#guys someone ask me more about them please

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Just random random headcannons about my wife <3

She makes lots of noises; grunts, sighs, groans. It’s basically a language that only you can understand at this point.

“Hmph,” she grunted with her usual grumpy expression. “You want cuddles?” She nods her head in response.

Snores but denies it. It’s like when you’re sharing a hotel room with your family and your dad’s snoring keeps you awake; staring at the ceiling. You’ve told her multiple times but she just doesn’t believe it.

“You kept me awake all night,” you said in disbelief as your utterly exhausted eyes met hers. “Uh-huh, how? Do NOT say because I was snoring.””You were snoring.”

But in all seriousness, she started sleeping on her side—the snoring was due to her sleeping on her back.

Doesn’t care for public affection, not that she won’t slip her arm around your waist or have her hand on your thigh once in a while—but it isn’t often.

(Saw someone else say this)—absolutely loves dad jokes. She won’t laugh at anything else but dad jokes.

“Hey babe,” you slid next to her on the couch. “Hm?””What days are the strongest?“ you asked. “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Saturday and Sunday,” you started to smile. “Why?” She was slightly curious. “‘Cause the rest are weekdays,” she couldn’t even hold it before she burst out laughing.

Takes her mechanical arm off before she goes to bed because she doesn’t wanna hurt you.

Tough with everyone else but you, Jinx and Isha (they’re alive and well).

Isha made a cheerful noise as she raised her tea cup. Sevika sat across from her, hunched over the small table, teacup in hand. She pretended to drink from it, “Mm, nice.”

Perfers actions over words—for example, her version of an apology is by doing more of what she should’ve done in the past. If she wasn’t spending much time with you before, she’d immediately take it upon herself to fix her schedule.

VERY protective, especially when you’re at The Last Drop, nothing escapes her vision.

Once, this guy attempted to flirt with you but before he could get a word out, he was immediately met with a deadly glare from her. She pulled you closer towards her with a raised eyebrow, “You got something to say?” That sent him babbling in fear, “Uh-no, no, of course not!—“”Get out of my sight.”

Claims she’s not an animal person but will come home with a kitten she found on the street.

“It wouldn’t stop following me,” she said while avoiding eye contact with you. You knew she was lying.

Sometimes when she comes back from work she’ll just collapse on the couch. She’s a busy woman, alright?

Jinx cut her hair then made fun of her afterwards.

Jinx cackled after she looked at the final product, “Sweetcheeks ain’t gonna love you now, are they?” The older woman simply grumbled under breath, “You’re the one who cut it.””Yeah and I made it ugly on purpose.”

You ended up loving her hair anyway.

Secretly likes when you lay on top of her; loves seeing how comfortable you are

She’s always warm; your personal heater

Somehow gives the best hugs—bear hugs, but is so awkward with it

Takes the longest showers known to mankind; once she gets in, be prepared to wait about an hour. Meanwhile, half the time it’s just her staring at the wall.

Will let Isha climb her on rare occasions; sometimes the girl gets insanely hyper and is moving all over the place.

Says she’s “not fond of kids” but has a soft spot for them.

A little boy with blue-dyed hair walked up to her while she was outside one day. “H-hi, can you please sign this?” He asked in a soft-spoken manner, showing a drawing, offered with a crayon. She didn’t respond but took the paper and signed her name on the back. Internally, she was in disbelief that this boy looked up to her in some way. “Thank you!” He gave a big smile before running back to his group of friends, happily showing them the signature. A twitch edged at the end of her mouth.

[caughtthedarkness93]

Wikipedia it. TV Tropes it. Watch a YouTube review. Seriously. Anything else.

I remember being in a discussion on Reddit about Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey and I argued that it's not really relevant to most writers and a lot of the stories that Campbell would've been studying don't exactly follow it. I used Beowulf as an example and some guy comes along and asks ChatGPT to give a reading of Beowulf through the lens of the hero's journey.

Except there were two problems with this.

One, the arguments it spat out were flat wrong. They somewhat accurately summarized Beowulf's events, but completely butchered the story's structure, and slotted multiple events and characters into places they don't fit on the Hero's Journey. Hrothgar as Beowulf's mentor, for example, when he's just a guy who has a problem that Beowulf shows up to solve. By no narrative metric is he a mentor.

Two, the person who did this hadn't actually read Beowulf. They had no way of actually fact-checking the statement the AI spat out. They just...trusted it to deliver an accurate answer. It did not. When I called them on this, they responded by saying they had likely read more books than me.

I know it feels like some kind of cheat code, but it's just going to lie to you with extreme confidence because essentially what it's doing is putting words together in an order that they seem like they should go together. And it's kind of like a horse doing math in that way - it's impressive that it can do it, but only because it's a horse.

So please, as someone else with an English degree, do not do this. You have no way of telling whether anything it's giving you is actually true.

what is HAPPENING

[rootedinrevisions]

Worth More than Gold

SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.

A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.

WORD COUNT: 10.8k

TAGS: In Comments.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.

Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”

He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”

Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.

“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.

“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”

Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.

With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”

Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”

You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”

Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”

“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”

“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”

You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”

You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.

“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”

He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”

“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.

Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.

“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”

He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.

You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”

You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”

Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.

“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.

The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.

The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.

“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”

“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.

“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.

“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”

For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”

You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.

“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.

Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”

Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?

You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.

Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.

“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”

You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”

The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”

You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”

You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.

The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”

You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”

“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.

With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.

You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.

“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.

You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”

The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”

After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.

You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.

The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.

With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.

But it didn’t.

The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.

The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”

You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.

As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.

“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper. 

After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.

Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”

You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.

Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.

Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.

As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.

You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.

The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady. 

The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.

Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.

He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.

You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.

The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."

For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.

As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.

You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”

Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.

“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”

He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.

The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.

Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.

When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”

You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.

“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.

Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”

“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.

The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening. 

“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”

The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”

The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.

“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.

Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”

Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.

“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”

Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”

You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”

“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.

The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.

Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”

You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”

“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.

As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.

“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.

When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”

The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.

The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.

Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.

You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.

“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.

As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer. 

The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy. 

You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.

The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”

The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.

He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”

You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.

Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued. 

When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”

By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease. 

As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.

The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.

Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget. 

But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.

You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.

After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”

The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.

You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”

Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”

The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.

His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations. 

His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.

You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug. 

“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”

Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.

“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”

Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.

“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”

Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.

“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”

She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter. 

You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning. 

“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.

She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”

“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”

Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”

You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.

Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.

“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.

Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.

She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.

“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”

Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention. 

“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”

Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”

You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”

You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.

His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.

“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you. 

“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.

But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him. 

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”

Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.

For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.

As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.

“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.

“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.

You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.

He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.

The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.

You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.

Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.

Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.

“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”

“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.

“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.

“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.

You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.

“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.

You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.

Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”

And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.

You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.

You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?

But then again…

You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”

You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”

Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”

“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”

“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.

“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”

The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.

Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.

Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”

The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”

His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”

Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.

You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”

Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.

“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”

His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.

Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."

His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.

"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.

You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.

[bestalbertcamuslover]

“Is it really that funny?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing:  Max Verstappen x Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none ✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The Monaco apartment was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the city filtering through the windows as she and Max sprawled on the plush gray couch. Her focus was entirely on her phone, the small screen glowing softly against the shadows of the room. She was watching clips of one of her favorite streamers, a smile playing on her lips as chuckles spilled out, warm and genuine, every few seconds.

Max glanced at her, his curiosity piqued, but it quickly shifted to something closer to irritation as he caught sight of the screen. There was a guy—confident, good-looking, and undeniably funny—reacting to a video while cracking jokes that clearly had her entertained.

“Is it really that funny?” Max asked, his tone carrying a hint of that unmistakable jealous edge.

She looked over at him, catching the way his jaw tightened slightly, his blue eyes narrowing at the sight of the streamer. It was endearing, really, how transparent he could be. “It is, actually,” she said lightly, her voice laced with teasing amusement.

Max’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave her an unmistakably offended look. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the couch, his pout making him look every bit like a sulking child.

“What’s that look for?” she asked, her laughter bubbling up again, softer this time. She knew exactly what that look meant—Max Verstappen, fierce on the track and cool in almost every situation, didn’t like sharing her attention, not even with someone on a screen.

He shook his head, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. “Nothing,” he said stubbornly, though his eyes flicked back to her phone. “I just didn’t know your sense of humor was so… basic.”

Her laughter turned into a snort as she nudged him with her foot. “Oh, come on. You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Max scoffed, his cheeks flushing just slightly. “Jealous? Of that guy?” He gestured toward the phone with exaggerated disdain. “Please.”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “You totally are. Admit it—you hate that he’s making me laugh more than you do.”

Max huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m way funnier than him,” he muttered, leaning closer to grab her phone. She squealed in protest, holding it out of his reach.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said between laughs as she tried to fend him off.

“Maybe,” Max replied, his grin breaking through as he managed to snag the phone. He paused the video and set it on the table, his attention fully on her now. “But at least now I don’t have to compete with Mr. Streamer.”

She rolled her eyes, her amused smile teasing. “You’re impossible, like a baby all day craving attention,” she joked, knowing he only acted so clingy with her.

Max smirked at her words, leaning in slightly, his eyes glinting with that playful, mischievous look he always got when he was about to turn the tables. “A baby, huh? Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he slid closer to her on the couch.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, absolutely. A big, sulking baby when you don’t get what you want.” Her tone was light, but the way her heart sped up as he closed the distance between them was impossible to ignore.

“Well,” Max murmured, his voice dropping as his face inched closer to hers, “babies need lots of love, don’t they?”

Her breath caught for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifting into something warmer, softer. She felt his hand gently settle on her waist, pulling her just a little closer as his lips brushed against her temple in a featherlight kiss.

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, though her voice lacked any conviction. She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. The proximity made her stomach do flips, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“And yet,” Max said, his lips curving into a grin, “you put up with me anyway.”

Before she could reply, he leaned in fully, capturing her lips in a soft, unhurried kiss. It wasn’t rushed or demanding, just sweet and full of affection, the kind of kiss that made her forget everything else for a moment. His hand moved to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as he deepened the kiss slightly, enough to make her head spin.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t suppress the shy smile tugging at her lips. Max looked down at her with a smug expression, clearly pleased with himself.

“That’s cheating,” she whispered, her voice breathy but amused.

“Cheating?” he echoed, leaning his forehead against hers. “Pretty sure this is just me winning.”

She rolled her eyes again, laughing softly as she relaxed into him, letting her head rest against his chest. His arms wrapped around her securely, holding her close in the dim light of the apartment.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, though the affection in her tone was unmistakable.

“And you love it,” Max replied, pressing another kiss to her hair as they settled into a comfortable silence.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: It's a lil corny, but yeah...

English is not my first language and hope you liked it <3

(also I give likes to my own posts, hope that's not embarrassing lol)

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

6

Jinx

“What an absolutely fucking tragic story.”

“Boy meets girl,” I say, flipping the book open and letting it smack the table with a loud thwack.

“They swap a couple of lines, maybe a little eye-fucking across the room, and then bam—marriage, murder, and melodrama. Honestly, Romeo and Juliet is just horny teenagers making bad decisions with a death toll. Kinda iconic, but also… pathetic.”

Y/N’s trying so hard not to laugh, but that little twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away.

She glances down at her notebook like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world, but I know better.

I always know better.

“Come on, admit it,” I press, leaning closer.

“This whole thing is just Shakespeare projecting his wet dreams onto paper. I mean, would you throw yourself into a coffin for someone you just met?”

Y/N looks up, her face a little red, and gives me this look—half-exasperated, half-amused. “It’s supposed to be romantic,” she says, her tone just a little too patient.

“Oh, sure,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Nothing screams romance like poison and stab wounds. That’s hot. Super sexy.” I lean back in my chair, grinning.

“Although, I guess dying for someone is one hell of a flex. Bet Juliet was into some kinky shit.”

“Jinx!” she hisses, her eyes wide as she glances around the library, like the ghost of Shakespeare himself might pop out of the shelves and strike me down.

“What?” I ask, throwing my hands up.

“You think Romeo was all sweet talk and poetry? Nah, that guy was definitely whispering filthy shit to her under the balcony. Bet he was like, Juliet, you light up my world—now get on your-”

Y/N lets out this strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and covers her face with her hands. “You’re impossible,” she mutters.

But I can see her shoulders shaking.

“Impossible, but not wrong,” I say, leaning forward with a smirk.

“You know I’m right. Horny teens and bad decisions—they go hand in hand. Speaking of…” I waggle my eyebrows at her.

“You ever had someone wax poetic about you? Or, I don’t know, climb a fire escape to declare their undying love?”

“No,” she says firmly, her voice muffled behind her hands.

“Shame,” I say, tapping my chin. “You’re missing out. Although, honestly? If someone pulled that shit with me, I’d probably just drag them inside and—”

“Jinx!” she whisper-yells, her voice high-pitched and scandalized.

Her face is so red now I’m almost worried she’s going to combust.

Almost.

I grin, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms. “What? I’m just saying. Life’s short. Might as well enjoy it. Or are you more of a ‘tragic, yearning stares from a distance’ type?”

She gives me a look.

The kind of look that says I’m pushing my luck.

But I catch the tiniest flicker of amusement in her eyes.

It’s faint.

But it’s there, and it’s enough to keep me going.

“Can we please focus?” she says, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter.

“Sure,” I say, picking up the book again and thumbing through the pages. “But I’m warning you now, I’m not letting Romeo off the hook for being the patron saint of bad decisions.”

Y/N leans back in her chair, pressing her lips together like she’s trying desperately not to laugh.

Her cheeks are pink, and there’s this quiet glow to her that tugs at something in my chest.

I ignore it.

“So,” I say, flipping the book open again with an exaggerated flourish.

“Are we supposed to write some revolutionary take on this mess, or is it just vibes and clichés? You’re the genius here, enlighten me.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s that little curve to her lips, the one that makes her whole face soften. “Themes,”

“We’re supposed to analyze the themes, connect them to modern relationships, and explain why the story is still relevant.”

“Relevant?” I snort, leaning back. “Oh, sure. Because every teenager I know is out here marrying strangers after one dance and dying for them two days later. So relatable.”

“You’re impossible,” she says, shaking her head, but her voice is warm, light, teasing.

“Thank you,” I say, grinning.

She picks up her pen again, her focus shifting back to the notebook in front of her.

Naturally, I lean over, because how could I not snoop, but she slams it shut before I can even get a glimpse.

“Oh, come on,” I groan, clutching my chest like she’s mortally wounded me. “What’s the big secret? Writing a love letter? A sonnet? A tragic ode to unrequited love?”

“It’s not a secret,” she says firmly, though the way her fingers tighten around the notebook tells a different story. “It’s just not finished.”

“Uh-huh.” I narrow my eyes at her, my grin sharp and unrelenting.

“You’re not secretly crushing on Romeo, are you? Or maybe…”

My voice drops, dripping with mock drama. “Maybe you’ve got your own Romeo? Someone you’re tragically pining for?”

Her cheeks turn a brilliant shade of crimson, and her eyes dart everywhere except at me.

“Oh my God,” I say, sitting up like I’ve just cracked the biggest mystery of the century. “You do! Who is it? Come on, spill. I need to know everything.”

“There’s no one!” she protests, but her voice is high-pitched, and her fingers fidget with the corner of her notebook.

“Liar,” I say, my grin turning downright devious.

I tap my chin like I’m deep in thought.

“Is it someone in our class? That broody guy who always acts like he’s too cool to care? Or…” I pause, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe it’s a girl?”

Her pen freezes mid-air.

For a second, she looks at me like I’ve uncovered her deepest, darkest secret.

Bingo.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Y/N

I can feel my heart picking up its pace, a strange fluttering in my chest that has nothing to do with the subject matter at hand. Jinx’s words echo in my mind, her teasing lingering far longer than I’d like to admit. The way she looked at me, the mischievous grin on her face—it’s enough to make me squirm, but I won’t let her see that.

“No one,” I reply firmly, hoping the edge in my voice sounds more convincing than it feels. “I’m not—there’s just no one.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a soft chuckle. “Alright, if you say so.”

I focus on my notebook, flipping a page with deliberate care. The task at hand should be enough to keep me grounded, and yet the thought of her knowing something I’ve never fully acknowledged myself unsettles me. It feels as though she’s pierced a part of me I’m still figuring out, and that makes me more uncomfortable than I’m willing to admit.

Still, I refuse to let that show. Instead, I straighten up, refocusing on our assignment. “Regardless, Romeo and Juliet is still a farcical tragedy,” I begin, keeping my tone calm and collected, but there’s a subtle bite to it. “The impulsiveness, the poor decisions—it’s a pattern in a lot of Shakespeare’s works. It speaks to the nature of youth, to desire, rather than rational thought.”

Jinx snorts, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, sure, I’m sure that’s exactly what Shakespeare was going for. Desire, right? More like he was just a horny old man trying to sell sex on the page. No wonder those two idiots killed themselves over each other.”

I nod, careful to keep my composure. “Yes. Desire, more than love. They acted on passion rather than considering the consequences. Shakespeare’s portrayal of love is often hyperbolic, exaggerated to the point where it’s almost abs-"

I get cut off by another snicker from her followed by, "You damn nerd."

I pause mid-sentence, blinking at her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she says, tilting her head, her grin widening. “You’re such a nerd, Y/N. Who even says ‘hyperbolic’ in casual conversation? It’s like you’re auditioning for a Shakespeare reboot.”

I huff, sitting up straighter. “It’s called having a vocabulary,” I reply, my tone clipped but teasing. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest like I’ve struck her through with a dagger. “Wow. Coming at me with the intellectual smackdown, huh? Careful, or I’ll start quoting Shakespeare back at you.”

“Please don’t,” I say quickly, holding up a hand like I’m warding off some impending disaster.

Jinx grins, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “Oh, but wouldn’t you love that? Imagine me up on a balcony, all, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” She pauses, fluttering her eyelashes for effect. “You’d swoon. Admit it.”

“I’d laugh,” I correct, refusing to give her the satisfaction. “And then I’d shut the window.”

She cackles, the sound sharp and chaotic, and it’s impossible not to smile. “Cold, Y/N. Ice cold. No wonder you don’t have a Romeo climbing fire escapes for you.”

I roll my eyes, flipping a page in the book to feign disinterest. “Not everyone needs a grand romantic gesture, Jinx. Some of us prefer substance over theatrics."

Jinx leans back in her chair, propping her boots up on the edge of the table like she owns the place. Her smirk is sharp, eyes glittering with mischief.

“C'mon, Y/N,” she drawls. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want someone to show up, grand gesture and all, declaring undying devotion? Maybe a little dramatic fainting thrown in for good measure?”

I snort. “No. Definitely not. I’d find it mortifying.”

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “What about some spicy poetry? Like, Oh, Y/N, your... uh, unparalleled intelligence leaves me trembling.” Her voice dips into a breathy almost smutty tone, and I roll my eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, flipping through my notes.

“And you’re boring,” she fires back without missing a beat. “Where’s the fun, huh? You don’t think Juliet was secretly hoping Romeo would skip the iambic pentameter and just pin her to a wall?”

I look up, feeling my cheeks heat. “Jinx.”

“What?” she says, her grin downright wicked now. “I’m just saying. The whole woe is me, tragic romance thing might’ve been for show. Behind closed doors, she was probably like, Enough about the stars, Romeo, let’s talk about your sword.”

And I falter, my laughter bubbling up uncontrollably before bursting out so loud that it shatters the quiet of the library. The sound is obnoxious, and I can’t stop it, even though I know I should. Mrs. Clark, the poor librarian, scurries over to us, her face draining of color when she realizes it’s me—me—who caused the disturbance. Her eyes widen in horror, and I shrink back in my seat, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Clark says sharply, her voice quivering with disapproval, “This is a library. I expect more from you.”

I swallow, my throat tight, and I can barely meet her gaze. The silence that follows is suffocating, broken only by the scratch of Mrs. Clark’s pen as she writes us both a detention slip. “After school,” she mutters, her voice tight. She hands us the slips, one by one, and I want to crawl under the table, but I can't. Not with everyone staring.

I take the slip, my hands trembling, my face burning with the weight of the embarrassment. Jinx’s laughter, the one that started all this, has quieted, but there's still a mischievous glint in her eyes. At first, it seems like she's enjoying my discomfort, and I can't help but wish she’d be quiet for just a moment, let me process this in peace.

But then, her smirk fades. She glances at me, her expression softening as she catches the way my shoulders slump, the way I'm trembling. I try to blink back the tears threatening to spill, but they’re already in my eyes. It’s stupid, it’s just a detention, but the humiliation is unbearable.

Jinx doesn’t say anything at first, but I can feel the weight of her gaze on me as I struggle to hold back the tears. She slides out of her chair, slowly stepping closer, crouching down beside me with a quiet seriousness I’ve rarely seen from her. Her voice, when it comes, is low, almost soothing.

“Hey,” she says, her words gentle, like she’s trying to reach through the storm inside me. “It’s not that bad, okay? Detention's just... it's nothing. It’s temporary.”

I don’t respond, but I can feel the tears starting to burn in my eyes, and I just can't stop them. I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, trying to hide how I’m trembling.

Jinx doesn’t back away, though. Instead, she reaches out, her hand soft as it rests on my shoulder, the touch surprisingly warm and comforting. “Come on toots, let’s go,” she says, her voice so different from the usual teasing tone, like she’s saying it for me, not for her. “I’ll take you somewhere... just let’s get out of here, okay?”

I nod, my throat tight, and let her guide me out of the library. The hallways feel colder now, like everything around me is a reminder of how utterly humiliated I feel. But Jinx stays close, walking beside me, her presence steady and unwavering, like she’s determined not to let me fall apart alone.

She leads me into the girls’ bathroom, the door shutting quietly behind us. It’s quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and for a moment, everything feels still. Jinx leans against the counter, watching me with a softness in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. She doesn’t say anything at first, just lets me breathe, lets the silence settle between us.

I break.

The tears come without warning, and I retreat to the corner, curling into myself, trying to make myself smaller. I press my hands to my face, desperate to hide the rawness of what I’m feeling. The sobs are quiet at first, but they soon escape in harsh, ragged breaths. The shame, the embarrassment—it’s overwhelming, suffocating. I feel completely exposed, fragile, and utterly out of control.

I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to. But she doesn’t leave.

There’s a quiet moment, just the sound of my breathing, of me trying to stifle the sobs. And then Jinx moves toward me, her steps slow, careful. She crouches down next to me, not trying to force anything, not speaking. She just watches me for a moment, her eyes filled with something tender, and then her hand reaches out. Her fingers brush through my hair, slow and soothing, the soft strokes almost enough to make me forget everything else.

"Shhh," she murmurs, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper. "It’s okay."

I can’t stop the tears. I don’t even try. But the sound of her voice, the feel of her fingers weaving through my hair, so gentle, so careful—it’s grounding. She doesn’t rush me, doesn’t tell me to stop crying. She just stays there, her touch like a balm for the rawness inside me.

After a long moment, she shifts again, her hand moving to wipe away the tears that have soaked my cheeks. Her fingers are gentle, each movement deliberate, as if she’s treating me like something fragile but important. Her touch is steady, patient, and it’s like she’s saying, without words, that I don’t have to hide. That I’m allowed to feel, to break.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

"C'mon, toots—it’s only an hour, alright? No big deal." I glance at Y/N, tucked behind me like a little puppy, her hand in mine.

It’s like she’s trying to disappear into the floor, and I don’t... I don’t know what to do with that.

I peek into the detention room, Mr. Wheeler’s already there, half asleep

Of course he is.

His glasses are dangling off his nose, like he forgot they even exist.

He’s ancient—like, fossil-level ancient—but whatever.

Doesn’t matter.

I yank the door open.

And there he is. Boy savior himself, sitting in the corner, all quiet and broody.

I waggle my free hand at him. Big, dumb wave. Like, hi, notice me!

Ekko’s head pops up.

His face twists into full-on confusion. Like, what the actual hell?

His eyes dart to Y/N behind me, all tucked in and quiet, and I can practically hear the gears in his head grinding.

I can see it.

The way his gaze softens, just a little, but then hardens again.

Like he’s trying to figure out how to act, what to say, how to breathe, maybe.

And I get it. I do.

Because once, a long time ago, it was the three of us.

Ekko. Y/N. Me.

Best friends.

And now?

Now we’re... this. Whatever this is. Unspoken crap hanging in the air like a bad smell.

After what happened—Vander’s death, Vi’s wrongful juvie sentence, and Silco taking me in...

Shit hit the fan.

Everything snapped.

The three of us? We used to be inseparable.

Me, Boy Savior, and Y/N. We were the kind of trio that people envied—always laughing, always plotting, always looking out for each other.

But after everything fell apart?

That trio was gone. Just... gone.

Ekko and I? We managed to reconcile. Somehow. It wasn’t easy, but we put the pieces back together.

Mostly.

But Y/N and him?

Never.

Whatever they had? Whatever we all had? It just crumbled. And they never found their way back to each other.

The air feels heavy. Like it’s pressing down on us.

Y/N’s hand squeezes mine. Tight. Too tight. Like she thinks if she lets go, she’ll just... vanish.

I glance back at her. Pale. Shaking. Her eyes darting everywhere except him.

Ekko.

The Boy Savior.

He’s staring at her like she’s a ghost. Or maybe a grenade. His jaw’s tight, hands fidgeting like he doesn’t know where to put them.

Say something.

Do something.

But he just sits there. Quiet. Staring.

It’s unbearable.

“Gonna sprain something, Boy Savior,” I snap, too loud, too sharp. “All that thinking’s dangerous, y’know.”

His head snaps up. Eyes narrow. “Jinx.”

That tone. Even. Calm. Like he’s the adult in the room.

Which he's not cause fucking Mr Wheeler's old ass is at the desk asleep now.

“What?” I throw my free hand up, grinning like a lunatic. “Just saying. You look like you’re trying to solve the meaning of life or some shit.”

Still nothing.

He glances at Y/N again.

And she flinches.

I can’t. I can’t with this.

“Seriously? We’re doing this? Now?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean. “It’s detention. Not a goddamn soap opera.”

“Jinx, stop.”

Her voice.

Soft. Cracked. Barely there.

I freeze. Look at her. She’s hiding behind me, eyes on the floor, her face red like she’s about to cry again.

My chest tightens.

Ekko’s watching us, his expression... weird. Guilty? Concerned? I can’t tell.

“Whatever,” I mutter, pulling Y/N further into the room. “Let’s just sit.”

I drag her to the far corner, away from him. Away from everything.

We sit. She tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t let go. Nope. Not happening.

“Uh-uh, toots,” I whisper. “You’re stuck with me.”

She doesn’t argue. Just wipes her face with her sleeve, all quiet and miserable.

Across the room, I can feel him watching.

Always watching.

And I hate it.

I hate all of this.

I hear a grunt and then...

"The hell is she in here for?"

Ekko’s voice slices through the tension like a blade.

Y/N stiffens beside me, her hand still in mine, like she’s trying to hide behind me.

“Y/N’s here because—” I start, but I don’t know how to finish that.

The fuck should I say?

“Because I laughed too loud,” Y/N mumbles, barely loud enough to hear.

Ekko blinks.

“You?” he says, voice full of disbelief.

“Apparently.” Y/N pulls her hand away from mine tucking them into her sleeves like she’s trying to hide.

I snort, rolling my eyes. “It’s ‘cause Mrs. Clark is a total cunt.”

Ekko’s eyes narrow.

His face hardens a little—like he’s getting pissed off, not at us, but at the absurdity of it. “She really gave you detention for that?” His voice drops, angry now. “For laughing? That’s... that’s fucking ridiculous.”

I nod, crossing my arms. “Told ya. Stupid.”

Y/N looks down, trying to disappear into the floor like she can avoid everything.

So, of course, I’m not having that.

I grab her hand. “C’mon, Y/N. Detention? Are you seriously gonna sit here like some sad sack when we could be out there making actual trouble?”

She gives me the side-eye, clearly hesitant. “I’m not sure—”

“Stop thinking, and just do,” I snap, tugging her toward the window. "I’m done with this place, and you should be too."

She hesitates again, her face a mix of nervousness and confusion. I roll my eyes. “Detention’s for losers, Y/N. And you’re not a loser. You’re a rebel just waiting to burst out.”

Ekko’s already halfway through the window, a grin plastered on his face like he’s got nothing better to do than burn this place to the ground. “C’mon, this is way better than sitting in that crap hole. You don’t want to miss it.”

I lean out the window, breathing in the night air like it’s the first breath of freedom I’ve had in ages. “You’re seriously gonna let this lame-ass detention keep you locked up? Or are you gonna live a little?”

She’s still stiff, unsure, but there’s a flicker in her eyes.

She’s fighting it.

I see it. She’s craving a reason to break the rules, but she’s scared.

I pull her closer, voice low but firm. “Look, it’s just one little jump, Y/N. What’s the worst that can happen? Get caught and get another detention? Big deal. You can always blame me. I’ve got it covered.”

Finally, after what feels like forever, she steps up.

Slowly at first, but then quicker.

She's in.

I laugh, watching her climb out. “That’s my girl,” I mutter, watching her face. There’s a spark in her now, and I can feel it.

She’s gonna love this.

We all slide out the window, landing in the cool night air.

Ekko shoots me a look, like we're all in on some big joke. “Now this is how you do it,” he says, grinning ear-to-ear.

Y/N looks at me, her face still a little stunned, but now she’s definitely feeling it. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she says, breathless.

“You bet your ass we did,” I say, with a grin that could cut glass.

“Best decision of your life. Welcome to the rebellion, toots.”

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: the friendship has begun to progress slightly, more where that came from ;)

please like and reblog!

[brazenautomaton]

I guess I should've been more clear when I said Boeing "paid off" the bereaved family, that's on me I guess, but I didn't mean they paid them off in the same sense that you'd pay off a cop. If it even transpired, it would more than likely go something like: "Hey, we feel really bad about the tragic loss of your son who definitely for sure killed himself, so uh, here's some money for your loss. See, we're the good guys in this! Please don't point fingers at us." Or alternatively, they could've not been paid at all. Both are just as likely and explain why the family might still be pointing fingers. It wouldn't have been hush money, more like a gift meant to ingratiate them as an innocent party that obviously didn't work (again, assuming it even happened).

You have already forgotten what you were supposed to be explaining! You said they were paid off to explain why they looked at the evidence and concluded Boeing didn't assassinate him! Neither of those explain the thing you said! Neither of those make a fucking lick of sense when slotted in to the claim you made! You're not even paying attention to the things you say and think, the only consistency is that you believe it must all be a conspiracy of some kind!

"Alternatively, they could've not been paid at all." Your explanation as to why they blame Boeing for his death, but conclude he was not directly assassinated, was that they were "easily corruptible" but "could not have been paid at all."

But the evidence that he killed himself is the hole in his head and the "trust me bro" we get from the cops, which is the same exact kind of evidence that we got from Epstein's supposed suicide as well, just a man hanging in his cell and a "trust me bro" from the cops.

No. That is not what the evidence is. That is the opposite of what the evidence is. I have specifically told you that the evidence is not "trust me," in the post you did not read. You didn't read it. You didn't read the post. Because you do not care about facts in material reality, you only care about who you like and who you dislike when you look at what to believe.

The evidence he killed himself is: the lack of signs of a struggle, the fact the gun was one he owned since 2000, the struggle with mental illness, the testimony of everyone who had seen him dealing with Boeing's harassment and how it had caused his mental health to deteriorate, the notebook full of profane rants in his handwriting about what utter fucking scumbags Boeing was, the complete lack of anyone else's fingerprints, the lack of any unusual activity on his cell phone, the lack of any unusual activity on his hotel room key, and the fact that there was a fucking security camera in the parking lot and nobody else got into his car and nobody else touched his car and his car didn't move. The lack of unusual activity on his phone/GPS and hotel room key indicates nobody got into his car at another location. I said all of this in a post you claimed to read but did not read.

Not anything, no, just the ones where Occam's razor applies. Again, which is more likely, a hundred billion dollar company who are active agents of shady, illegal business practices had both the cause and the means to have someone with information dangerous to their company killed and covered up... or that the guy who was about to testify with said-dangerous information just up and decided to end it all right before the finish line?

That's not what happened you fucking twit. I have said this, in this conversation! He was not about to testify. He had already testified. The Boeing attorneys wanted to call him back for a third day of questioning, during which THEY planned to ask him questions that would be good for their case because they were the ones asking the questions and attempting to get him to say things that discredited him. His testimony was not invalidated by his death, it had already been admitted. He had already testified. He had crossed the finish line. He had already testified. That is knowledge about material fucking reality that you don't think is important because you just keep repeating large quantities of money like it overrides time and matter.

You didn't read that paragraph. Go back and read that paragraph.

No, actually go back and read that paragraph. Actually read the words in it.

I know you didn't read it. Go back and read the words in that paragraph instead of not reading them.

So then explain to me how exactly it's so unbelievable that a dude not in prison, not under watch by guards or cameras, was murdered in his car and then covered up as a suicide? How was one dude with dangerous information under total security and surveillance mysteriously killed and staged, but the other dude with dangerous information with no security or surveillance probably just killed himself?

Is this a bit? Are you doing a bit? Do you literally not care about material reality beyond asking the question "who benefits?"

Do you need me to answer why it is more suspicious that a guy who had a 24-hour detail of people whose entire job was to prevent him from killing himself killed himself when all of those people suddenly stopped paying attention at the same time and the equipment that was supposed to record him in his cell also suddenly stopped working, than a guy who did not have a 24-hour detail of people whose entire job was to prevent him from killing himself killed himself?

There are facts and details about the world we can observe and draw conclusions from. Repeating a large quantity of money does not override time and matter. It is not naive to rely on observations of reality more than repeating a large quantity of money. You do not have to believe that money does not have corrupting properties to believe money does not override time and matter.

Remember earlier this year when Boeing very clearly had a whistleblower executed? And law enforcement didn't even look for anyone or release any info about it or anything?

People keep comparing Luigi Mangione's case to the subway murderer who got off because of systemic eugenics, but I think there's something more apt about the fact that a CEO had someone executed in recent memory, with zero attempts to find a culprit, while they spared no expense at all to find (and probably frame, it's beginning to look like) someone who shot a CEO. It's always fine to slaughter if you're rich, but if you kill the rich, they will hunt you down.

[thehelltingvilleclub]

Josh Levy - Teddy Bear with a Lightsaber

He's not fat.. okay he's fat AND he's big boned.

Joshua “Josh” Aaron Levy [05/04/80] Secretary of Science Fiction AOL / Online Users: [JediJunkies_80] Theme Songs: Science Fiction Double Feature - Me First and Gimmie Gimmies | Ghost - Mystery Skulls | Aliens Exist - blink-182

Favorite Shit: Star Trek, Star Wars, Dr. Who, Twilight Zone, Kaiju, Stargate SG-1 Battlestar Galactica, Klingon, Alternate Earths, Firefly, Planet of the Apes, 12” Action Figures, Torrent Sites, The X-Files, Babylon 5, Akira, Farscape, Boba Fett

Despite his (well earned) grievances, he still hangs around these fuckers cause he can't really seem to find solace anywhere else, even online spaces. He didn't expect to find any enjoyment out of going to tournaments with Jerry, but an excuse to get good city food and walk around the comic shops they were held in were enough in his book to keep him coming back. He even managed to find a space themed tabletop he likes to play, and... y'know.. maybe other reasons..

But we don't talk about him shit uh IT UH--

Never tell me the odds.

Oh Joshybear my beloved you poor antagonistic shitsmear.

His mom is in the hospital a lot more often or just straight up bed bound, which makes him kind of never want to leave his room out of guilt.

Yes, this dingus still blames himself for it, though it's not like his father helps with that.

Whenever he isn't holed up in his room, he's trying to drag somebody anybody out of the house to do something. Anything to get his mind off of stupid emotional shit--

He often goes with Jerry into the inner city when he has tournaments, especially when nobody else really wants to go. Sometimes he even covers Jerry bus fair or just borrows his mom's car.

However, this fucker HATES driving. It makes him the most anxious he's ever been his entire life. It is nothing like video games and it is nothing like the Millennium Falcon, that's for damn certain.

He also hates trying to park because he is deathly afraid of hitting the side of someone's car with the door.

Josh actually doesn't meet Matt at the same time as Jerry, surprisingly enough. Jerry introduces them when they bump into each other at the shop for a non-tournament related reason.

Josh nearly had a panic attack on the spot but it's fine

The moment he heard Matt had never seen the Star Wars films he nearly lost his mind.

This became the entire basis of Josh's attachment to the dude: "I have to show him the cinematic masterpiece that is this damn franchise."

And that's all it is. Mhmm. Totally. Don't ask why his hands are clammy and he's even more show-offy than normal whenever he's around. Don't.

please?

He works with his dad at their Synagogue as essentially a secretary and sound technician, but hey, it lets him write his fanfictions Reimaginings and scroll through blogs in peace, right?

And it keeps him out of his dad's hair and the house, so it's kind of a win-win-win.. win?

I love him

I want to eat him.

A DOUBLE POST???? HJGDSAJKHDKSJALHDLK You're welcome

Also don't worry guys, you'll get a WHOLE lot more info on Matt soon. He's not an affiliated member of the club and I didn't have many drawings of him (despite my.. excessive notes...) so I'm cranking them out as I post this.

NOW LOVE THE BIG MAN ON CAMPUS DAMNIT.

also hi I know his pants look weird shut up nothing else looked better.

[idontcaboose]

Grand Theft Danny aka Haunted Car Au Part 20

Previous. Masterpost

While Danny had control of the car, Signal was in the driver's seat and correcting turns and braking when needed. It was a fun and terrifying learning experience. It kinda reminded him of when he and Tucker would play those games where two people would share the controls and have to work together to complete the level. Luckily for him, Signal was a LOT better at keeping them from crashing than Tucker was. Hood was just vibing, making music requests, and throwing out a few directions. They were not too far out when Hood swore and called an incoming.

The radio muted itself for the com connection, and someone was making ‘wee-woo’ noises at them. Hood scoffed and responded on his own com shouting ‘ACAB!’ Danny had gotten the idea to link the com to the radio when the guy on the com asked (rather nicely) for them to pull over. Well, unfortunately for him, Danny was not done with his driving lesson, and Signal did say to Gun It. The music choice was a song that he remembered Jason playing and singing along with with the working gals. It was on the Batmobile’s radio drive, so a bat had good taste in music.

They proceed to drive all over Gotham. Hood had an especially great time hanging out the windows when they crossed over the Narrows, Bowery, and Crime Alley. The entire time they were being chased by the blue and black vigilante, that Danny was 75% sure was not called ‘Dickwing’. It wasn't until about an hour after his first attempt at nicely asking to stop did he apparently pull out the big guns.

“Guys, please, I am going to need gas soon. If you don't stop I am going to wake up Oracle to remote the car back home.”

Signal swore and made Danny slow down to a more reasonable speed. Hood on the other hand decided to mock the guy some more.

“Oh? Going to tell on us to O? Have you finally realized that Daddy Bat isn't as effective to tattletale to?”

“Little wing-”

“Dickhead.”

“Look, what if I pay for lunch?”

Duke looked at Hood so hard that Danny could tell he was conveying that they should take up the offer. Unfortunately it looked like Hood was going to continue the argument. Luckily, Hood didn't have a choice when Danny turned on the radio and found a Batburger advertisement playing, and showed his new found ability to stop on his own. Danny decided to further his point by finding gunshot sounds and someone saying ‘How Rude’ in the most scandalized voice he ever heard.

“Wait, did you just call me rude?” Hood asked incredulous.

“Yaaaaa booooiiiiii”

“That's because you are rude Little Wing. Hey Signal, thanks for stopping.” The other guy said.

“Wasn't me, Nightwing, Danny decided to stop us.”

The newly dubbed Nightwing looked into three back, confused. “Uh, who is Danny?”

“Our new best friend Dickwing, keep up.” Hood smugly said.

Nightwing gasped “Little Wing made a friend? I must meet them!”

“Danny, would you like to say hi to Nightwing?” Duke asked, trying to stifle his laughter.

Danny knew how he would respond, he turned up the volume -

“MY NAME IS SUE, HOW DO YOU DO?!”

Nightwing went through a bunch of emotions before settling on hopeful disbelief. “Did Oracle get a helper that is remotely controlling the Batmobile?”

He blanched when the car responded with a laugh track, a ‘NOPE’, and proceeded to play the Ghostbusters theme song.

Next

Tag list:

@kizzer55555 @sebas-nights @candeartist422 @trappednyourheart @fandom-life-corrupted-me @tkiesai @2lbballpeenhammer @admiralwidow @rewrittenwrongs @whotfevenknowsanymore @symmetricalastigmatism

@thespacedragons

@atinygracie @okami-love

@lesbian-spider-drone @1n0sss @forgetmenot-bluepurple @ehobep

[calirph]

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. all these sentences come from a search on goodread's keywords for fantasy romance and romantasy. please change names, locations and pronouns as you see fit. some of these might be suggestive.

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.”

“But I will not run. I wouldn't be standing here if I'd quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome. I will not die today.”

“There is no me without you.”

“They say the soul cannot rest until it finds its match. Then it ignites.”

“You don't love someone because they're a dream of perfection. You love them because of the way they meet their challenges, how they struggle to overcome. You love them because together, you bring out the best in each other.”

“Do you make it a habit to compliment everyone who's trying to kill you?"

“Do you really want to put yourself through this? Is loving me really enough to endure everything you have to just to be with me?"

“Make no mistake, little human. You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.”

“Love is when you’d rather see someone one last time and die, than never see their face again.”

“You are sweet to be so concerned over my love life, but I’ve decided only to date guys who have bigger swords than me.”

“Laire, get back here! You do not drink before we meet with our mortal enemy.”

“She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

“I bring you the whole of my heart at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars.”

“You're exquisite. You're transcendent. And you are mine.”

“Fight me, love. You'll need the strength at the pass. Let that power fly."

“Gods, there seemed to be nothing more humiliating than being attracted to someone who didn't feel the same.”

“Call him. Claim him. Speak his Name. Make him thine before all others.”

“They were all short lives. She'd just wanted to spend more of hers with him. She'd just wanted more time.”

“You could never hate me as much as you want me.”

“That’s the thing about life. To know there’s an end, to be unable to run from it, but to live anyway.”

“I would fetch you the moon if only to spare your tears again”

“I am Death. And you are a fool. I hope revenge is worth it.”

“They despise us because we are Immortal, but it is the blood that runs through our veins ...That they fear.”

“The time for hiding is over. The time for fear is over. The time for action is now.”

“You are powerful by birth but have it in you to be good by choice.”

“It's not protection, little dragon. It's a claim. You're mine. No one touches what belongs to me.”

“Maybe you’ve know what it’s like to be at the bottom, but I doubt you’ve known hell.”

“How can I even look at any other guy on campus when you’re always on my mind? Literally.”

“Love is a not a weakness.”

“My future had been set for me before I was old enough to question it.”

“No one doubts your honourable nature, most noble of kings and best of brothers.”

“When you erupt, girl, make sure it is felt across worlds.”

“Be everything you truly are. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you, my silver one.”

“But if we don’t have peace, we shall have you.”

“Oh, Gesela, do not pretend you despise my attention.”

“He was beautiful and cold, like winter…”

“Answer my question. Send to my will. Why have you come, sweet one?”

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, you find that the darkness begin's to stare back at you.”

“Iron is made stronger in the hottest part of the fire, Seth. You didn't break me, you forged me.”

“The whole damn world could burn, and I would still love you. When everything dissipates, you're the only thing I see. You've always been.”

“I’ll happily play the villain if you’re my reward, Mareina.” 

“This realm’s moon hung on the skies, mine laid beside me, smiling and radiant.”

“If you're going to lie, make it a good one.”

“No one is killing my king tonight.”

“My beautiful Olivia, you are the moon of my night sky, beaming light and beauty into my life.”

“That’s it, my bride. Take your pleasure.”

“Perhaps, but the mind is also a powerful force. What you believe, you often see. And what you hope, often comes to be.”

“Patience is about as foreign to me as mercy."

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.”

“I would have suffered a thousand more years to be with you.”

“It’s not easy to ignore an unfinished day that has been set on reminding you of its bitterness.”

“We aren't anything like strangers anymore, and certainly nothing like enemies. Compassionate like friends. Tender like lovers.”

“All or nothing. In dreams as in life.”

“You need me because I am the Queen of Ithicana.”

“You are mine, mo krrá. The same way that I am yours. From now until the end of time.”

“She would not be mastered by anything again; she was the master of herself.”

“When will you see I'm not your enemy, but your weapon. Wield me..”

“I may be evil but I do have a heart, Princess. It belongs to you. “

“There's no room for doubt on the wings of birds, let alone on the mane of moon dust.”

“I'll say it again. I don't care what you are. I care about who you are.”

“Your wish is my command, my queen.”

“I thought all you princes wanted was demure virgins you could pluck for the first time."

“Power was poison, one that slipped beneath the skin and which could turn even the purest soul into a wicked monster.”

“Love was a lethal weapon that rivaled the sharpest sword. It cut directly to the heart.”

“Morgan Pendragon is far from insignificant. She's a force of destiny and you would do well not to trifle with her or ever let her name cross your lips again.”

“I don't think I've ever met anyone as vexing as you,"

“That was what it meant to have power, wasn't it? You could simply destroy that which didn't serve you.”

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- love and deepspace masterlist

Hey, so guys—I’m gonna write a whole ass theory/not-theory post about love and deepspace. Please give me your own thoughts and excuse my rambling it’s 2 am and I’m supposed to be asleep.

—

No but I actually need the LI to interact in game, I know (think or read somewhere) that the love and dating parts are separate timelines and in the “main” timeline MC doesn’t romanticise any of them(?). Anyway not my point, my point is that they all canonically exist in the same place and Caleb is probably the one tying everyone together.

I swear I believe it was Caleb that Rafayel talked to in the nest place where he lead MC so she could find the Onychinus. There was also a TikTok someone made (probably as a joke) of why Rafayel’s reaction to MC feeding him an apple threw him off.

Caleb is also Zayne’s childhood friend, but alright I’m gonna take a little spin off and ask;

When Zayne is reborn, does he remember everything immediately? Does he as a child bear memories of his previous lives as an adult? Or does the memories come to him with age?

Because IF the case is that Zayne already as a child knows of his past with MC and still has the powers of seeing the future, did he perhaps purposefully become friends with Caleb and MC?

Alright back to the main plot point of my post.

I dunno much about Xavier because I don’t have his full 5-star myth yet, but I do know he’s travelling through space and time (?) and that dude knows some shit. He’s most likely also being extra overprotective because of Caleb, like he’s maybe met an alternative version of him in the past?

Oh, but then there’s Sylus.

I’m just saying, Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier all helped MC find the Onychinus and if they truly thought she would be in life threatening danger they probably would’ve stopped her.

I don’t know how!!! But I’m just yapping so stay with me, ok? They all wanted her to find Sylus, because Sylus is the only one strong enough to protect her.

They probably know about the aether cores, that MC can use the dragon to their advantage. However they didn’t realise that MC and Sylus actually share half of each soul, that they are two kindred spirits.

Oh-ho! But Caleb knows, and Caleb haaaates it. Because he, the one who imprisoned Sylus to begin with, wants nothing more than to see the dragon back into the abyss. Because Caleb, the whole reason he’s in MC’s life is to get to Sylus.

Knowing she’s the key to the dragon, he decides to use her, manipulate her into thinking he’s nothing but a kind and loving friend. Sadly, Caleb didn’t anticipate that he too would be smitten by MC.

So everything just turns complicated now, because in the “main timeline” where MC doesn’t romanticise any of the LI, they’re all very much in love with her.

Gods and when they finally all meet… I’m envisioning like the Deepspace throwing every universe together, causing the past, future and present to mash up and fuck the whole reality… and something something Ever.

[silentstyx]

hello!! I saw that you wanted some percy req and I’ve been dying to read more so, may I request percy x reader fluff of reader suprising him with a visit (since they live away) on christmas please?

I'll Be Home For Christmas

tw! neck kisses. percy threatens to shove his tongue down your throat guys. his pretty girl is sorta mean guys!!

guys i hate the colors for the title. but oh well! also i could like only true think of this as hc's idk sorry chat 😖

uh i was eepy when i wrote this and completely strayed but i still like this but yeah, nothing like the req and im super sorry!!! im slow!

ugh logan lerman is so UGH.

okay so like we all know that you can leave for your family during holidays.

you didn't really have anywhere to go so you planned to stay while your boyfriend, percy, went to his mothers house.

you've met his mom already, she loved you, and you've been to his house.

as you were sitting on the bed in the poseidon cabin as he packed, he got out another suitcase in your favorite color!!!

"ya wanna come home with me for christmas, pretty?" he said with a small smile. he was very obviously a *tad* nervy.

you smiled at his stupid nervous attitude, " 'course i will, stupid." you say as you hug him.

he hugs you back, wrapping his arms around the small of your back and putting his face in your neck, mumbling " 'm not stupid..."

ugh sally is so ecstatic to have you over (she loves you so so much guys. more than percy does.)

decorating blue cookies by making snow flakes on them.

decorating the christmas tree blue with them!!

my fav blue fanatics guys!!

idk if you find out how to make blue hot chocolate percy's gonna shove his tongue down your throat.

cuddles as you three watch stupid cheesy christmas movies.

perseus makes you a burr basket with a bunch of cute christmas stuff!!! (candle with like a peppermint scent, gingerbread cookies, blanket, slippers, beanie, stuffie, etc.)

i like lwk think he gets super cold super fast so if its like below 65 degrees he's shivering. SHIVERING.

guys he constantly talks about missing summer.

omg he picks you up (like in the pic) to put the star on the tree !!

sally lets yall sleep in the same room and bed with the exception the door stays open.

when he gets 'cold' while sleeping in his room he cuddles up to you, crushing you, then starts kissing your neck ??

he inches closer to you, more and more weight being pressed onto your shoulder. "perce? baby, you're crushin me." you mumbled to him.

he doesn't respond and he instead gets closer, wrappin his arms 'round your neck, he starts to shiver and pulls more blankets on the both of you. he mumbles into your neck, "ugh, pretty, 'm so freezin' . its like -1000 degrees in here. someone tell persephone to come back or demeter to calm down."

you snicker at his little ramble about being chilly, "i completely agree. we're all furious with hades right now."

he nods before he starts kissing your neck.

"how does this help with you stay warm, my love?" you giggle as you speak.

"keeps ya super warm and relaxed..." he mumbled against your skin before continuing his assault on your neck.

he bought you like 20 things for christmas. all stuff you wanted but didn't tell him.

you're almost certain annabeth and sally listened to what you said and he just asked them what you wanted.

either way you love all your stuff and whatever you gift him he loves.

"but you're my favorite present this year"

anyways, highly recommended to be dating perseus jackson during christmas !!

[scoonsalicious]

3/Unsized, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Pocket!Reader

Summary: Family is complicated. Family is messy. Family is what you make it.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, poorly translated Russian AND Italian (we're branching out!), Reak Talk, fluff, jealous!Bucky, mention of sexual situations.

Word Count: 3.6k

Previously On...: When it comes to a future with Bucky, you're still harboring some insecurities and one big secret.

A/N: This chapter had to be broken into two parts, as I let it get away from me. I wrote all you see before you without even gettitng to the point of what I wanted this chapter to be about, lol, so more to come!

Banner by my beloved @mrsbuckybarnes1917; poor recolor by me.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You strolled leisurely through the streets of Brooklyn, Bucky’s vibranium arm draped lovingly over your shoulder, his fingers entwined with yours. The morning had been spent running wedding errands—officially as Pepper’s Maid of Honor, but in truth, you were Tony’s errand-running bitch more often than not.

Not that you minded in the least. You’d do anything for Tony Stark (though you’d rather have your arm re-broken than admit it out loud). Spending the day outside in the sunshine with your boyfriend, dropping off the florist deposits, final invitation proofs, and sketches for the life-size chocolate Iron Man Tony had insisted on to the chocolatier, wasn’t a bad trade-off.

“I think the only reason Pepper agreed to that monstrosity in the first place,” Bucky said, licking his fingers clean of the last of the candy samples the chocolatier had sent out the door with you, “is so that she can ceremoniously chop its head off.”

You laughed in agreement. “He better be grateful that thing’s not anatomically correct, then.” You flashed Bucky a mischievous smile. “Who knows what might happen if she gets carried away? Lord knows he’s pissed her off enough times.”

“Don’t go gettin’ any ideas now, doll,” Bucky teased, pulling you closer planting a kiss on the side of your head. “I’ll have to start worryin’ about you choppin’ parts off a chocolate Bucky at our wedding.”

You pulled away, mock disbelief on your face. “Oh, our wedding, huh? Pretty presumptuous for a guy who’s never even properly proposed.”

Bucky grumbled good naturedly, sliding his arm from your shoulder to your waste. “How many times does a guy have to tell his girl he wants to marry her before she takes him seriously?” he asked, tickling your side through the thin fabric of your lavender sundress. 

Squealing, you tried to wriggle free, but he caught you, nuzzling into your neck. “He’s only gotta ask her once” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck, “if he does it right to begin with.”

“Oh, I’ll do it right,” he promised, his lips brushing yours. “And trust me, doll, when the question comes, you’ll know it’s the real deal.”

You raised a playful brow, glancing pointedly at the empty ring finger on your left hand.. “You keep saying that, and yet…”

Bucky grabbed your hand and quickly pulled it to his mouth, nipping on the inside of your wrist. “Like I said, doll, you gotta trust me.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Trust him. Once, you thought you’d be able to trust him again, but now…

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you asked, studying his face. 

Bucky’s smirk softened. “Like a heart attack, sweets.” He hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. “You still doubt me?” 

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain. You jostled into him as someone brushed by, and he steadied you with a hand on your waist. Guiding him off to the side, you leaned against the building, away from the bustling sidewalk.

“No, baby, of course not. I just…” You blew out a puff of air as you took his hands in yours. “Wow. It’s just… Talking about it in the hypothetical’s been one thing, but knowing you’re actually making plans? That’s something else.”

He frowned as he gently extricated his hand from yours and reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Is that a bad thing, doll?”

“It’s a great thing,” you clarified in a breathy whisper, leaning into his touch. “It’s the best thing, I promise. I just… I just don’t want to fuck it up. I’m so scared I’m gonna fuck it up.”

“Doll,” Bucky let out a relieved chuckle as he pulled you into him, wrapping his body so perfectly around yours, as though it had been made to fit. “Don’t you think I’ve already fucked up enough for the both of us? I think we’ve already more than met our fuck-up relationship quota.”

“Stop,” you pleaded, laughing into the hard plains of his chest. “I’m trying to be serious and vulnerable and shit.” 

Bucky’s hands ran comfortingly up and down your spine. “So am I,” he said, his tone warm. “I didn’t deserve a second chance from you, after everything that happened, but you gave me one. I wanna spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret that decision.”

You slipped your hands around his waist under the buttery leather of his jacket and squeezed gently. “I love you,” you told him. “I love you so much, and when you do ask me to marry you, I’m gonna say yes.”

Bucky let out a relieved exhale. “You mean that, doll?” he asked, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him. “You’ll marry me? For real?”

“Absolutely,” you leaned back so you could look up at his face. The smile he wore was absolutely breathtaking in its joy. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look as unabashedly happy as he did in this moment. “Or, at least, I will when you actually propose to me,” you clarified, giving him a mischievous smirk. 

“Oh, shut up,” he said with a groan, leaning down to take your lips in his. The kiss flowed over and through you, warming you from the inside out, until your entire body was tingling with the heat of it, but before you could allow yourself to get caught up in it, a sobering thought came over.

“Oh my god, have you talked to Tony yet?” you asked, gripping the lapels of his jacket. While Tony and Bucky had been playing nice over the last year, you weren’t sure how he would react if he thought the two of you were actually going to get married.

Bucky grinned knowingly. “I didn’t realize you were such an old fashioned girl,” he teased. “Should I negotiate the terms of your dowry while I’m at it? Get us a couple of fat cows and a goat to start our life together?”

You gnawed on your bottom lip in a failing attempt to stave off your grin. “Surely you can convince him to throw in at least one pig with that,” you countered. “I know for a fact you can be very persuasive when you want to be.” You playfully nipped at the juncture of his jaw and his neck.

Bucky slipped his hands between your sundress and the denim jacket you wore, sliding his fingers along the line where the fabric met the skin of your back. “I doubt he’s as susceptible to my powers of persuasion as you are, doll,” he teased.

“Probably not,” you conceded, but your voice turned a bit more serious as you continued to speak: “but he’s the closest thing to actual family I’ve got,” you told him, a whisper of sadness on the edge of your voice. “I’m not saying I want you to, like, ask his permission or anything, because, you know… ew, but I really would like him to be onboard. To be happy for us.”

“Aside from Pepper, there’s no one on this planet more important to Tony than you,” Bucky said reassuringly. “If you’re happy, he’ll be happy. That’s all there is to it.”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” you told him, pulling him toward you until there was no space left between you. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about,” he said, grinning. “Because I am happy. And I promise, I’ll make sure Tony’s happy, too.”

“Thank you,” you murmured into his chest. You’d had hopes, once, that Bucky and Tony might have been able to forge some kind of relationship– if not one born from any kind of affection, then from at least a mutual love of and respect for you, but that hope had been dashed after you’d gotten shot. 

“I’ll tolerate him for your sake, Kiddo,” he’d said to you when you’d told him you’d decided to work on rebuilding your relationship with Bucky. “But I’m not going to be able to just up and forgive him.”

“You managed to forgive him for your parents, though,” you’d said to him tentatively. “And he wasn’t even the one who pulled the trigger on me.”

Tony’d swallowed his gaze somewhere far away. “Yeah,” he’d said “but he wasn’t in his right mind back then. And they weren’t you.” 

“Not that I wouldn’t mind standing here holding you all day, doll,” Bucky said, taking you from your thoughts after a long moment, “but we’ve got to get to the jeweler’s before they close.”

You stepped back and looked up at him, a wave of panic coming over you that you were sure was noticeable on your face. “I thought you said you were making plans! Not that you had plans! Least of all jewelry store plans!”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Bucky said, kissing the top of your head with a laugh. “Did you forget that last stop we have to make for Stark?” 

You exhaled, embarrassed at your mini-freakout. In all the talk of a future with Bucky, you’d forgotten the purpose of your current task for Tony– to have his mother’s wedding band set resized for Pepper. The ring was meant to be a surprise, and since you and Pepper wore the same size, you were the perfect stand-in for this little bit of subterfuge. 

“I very much did,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “What can I say, Barnes? You’ve got me all twitterpated.” 

Bucky pursed his lips, taking your hand and leading you down the sidewalk again. “Doll,” he purred, “you know what you do to me when you use ‘40s slang. We’re in public, for cryin’ out loud.”

“Тебе нравится больше, когда я говорю с тобой на русском?” you asked him, your voice dripping into something sultry. Do you like it better than when I speak Russian to you?

Bucky shook his head, pouting slightly. “Нет, никогда.” No, never.

Arriving at the jeweler’s a few minutes early, you were greeted by a man behind the counter who invited you to browse while the jeweler finished things up on a piece he was currently working on in the back. The place was a hidden gem–an artisan’s studio/showroom run by the grandson designer of Tony’s mother’s ring. From the outside, it was unassuming, but inside, it showcased some of the most exquisite (and undoubtedly expensive) pieces you’d ever seen.

You hummed appreciatively as you traced your fingers over the glass of the display case, admiring the intricate filigree and glittering gemstones. Of course, nothing had a price tag. You’d been in Tony’s orbit long enough to know that if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.

“See anything you like?” Bucky’s voice was warm as he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Just, you know, in case I ever wanted to get you a Labor Day present or something.”

You turned to give him a skeptical look. “A Labor Day present?”

“Or something,” he repeated, nudging your cheek with his nose.

You snorted out a laugh that felt entirely out of place among such elegance. “Classy,” he teased, swaying you slightly in his arms.

“Everything’s beautiful,” you admitted with a wistful sigh, “but nothing here feels like me, you know?” Bucky hummed, his chin still on your shoulder. The sound vibrated pleasantly through you. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I get that. You play in Tony’s world, but you don’t live in it.”

“Exactly.” You turned to face him, smiling at how easily he understood you. “It’s like, I’m always gonna see myself as that girl from the trailer park in Ohio. Jewelry, fancy cars, designer clothes… it was all so far out of reach, I never even dreamed of it. It’s not what I grew up wishing for.”

Bucky’s face softened in understanding. Growing up during the Depression, he knew what it was like to see even the basics as unattainable luxuries. “What did you wish for, doll?” His voice was quiet, almost reverent.

You chuckled, though it came out a bit hollow. “Well, aside from the obvious…” Bucky nodded, understanding what you didn’t say–that you wished you hadn’t been trapped and trafficked. “I wanted things like getting a real education; not having to teach myself with whatever books I could get at the library. Being allowed to go to school. Having friends. God, I wanted friends so badly. Getting out and never having to worry about looking over my shoulder again.” 

You exhaled, steadying yourself. “When you’re just trying to survive,” you said, “shit like this doesn’t matter. It’s just stuff.”

Bucky pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, grounding you. “If you had to have one piece of jewelry,” he said, a teasing edge creeping into his voice, “let’s say, a ring, just as a random, hypothetical example with no bearing in actual reality, whatsoever, what would you want it to look like?”

You smiled, happily leaning into the game. “Well, speaking strictly hypothetically,” you said tapping your chin in thought, “I think I’d want something vintage. Antique. Maybe Art Deco.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Why not?” You shrugged, reaching up to tweak his nose. “I happen to have a soft spot for old, worn down things.” 

“I’ll show you old and worn down,” Bucky said, his voice dropping dangerously low. Your heartbeat sped up as you stood on your toes, reaching for him with your lips. 

Before you could connect in what you just knew would be a fiery kiss, Bucky’s phone rang. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “Lemme let it go to voicemail.”

You licked your lips, gently pushing him back. “Answer it,” you told him. “Could be ‘Very Important World Saving Business’. Besides…” You leaned in conspiratorally. “If we got started, we both know it’d only be a matter of minutes before you had me bent over one of these display cases, fucking me raw on top of all these diamonds.”

Bucky swallowed hard, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of red. “And now I have to take this outside,” he muttered, retreating with his phone in hand, “because I definitely can’t look at you and talk to someone at the same time with that image in my head.”

You grinned, waving cheerfully as he stepped out the door, his phone already to his ear. Was it mean to tease him so badly? Yes. Did you enjoy the fuck out of seeing him get all worked up? Also, yes.

No sooner had he left than a voice from behind the counter called out to you. “You are the Stark appointment?”

Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with an impossibly handsome olive-skinned man emerging from the back room. Italian, if you had to hazard a guess. He had a messy head of black curls that seemed to keep falling into a pair of hazel eyes with thick, dark lashes that gave him an effortlessly suave air, accentuated by a slightly aquiline nose that looked like it might have been broken once before; and his lips were sensuously full, with a pronounced cupid’s bow that would meet even Hawkeye’s exacting standards. 

You admired him the way you would admire a slice of Tiramisu– it looked positively delicious, and perhaps you would be tempted to take a bite… if you hadn’t already been utterly satiated by the most decadent, rich layered dark chocolate mousse you’d ever hope to have in your entire life. Thank you, but you couldn’t possibly; you had already overindulged.

“Hi, yes.” You extended your hand. “I’m Pocket.” You retrieved the box with Tony’s mother’s ring from your bag. He’d offered to send you with a full security detail but, you figured, if the Winter Soldier couldn’t protect the ring from would-be thieves, nothing could, especially when it was being transported by something he found infinitely more valuable. “I’m here to have this resized.” 

The man ignored the box and took your hand instead. “Marco Palombini,” he offered, his accent rich and lyrical.

“Italiano?” you asked excitedly. It wasn’t very often you had the opportunity to practice this particular language skill set of yours. 

Marco’s eyes lit up. “Sì! La mia famiglia è di Sabina, appena fuori Roma. E la tu?” Yes! My family’s from Sabina, just outside of Rome. Yours?

“Oh, no,” you replied with a laugh. “Sono americana.” I’m American.

“Davvero?” He looked skeptical. Really? “Allora ci sarai stata parecchio, no?” You must have spent a lot of time there, then, yeah?

You shook your head; it was one place your business responsibilities had yet to bring you. “No, non ci sono mai stata. Però ho sempre voluto andarci, soprattutto a Roma.” No, never. But I’ve always wanted to, especially Rome.

Marco’s gaze softened. “Beh, sono sicuro che Tony Stark non negherebbe alla sua fidanzata bella una luna di miele nella Città Eterna.” Well, I’m sure Tony Stark wouldn’t deny his beautiful fiancée a honeymoon in the Eternal City.

“Dio, no!” you snorted. God, no! “Non sono la fidanzata di Tony. Sono qui solo perché io e lei abbiamo la stessa misura di mani.” I’m not Tony’s fiance. I’m just here because she and I have the same sized hands. You opened the box with Tony’s mother’s ring and slid it across the glass countertop, suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of being mistaken for Tony’s betrothed. The thought was hilariously, ludicrously gross.

Marco’s expression lightened considerably as he tilted his head, a sly smile forming. “Beh, non è una fortuna, allora?” he asked, taking your hand and tracing the lines of your palm with his fingers. Well, isn’t that lucky, then?

Before you could politely extract your hand, a familiar, steadying presence loomed behind you. “Everything good, sweets?” Bucky’s voice held a subtle edge, a clear sign of his displeasure at the sight of Marco’s hand lingering on yours.

“Hey, baby,” you said, fighting the smile that threatened to break through at his obvious jealousy. Sliding your free hand around Bucky’s waist, you rested your head against his side, silently reinforcing that you were unmistakingly his. “Mr. Palombini was just about to measure my finger for the resizing.” You flashed Marco a friendly smile and nodded for him to continue.

Marco’s expression faltered briefly at Bucky’s towering presence, but he recovered quickly, resuming his professional demeanor. He retrieved a set of finger-sizing gauges, slipped one onto your finger, and adjusted it a few times to ensure a perfect fit before jotting down notes in his ledger.

“Should take about ten days,” he said briskly. Moving to the register, he typed up a form, signed it, and handed it to you along with a pen. “Sign here and bring your copy when you pick up the ring.”

“Anyone who has the receipt can come pick up the ring, right?” Bucky asked, his tone pointed as he leaned slightly closer to the counter. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be her?”

You pinched his side lightly, though it was a challenge to find anything but solid muscle. “Behave,” you murmured under your breath.

Marco didn’t flinch, handing you the signed receipt with a calm, professional smile that bordered on smug. “No,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to Bucky. “We will only release the ring to the person who signed the receipt. Company policy.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow as you tucked the receipt into your wallet. “So, you mean to tell me,” he began, “that if Tony Stark himself showed up with his receipt, you wouldn’t give him his own ring back?”

Marco leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed. “We will only release the ring to the person who signed the receipt,” he repeated, his smirk faint but unmistakable.

You rolled your eyes, deciding you’d had enough machismo for one afternoon. “Great,” you said, taking Bucky’s hand in yours. “Let us know when it’s ready, and we’ll be back to pick it up.”

As Bucky held the shop door open for you, Marco’s voice rang out behind you. “Bella donna!” he called, a mischievous lilt in his tone. You glanced over your shoulder to see him wink. “Quando torni, magari potrei interessarti a un tour privato di Roma!” When you come back, maybe I can interest you in a private tour of Rome!

Shaking your head with a mix of exasperation and amusement, you stepped outside, Bucky right behind you.

“What did he say to you?” Bucky asked, his tone deceptively calm.

“Oh, nothing much,” you replied lightly. “Just invited me to run away to Rome with him.”

Bucky frowned as he took your hand in his. “Not funny, doll.”

“I’m totally serious,” you told him. Bucky stopped abruptly in his tracks, pulling you to a halt. “Hey–” you began.” 

“That son of a bitch!” Bucky growled, turning slightly as though he were about to march back inside. “I’m going to–”

“You’re not going to do anything,” you said, gently  tugging on his hand to redirect him forward. “He was being a shameless flirt. He’s Italian. It’s practically in his DNA.” Your attempt at humor didn’t seem to land, judging by the dark look on Bucky’s face. “The only thing that matters,” you added more seriously,  “is that I’m not into it. I’m into you.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand haphazardly through his hair. “I know, sweets,” he said. “I’m just not…”

“Not used to being the jealous one for a change?” you teased, swinging his hand in yours as you walked. “Trust me, I know, it’s no fun, which is why I’m being nice and not letting you stew in it.”

Bucky huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Well, thanks for that, I guess.”

You grinned, leaning into him as you walked. “You’re welcome, Barnes. Besides, you’re prettier to look at than he is, anyway.”

The small, satisfied smile on Bucky’s face as he pulled you closer was all the reassurance you needed.

<- Previous / Next ->

[beartitled]

Found your art through the STP Reddit and now I have a new TSPUD artist to enjoy!!! Your style is gorgeous :)

Reddit 🤨❔

I don’t have reddit

*sounds of paws tapping on the keyboard*

Aha repost with no permission I see? 🔍🐻‍❄️👓

This ask actually send me on a mini research lmao

I didn’t expect to see like 4 posts on Reddit with ppl posting my comics/sending a screenshot from ?Pinterest? and asking who the author is

That made me chuckle :'D

To be clear, I don’t really mind reposts if a person credits me

Always appreciate ppl askin permission 👍

For the reference: Reblog - a button that looks like this 🔄, shares a post on your page while showing the original author; Repost - when you screenshot/save someone’s art and post it on your page (ideally with credit, but if you’re a meanie you will just post images with no word about og author); Credit - a reference to the author «this art was made by [@author] on [this social media]». Sometimes see ppl mixing up terms 🫡

(Most of the time creators dislike reposts, bc it often leads to art theft)

Since we’re on the topic, specifically what I do have a problem with:

- Don’t use my art for AI training or for NFTs

- Don’t profit off my art (no merch is allowed without my approval, if you want to use my art for commercial purposes, this must be discussed with me in advance)

- Don't pass off my work as your own (here does reposting my art without credit, creating blogs/accounts impersonating me and so on)

- Don’t use my personal projects (this applies to my ocs, any original IPs/content I create: picture books, comics, artbooks, megadrawings etc. At some point in the future I may register a legal copyright for them btw.)

I’m more flexible and forgiving with fandom art, but still would appreciate ppl communicating with me. Fandom comic dubs - are welcomed, just be sure to credit me (tag me and share the final dub too man, I’m always interested). Fandom comic translations - ask permission first please.

This list is a pretty standard for any artist really, if you’re doubting something - feel free to ask 👍

If you see somebody breaking those/potentially breaking those - feel free to notify me 👍

I considered creating “blog rules” or “list of boundaries”, but I’m not sure if it’ll work on my blog 🤔 My header is pretty oversaturated as it is - portfolio, tags, navigation and so on; if I add rules to the pile, something tells me ppl won’t even look at it 💥 + I didn’t have specific issues with anyone yet (as far as I’m aware), I might create a list if something happens, but stayin hopeful for now

There’s certain things that do make me very uncomfortable/are triggering to me. But again didn’t have any specific issues where it was a huge problem + those stuff are highly personal to me to just put publicly. For now, I prefer to resolve issues personally, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle at this point 🫡 Mayhaps in the future it may change, we’ll see

Also some might have noticed that I don’t use any watermarks/signatures on my art, again considered that, but never ended up implementing that 🐻‍❄️ Some part of me just likes lookin at pictures in full HD quality with no watermark 😭 (I have an art signature, but I mostly use it in my mega drawings or if someone specifically asked for a commission lmao)

Sorry for a wall of text on such a sweet ask 💥 Just saw an opportunity to talk and took it lmao

Thank you, I really appreciate your words ❤️💕

Made a doödle of the narrator bois for the old time sake :D

Surprisingly there is a bunch of reposts of my art, with is a bit wild to me (you guys actually like my comics? 🤨 what? 🤨)

Especially never imagined my voices x princesses would get so popular 💥

Oh I see you went under read-more

Come closer

Closer

Just a smol step more

I forgot to draw Smitten’s brows in this specific frame

Now you will never unsee it 😈😈😈

*tiny mischievous bear giggling*

[wukyma]

Oh you answered my question ♡ thank u, you fed us so much with all this lore !

First of all, the new poseidon illustration is now my new phone wallpaper, omg his pretty big face with the voluptuous hair .

Second of all, pretty please continue even without pictures ! I'm so interested in your Au! (Ur so right about the not-excuses of Odysseus, I would want Vengeance tho after this bad self-centered justification)

Love the poli/peri/emperor friendship, it's not the first time I see this headcanon and it's such a good idea actually (of course SweetBoyPoli is friend with everyone but the impeccable flavor of a friendship between opposites is still very cool/ complementary) !

But but if I can ask for pictures i would die to see 👀 the moment where they conclude the deal ?

(Also the HAND almost ON Polites FACE??? I have stated at that one for definitely too long. Oh god. Please, its kinda make me feral. )

💫Tatooed Polities ?💫 I must see him with the trident tattoo one day... OR even better : eurylochus/ody reaction to it! Because They know him for almost forever now, so the devastating realitie must be so hard on them (having a deal with a strong and violent god such as the earthshaker and all the implications, ohh good Angst!)

Okay, tell me I read that right too, Poli becoming ✨️friend ✨️ with Circe ?? Fuck your brain is big. Gotta think about the events on circe island with your Polities, that change everything for the better. Of course they can't fight so that rule out Ody and the Moly but maybe Hermes's still here anyway ? Like the little mischievous god he is...

So I have to ask, is Poseidon gonna spy on the fleet -especially Poli since he's beefing with him- ? I kinda have this picture of water spirits reporting to the god every steps ? Tell me if I'm in the wrong ~

(I'm SO ready for mockery tho 🧨 )

Honestly I'm really invested here so every choice is good ♡ would appreciate to read more anyway

(Not very good at detective sorry but hoping someone else will find it!)

FIRST OF ALL receive my massive thanks for writing such a detailed comment on my AU!! These guys are very dear to me, and it makes me extremely happy when someone matches my freak has the same vision <33

And you made it your wallpaper?? I'll bawl fr. Sadlyy i didn't really think through the moment where they concluded the deal, but have an interpretation! (Watch as i struggle drawing without any references except my own face)

The tattoo situation is interesting too because its purpose isn't only to seal the deal ;D hoping that I'll be able to show how that works in the next part— and yes, you're right about Circe; I don't care that it's basically a spoiler because they are just besties material 🫶✨️ can definitely promise a glimpse of Hermes!!

I didn't think of Poseidon using spies, but that's kinda adorable and I'll draw it anyway hehe,, something something water winions lore

(The bottom two are both from water but different species/habitats ig? Whatever, I didn't think too much about it)

[asktheritobowyer]

(Hello all, blogger here again, returning to, well, a lot it seems after my last post)

I'll start by saying I greatly appreciate all the support I've been receiving, and the supportive messages that have been sent my way, by all manner or kind hearted folk to help me cope with the unfortunate circumstance I've found myself in. It truly helped keep my spirits up.

Again I want to reiterate @askthenewritoelder @asktheritochampion @asksakitherito @askaritobard @askthehylianchampion @tulin-sageofwind @thewonderknight and any other blogs that I may have missed, that happened to be part of the responses, asks, and reblogs regarding the whole thing. It's not your fault. No one could have predicted this would happen. No one could have predicted I'd be relentless targeted because of other blogs responses. No one could have predicted things would turn out like this. No one could have predicted the situation would continue to escalate as other blogs decided to add their responses. No one could have predicted the reactions towards me would end up becoming so negative to this extent because I characterised someone with a more grounded rational approach to things.

I've read your responses. You're not to blame for any of this. It was out of your control.

To those that have been following my blog, you may or may not have noticed that I've actually removed a good number of my reblogs, that had Harth responding to some asks on the other blogs.

Again not your fault, but it become clear to me a lot of responses from other blogs from characters such as Teba, or Saki, or Link etc... whether they were negative, positive or neutral, regarding the whole thing, have all been turned into something that could be used as reasons to, well, as you know, send me ill spirited messages about me or Harth regardless of the intentions. Since returning here I have gotten more, alongside some very heart-warming messages, which I'm currently dealing with, and I guess you could say, this is my way to try a prevent things from continuing to escalate on both sides.

I'm not going to delete all the asks that I've done, or delete all the reblogs I've done. Nor will I tell or ask you guys to delete any posts of yours. You guys haven't done anything wrong, and your posts were simply you guys pitching into a scenario, and in no way trying to escalate something that you had no idea was even there. If you do decide to delete any posts, do it because your happy to remove them, please don't feel pressured to do it because of what ended up happening to me.

I'm not going to disappear, and I will get back to answering asks as Harth, and myself soon, just like I did before. I still very much want to continuing answering and interacting with others as Harth. I just need some time to get my thoughts together, and be in a better state of mind.

Once again thank you for all of the kind words you sent my way. Harth and I greatly appreciate it.

[ladyeyrewrites]

Hey, i wanna ask for some 💭💭💭💭💭💭 and 👻👻👻👻👻 please😊

@eliotwaughdeservesbetter Here you go! Thanks for making me write!

💭But I Was Just in Peru Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Unc Buck,” little Kevin tries to imitate, but he’s a bit behind where he should be speech wise. Evan was telling Tommy about how Maddie was looking to start him with a speech pathologist soon only the day before. God, it feels like a lifetime since they were curled together on the sofa after Tommy’s shift talking about how Evan was worried about how stressed Maddie seemed. And now Maddie’s got her brother’s missing memory to worry about on top of her kid.

“How is he?” Bobby asks, and it once again strikes Tommy how lucky Evan is to have come to the 118 while Bobby was there, to have been shaped by someone who cares so much, someone who grew to become more of a father to Evan than Tommy’s actual father-in-law and God, Tommy’s going to have to call Phillip and Margaret and tell them what’s happened.

He’s never quite sure where he stands with them. They’ve been nothing but polite since Evan first introduced Tommy to them, almost painfully polite. Like they know there’s a way they’re supposed to act in order to keep up appearances, but they never seem to express a genuine emotion unless they’re criticising Evan over something, which automatically puts Tommy on the defensive when he’s around them. Honestly, the only reason he’s polite to them is because Evan’s trying to hard to have a relationship with them and Tommy guesses they’re trying to, in their own way.

Evan having amnesia is certainly going to throw a wrench into repairing their relationship, though.

But that’s a problem for the future. For now, he has to say something. He has to look the anxious eyes of Evan’s chosen family and tell them that Evan isn’t their Buck right now, that they’re all strangers to him. Tommy takes a deep breath, filling his lungs as though extra oxygen will somehow soften the blow he has to strike. “He’s awake,” Tommy begins.

And some 👻 Marry My Dead Tommy snippet 1 and 2

“Motherfucker!” Chim swore. “Not again! Why am I always the one getting haunted?” First his mom’s ghost and then Kevin and now Tommy Kinard of all people. At least his mom had crossed over once she’d been sure Chim was safe with the Lees. Kevin seemed to come and go as he pleased, warning Chim of any danger before it happened before disappearing again. What kind of ghost was Tommy going to be?

Tommy shrugged. “Trust me, if I had the option of haunting someone else, I would.”

Being haunted by Tommy hadn’t been as bad as Chim had first thought it would be. Turned out that without the pressures of living and working under Gerrard’s thumb, Tommy was actually pretty fun. After work, Chim would come home and they’d watch movies together and Tommy would gripe about the cheap beer Chim kept stocked in his fridge even though Tommy couldn’t consume anything anymore.

When Hen started at the 118, Tommy got real quiet. It wasn’t that he disappeared. He hovered around the firehouse even more if anything, scowling at Gerrard and the guys who played along with him. Not that Chim exactly stood up for Hen, either, but he tried to at least be friendly.

Tommy had gone a little poltergeist, not towards Hen, but rather towards Gerrard: moving his coffee, knocking things off his desk, burning his uniform. “What’s with the pranks man?” Chim had asked him one day when they were back at Chim’s place watching Fight Club.

“I just hate how he’s treating her,” said Tommy.

Make Me Write