, shaking while whimpering your name, you feel like you should be the one paying for personal videos of him cause seeing his cum dripping down his throbbing shaft was definitely a sight to see.

Loser virgin hee: who feels as if time has stopped when you tell him. “That was so hot you deserve a reward. How about we video call?” The speed to which he replies is lightning fast, and the next thing you know, he’s setting up a time to call you. This is by far the best night of his life, and he sleeps soundly, but this time, it’s not from the back-to-back orgasms.

Link to Patreon!

[detta-pica]

The last part especially! I've had this argument with people I consider smart, sensitive, good communicators, kind and well-meaning - and yet they fail to consider that there's no way to only allow for "appropriate" depictions of a thing.

There just isn't. We can either have all of it or none. Either we allow all kinds of people to mess with X concept in whatever way seems appealing to them, or we censor X entirely.

Because how do we judge where the line between appropriate and inappropriate is? When it's art? When it's satire? When it's a sexual fantasy? There's no way to measure the harm caused by fiction. Every discussion on this topic focused on that harm veers towards preventing/punishing thoughtcrime, and that's just ridiculous.

And if we censor X entirely, it becomes more dangerous. Low hanging fruit example: conversations about abuse can help people realise what they are seeing/experiencing is not normal and not okay, and act. Censorship is a tool for controlling people, not protecting them. It removes their ability to think for themselves.

On top of all that, there's also a conversation to be had about what gets criminalised and why, what the best ways to reduce harm actually are, how "appropriate" isn't a great criterion for judging things like exploration of kink, etc.

Full offense and pun fully intended, but I genuinely think the very existence of "dead dove, do not eat" was a fucking canary in the mines, and no one really paid attention.

Because the tag itself was created as a response to a fandom-wide tendency to disregard warnings and assume tagging was exaggerated. And then the same fucking idiots reading those tags describing things they found upsetting or disturbing or just not to their taste would STILL click into the stories and give the writer's grief about it.

And as a response writers began using the tag to signal "no, really, I MEAN the tags!"

But like.

If you really think about it, that's a solution to a different problem. The solution to "I know you tagged your story appropriately but I chose to disregard the tags and warnings by reading it anyway, even though I knew it would upset me, so now I'm upset and making it your problem" is frankly a block, a ban and wide-spread blacklisting. But fandom as a whole is fucking awful at handling bad faith, insidious arguments that appeal to community inclusion and weaponize the fact most people participating in fandom want to share the space with others, as opposed to hurting people.

So instead of upfront ridiculing this kind of maladaptive attempt to foster one's own emotional self-regulation onto random strangers on the internet, fandom compromised and came up with a redundant tag in a good faith attempt to address an imaginary nuance.

There is no nuance to this.

A writer's job is to tag their work correctly. It's not to tag it exhaustively. It's not even to tag it extensively. A writer's sole obligation, as far as AO3 and arguably fandom spaces are concerned, is to make damn sure that the tags they put on their story actually match whatever is going on in that story.

That's it.

That's all.

"But what if I don't want to read X?" Well, you don't read fic that's tagged X.

"But what if I read something that wasn't tagged X?" Well, that's very unfortunate for you, but if it is genuinely that upsetting, you have a responsibility to yourself to only browse things explicitly tagged to not include X.

"But that's not a lot of fic!" Hi, you must be new here, yes, welcome to fandom. Most of our spaces are built explicitly as a reaction to There's Not Enough Of The Thing I Want, both in canon and fandom.

"But there are things on the internet that I don't like!" Yeah, and they are also out there, offline. And, here's the thing, things existing even though we personally dislike or even hate or even flat out find offensive/gross/immoral/unspeakable existing is the price we pay to secure our right to exist as individuals and creators, regardless of who finds US personally unpleasant, hateful or flat out offensive/gross/immoral/unspeakable.

"But what about [illegal thing]?!" So the thing itself is illegal, because the thing itself has been deemed harmful. But your goddamn cop-poisoned authoritarian little heart needs to learn that sometimes things are illegal that aren't harmful, and defaulting to "but illegal!" is a surefire way to end up on the wrong side of the fascism pop quiz. You're not a figure of authority and the more you demand to control and exercise authority by command, rather than leadership, the less impressive you seem. You know how you make actual, genuine change in a community? You center harm and argue in good faith to find accommodations and spread awareness of real, actual problems.

But let's play your game. Let's pretend we're all brainwashed cop-abiding little cogs that do not own a single working brain cell to exercise critical thinking with. 99% of the time, when you cry about any given thing "being illegal!!!" you're correct only so far as the THING itself being illegal. The act or object is illegal. Depiction of it is not. You know why, dipshit? Because if depiction of the thing were illegal, you wouldn't be able to talk about it. You wouldn't be able to educate about it. You wouldn't be able to reexamine and discuss and understand the thing, how and why and where it happens and how to prevent it. And yeah, depiction being legal opens the door for people to make depictions that are in bad taste or probably not appropriate. Sure. But that's the price we pay, creating tools to demystify some of the most horrific things in the world and support the people who've survived them. The net good of those tools existing outweighs the harm of people misusing them.

"You're defending the indefensible!" No, you're clumsily stumbling into a conversation that's been going on for centuries, with your elementary school understanding of morality and your bone-deep police state rot filtering your perception of reality, and insisting you figured it out and everyone else at the table is an idiot for not agreeing with you. Shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and read a goddamn book.

[piastri-fvx]

Her muse. Lando Norris.

Pairing: Lando Norris x artstudent!artist!reader, smau

Summary: When she's an art student and he's an F1 driver.

Word Count: 1,256+

Face claim: Sabrina Carpenter & girls/art from pinterest!!

Disclaimer/s: None, just a whole lot of fluff & lando being absolutely smitten <33

A/N: Watching Miss Americana as I'm writing this, it's so sad but sooooo good 😭🫶 let me know if you have requests or want to be on my permanent tag list <333

♡ Masterlist ♡

------------------------------------------------------

@yourusername

liked by lando, pietra.pilao, flavy.barla f1gossip, user1 and 1.383.295 others

yourusername the artist vs. the art ✨

| view all comments...

pietra.pilao in love with everything you draw 🥰 liked by author

-> yourusername tsym, my love!! ❤️

user1 oh, what i would give to be able to draw like that

-> user2 real tbh, i can't even draw a star 😭

-> user3 i would constantly be drawing if i was her

-> user4 valid of her to choose to study art

-> user5 true

lando beautiful 😍 liked by author

-> maxfewtrell the drawing or your girlfriend? liked by author

-> lando both, duh 😙 liked by author

user6 it looks so real!! 😍

user7 drawing of lando next? liked by author

-> yourusername 🤭

-> user8 GUYS. I FEAR WE ARE GETTING THE MOST PERFECT DRAWING SOON

flavy.barla can't wait to see you again!! liked by author

-> user9 DOES THIS MEAN MORE Y/N PADDOCK APPEARANCES????

-> user10 YES PLEASEEEEE

-> user11 I AM SAT.

user12 y/n, pookie, how do I sign up for your life?

user13 y/n, can i please be your friend 🙏

-> user14 she seems like she'd be such a fun and sweet friend 😭

-> user15 atp, i have a friend crush on her.

-> user16 real, i'd be content with just being her friend 😣

@lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, taylorswift, user1, maxfewtrell and 4.926.956 others

lando my girl drew this amazing portrait of me 🥰

| view all comments...

user1 obsessed 🥲

user2 how is she literally so talented 😭❤️

-> user3 i wonder the same thing, lmao

taylorswift desperately need her to draw me and give me some lessons on how to draw 😍 liked by author

-> yourusername AHHHHH i'm freaking out right now omg, hi!! I would LOVE both of those!!

-> user4 chat am i dreaming?

-> user5 MOTHER AND MOTHER???

-> user6 in need of the drawing of tay tay asap!!

yourusername glad you like it, my love 🥰 liked by author

-> lando oh i adore it ❤️

-> lando not as much as i adore you though 😙

-> yourusername i love you, you muppet 🫶🧡

-> lando i love youuuuuu

-> mclaren @yourusername the orange heart 😍

-> user7 papaya 🤭

-> user8 mclaren is her biggest fan

-> user9 istg yeah

user10 okay but can we talk about the way she's literally so effortlessly beautiful?

user11 we need a y/n hair routine 🛐

-> user12 it's so shiny and prettyyyy 😭

user13 i wanna be friends with y/n and lanfo so baddd

-> user14 fr because they seem like they'd be so much fun to be around 😭❤️

-> user15 i want the bond they have 😣🫶

user16 i think i just turned bi

-> user17 that's the kind if effect lndo and y/n have on people 😭

user18 brb gonna go cry, I WANT HER SO BAD

@f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 58.838 others

f1gossip lando and his girlfriend y/n were spotted in Singapore earlier today ❤️

| view all comments...

user1 they're so 😍😍😍😍

-> user2 fr 😭

user3 the highway looking a lil too comfy rn...

-> user4 i feel you bro

-> user5 in need of a relationship like theirs 😣

user6 AHHHHHHH

user7 guys... THE. HAND. PLACEMENT.

-> user8 IT IS TO DIE FOR.

-> user9 I WANT HIMMMM

user10 i want a bf like lando so bad

-> user11 and i want a gf like y/n so bad

user12 JUST LOOK AT HER. OML.

user13 THE WAY HIS- OMG THE WAY HIS HEAD IS LIGHTLY TILTED IS SO HOTTTT

-> user14 I AM DECEASED

-> user15 I DIED DEAD WHEN I SAW THIS

user16 there is no couple more attractive than them

-> user17 real, no one can convince me otherwise 🛐

user18 HER OUTFIT IS EATINGGGGG

-> user19 SO IS HISSSS

user20 CAN LANDO FIGHT? 😍

user21 is a relationship like this too much to ask??

-> user22 i want thisssss 😭

user23 HE'S. LETTING. HER. SIT. ON. HIS. CAR.

-> user24 SCREAMING CRYING

user25 OMG IS SHE THERE WITH HIM FOR THE SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX????

-> user26 I HOPE SHE IS OMG

@yourusername

liked by taylorswift, lando, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell and 7.385.914 others

yourusername where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me ❤️🫶

| view all comments...

lando you're way better than any trophy i could ever ask for ❤️ liked by author

-> user1 AHSHNFJXNYKFKY

-> yourusername couldn't be happier to have witnessed your win, my loveee 🧡

-> user2 'my love' I'M NOT CRYING, YOU ARE

taylorswift 🫶🫶🫶 liked by author

-> user3 TAYLOR???

-> user4 OMGOMGOMG

-> user5 TAYLOR DRAWING BY Y/N WHEN????

-> yourusername @user5 soon 🤭

user10 face cards never decline 😍

user6 the way y/n was jumping up and down and cheering for him during the raceeee 😭

-> user7 she's the best wag fr 🫶

-> user8 landoy/n supremacyyyy

user9 he looks so genuiely happy oml

-> user10 his smileeeee 😭🫶

flavy.barla cutiessss ❤️❤️❤️ liked by author

-> yourusername THANK YOUUU, LOML!! 🥰

-> flavy.barla MY WIFEEEE 🤭❤️ liked by author

-> user11 estie bestie and lando norizz left the chat

-> user12 real, i love the way they're not even protesting

-> lando we're used to it by now

-> estebanocon yeah, we don't exist to them when they're together 👍

user13 they're both so lucky tbh

user14 well deserved win

-> user15 lando seems to always drive better when y/n's there 😭❤️

user16 the y/n paddock content we needed 😍

@taylorswift

liked by lando, yourusername, gracieabrams, oliviarodrigo, aryansimhadri and 7.082.483 others

taylorswift my lovely friend @yourusername drew me 🫶

| view all comments...

user4 YALL I WENT ON HER PROFILE SHE'S STUNNING

-> user5 SAME I WANT HER SO BAD

yourusername AHHHHHH!! TYSM, TAY TAY!! liked by author

-> taylorswift NO TSYM FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL DRAWING, DARLING <33

-> user1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP AHHHH

user2 work of art 😍

lando my girlfriend everyone, back off 😙

-> yourusername muppet 🙄❤️

-> user3 tutorial on how to get a relationship like theirs please 🙏

user6 she's dating an F1 driver omg

-> user7 yeahhh, lando norris

-> user8 he's a mclaren driver, right?

user9 HER DRAWINGS ARE ALL SO GOOD OMG

-> user10 YESSSSS

-> user11 YEAH I'M SO GLAD TAYLOR HELPED US FIND AN ACCOUNT LIKE HERS OML

user12 w drawing

user13 didn't know taylor had a friend who's that good at drawing 😍

-> user14 she's friends with everyone 😭🫶

-> user15 true though

@yourusername

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, flavy.barla, lilymhe, pietra.pilao and 1.847.926 others

yourusername drawing & quality time>>>>

tagged: @lando

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lando my favorite time of the yearrrr liked by author

-> yourusername mine tooooo

-> user1 they're so pookie 😭

user2 COUPLE GOALS

alexandrasaintmleux the drawing is adorable, y/n 🥰 liked by author

-> yourusername tyy, my loveee!!

-> user3 she should draw leo omg

-> user4 yess!!

user5 entering 2025 as a y/n and lando fan 😝

-> user6 fan and shipper 🥰

-> user7 realll, landoy/n 🛐

user8 CAN LANDO FIGHT???

-> lando yes 😒

-> user9 prove it

user10 THE TALENTTTTT 😍

user11 the dog is so cute dkdnfbkfkd 😣

-> user12 i want a dog like that

-> user13 the drawing is so realistic too 😭

-> user14 i love itttt

user15 i love lando (i'd rather date his girlfriend)

-> user16 she's drop dead gorgeous 😭

-> user17 i can't blame you 😣

------------------------------------------------------

A/N: HOPE U ENJOYED AHHHH!! Lmao, loved writing this sm <33

tags!

@freyathehuntress

[keferon]

That post about transformers yearning for humans to drive their alt modes, with the context of Swerve and Blurr, gave me thoughts.

Because, yes!! If just meeting Blurr was a dream, then having Blurr drive his alt mode must be an experience beyond Swerve's wildest dreams (which isn't to say he hasn't thought about it; I imagine he would). And there would be joy in that on many levels. Just the joy of it being Blurr. But then also the joy of knowing that Blurr -- that they -- can drive fast, and Swerve can protect Blurr in a way none of his previous vehicles could.

Which got me to thinking, there's also potential for Blurr to find a great deal of joy in the experience. Because after everything, there's probably still a part of him that yearns to sit in the driver's seat of a car -- even if that seems like an impossibility at the start. But with Swerve, he could. He could sit behind the driver's seat and do as little or as much of the actual driving as he wanted. Just feel what it's like to hold onto the wheel of a car, have it turn beneath his hands (even if he's not always the one doing the turning). Feel the motion, the acceleration. And Blurr wouldn't have to worry that any momentary lapse or delay on his part could end in disaster because he'd have Swerve there with him.

And at a deeper level, for both of them, there's joy in this shared connection -- a love of driving (racing even). And now they get to share that experience together (where previously they had only ever been alone in it; there's only ever one driver actually in a race car at a time after all).

YES. AND ALSO

Swerve by himself is quite a reckless driver. He bumps into things and wrecks everything and himself constantly. And he can drive like that bc he’s sturdy. His armour is thick enough for it.

While Blurr’s driving is a work of art. He’s precise and confidently careful. I am also pretty sure that despite Swerve being an actual car…Blurr is much better driver than him haha.

So if Swerve let Blurr to drive him I imagine it would be such a crazy (in a good way) experience. Because Blurr would make him perform things he was sure he couldn’t be able to do. Making the craziest turns and tricks and moves. Without crashing

Swerve as a human watching tiktok edits of Blurr doing some crazy move: Wow this is fucking hot…..

Swerve as a car feeling the wind whooshing on his plates and gentle but confident hand on his steering wheel and recognising the move: Oh my god oh my god oh mY gOD ohMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

[kurooku]

nanami kento, very serious looking guy working in the finance department, having a little crush for the new girl who just got hired by the creative team.

you didn’t even know him, not until the christmas dinner party at the office. you were fairly new, only been working there for four months. working for a big company had not always been your goal, but when you got offered the position freshly out of college you couldn’t say no. it was well paid, in the city center, and allowed you to put your degree to use - which was a big plus, since finding a good job lately seemed to be stressful for people with an art degree (or so you were told by basically everybody).

when you first saw him, your heart skipped a bit. he looked insanely good, with his white shirt hugging a toned chest and short blonde hair falling slightly on his forehead. he was talking with your creative project manager, big hands gesturing softly while speaking and a light smile on his face. it was the first time you ever laid eyes on this beautiful man, and as soon as you realized you were staring a bit too hard, he had already made eye contact. eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes met yours. before you even knew, you were walking up to him.

“hi” you said, breathily. you felt your hands sweat and damned yourself mentally for behaving like a girl seeing a cute boy for the first time. up close, you realized he must have been a little older. not too much but the confidence he exuded was clearly not the one of someone in his early twenties - nothing like a guy your age. your manager looked around, confused on why you were intruding in their conversation, and eventually asked “hi, y/n. did you need something?”

you blushed immediately, looking away from the beautiful man, realizing there was no good reason to justify your sudden intrusion. you just saw a good looking man and walked up to him as if nothing else was going on. “oh…” your mouth slightly open, your mind racing to find something appropriate to say.

“i think we have not been introduced yet.” his voice was deep and you felt it in your stomach, like music at a concert. your eyes darted up to the unknown man, nodding shyly. “right. my name is nanami kento, pleased to meet you.”

you felt your insides melt while shaking his big hand, mumbling your name and smiling softly. five seconds later, you pretended like someone was calling your name from somewhere where your other colleagues were and excused yourself, quickly leaving just like you did arriving.

watching you walk away, nanami let out a soft smile, hoping the man in front of him was not going to pay much mind to it. “oh, don’t worry about y/n. she’s young, and new. she’s still trying to find her way around here, you know?” your project manager laughed awkwardly, still wondering what was all that about. kento shrugged, watching you from afar. your cheeks were red and the grip on the glass you had in your hands looked incredibly stiff.

what neither you or your protect manager knew was that nanami kento did know who you were. he had noticed you, maybe on your first or second day, when you got lost and popped up in the finance department. your colorful sweater and laptop full of stickers looked very out of place and when one of his colleagues approached you, letting you know that maybe you had walked in the wrong office, you did turn another color from embarrassment and started profoundly apologize. he thought you were cute, and funny, but the more he got a glimpse of you in the hallways, the more he noticed you wherever he were.

the break room, the coffee shop in front of the office building, the elevator. he found you in every room, even if you didn’t even know he was there. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like looking at you from afar was something he had grown addicted to in such a short time.

he wouldn’t have called it a crush, but whenever he needed to print something he would carefully choose the printer on the same floor your office was on - hoping that, when walking by, your door would be open and that he could catch a glimpse of you. okay, maybe thinking back, there had been a few moments in which he felt very infatuated by the idea of you…

looking at you from across the room, while zoning out on the conversation he was in, and noticing how sometimes you would look back too, he told himself that yes, that was definitely a crush.

idk i love the dynamics of stoic boyfriend x artsy girlfriend. wtv??? i’m done .

[skitariiposting]

Not only do I love these designs, but I love the idea that these could possibly be cannonical. In Pokemon 3: The Movie, it's suggested that there's not just 28 types of unown, and they even have documentation of carvings of unown that aren't in the letters we see in the games!

I've always had the head cannon that Unown are amorphous and just kind of change to match the symbols that are around them, not that they're coincidentally born(?) the symbol they are from the beginning and stay that way going forward, and it just so happens to look like a letter.

That explains why only specific letters would appear in certain rooms in the Solaceon Ruins. Maybe the creators of the temple knew Unown would change to match symbols around them and made the puzzle by taking advantage of that. What if they pavlovian-ly trained the Unown to be those letters for their puzzle to work properly? Before they fell to disrepair, those rooms may have been filled with the letter F in the F room, R in the R room, etc. etc. and the Unown there got used to it being like or were rewarded when they changed to that letter so often that they just kept being that letter even after the letters wore away due to time. Or maybe the rooms still could have those letters there, and we just can't see it from our perspective of the game world?

It makes more sense than only these letters specifically just randomly choosing these rooms to stay in for some reason, right?

Or we can think of it as them using camouflage as a defense mechanism; I think it makes sense for them to adapt to their surroundings in that case. If their surroundings have symbols other than letters, then it makes more sense for them to adapt to look like those symbols rather than stick out like a sore thumb when there's a random H stuck to a pedestrian crossing sign without any letters on it.

The reason GameFreak designed Unown in the first place is to be vague and mysterious - they're called Unown, after all, they don't even make a sound that sounds like 'unown' like other pokemon do, so it's likely that humans named them Unown because they're largley unknown - so why or how they look like other symbols isn't fully known on purpose; maybe them having more symbols is possible!

Good art, very nicely done, I'm sorry about the Unown rant, I just love this Pokemon.

unown per type

[vamptizm]

vi. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. explicit language. that’s it i think.

word count: 3.6k

note: this took me soso long i apologize, i’m just not satisfied with this whatsoever. this series will not be revolving around just smut, so obv it’s not going to be in every or every other chapter. idk how long i’ll make it, but most of my chapters are rather short so probably double in the digit chapter count. yeah anyway thank u for being patient and reading this (i loveee comments of any kind so pls don’t hesitate to leave those)

series masterlist

Clover sat across from Vanessa in a quaint little sushi restaurant downtown, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her water glass as she tried—really tried—to focus on the conversation. The dim lighting cast a warm glow across the table, the soft murmur of voices and clinking plates filling the space between them. Vanessa was mid-sentence, her voice light and animated as she recounted a story from work, but Clover wasn't listening.

She couldn't.

Everything about the evening felt... off. The restaurant, the atmosphere, even the date itself.

Vanessa had been the one to suggest this place, raving about it for days until Clover finally agreed to go. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a break from the monotony of campus life and basketball practices. But instead, the girl found herself counting the minutes, waiting for the check to arrive so she could call it a night.

The truth was, she hadn't been feeling it from the start. Not the date. Not Vanessa. 

Vanessa was kind. Sweet. Energetic in a way that most people found contagious. Her laughter was bright, her gestures animated, and her eyes sparkled with sincerity whenever she looked at Clover. She was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, someone who loved openly and fiercely, someone who deserved the same in return. 

But Clover wasn't that person. 

She wasn't someone who gave her heart away easily. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she had it in her to give it away at all. 

Relationships had never been her thing. The idea of commitment, of letting someone get close enough to see her cracks and flaws, felt like a weight she couldn't bear. Vulnerability wasn't something she handed out freely—it was something she locked away, hidden behind witty remarks and carefree smiles. And still, Vanessa wanted more. 

Something serious. Something Clover couldn't give. 

"...and maybe next weekend we could check out that new art exhibit?" Vanessa's voice pulled her back to the present. She was smiling, hopeful. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled lightly around her glass. There was a certain softness to her expression, an eagerness that made Clover's chest tighten with dread. 

It was getting too much. 

"Hey, listen," Clover interrupted, her voice quieter than usual, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "We've already talked about this." 

Vanessa's smile faltered, just a little. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. 

"I told you," Clover continued gently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, "I'm not ready for anything serious." 

For a moment, Vanessa froze. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she sat back in her chair, shoulders stiffening slightly as she processed Clover's words. 

"I know," Vanessa finally said, her voice quieter now, too. "But... I thought maybe if we took it slow, you'd change your mind." 

Guilt twisted in Clover's stomach, sharp and unforgiving. She hated this part — the part where things inevitably fell apart, where someone always got hurt. 

"I don't think that's gonna happen," she said softly, regret lacing her words. "You're... you're too good for me, Vanessa. It's not fair to let you act like my girlfriend when we both know it's not gonna happen." 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Vanessa's face hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it. But Clover saw it — she always did. And it only made the guilt worse. 

"You show up to my games with signs," Clover added, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping to the table. "You wait for me after practice. You plan dates, and you're always so thoughtful... I don't deserve any of that. And you know it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it?" 

The question came quickly, sharper than Clover expected. It caught her off guard, and she stilled for a moment, her thoughts scattering. 

Why didn't she deserve it? 

It was a loaded question, one one required an even more loaded and heavier answer.

Because she didn't appreciate it the way she should. Because it never felt like enough to change how she was. Because the butterflies Vanessa so desperately tried to give her never came—not from sweet gestures, not from thoughtful words or sex, not from anything Vanessa did. 

"Because I don't appreciate it," Clover finally said, her voice low, barely audible above the hum of the restaurant. "The way you'd like me to." 

Vanessa blinked, confusion clouding her gaze. 

"It doesn't... it doesn't do anything for me," Clover admitted after taking a deep breath, the confession weighing heavily on her chest. "It's not wooing me. It's not making me feel any butterflies. None of it. And I don't want you to keep hurting yourself trying to make it happen." 

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. 

Vanessa's gaze drifted to the window, her jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand curled around her napkin, knuckles white. Finally, she nodded—a small, stiff motion that spoke of resignation more than understanding. 

The guilt was unbearable. 

Clover signaled for the check, pulling out her card before Vanessa could argue. She paid quickly, avoiding the waitress's curious gaze, and stood without a word. 

The silence in the car pressed down on Clover like a weight. The rain tapping against the windshield filled the space where words should've been. Vanessa sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, her expression distant and unreadable. 

Clover clenched the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting in her chest, but not in the way most people would expect. She didn't owe Vanessa anything — not her loyalty, not her heart. She had made that clear from the start. 

Still, something about the way Vanessa sat quietly, radiating disappointment, made the brunette’s stomach churn. 

Vanessa finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "You're not a bad person." 

Clover exhaled, the lump in her throat tightening. 

"You're kind," Vanessa continued, her gaze still focused on the rain-slicked streets outside. "You're thoughtful. You care more than you want people to think. And I don't know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you're incapable of something real." 

Clover's chest tightened. 

She hated this. Hated that Vanessa saw her as someone capable of giving more than she actually could. Hated that Vanessa saw something in her that wasn't there. Or maybe, she just hated that she couldn't see it too.

The memory of Paige lingered — the weight of her touch still fresh on Clover's skin, the way her hands trembled slightly when they pulled Clover closer, the way their eyes met in that charged, unspoken moment. 

And then the look on Paige's face when Clover left. 

It had mirrored the one Clover wore the first time they'd crossed that boundary. She had been the one left standing there, confused and craving more while Paige walked away without a word. 

Tonight, it had been her who walked out, and she hated that it still hurt. That it felt so wrong.

Vanessa sighed, her tone softer now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to reassure Clover. "I just... I thought maybe you'd change your mind. That maybe I could be the one to—" 

Clover cut her off before she could finish. 

"You're not the one." 

The words came out harsh, sharper than Clover intended, but she couldn't take them back. The truth was too raw to sugarcoat. 

Vanessa flinched, her lips pressing into a tight line. She nodded slowly, as if piecing everything together, realizing how deeply she had misread the situation. 

"I see." 

Silence returned, heavier than before. 

Clover wanted to tell her that none of this was Vanessa's fault — that she hadn't led her on, that Vanessa deserved someone who wanted to give her what she was looking for. But it would've sounded hollow. Pointless. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her mind unwillingly drifting back to Paige. 

To the way Paige had looked at her, eyes burning with something Clover could never quite name. To the feeling of Paige's lips against hers, desperate and insistent. To the ache in her chest when she walked out of the room, the echo of her own footsteps on the hardwood floor sounding louder than they should've. 

And to the nagging thought in the back of her mind—almost like a whisper from the devil himself—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't running away from love entirely. She was just running from the wrong person. 

"I had sex with someone else before this," Clover said suddenly, her voice steady but quiet, cutting through the silence like a blade. 

Vanessa blinked, startled by the blunt confession. 

"What?" 

"I had sex with someone else," Clover repeated, this time slower, more deliberate. "Right before this date." 

Vanessa's expression shifted — not to anger, not to betrayal, but to resignation. 

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Vanessa said after a long pause. There was no malice in her tone, just disappointment. "I thought I could be different. That I could make you want... more." 

Clover stared straight ahead, her chest hollow. 

"I told you from the start I wasn't ready for anything serious," she said, her voice steady but distant. "I wasn't lying." 

"I know." Vanessa's voice softened again. "But I hoped." 

And there it was — the difference between them. 

Vanessa was someone who hoped, who believed in love and connection. She thought that if she showed enough kindness, enough patience, she could win Clover over. That she could make her feel the way Vanessa felt about her. 

But Clover had stopped hoping a long time ago. The only person who ever made her feel anything real was Paige. 

And that terrified her more than it should.

Vanessa cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Did it mean anything?" 

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. 

Did sleeping with Paige mean anything? 

Everything. 

"Not in the way you think," Clover lied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Vanessa nodded again, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Right." 

The rest of the drive was silent, tension crackling between them like a live wire. 

When Clover finally pulled up in front of Vanessa's apartment, neither of them moved right away. Vanessa fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, and Clover kept her hands on the wheel, staring at the rain streaking the windshield. 

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Vanessa said softly, breaking the silence. 

Clover didn't answer. 

Vanessa gave her one last glance before stepping out of the car and disappearing into the building without looking back. 

As the door clicked shut, Clover let out a shaky breath. The weight of the evening bore down on her, but it wasn't Vanessa's disappointment that crushed her. 

It was the way Paige's name lingered on her mind like a brand, burning and inescapable. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many distractions she sought, Paige was always there. 

The way the blonde's gaze lingered a little too long during practice. The way her usually teasing and taunting voice softened when she checked in on Clover after a particularly rough game. The way her presence filled every empty corner of Clover's mind, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

Because Paige had never just been a fleeting crush or a temporary obsession. 

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't just complicated friendship. She had always been something more. 

It had been something more for a long time.

The apartment was quiet when Clover walked in, save for the soft clatter of a knife against what she assumed was a cutting board. She barely glanced at the kitchen, her mind clouded with exhaustion, her heart heavy with that same guilt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world.

But of course Paige was still up.

Clover cursed under her breath as she slipped off her shoes, hoping to make it to her room without incident. She knew how Paige operated. Knew the games she liked to play. And Clover wasn't in the mood for another round of it tonight.

"Late night?" Paige's voice cut through the silence, sharp and calculated.

Clover stopped in her tracks, her heart sinking. She set her bag down by the door, straightened, and took a slow breath before turning around. Paige was at the counter, slicing through an apple with a steady hand.

"Something like that," Clover said, keeping her tone flat.

Paige didn't look up. "Thought you'd be back later. Guess the date wasn't that great, huh?"

There it was. The edge in Paige's voice. That barely veiled disdain, like she was trying to poke holes into Clover's night without outright saying what she really felt.

Clover ran a hand through her straightened hair, none of her natural curls in sight. "It was fine."

"Fine." Paige repeated the word with a smirk, like it was a joke only she understood. She tossed a slice of apple into her mouth, chewed slowly. "Guess that's not exactly life-changing."

Clover's patience was already wearing thin. "Why do you care?"

Paige shrugged, finally meeting Clover's gaze. Her blue eyes were cool, assessing. "I don't."

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on Clover's chest. She could feel the unspoken tension between them, like a storm waiting to break. She shifted her weight, debating whether to walk away — but Paige wasn't done.

"You're wasting your time, you know," Paige said quietly, her voice softening. It wasn't a taunt this time. It sounded almost like a warning.

The brunette frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Paige set the knife down, her hands resting on the counter. "These girls you fuck around with. They're not going to give you what you want."

Clover's chest tightened, brow raised in an almost challenging manner "And what exactly do you think I want?"

Paige tilted her head, her gaze never wavering. "Someone who makes you feel the way I do."

The air between them went still, heavy with meaning. Clover froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse quickened, a mix of irritation and something else—something she didn't have the guts to name—coursing through her veins.

"That's overly cocky, even for you," She responded, her voice steady but strained.

Paige's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong, am I?"

Clover's hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated how easily Paige got under her skin. How she always knew exactly what to say to make Clover doubt herself.

"God, you just say the dumbest shit sometimes." Clover muttered, turning toward her room.

"You're scared 'cause I'm right, Amar," Paige called after her.

Clover stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart pounded in her ears, a feeling of unexplainable dread and frustration clawing at her chest.

Paige's voice softened, almost teasing. "Went straight from my bed to her arms. You always like to rebound, don’t you?"

Clover spun around, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" the blonde questioned, feigning innocence.

"Make it sound like it meant something to you," Clover near to snapped. "Because it didn't. You made that clear the first time."

Paige's smirk faltered for the first time. Her gaze dropped for a moment before meeting Clover's again. "And yet, it keeps happening."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable in a way Paige probably hadn't intended or planned.

Clover swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing. "Yeah, 'cause we're both too fucked up to stop."

Paige's expression shifted—something between hurt and frustration flickering across her own face now. "Is that what you think?"

"What else is there to think?" Clover shrugged lazily. "We don’t do that healthy shit. That's how it's always been."

Paige pushed away from the counter, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. Her gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable.

"You keep saying that like it's a rule we mutually agreed on," Paige spoke quietly. "Like it's some fucked up contract we both signed."

Clover's back hit the wall. Paige was standing too close now, the scent of Clover's sweet vanilla perfume lingering in the air between them.

"Isn't it?" Clover whispered, her voice unsteady.

Paige's hand brushed a strand of hair away from the brunette’s face, a light, almost instinctive touch. But it sent a cold shiver down Clover's spine.

"Don't remember signing anything," Paige murmured.

Clover's heart was pounding, her mind racing. She hated this—hated how Paige made her feel out of control. Vulnerable. Exposed.

"You don't know what you want," Clover said, her voice deliberately bland and cold, despite the emotional chaos brewing inside of her.

Paige's hand lingered, her finger tucking the piece of hair behind Clover's ear. "Neither do you."

For a moment, Clover couldn't breathe. The tension between them was suffocating, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on her.

"You think this is a game," Clover said, her voice barely audible now. "But it's not."

Paige's hand dropped away, and for a second, Clover saw something crack in her expression—a glimpse of vulnerability before the mask slipped back into place.

"It's not a game to me," Paige said softly.

Clover blinked, stunned into silence, though she didn't let it show.

But before she could say anything, Paige stepped back, the distance between them suddenly unbearable.

"Get some sleep," Paige said, her voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Gotta be up early for practice tomorrow."

Clover didn't respond. She watched as Paige turned away, heading back to the kitchen to finish her snack, leaving Clover standing there, harshly biting down on her tongue and heart aching with everything they couldn't say.

The sound of Clover's door closing echoed through the apartment, cutting through the thick silence like a blade. Paige stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half-sliced apple on the cutting board. Her appetite was gone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she set the knife down, pressing her palms against the counter to steady herself.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

Paige exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright. She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the faint mark Clover had left there earlier — a kiss, a bite, she wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. It wasn't supposed to matter.

This wasn't supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be easy. Fun. No strings, no feelings, no mess. That's how it worked. Clover hooked up with whoever caught her eye, Paige did the same. They'd judge each other, throw around meaningless jabs and at the end of the day they'd be fine. Back to being a team.

So why did it feel like her chest was caving in every time Clover walked away and into the arms of someone else?

Paige clenched her jaw, trying to swallow the frustration rising in her throat. She hated this. Hated feeling out of control. Hated how Clover had walked out on her earlier without a second glance — just like Paige had done with others so many times.

'Is this what it feels like?' she wondered bitterly. ‘To be the one left behind?’

She'd told herself it didn't matter. That Clover going on a date with someone else was none of her business. That it wasn't jealousy, just curiosity. But the sting in her chest said otherwise.

Because deep down, Paige knew the truth.

No one made her feel the way Clover did.

And that terrified her more than it should.

She grabbed the cutting board and shoved it into the sink with more force than necessary, the sound of it clattering against the metal louder than she intended. She winced, glancing toward Nika and Jana's rooms. No lights turned on. No doors opened.

The last thing she needed was a groggy Nika asking her why she was slamming things around at midnight.

Paige turned off the kitchen light and leaned against the counter in the dark, the faint glow from the streetlights outside casting shadows across the room. She could still hear Clover's words in her head, clear as day:

‘Because we're both too fucked up to stop.’

Paige ran a hand over her face, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

She'd spent so long pretending she didn't care. Playing it cool, keeping her distance, convincing herself that what they had was just physical. But it wasn't. Not anymore.

And Paige wasn't ready to admit it.

She thought back to the way Clover had looked tonight — tired, defeated, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Paige had wanted to say something real, to cut through the bullshit and tell her whatever truth there was.

But that truth was messy. Vulnerable. And Paige wasn't good at that.

Instead, she'd resorted to what she knew best: cocky remarks and passive-aggressive digs. It was easier to act like none of it mattered. To pretend that Clover's wandering eyes and restless heart didn't bother her.

But as hypocritical as it was, it did.

And that scared her more than anything.

Paige glanced toward Clover's room, her heart aching in a way she didn't quite understand. She thought about knocking on her door, saying something — anything — to break the silence between them.

But what would she even say?

‘I care about you. More than I want to. More than I should. And it's killing me.’

No. That wasn't her.

Paige pushed off the counter and headed to her own room, her footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor. She paused outside Clover's door for a moment, her hand hovering in the air like she might knock after all.

But she didn't.

Instead, she whispered into the silence: "Good night, Clover."

And with that, she walked away, closing her own door behind her.

taglist (open) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers @pbbucks

[winedarkgod]

something that comes up a lot in pagan spaces both online and irl I've noticed is this idea that nature/the natural world is "preferred" by the Gods, and that they aren't as likely to engage with worshippers in big cities or with modern technology.

and while it is true that nature is extremely important to the Gods, and many of us are frankly isolated from it, it has always felt off to me that people just unquestioningly accept this idea that Nature = Good and Civilization = Bad.

maybe it's because our current society is not structured in a way that allows for a reciprocal relationship with nature, or maybe it's because of some unconscious "noble savage" tropes being projected onto the polytheistic societies of the past.

regardless, when you actually look at the mythology, you find this assumption isn't true. sure, there are deities who may individually lean towards one or the other (Artemis comes to mind) - but generally speaking the Gods engaged with both the natural world and what was, for the time, modern society.

and I love the wild/nature aspects of Dionysus SO much. but to only focus on that side of him, and ignore his role in theater, viticulture and the arts (part of culture and civilization) would be both a disservice to myself and the power of the God.

and then there are Gods like Hephaestus, who may even "prefer" engaging with modern technology. people seem to forget there are like, literal robots in Greek mythology?

here's an example:

"The [mythical first bronze] temple [of Apollon at Delphoi] was the work of Hephaistos, or the legend about the Golden Singers, referred to by Pindaros in his verses about this bronze temple :--‘Above the pediment sang Khryseiai Keledones (Golden Charmers).’"

Pausanias, Description of Greece 10. 5. 12 (trans. Jones)

Hephaestus made Apollo automaton singers for one of his temples?? like that's cool as fuck

(as a side note, I do NOT think the arguments I'm making here apply to AI generated "content" - Hephaestus never made anything that deliberately stole the artwork of humans. fuck AI.)

but my point here is that for most of the Gods, the Nature vs. Civilization thing a lot of pagans hold on to is a false dichotomy. capitalism, colonialism and the exploitation of life have made our current society unsustainable, but civilization itself isn't inherently bad.

we must respect and honor nature. but we also need to respect and honor ourselves.