#instead of just a flat out 'no'..........

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[charliemwrites]

Just had a vivid image of being 141’s collective GBF but not in the toxic way. In the genuine, these are my best friends, my brothers, and we look out for each other - but they especially look out for you.

You don’t walk anywhere alone on base, esp at night. They scowl at men that even look at you too long, hands straying towards their weapons to make a point. You can spar with anyone on base but if you end up bloodied, your opponent has a 1 in for 4 chance of guessing who his next opponent will be.

Youre their precious little sister figure. Combat with ghost, engineering with soap, tactics and strategy with Gaz, sniper with Price. At any given time you can lean on one of them, steal things out of their belts, feed them from your own hand, knick food off their plates or sips from their cups.

You’ve never had your own place to stay because you bounce around to their apartments. Usually end up with Ghost, but if he’s away on a mission, you’re happy to sleepover with any of the boys.

You’ve all seen each other asleep, sick, naked, half-dead, highs and lows and everything in between. You’re a unit. And they look out for you as if you’re blood to each and every one of them.

Right? Right.

So imagine the alarms bells when you’re separated from them on a covert op. You’re still on the radio, voice low, but you curse and tell them you have to go dark - someone’s coming.

Imagine the dwindling nerves when you don’t come back on comms. When they reach exfil and wait one minute… two… seconds drawing out and window to stay undetected closing.

Ghost goes back in to find you because it’s ghost.

Imagine the heart in throat terror when he finds a KorTac operative pinning you in a dark, too-quiet corner. Ghost can hear you breathing loud and fast from meters away, can see the whites of your wide eyes.

He draws a knife and throws it without hesitation, but you’ve seen him, which has drawn the enemy’s attention as well. The knife hits the man’s shoulder instead of his neck, but the distraction is enough for you to slip away. A high-pitched squeak in the back of your throat as you flee to the safety of your LT, an uncharacteristic weakness in your spine.

“Wha’ ‘appened?” Ghost growls, grabbing your shoulders, looking you over for obvious injuries. When you just shake your head, hand white-knuckled in the straps of his vest, he snarls. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘im.”

“There’s no time, LT, we have to go,” and it’s true but you’re nearly pleading. This isn’t a retreat this is an escape. It’s all wrong wrong wrong.

But you dig your heels in and tug sharply when he shifts as if to lunge at the KorTac operator - now watching you both with head tilted, flat eyes calculating.

“Ghost,” you practically whine, “come on.”

He shakes his head as if to dispel the suspicious cloud of anger overtaking his thoughts and follows you out.

The KorTac operator stands right where he was left, plucking the knife from his shoulder to stare contemplatively at the blood dripping from it. Shame you didn’t take it with you, a souvenir to remember him by. Well, there’s always next time.

[ghouljams]

I feel like each of the 141 has a difference preference when dicking down their mate.

Kyle prefers to stay human, it lets him really get a good show while fucking into the pretty thing he managed to take home. Seeing how your skin contrasts to his softly colored sheets is more reassuring to him that you're his than any scenting could be. Also, he's a lighter sleeper as a human, letting him keep you in his bed if you try to slip out while he's asleep.

Price likes the little hint of other, as a sign of his age and experience. He's the only one of the 141 who can shift only a few senses instead of having to start properly shifting. Let's him memorize your scent while fucking you, all so he can let you have the illusion of choice by letting you go and "finding" you again later. Eventually, he'll make it seem like a bit of fate and offer you out on a date.

Ghost partially shifts, and that's the most he can hold himself back when it comes to you. Claws and teeth come out, drool dripping from his maw to your skin. He needs to taste you, to make sure you taste the same. Taste like his.

Soap is a dog and he will fuck you in full transformation because of it. This man needs you on the most primal level, so why not just fuck you at his most primal. It also gives him a better nose to smell your sweat soaked skin, a longer tongue to shove into you, better hearing to catch each and every whimper you make. He needs to consume you and the best way to do that is with his wolf.

At least, that's my thought.

As usual how does it feel to be so fucking right?

Gaz absolutely prefers fucking you as a human, it feels too much like taking advantage of you when he has his semi-transformed strength and the idea of fucking you fully wolf makes him itch a little. He's so worried about damaging you with his claws and fangs :( his poor human mate, he doesn't want to ruin you. We'll, not like that at least. That won't stop him from knotting you, that's a luxury he can't afford not to indulge in. He loves the way you squirm and complain about the stretch, shushing you with soft coos, promising it'll be over soon, even when he knows it'll be a good 20 minutes at least.

Price is old hat at transformations and after years of growing and shrinking it's worn on his joints, if he doesn't have to transform he won't. He'll indulge in the sensed his wolf-form lends him, pressing his nose to your pulse and getting himself drunk on your scent. His eyes are always dark, animalistic, when he drags his flat tongue against your sex, and you worry that the teeth he's hiding might bite too hard, but he hasn't hurt you yet. And the only scare he gives you is when he presses his hand against your come filled stomach talking about pups.

Ghost simply lacks self control around you. The man has the control of a saint, but once he gets drunk on the scent of your arousal it's over for him. He grips you with heavy clawed hands, his skin splitting with fur and his nose starting to lengthen, and it scares you a little. His breathing is uneven, but his hips don't stop moving even when his bones start to break and his joints begin to pop. His drool dripping onto you is the only indication you get before he's sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You'll have to take wolfsbane in the morning if you don't want to end up going through the same pain.

Soap though... Soap fucks you like a dog, literally. He'll hunt you down on a full moon and hold you down with big paws, murmuring canned tones from his open maw about how he can't stop himself. He's all instinct, all panting and howling as he mounts you and ruts his cock against your sex, uncaring what hole he fucks himself into as long as it's yours. He'll lay directly on top of you once he's knotted you too, licking your face in apology but you know he doesn't mean it because he keeps asking for another round.

[monstersflashlight]

Insect anon again. I brought it up because I have been falling in love with tarantula themed driders over normal spider ones. Something I like that would be different is when a tarantula is looking for a mate they'll drum on webbing and enclosures, I think it's cute and I can't stop thinking of a drider who has a crush on reader just drumming their hands against any flat surface when they see their little human. Their webbing isn't strong like normal spiders/driders but is a lot softer (used to make burrows more than catching things)

A/N: Hi darling! I’ve been thinking about this ask/request for a long time (sorry it took so long) and I think it requires a bit of sweetness. Hope you enjoy this short thing!

Tarantula-drider (spider monster) x fem!reader

Drider boyfriend who happens to like your face more than he likes anything else in the universe. Especially when you are writhing in pleasure against his webs.

You met him by accident, tripping over his web when you were trying to get to the supermarket faster. He was just creating the most beautiful and intricate webbing. His face was weird and angular, but also kind of beautiful, you were mesmerized in a second. He stopped dead in his tracks and you thought he was going to get mad at you because you messed the project, but instead he started drumming his hands against the wall next to him, making you smile as you looked at him.

The little stunt of drumming against surfaces didn’t stop there, it was like a stim he did every time you were near. He explained it had to do with his happiness, and how he knew right away you were his mate. And you found it incredibly adorable.

And then, when you less expected it, he turned incredibly kinky. You thought the saying about all driders being into shibari and bondage was a joke, but the first time you two had alone time, he spent hours covering you in his soft webs, until you were nothing but his prey, positioned perfectly for him to do whatever he wanted with you. He ate you out for hours. Hours. Until you were a mess of fluids and screams, until he was satisfied with the amount of times he made you come (too much to count).

[vitalverstappen]

Cassandra - C. Leclerc

summary: when everyone believes you, what's that like?

pairing: Charles Leclerc x platonic teammate! reader

warnings: Mattia Binotto, swearing, some sexist comments

word count: 3k

a/n: in honor of max winning the WDC, i figured i'd post something. in honor of charles finally losing his shit on the team radio, i figured i'd post this. also it takes place during the 2022 season

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

2022 was supposed to be your year. You broke onto the F1 scene in 2020 with Haas after working your way up through F3 and F2, championing both levels of racing with ease. You proved yourself time and time again by consistently placing within the points in a less than superior car. 

That’s how you got the attention of Ferrari. They offered you a one year deal, and you couldn’t turn it down. You were okay with being the second driver, because you were racing for the most historic team in F1. 

Things started out great. The car was a major upgrade from the tractor you were driving with Haas, and the team actively listened to your input and took having a woman in the car seriously.

You and Charles also clicked instantly, which led to some amazing content for the social teams. 

“Anything you need, or feel needs changed, let us know. We’re a family here” Mattia said as he gave you the tour of the Ferrari factory.

You couldn’t have drawn up the first two races any better. Both you and Charles were on the podium and it looked like you two were going to give Max and Red Bull a run for their money in the championship races. 

The downward spiral started in Australia. From the moment you hit the track for the first time, something felt off. The car was sluggish, it took all of your strength to accelerate and brake properly. 

“There’s something wrong with the car.” you told the team, your frustration mounting. “It takes forever to accelerate and then when I do, I can’t break”

“Have you tried leg day?” Mattia asked, a smirk forming on his face, causing you to storm away and find your mechanics. 

The Australian Grand Prix ended up being a disaster. You struggled through the laps, barely able to keep up with the field. The car was just too much of a handful. Thirteen laps in, you hand no choice but to retire from the race. The speed was gone, and your confidence was shot. 

“I cannot believe he looked me in the eyes and said ‘try leg day’” You fumed as you barged into Charles’ driver room. The frustration was evident in every word, your anger still fresh from the weekend’s events. 

Charles looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow at your entrance. “Well hello to you too” he said with a small chuckle. “What’s going on?” 

You let out a deep sigh and recounted the car troubles and the interaction with Mattia. “He actually said ‘try leg day’ to me, like it’s some kind of joke. What happened to ‘if you need anything, let me know’?”

Charles listened intently, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Hopefully it was just an assembly issue” he said, trying to ease your frustration. ”Imola should go smoothly for the two of us. We both know you’re a hell of a driver.” 

Imola was next, and that was somehow even worse than Australia. Instead of acceleration and braking problems, the new issue was the engine. It had to be replaced between practice 3 and qualifying, only for the new one to fail during the race in Imola. 

“I have the utmost trust in my team.” You said during your press interviews “We’ve tried upgrades, but they’ve fallen flat. Hopefully Miami provides some better results” 

For Miami, the team had reverted your car back to the original set up, the one it had when the season started. The difference was night and day. The car felt responsive, alive in ways it hadn’t in the past few races. As you flew through all three practice sessions and qualifynig, you could feel the weight lift from your shoulders. You had been pushing the limits all weekend, and it had paid off - P2, only behind Charles. Things were looking up. 

The problem now was the strategy. As the number two driver, you knew your strategies were mostly going to be defend defend defend but you didn’t realize how badly Ferrari’s lack of adaptability would come into play 

The race was shaping up to be intense. Charles had led most of it, with Max behind him. You were right behind Max, keeping a steady pace, but always aware of the massive pressure from the drivers behind. Then, when Charles pitted, you thought, for sure, you’d get the green light to battle Max for the lead. After all, you were right there, in prime position.

Instead, the radio crackled to life. 

“Y/n keep defending. Leclerc will be back up there in no time.” Your engineer said

You blinked, incredulous. “I’m sorry what?” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. 

“Defend Max. Charles will be back up there to take over. Hold your position” he repeated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Are you fucking serious?” you barked back, your grip tightening on your steering wheel. “I can overtake him for the lead and you want me to defend?!” 

Before your engineer could respond, Mattia’s voice boomed over your radio “Defend y/n. Team orders.” 

You could feel your irritation building, but there was no choice. Ferrari had spoken. You stayed behind Max, holding position, and waiting for Charles to catch up. Sure enough, Charles had soon found his way back to you, but by that point, Max was far enough ahead that any shot at victory was all but lost. 

Later, in the media pen, you stood with the press surrounding you, microphones, shoved in your face. They asked you the usual questions, but you were still stewing over what had happened. 

“Yeah, I mean the car felt great” You started, trying to keep your tone even. “We reverted back to the original, pre-upgrades and the car showed it’s worth”

The reporter pressed further. “Now even though the car was great, why do you think you couldn’t pull off the win? You were less than a second behind Max, and chose to defend your position instead of attacking.”

A disappointed sigh escaped your lips. You were tired of repeating the same frustrations. “If it was up to me, I would have attacked. I know we would’ve gotten a different result on the podium today. If we had a different strategy, then we would have gotten many more points.” 

“How do you think this result is going to impact the championships?” another reporter asked 

You paused, considering the question. “It could make or break it. There’s a large jump of points between one, two and three, and one thrown away strategy can make or break a shot at either championship. I’m just hoping they don’t mess up Charles’ strategies like they have mine.” 

As you finished your media duties, you made your way back to the garage, expecting to be alone with your thoughts. But to your surprise, Charles was waiting for you.  

“What are you doing here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached

“I, uh, wanted to congratulate you on P3. You had a good race out there” He said sheepishly, his hands shoved in his pockets.

You shrugged, the weight of the day still on you. “I could have won if my strategy wasn’t total shit.” you muttered, your tone flat.

Charles let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it. P1 and P2 would have been great, but strategy isn’t Ferrari’s strong suit” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours with a shared understanding.

“So I’ve learned.” you replied dryly. “I just hope it isn’t bad enough to fuck up winning either championship” 

He nodded, a look of quiet concern in his eyes. “So do I. I’m terrified my shot at a driver’s championship is gonna slip away” 

Before you knew it, your interview was trending all over social media. Clips of you talking about the strategy missteps were circulating, and the Tifosi and general F1 fans alike were all over it. They didn’t believe you. They thought you were complaining, too bitter about the loss, and some even accused you of undermining the team. The backlash was stiff.

User1: there’s no way they’re going to mess up the golden boy’s strategy. Mattia cares too much about winning to do that

User2: y/n doesn’t know racing. She’s obviously going to get the shit strategy - she’s not charles 

User3: Ferrari needs to get rid of her. She doesn’t belong here #burnthebitch

Before media day in Spain, you got called into Mattia’s office. 

“Thank you for joining me on such quick notice y/n” Mattia said with a smile as you walked in 

You gave him a polite smile as you sat across from his desk “Of course. Why did you call me in?” 

The smile on his face instantly hardened “We need to talk about how you approach the media. You embarrassed myself, along with the rest of the Ferrari staff during Miami.” 

You found yourself fixing your posture and dropping the smile you had previously, prepared to go toe to toe with your principal. “I would say I told the truth on how the race was handled. We could have left Miami with eleven more points, had we gone P1 and P2”

Mattia sighed “That may be true, but we know you couldn’t have battled Max safely. Regardless, that was two weeks ago. We need to focus on Spain now.” 

“Whatever” You mutter “ If we provide sufficient results, I’ll give you praise. If we don’t, I’ll keep mentioning what needs to be done better. Simple as that” 

Spain turned out better for you than it did for Charles. You had finished P4, while Charles was forced to retire. Another blow for Ferrari. 

Both of you managed to score points in Monaco. The car felt good and it seemed like the team was back to how they were at the start of the season. That is until Baku. 

The start of the race seemed like it was going well. The practices and qualifying went well. Charles was on pole and you were not far behind him at P4. But that’s when the good luck ended. Just like the Australian Grand Prix, your brakes were faulty, and this time your clutch wasn’t working. 

“Check the hydraulics - brakes aren’t working again and clutch is out.” You voiced over the radio, concern filling your words 

After a few moments of silence, your engineer’s voice filled your ears. “Seems we have a uh hydraulic problem. You need to retire the car.” 

You muttered a curse as you found a spot to pull your car off. If it wasn’t a strategy issue, it was the car. If it wasn’t the car, it was something else. Something always had to go wrong. 

It was only lap eight and Charles was still driving. You had some hope he could get points for the team and for his championship. 

Throwing on a spare headset in the Ferrari garage, you watched as Charles battled through the streets of Baku. Just as quick as he was driving, the problems with his car also began to show. He had to retire only a handful of laps later with a power problem. 

While Ferrari’s golden boy wouldn’t have a negative thing to say about them during the pressers, you had much less of a filter. 

“You can mark my words that we aren’t winning a championship this year. As much as I want to put faith into our team and our strategies, we’ve shown time and time again we come up short.” 

Instead of your remarks being pushed aside by everyone, you found yourself in the spotlight. All eyes were on you as you walked into the paddock for the British Grand Prix. You acknowledged your team out of respect, and they greeted you back, but you could tell there was tension. 

“Mattia wanted me to tell you that the strategy for today is the same as usual: protect Charles.” Your engineer told you as the two of you sat down for lunch

You furrowed your eyebrows “Why couldn’t Mattia tell me that himself?” 

“He doesn’t think you deserve his time and energy” He said, rolling his eyes 

A scoff left your lips “That’s ridiculous. We’re both adults. He needs to act like it.” 

“You’re telling me” Your engineer muttered 

Before you knew it, it was lights out at Silverstone. The race was a disaster for everyone. While a scary crash had been cleaned up, leading to a restart, another safety car was put out for a stopped car. 

“Y/n box box” Your engineer spoke through your earbuds 

Under the safety car, you were able to pit and get fresh soft tires. When the race resumed, you quickly found yourself behind Charles. 

“Am I defending again?” You asked 

“You are free to overtake, but you must give up the position once Charles gets back up after pitting” 

“You mean Charles didn’t box under the safety car?” 

“Correct.” 

“Fucking idiots” You sighed, but did as you were told. 

Charles easily gave up the front position to you as he headed to the pit lane. You expected him to make a quick comeback in the next few laps, but as the laps ticked by, the gap remained. The radio crackled with instructions from your engineer, and you kept your focus, pushing through. 

And just like that, you crossed the finish line. Your first Grand Prix victory. 

The celebrations were a blur - the podium, the champagne, the flashing cameras. As the trophy was handed to you, you felt a surge of pride, but the weight of the race still hung in the air. Charles had been a force throughout the race, and even though you had won, it felt wrong that he hadn’t been able to capitalize on his pace. 

After the post-race formalities wrapped up, you found yourself in Charles’ room, finally able to breathe. He greeted you with a grin, the kind that only someone who experienced a dramatic race could wear.

“Congratulations! First win!” Charles said, his voice full of enthusiasm 

“You should have fucking won that and we both know it.” You said as you tossed him a Gatorade 

Charles caught the bottle with a small chuckle, cracking it open “You’re fucking telling me.” he said, taking a long swing. “At least Mattia didn’t chastise you on national TV.” 

You leaned against the wall, your arms crossed. “Maybe we’ll both be off speaking terms with him by the end of the season,” you joked, but there was no humor in the situation. “But seriously, what did he say?” 

Charles groaned, clearly not looking forward to recounting the conversation “Basically that I needed to listen to team orders. He was pissed that I was pissed that I didn’t win the thing. Said I needed to trust that the team knows what they’re doing.”

“They know what they’re doing?” You raised an eyebrow “Because the last time I checked, they’ve messed up both of our races this season” 

“Tell me about it” His tone shifted, frustration building, “I need him out.” 

A small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth “Twenty bucks he’s out of his job by the end of the season” 

Charles hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand “Deal” 

The rest of the season trudged along, with highs and lows in the car, the strategy, and the relationship between Mattia and his drivers. There were some days he would be all over their radios encouraging them, while others he would avoid them like the plague. 

And sure enough, once Abu Dhabi came, Charles and Ferrari were so far behind Max and Red Bull that it was impossible to catch up to them in either championship. Mattia announced that he would be stepping down at the end of the season, and you had repaired your rocky relationship with your team, allowing you to renew your contract with Ferrari. 

It was the final time in the media pen this season, and it felt much different. The usual questions about the ups and downs of the season were there, but now they came with a certain respect - respect for the struggles you had endured and for the candidness with which you handled it all. Your honest take on Ferrari’s performance had earned its fair share of criticism, but it had also sparked conversations, both within the paddock and among fans. 

The final question from the reporter hit differently. The interviewer’s tone wasn’t mocking, but rather filled with a certain curiosity. “How does it feel to know that you had called it earlier in the season, that Ferrari weren’t going to win either championship this year?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as you processed it. The emotions of the entire season flashed through your mind: the excitement of the podiums early on, the disappointment after races like Miami and Baku, the frustrations with the strategies, and the battles you fought on and off the track. It had been a rollercoaster, and while it hadn’t turned out the way you had hoped, you were still standing. 

You cracked a smile as you spoke, a mix of pride and exhaustion “Oh, so you guys believe me now?” you said, your voice light but laced with the weight of everything that had happened. “Have a good winter break. I’ll see you in Bahrain” 

It was the moment of closure you needed. The reporter thanked you for your time, before wishing you a good break as well. As you walked away from the media pen with Charles by your side, the season’s tension finally seemed to release, at least for a moment. 

Charles, sensing the mood, nudged you. “That was… honestly, impressive. You know, calling it before anyone else.” 

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess I had a feeling.” you said, shrugging. “At least I wasn’t wrong.”

Charles smirked, clearly tired but also relieved that the season was over. “Let’s just hope next year’s a little less… chaotic, yeah?”

“Agreed.”

[hyunjiisa]

jealous jealous jealous , boy ‧₊ .ᐟ

skz ! members when they’re jealous of another guy at a party

incl. ot8 !

chan! who watches you from across the room

his eye twitches when you tell him that you’re going to your best friends party with one of yalls mutual friends and it turns out to be a man

doesn’t say anything about it because he understands you can have friends but hates how painfully oblivious you are to his wandering eyes

convinces minho to go with him even though they both know why he wants to go

stands in the corner like a loser with his drink (non alcoholic because he wants to drive you home) and watches you interact with everyone

jaw clenches at the way he sees your worried face when your guy friend start to feel you up

snaps out of it for a second when you lock eyes and your face lights up

he finds nothing but joy in the way he watches your friend back up when he starts to walk over

“ hi baby , who’s this ..? ” 

smiles at him and throws his arm around your shoulder

kisses allll up on your neck barely listening to what you say like “mhm.. mhm..” while you ask about why he’s here

your friend runs away and he just coos at you like “you’re so pretty” when you’re all confused as to why

sticks to you like glue for the rest of the night

flips off your guy friend when you aren’t looking

carries you out of the party when you wanna go home (totally isn’t showing off how strong he is)

hyunjin! who tells him to straight up go away

does go to the party with you, but he leaves you with your girl friend to go get you a drink

comes back just to see an ugly man all up on you asking you questions and his head quirks

giggles in his face and you’re so embarrassed

after a while of you guys talking he’s just like

“ hey , can you like go away ? ”

you slap him on the arm and he just shrugs

the other guy picks a fight all like “what’s your problem bro”

“my problem is your stank ass breath on my girl”

keeps sticking his tongue out at the guy from across the room after that

teases you cause you’re mad at him, “don’t you like when i’m protective??”

really just adores you

walks out of the party hand in hand with you

“yea, i was jealous.. but you didn’t know that”

felix! whos so sickly sweet it scares the guy off

was just fine when you being with your friends at a party, he was going with his friends anyway

after a while of catching up with his friends he starts missing you

walks around like a lost dog till he finds you

immediately comes and wraps his arms around once waist once he finds you

notices one of your friends boyfriends checking you out and decides to mess with him

“ hi !! im felix ! ”

reaches his hand out for him to shake and he takes it with a shaky hand (he flexed his muscles to try and intimidate him. it worked)

drills him with questions, asks how he knows you, if you guys are close, if he notices how pretty you look tonight

when he doesn’t give up trying to get at you, he just flat out says “eyes up here, actually where is your girlfriend..”

just smiles and starts getting handsy with you when he notices him getting agitated

“what? i was just being nice..”

brings you over to say hi to his friends instead

convinces you to go home early because he misses you close to him

jeongin! who guards you like a dog

you guys go to the party together, and when you leave to go to the bathroom he follows you with his eyes the whole way

watches as some guy follows you on your way out, tapping your shoulder and asking you something

his eyebrow quirks up right away, slowly inching closer to you both

you only stop mid politely declining his offer when he stares in back of you like there’s a dinosaur

spoiler: not a dinosaur. it’s jeongin glaring at the guy like he killed someone from not even a foot behind you

when you look behind yourself and see him, he snaps out of it and asks if you’re okay

you giggle and tell him you’re fine and take his hand

random sleaze shouts that you “shouldn’t ignore him”

“ take a hint , ugly ”

tightens his grip around your waist and walks you to another area of the place

starts kissing you along your jawline while he makes eye contact with the guy and can’t contain his smile

“come on baby, let’s leave. i miss you.”

drags you home with the promise of chinese takeout

jisung! who pulls you away from him

at first he wanted you to go to the party with your friends because he convinced himself he was too clingy and wanted you to have some fun

when you convince him you want him there with you and he can bring his friends so yall can all hang out he says okay

y’all are all hanging out together at the party in a big group, and some guy asks you to dance

he notices him waving you towards the dance floor and comes over and literally grabs your waist and takes you to dance with him instead while the guy stands there like ??

“ dance with me , im better anyway ”

you can tell he’s jealous by the way he follows you around after that

tells you you’re pretty like 20 times as if he didn’t already worship the ground you walk on

“ugh why does everyone else have to find you so attractive”

still wants you to have fun with your friends so just checks on you every once in a while with a kiss and goes back to his friends

sees the guy he turned down for you glaring at him and makes a peeing motion with his imaginary penis

only ends up going home when YOU want to. (your feet get tired and he gives you his crocs he keeps in the car because he knows you)

minho! who’s incapable of hiding his jealousy

ik yall are tired of the basic party scenario but it adds to the plot okay

barely even wants to go to the party and tries convincing you to stay home but he always wants you to get your way so he agrees to get dressed up and go with you

knows you wanna have fun so he’s your personal butler for the night

getting you drinks, holding your purse for you, letting you sit on one of his thighs on some random couch while you yell over the music to your friends

immediately turns his head when some guy sits next to the both of you and starts flirting

doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s absolutely mean mugging him. glaring, face disgruntled, tongue poking at his cheek from the inside

eventually the guy notices and he’s bold enough to say some dumb shit like “is your guard dog okay??”

“ yea , i’ll be okay when you stop speaking to my woman . ”

pulls you down to sit in his lap instead and rests his head on your shoulder with his arms around your waist, lipstick stained cup in his hands

only cheers up a little when you giggle at him and tell him he’s silly for being jealous

tells you you’re too nice and you need to start pepper spraying men for looking at you, rolls his eyes when you tell him that’s what your guard dog is for

you only go home after all your friends leave and he’s thanking god silently

bonus: scares the guy from earlier by driving to close to him in his car and feels better immediately

seungmin! who makes you jealous right back

doesn’t take much convincing for him to wanna go with you, he likes a party once in a while

only is slightly jealous when he sees you talking with a guy but it really gets him when he hears you laugh with him like you laugh with him

is so distracted with watching you interact he doesn’t even really catch on that this random girl that started talking to him is flirting (doesn’t even really notice he’s responding till she laughs a super high pitched annoying laugh)

whenever you look back at him (you’re trying to get out of it) you’re confused as to why some girl is yapping at him

only catches on when you look upset because he hates seeing a pout on your pretty face

walks away from her and over to you leaving her offended while you laugh at her face

“ hi baby !! ”

drags you away from him and makes you dance

you go home right after that to bully little kids on roblox ( @cosmicalily ref )

changbin! who texts you to get away from him

comes with you no questions asked because he adores you

coos at the way you say hi to everyone excitedly and how pretty you look in your dress

you end up having small talk with one of your friends boyfriends when she goes to get something from her car

you get a notification from him after like 15 seconds

“ come here , hes ugly ”

you smile at your phone and excuse yourself as your friend walks through the door

he’s pouting at you from across the room where he’s leaning against the wall

you wrap your arms around him and explain and he feels dumb but says he can be jealous cause he loves you

you cling to each other the whole night so just end up going home after being told to get a room 20 different times

ends up taking you for a drive and hot chocolate because it’s getting cold

carries you inside (pretend he’s the hulk)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: req done ! @furioussheepluminary ,, remember to follow my other accounts and feel free to req ✦

[fluffylino]

strawberry cow ! chan 🍓🌷

part one

part 2 thoughts

-contains suggestive themes (chan's tits!)

gulping down the spit that pooled in your mouth. you wanted to corrupt him. you needed to see him cry from pleasure. shake from pleasure.

because how?

Just how could anybody not instantly fall for this sweetheart ?

chest warm, swollen under your palms as you kneaded into the flesh. sticking your tongue down onto his leaking nubs. tasting the sweet white substance that dripped out in copious amounts.

"f-full. m-more" chan whimpers. his hand gently coming to rest on the back of your head. urging you to do more than just lick him.

"what'd you want me to do, baby?" teasing him ever so much. wanting to know what exactly he wanted you to do.

his lips parting. the cow hybrid whines, refusing to look at you. instead his ears go flat on his head.

"come now, channie. tell me what you want..."

"...m-mouth" he whispers, trying to signal to you what he meant. you smiled, deciding you'd only help him if he used his words.

pinching his swollen nub hard enough to have him arch his back. a long drawn out whine escaping his lips.

"please...s-suck" and in a second you lower your head. revelling in the way he gently nudges your face to his chest. gasping in a cute way. so extremely cute that it only makes you suck harder. drinking the milk with half lidded eyes. his scent filling up your nostrils.

"channie..." you mumble, squeezing his chest rhythmically. not caring if his bedsheets got stained.

"m-mhm" he murmurs, writhing into his pillow. hair messy and ears still pressed dosn on his fluffy hair. his cheeks red and lips stained with spit.

"baby" you call out again. heart racing at the way he lifts his head up. looking at you with big doe eyes. glassy and wide.

"you taste sooo good"

watching his eyes widen even more. his hands coming up to cover his face. a soft little noise leaving him. it sounds almost like a calf.

"did you just moo, channie?" you coo, prying his hands off his face. but he furiously shakes his head.

"chris."

and his ears twitch aggressively. freezing at the name you call him. blinking at you shyly and making no attempt to disobey you.

"good boy."

straddling his torso to sit on top of him. running your hands through his hair. realising his chest was slowly going back to normal. his own milk drying up on his abs. sticky and honey-like.

"how about we milk something else..."

"h-huh?" his voice cracks.

"what if i say I do have a manual pump in my bag....and plenty of lube?" you whisper, watching him grow harder beneath you.

his expression is filled with shock but his body was ever ready to be fucked.

"does channie want to do some more?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

i had a dream okay? i dreamt of this chan and i had to make this the part 2.

PART 3 WILL ONLY HAPPEN IF YOU GUYS GIVE ME IDEAS.

.

GIVE ME IDEAS.

SEND ME THOUGHTS.

THIS. IS. A. THREAT.

(in the sweetest way possible <3)

[lovedrruunk]

'A Fresh Start 𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐[part ii]

When the mysterious new girl in town makes a lasting first impression, you make it your goal to befriend and welcome her to the town. [Part i] playlist!!!

self deprecating stalker jinx ill luv u 4eva & eva & eva...

"Hey."

"Hi!"

“. . .”

“. . . ?”

“. . .”

“. . . ???”

You blinked, waiting for her to say literally anything else, but nope. Just “hey.” and now she was standing there, looking like she was on the verge of shitting her pants while you wondered if this was how all her conversations went.

Surprisingly you didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, more so confused. Looking around, your eyes landed on your old neighbor who’s own eyes were on the girl in front of you. He was giving her this look of judgment. It wasn’t obvious or harsh but it was still there. And then it clicked.

This was her.

The newcomer who moved into that old cottage on the outskirts of town. The one Mrs. Van Dee Kamp couldn’t stop speculating about, the one Mr. Gallagher said “looked like trouble”, and the same one you were so curious about. 

It wasn’t long before your group started to shuffle awkwardly, clearly ready to move on. They glanced at her, the kind of quick, hesitant looks people gave when they didn’t want to seem rude but also didn’t want to linger. One by one, they made their excuses, mumbling something about needing to get back to their stalls. They took a couple of steps away, looking back once they realized you weren’t following.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” you called, waving them off.

Turning back, you realized she was already staring at you, her wide pink eyes locked onto yours like you’d just caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Hi!” you started... for the second time now.

“Uh… yeah.” she said, her voice flat as if responding to a completely different conversation.

Not exactly the warmest start, but you continued. “You’re new in town right? People have been talking, but you know, nothing bad! They’re just curious.”

Her eyes glanced left then right as you were talking, like she was scanning for an exit. “Yeah. New.”

You tilted your head. “Well, welcome. I’m–”

“Okay.” she cut you off, her tone abrupt.

“...Okay?” you repeated, blinking.

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.”

Before you could say another word, she spun on her heel and started walking… no, speed-walking, towards the dirt path that lead into the forest.

You stood there, frozen, your brain scrambling to process what had just happened. Did she seriously just… run away? Mid-conversation?

It took you a solid few seconds to realize your jaw was hanging open. Shutting it quickly, you looked around, half expecting someone to jump out with a camera and tell you that you that it was a prank.

But no. The mysterious girl who had everyone talking had just bolted, leaving you standing there like an idiot.

And for some reason, instead of being offended, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Who was she? And what kind of person walked away from a perfectly normal greeting? Mind you, a greeting she had started. You didn’t know why, but suddenly, you were dying to find out.

. . .

This feeling wasn’t technically new.

For weeks, you’d felt it, that weird sensation on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. At first, it had been easy to ignore. You told yourself it was just your brain playing tricks. It was harmless. Whatever.

But now? Not so much.

The feeling wasn’t just there when you stood still like it was before, it followed you now. Around the market, down quiet streets, even when you stopped to chat with neighbors. You’d catch glimpses, a blur of blue hair disappearing behind a corner, the faintest sound of boots on the gravel.

More than once, you were so sure you’d catch them. You’d spin around at the sound of a shuffle or a shadow that felt too close. But by the time you looked? Nothing. Just an empty alley or a completely innocent looking street lamp.

It was driving you nuts.

You didn’t have to guess who it was either. You knew it was her. The girl from the square, Powder, or whatever her name really was. The way she’d bolted last time you tried to talk to her? That had to mean something.

Now it wasn’t just about being watched. It was about her. What was her deal? Why was she sneaking around? Why couldn’t she just talk to you?

You're own feelings about the situation were confusing you. You didn't necessarily... mind it. Unlike the other townsfolk, you didn't see her as a threat. She didn't seem like the type who would go out of her way to harm you. So 'why' was the question, and you were determined to figure it out.

Every time you caught a glimpse of her, something tugged at you. It wasn’t just the mystery of it all, though that was definitely part of it. There was something about her, it's like she didn't want to be seen yet wanted all of your attention.

And you wanted to know why. Why so secluded? Why so interested in your mundane countryside life?

It wasn’t like the townsfolk were any help either. They whispered about her, sure, 'the new girl with the blue hair and the weird vibes' but that’s all they did. Whispers. Speculation. None of them had actually tried to get to know her as far as you could tell.

Which left it to you.

The more you thought about it, the more determined you got. You didn’t want to believe she was some big, bad menace just because she didn’t fit into their little box of what people here were 'supposed' to be like. She was human, and just as deserving of a community as anyone else. So, yeah, you had questions.

And, apparently, she had no intention of giving you any answers.

It was almost funny how good she was at avoiding you. You’d be walking down the street, sure you'd spotted her near the bakery, and then poof. Gone. Like she had been a figment of your imagination. It was starting to feel like a game, except you knew something she didn't. How to cheat.

. . .

“Alright, I know you’re in there!” you yelled, leaning closer to the door as your fist continued to bang on the wood. “You can’t hide forever!”

Silence.

You squinted at the cottage, the place looked... interesting. It was still that run down creepy cottage you remembered always seeing whenever you passed by, but it was strangely... lively. Big scraps of metal and parts outside, colorful flowers (although wilted), and colorful graffiti that seemed to cover every side.

Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you knocked again harder, this time raising your voice. “I’m not leaving until you open this door!”

Still nothing.

“Powder! Or... whatever your name is!” you shouted, hoping the use of her name might get a reaction.

From inside, you swore you heard a faint creak. A floorboard, maybe? It was hard to tell over the sound of your heart hammering in your ears. You leaned forward, pressing your ear to the door.

“I can hear you in there, you know.” you tried, softening your tone just a bit, stepping back from the door. “I’m not mad or anything. I just want to talk! That’s all.”

The silence that followed felt even more deafening than before. For a second, you wondered if you’d imagined the sound altogether.

And then, just as you were about to knock again, the door creaked open.

Barely.

A narrow space, enough for one pink eye to peek through.

“What do you want?” came a voice.

It wasn’t hostile exactly, but it wasn’t friendly either. Cautious. Suspicious.

You blinked, caught off guard by just how intense her gaze was up close.

“Uh, hi?” you started, scrambling for words that didn’t sound totally ridiculous. “We’ve been running into each other a lot lately- well, okay, more like you’ve been running away- but I just wanted to…” You trailed off, realizing you hadn’t actually planned this far ahead.

Her eye narrowed slightly, not moving to open the door any wider.

“...check in?” you finally finished, wincing at your own words.

The door inched shut a little more.

“Wait, wait!” you said frantically as you held up your hands.

“I mean it! No tricks, no weird town gossip or whatever. I just… I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we maybe start over? I'd love to be friends.”

Her eye flicked to your hands, then back to your face. For a moment, you thought she was actually gonna let you in.

Instead, she sighed. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Her voice was quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Fear?

“Why not?” you asked gently, lowering your hands.

But she didn’t answer, instead she gave you this long silent look. And just as you were about to speak up again, the door shut and the bolt slid into place.

“Well, okay then.”

. . .

when i talk abt the town pls imagine a Minecraft village or something of the sort ...

this chapter was SOOOO SELF DIVULGENT btw lololol was totally laughing my ass off writing it. I hope the difference in the way i write their povs is noticeable!!! also its 2am rn ill make sure to proof read in the morning... maybe...

part 3 sometime this week probs! it'll go back to being in pows pov ≽^•⩊•^≼˚

notes r appreciated & thx 4 reading as aaalways XOXOXOXO

[Teensy taglist (ˊᗜˋ)]

@cattjull @kenqki @powderbomb-jinxed

[syoddeye]

consequence / needling

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory | ao3 tags: tattoos, feelings, social media, shitty exes a/n: good news and bad news. ☕

you’ve never been much of a dancer, but you find a rhythm all the same.

john divides time between work and leave. grouses about tying up loose ends and mountains of menial paperwork about said ends, but he’s with you more often than not. you think you’re handling his comings and goings well until he sits you down for a talk after informing you he’ll be gone for two and a half weeks.

at first, it feels like critique all over again, the kind that makes you shrink into yourself. your instinct is to freeze up, say little, agree with him, and promise to do better next time he’s away. but john doesn’t let you fold into yourself, and he doesn’t take easy answers either. he’s calm and direct and speaks with disarming clarity. for someone who can’t discuss what his job involves, he’s honest about its realities. there’s no judgment in his tone, just a measured precision that leaves you feeling exposed, then immediately comforted. for the first time, you’re not left twisting in the wind.

he wants you to make informed decisions. to minimize the surprises you’ll inevitably experience. no more gut reactions, no more panic.

i need to know you’ll be alright. with or without me.

and he isn’t simply referring to his deployments. he speaks about a future without him, should you choose to walk away. 

this isn’t for everyone.

john’s right, of course. you know in your bones but don’t want it to be true. instead, you let yourself believe in the possibility of things working out, following the moments that feel good and easy, however fleeting. winter helps—the light snow smoothing over the ugly edges of everything outside, making it easier to laze about with him. he spends more time at your flat than his own, though he won’t even hear of you merging households yet. you don’t press him. rushing things is what got you here. a deep bruise always prepared to remind you of its ache.

99+. terrifying. absurd.

the espresso machine hisses as you wipe spilled milk off the counter with the edge of your apron. the rectangular shape in your pocket taunts you. you haven’t looked at your phone since you clocked in, and the impulse grows harder to ignore with every flat white.

it’s stupid. it’s not like you drew anything groundbreaking—just a sheet of cats with coffee mugs modeled after old-school greeting cards. a cute warm-up, nothing serious. you wrote a corny caption, meowcchiato or catpuccino, posted it, and went to sleep. you considered it a modest success when you woke to a dozen comments and new followers. then, some big-name tattoo page shared it, and it ballooned.

your fingertips dip into the canvas only for a group order to pop up on the screen, signaling the start of the mid-day rush.

on break, you step out back. the cold air hits like a reset button, your breath visible in cloudy puffs. shivering, you stare at the tower of notifications on your lock screen and swipe.

your eyes saucer at four figures. a thousand and some change likes. hundreds of comments and shares. two hundred more followers. you scroll through the new names, quickly following a few artists and legit-looking shops back before you feel weird.

one account catches your eye despite a sea of requests in your messages. a local studio you’re familiar with.

>> hey, looks like we are neighbors. i like the cats. i don’t think i recognize your work. are you an apprentice somewhere?

rechecking the post, you flinch. you neglected to remove the geotag. shit. so much for total anonymity. you respond before you think too hard about it. embarrassment rolls off of you like the vapor from your breath.

> hi, no i’m not. this is just a hobby.

another chance to check your phone doesn’t arrive until you’re off, due to meet john.

>> really? if you’re at all interested, i’ve got a friend opening apps in a month or two. >> happy to chat if you want to drop by the shop.

it feels like a trap. something oddly shaped like hope makes you walk into it anyway with a reply.

~~~~

she’s in a rush, already glancing at the clock before she’s even out the door. her scarf is half-tied, her coat slipping off a shoulder as she reaches for her bag, but john can’t help himself. he leans in and kisses her cheek, then the line of her jaw, quick and light like a thief. she huffs a laugh but doesn’t pull away.

“you’re going to make me late.”

he kisses the corner of her mouth, the scar on her wrist when she tries to push him off, the warm skin beneath her ear. his hands crawl under her open coat and up her sides to reel in for another. he fixes her coat, fastens the buttons, and ties her scarf, all without letting her up for air. when she finally pulls the door open, winter funneling through the crack, he lets her go with a goodbye. she steps out mid-laugh, and he’s left standing, smiling to himself like a fool.

with nothing but time to kill, he makes himself useful. 

cece follows as he tidies. he knows exactly what his girl buys at the shop now, what brands, what alternatives. he parks outside her building and catches himself smiling, almost laughing, at how far this has come. how it started with that dent in the car he now leaves at her curb, the little heart she’d drawn on the note that came with it, an act to placate an angry stranger. now, she draws them on the back of his hand when they lie in.

later, he fixes supper, the cat weaving between his feet. greets her when she gets in with a thin slice of parmesan with honey balanced on his fingers. before she bites the morsel off its perch, she holds up her phone with a frown.

“what am i looking at?”

“he fucking painted it.”

~~~~

you find out through an old classmate, an acquaintance utterly ignorant of everything.

of course, ben painted the breakup, the prelude, and the aftermath, repurposing it all for artistic expression. you picture him pretending to suffer, draping his self-inflicted misery over their history like he’s the victim. the sheer audacity of it—painting your pain as if it’s a fucking concept—makes you want to scream. you don’t even know what’s worse: the paintings themselves, his self-congratulatory smugness in the captions, or the fact that you feel anything when you see them. the nerve to twist everything into his own narrative. it’s infuriating, his reduction of everything into a palette of pity. you know that temporarily unblocking him to spy helps nothing, but you can’t help yourself.

ben reinterpreted everything, made it about his genius and his torment the way he always did. and what bothers you most is that you’re still trying to find yourself in his work, even now.

at least hannah stays out of the literal picture for once. bad enough ben depicts her as some sort of savior. a heavy-handed and garish fucking pieta-like feature. 'ben wanted to paint it, you know…had it all mapped out. i convinced him not to.' the rat.

you stare at the hard line of john’s jaw as he scrolls, barely able to appreciate his culinary efforts because his predecessor ruined your appetite.

“my offer stands.”

“what?”

“i’m inclined to sort him out for you. i know a man or two who owe me.”

~~~~

she makes him promise he won’t sic someone on the ex, and he obliges. he makes her feel better, and she draws another lazy heart on his skin.

cheek pressed to his chest, she sighs.

“you gonna to say anything to him?” 

“what’s there to say?”

“i can think of some words to make a sailor blush.”

she flicks his nipple. “i already cursed him out and threw wine at him.”

“think he’s doin’ this because you told hannah to fuck off?”

rolling to her side, she toys with the hair creeping down his chest. “i think hannah and i are irrelevant. swap us out with anyone else, and he’d come to the same, self-centered conclusion.”

“for what it’s worth, i think his work is…trite.”

a tired laugh rattles out of her, and she pats his stomach. “oh, wow, someone check on the sailor. must be blushing.”

cheeky.

he sweeps over her in one fluid roll, pushing her to her back and sticking his mouth to her neck. he ignores her squeals and her half-hearted battering. she protests, something about him leaving a mark, and he lifts.

“put one on me?”

“a hickey?” her chest heaves from their game.

“no. a tattoo.”

the meticulousness john admires translates into everything, that much is clear, given his girl’s stringent cleaning and the amount of ppe. he didn’t think he’d be treated to some gutter punk special, but it feels as professional as an amateur can get. considering the other places he’s spent time with open wounds, her flat feels like a spa.

the amount of shit he’ll catch from the boys, however? that worries him.

they discuss the design again. it already took the better part of an hour to select one from her burgeoning collection—she refuses to call it a portfolio, despite all evidence—and placement took another fifteen. shaving, regrettably, took only a few minutes. odd and intimate. when she brushed the shorn hair off his left pec and swept it into a dust pan, he forced himself to breathe.

“are you sure about this? i’m not a professional. this is permanent.”

he readjusts and pats the naked patch of skin. “i’m aware.”

the bite of a needle is nothing. compared to the puckered scar from a knife wound in his right thigh—it’s a pleasant burn. helps that the hand guiding it is light, the pressure deliberate and contained. plus, her tongue wets the corner of her lips so often, and that, paired with the pinch of her brow? he’d endure worse. cute.

he will not embarrass her and say it out loud. he doesn’t say a word. she’s finally distracted from ben’s paintings.

but she speaks when she switches to color, dabbing excess ink onto a paper towel.

“alright?”

“never better.”

“because i’m not a mind reader. if you’re regretting this now, say the word.”

“i’m not regretting a thing. are you?” 

she doesn’t immediately look up from the needle, fiddling with it. when she does, she shakes her head. “not a thing. moving onto color now.”

she carefully drags red into the design, then gold. the firm, short strokes spark a brief flare of discomfort but let nothing slip. he can take it. the silence lingers, shorter this time, and again, she breaks it.

“remember that silly cats and coffee sheet?”

“yeah?”

“i’ve been, uh, chatting with a local artist about it. he wants to meet. talk shop, i guess.”

his attention snaps from his chest to her. sly thing, biting her cheek to keep her expression as flat as possible. “go on.”

she meets his eye for a second, pulling her hand back to swap to green. “he wants me to bring my collection, if you can believe it.”

that ugly, possessive monster in his head cocks an ear. focuses on the wrong detail. he wrestles it into the thick mud of his thoughts and resurfaces with—”sounds like he thinks you have a knack for it. we have that in common.” good show.

“he thinks i might be good enough to try for an apprenticeship.”

this time, she holds his gaze. uncertainty writ large on her face. seeking.

“is that something you want?”

“yeah,” her lip twitches. a flash of something crosses her face. a wince? “yeah, it is.”

[p0orbaby]

I have a possible blurb request for mary earps please??

r still lives in england and mary’s over with psg. mary comes back from paris for international duty and finally gets to see r again.

maybe mary surprises r by coming back a day early and comes home to see r in mary’s psg shirt

-

The flat is too quiet, but you’ve learned to live with that. Mary’s voice used to echo through the place—she’s not exactly subtle when she’s home—but with her in Paris, it’s been quieter. Not lonely, exactly. Just… quieter.

Now, the only noise comes from the hum of the kettle and the faint tinny sound of some reality TV rerun you’ve half-watched four times already. You’re standing in the kitchen, her oversized PSG shirt hanging off you, half-distracted as you wait for the water to boil. It’s the away kit—black and gold—soft from too many washes. She left it behind, and you’ve convinced yourself she wouldn’t mind.

The kettle clicks off. You pour the water over a tea bag, take a sip too soon, and immediately regret your life choices.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. You’ve survived this long-distance thing so far, even if it’s been weeks since you’ve had so much as a proper hug. Mary texts, she calls, she sends voice notes when she’s bored on team buses, but it’s not the same. You keep busy—work, friends, this new phase of your life where you apparently cosplay as a PSG superfan when no one’s looking.

Then there’s a sound. A faint jingle of keys.

You freeze.

No one else has keys.

“Don’t freak out,” comes a voice from the door. Familiar. Dry. A little smug.

Your tea sloshes onto the counter as you whip around, heart hammering.

Mary’s standing there, suitcase at her feet, coat hanging off one shoulder like she’s just walked out of a bloody rom-com. Except this is your kitchen, and rom-com Mary probably wouldn’t be grinning so much at the sight of you in her shirt.

“You’re back,” you say, because your brain is apparently still catching up.

“Early,” she clarifies, stepping inside. She looks far too pleased with herself, green eyes glittering as she takes you in. “Nice shirt, by the way”

You look down like you’ve forgotten what you’re wearing. “Oh, this old thing? Found it lying around”

“Hmm. Looks better on you, honestly.” She sets her suitcase aside and crosses the room in two strides, pulling you into her arms before you can think of a reply.

The hug is as good as you remembered. Maybe better. Her warmth seeps into you, and you breathe in the familiar scent of her—something clean, fresh, with an undertone of cheap hotel shampoo.

“God, I missed you,” she mutters against your hair.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back early”

“Yeah, well.” She pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist. “I thought a surprise might be fun. Looks like I was right”

You laugh softly, looping your arms around her neck. “You were right. For a change”

She tilts her head, grinning. “This time? How often am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, just kiss her instead. It’s been too long, and judging by the way she immediately tightens her grip on you, she feels the same.

When you finally pull away, you’re both a little breathless.

“So,” she says, voice lighter now, “are you going to keep that shirt on, or do I get my wardrobe back?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m giving it back?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says, her grin turning cheeky as she leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your heart stutter. “I might have a few ideas to convince you”

Your tea goes cold on the counter, but you don’t really care.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Head empty, no thoughts, just John Price and his inappropriately young pretty little plaything that he met by chance. This may become a fun little series.

(pt.2)

🔞MDNI🔞

Reader is a black girl. Price is a munch. Reader is bold and flirty. Daddy kink.

It's one of the few times that John puts his foot down and tells his team they are going to a cigar lounge instead of a pub to decompress for the weekend. He's stubborn about this because he has an underlying motive. When Soap asks him about it, he smirks and recounts the beautiful young woman he met and how Soap will be on his best behavior.

A cute American girl traveling abroad with her friends that he met in a coffee shop on the way to base one morning. She was absolutely golden, brown skin seemed to shine in the morning light, and the rather inappropriate turquiose sundress hugged every part of her deliciously. He stood behind her and her friends as they chatted about fun touristy things to get into before they figured out what salaciously fun things the nighttime brought. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her either and fuck was he staring because she definitely caught him staring.

"Are you going to stare handsome, or speak to me?" She smiled, and suddenly her friends had stopped talking, and they all looked at him. The three other girls giggling and putting space between this turquiose goddess and them.

"I couldn't help but notice how gorgeous you are." John smiled at her. "Price, John Price." He offered his hand, and when her dainty French manicured hand was in his, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it.

She introduced herself, keeping her eyes directly on his. He notices how her gaze trails over him, a slight lick of her pretty full lips, has him imagining her on her knees, his cock pressed fully to the back of her throat.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, John. I supposed you wouldn't mind showing me and my friends around. We wouldn't want to get wrapped up in any bad parts of town." Her smile is coy and radiant. She's a fucking tease.

"Ask if he has friends!" One of her friends flat out says.

She ignores them with a laugh and shake of her head. The barista calls her name, and without thinking, she takes the coffee and her receipt. Grabbing a pen, she scribbles her name and number on the back. "Here honey." She slips the paper in his hand. "Text me, and we can have fun." She drags her finger down his chest and leaves him right there. Ball planted firmly in his court.

Xoxo

You and your friends finally make it out of the Uber at the cigar lounge that John had told you about on Tuesday. You met the man on Monday, and by the time Wednesday rolled around, he had taken you to dinner. After your dinner date with him, he had you splayed out at his home, eating you pussy like his life depended on it. He then proceeded to turn you every which way but loose that night, and by the time he was done, the only name you could say was his.

Your friends teased you about your liking for older men, a group joke about daddy issues. You had always favored older and more accomplished men. Men that understood where the clit was, who enjoyed foreplay, and who could definitely sweat out your hair and properly fold you in half. So when John insisted that you and your friends come out with him and his colleagues for the evening, you had to practically demand and call in favors for the night to happen. Even going as far as saying that the next night out could be as ratchet as possible with no complaints from you.

Leading the pack into the dimly lit and surprisingly intimate lounge, your eyes scan the various booths for your vacation boyfriend. Because that's what he was all things considered. A hot, burly, sexy lay to look back fondly on when you go back to reality after vacation. You spot him and beeline it right to his table, with him are three other men, but you only have eyes for him. In what has to be the boldest move of your life, you slip right into his lap, ignoring the confused looks of the other three men. Moving the cigar between his lips out of the way, you kiss him right on the lips.

The absolute shock at the table is palpable. You faintly hear someone go, "Tha's how it is Cap?" In the world's strongest Scottish accent. One of your friends lets out a low whistle.

You pay it no mind though, as you cup his face, thumbs tracing the shape of his facial hair. He kisses you back, seemingly unaware of the audience. When you pull away, he smiles, and there are little crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

"Hello to you too, Sweetheart." His voice is low and barely sounds above a rumble. He rubs the upper part of your thigh that your mini dress barely covers. He then introduces his colleagues, who you gather are more like family with the way they rib on each other and you introduce yourself and friends. Before you know it, there's drinks on the table and and everyone is somewhat tipsy with liquid courage.

"So how old are you?" The one everyone, for some reason, refers to as Soap asks you. He's looking at you with a lopsided grin and raised eyebrow, and his gaze keeps flickering towards John. There's a secret joke between the two and it looks like Soap wants to cackle the second you say your age.

"I'm old enough to drink, let's leave it at that." You laugh.

"She's twenty-three." One of your friends barks with laughter. You simply roll your eyes and lean back against John (who insisted you stay right in his lap).

True to your suspicion, Soap cackles "A bit young fer ye Cap?" He's clearly on the other side of tipsy.

John has a blank face, "Johnny." He starts.

But you beat him to it, "So? All that matters is that he puts me to sleep, and he does a damn good job doing it. Younger boys could never." You then give John another kiss on the lips. The taste of whiskey and cigar smoke makes you groan. This time, when you pull away, you stare into his oh so blue eyes. "John, I'm tired, and I wanna leave." You whisper to him.

"Are you sure Sweetheart?"

"Yes, my friends and your friends can find their own way home."

🔞NSFW🔞

"Fuck" You moan as John throws your legs over his shoulders. He keeps his face pressed to your pussy as he once again pulls you apart. His tongue is fucning into you nice and slow. He's teasing you, or he's either really enjoying you. At this point, you can't tell. The air is humid, but the ac is keeping you cool. You wriggle and gasp each time his nose bumps up against your clit.

His grip only tightens, "Stay still baby girl, and let Daddy eat." He practically growls before shoving his tongue into you as deep as he can. He drags his tongue from out of your opening and then latches onto your clit and sucks. He keeps the suction on you as the tip of his tongue flicks across it.

Pleasure zips up your spine, and you grasp at his hair. Trying desperately to grind into his face or pull him away. He won't let you. He isn't even entertaining the idea of breathing, to focus on wringing every bit of pleasure from you. There's a knot in the pit of your stomach, and suddenly, you're screaming and seeing stars. You feel it, at first it's a trickle then it's a gush.

You actually squirted in his face. The sound of him drinking up and slurping down your juices makes you unbelievably hot. Your breathing is labored, and it's only the start of him fucking you. Slowly, he looks up and finally sits up. His face is slick and shiny in the moonlit glow of the room. Eyes blown wide with a primal lust. It frightens you with how this large and burly man went from a gentleman to a damn sex god as soon as you were in his house and naked. He prowls up your body, keeping intense eye contact with you. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb ghosting over your lips before he kisses you.

The taste of yourself on his tongue is heavy, and you like it. You lick into his mouth and suck on his tongue. The tip of his dick is pressed against you, and you're hoping and praying your IUD does its big one. He doesn't break the kiss as he feeds you inch after inch of himself into you. Breaking the kiss you lean your head back and sigh at the stretch.

"There you baby girl. Fuck this pussy is tight and warm." He grunts when he manages to slide in the way in one go. "She's taking me so well." He hikes your legs higher onto his hips and grinds into slowly.

"Pleasee, do- ah- don't tease me," you whine as his happy trail rubs gently against your clit.

John leans up after he sucks a hickey into the side of your neck and pulls out slightly. Your legs are repositioned over the crook of his arms, and he slams back into you. It knocks the breath from you and makes your eyes go wide. Each snap of his hips has you letting out a breathy and high-pitched squeal. John seems to like those noises because he doubles his efforts.

The room is filled with your moans and his grunts and the pap pap pap of his thighs slapping against your ass. Your hands fist the bedsheets in an effort to ground yourself from floating away.

John leans forward, pressing your legs close to your chest. His pounding thrust turned into a hard, rough grind. There's a swivel to his motion, his brows knitted together, clearly looking for something. Each grind of his hips has you gasping and scratching lightly at his arms and dragging your fingers across his chest. You bite your lip and whimper at the pressure he puts on you.

"Come on, baby girl," He whispers, "I know you can let me find it. She can't stay hidden the whole time."

You don't know what it is he's talking about until you feel him rub at just the right angle and your eyes roll back. "Oh Daddy, yes!"

"There she is." He then seeks out that same spot that not even your own fingers can reach. This man is trying to kill you. He's certainly raising the bar for every man that comes after you. It's a shame you can't keep him. He folds you into a mating press, still pistoning his hips into, aiming for what you know is g-spot.

The room is spinning, and you can barely keep your eyes open. The only word you repeat is "Daddy, daddy, daddy-"

He coos at you, "I'm Daddy now?" It's patronizing in a way, and you don't mind it. In fact it makes your pussy clench down on him. "Fu- fuck baby, of course I'll be daddy, and daddy's s'always gonna take care of his baby. Fuck fuck fuck." He

"Daddy, please-"

"Aw, is my baby girl close?" He somehow manages to breathe out through gritted teeth.

You can only nod your head as reasonable thought leaves you. He moves a hand down and swipes his thumb across your clit. Your body seizes and thrashes and shakes as you're thrown into bliss. He fucks your through it, prolonging the feeling. There's the sound of something wet, and distantly, you know that he managed to get you to squirt again. He's leering at where you're squirting on him and how his dick is slick and shiny. The hair at the base of his dick is wet with your juices, and the sound of your squeals reverberates in his head. He can't stop. He's so close.

"Daddy" you're on the edge of another orgasm, it feels like it's gonna teeter on the edge of over stimulation.

He groans and presses you back into a full mating press. His rhythm became a little sloppy. "I know baby girl- ah ah fuck- Daddy's almost done, just fuck- you can take it baby girl and I'm gonna take such good care of you just like how you took care of Daddy." His words are whispers and grunts in the space between you both. There are no words coming from you, just whimpers and gasps and what may sound like the phrase "in me"

He hears you through his own babbling, "in you baby girl. Tha what you want. You want Daddy to fill you up?"

You squealed "Daddy oh God!" Just as you fell into your last orgasm. It straddles the line between painful and blissful and your eyes roll back. Mouth agape as your body begs to arch, but the mating press he has you locked in won't allow you to even move.

"Fuck!" He bellows and grinds his hips into you. Warmth spreads into you as you feel him empty himself. He keeps his hips flushed with yours. He stays like that for a long moment, trying to catch his breath.

"Good God." You sigh, "that was amazing."

"You know... I can't let anyone else have you now, right?" He whispers.

"John," you giggle tiredly, "talk to me after the sun comes up."

"Fine, but I mean it."

[spelled-like-pajamas]

Something I don't think I've ever seen someone talk about with TF2 (though there probably is someone) is a small detail in the Expiration Date video (which came out in June of 2014, for context that's important later). For context, here's the clip in question:

Did you catch something small? When Scout stands up and says he'll do the date without Spy's help, Spy does something he rarely ever does, something absolutely tiny, but that speaks volumes.

He smiles. A genuine, non-snarky smile.

If you were to watch this when it first came out, and notice this detail, I'd not make any sense, really. Why would he be smiling, when Scout is arguing with him, telling him that he's wrong, basically saying he just wasted his supposed final hours on this world teaching him something he's not going to use?

But then, in January of 2017, nearly 2 and half years later, and (okay spoilers but this has been around for like more than 7, nearly 8 years since posting) it is all but directly shouted from the heavens that Spy is Scout's father. And all of a sudden, this small detail, Spy's smile, takes on a whole new meaning.

As Scout's father, Spy is proud of him.

Even though for what has been presumed to be the finals days of their life, even though Spy has taken ever opportunity to belittle him, to tell him he is a failure and this won't work, that he won't get Pauling (which he probably won't regardless since she is, much like the Spy-Scout relationship, pretty much confirmed to be a lesbian), Scout stands up to him. He stands his ground for something he wants to at least try to do.

And Spy smiles because he is proud of his son for learning one of the best lessons he could ever teach him: stand up for yourself when you believe in something and really want it. He never got to teach him so many things with how he never got to be involved in his raising because of his job, but over the course of 3 days they have, he gets to teach him so much, and leaves him with the most important advice without even saying it.

And it helps to explain a good bit more. It explains why the only reason he interrupts isn't to talk back or put him in his place, but remind him that he's got a date to get to, and his smile only fades when Scout just flat out insults him, like he ruined their father-son bonding moment. It explains why he's so attentive, watching him attempt to start the date, and why when he seems him next, instead of telling him something snarky or rude, or telling him to fight better, he reminds him there is someone he needs to make an apology to, and try to give him the space to take care of that admits the chaos.

Spy can't show it, but he is proud of his son.

Anywho, happy 100th post (took me long enough). Hope to be more active on here, and post more things, and maybe even show off some cool things I make. But to everyone who has been a part of this, from the voice overs on YouTube that first intrigued me to check this place out, to the few but wonderful mutuals I'm so lucky to have, to every weird and amazing person that makes this site somewhere we can call home, I thank you!

okay, bye!

[sherlock-is-ace]

Attention Artists!

We've reached the point when you can have AI generated "speedpaints".

The way they work is by giving the engine an image to make a "speedpain" video from. Please don't be fooled! Althought the AI is quite good at showing you different stages of the drawing process (sketch, clean up, colors, final render) there's still a few things to keep in mind to recognize these AI generated videos.

These videos are basically just a collection of images, they do not show each stroke of the pen. This is not a perfect tell because actual drawing apps, like Procreate, Ibis Paint X, and other programs with built in timelapses work similarly. These programs do not screen record, rather record each time you put the pen down and lift it up, so a long line won't show up progresively, it will just suddenly appear on screen. That said, it is a good thing to keep in mind when trying to recognize AI generated "speedpaints".

Some of the tells I recognize are:

Related to my point above, the AI generated "speedpaints" tend to make big changes that just show up. It's not like that straight line just appeared on screen because the artist did it in one stroke, it's more like that whole entire head just appeared. No artist can draw lots and lots of separated details in just one stroke.

The AI has significantly more trouble with backgrounds. It will just fully render a bunch of backgrounds until it lands on the correct one. No sketch, no flat colors, nothing.

The problem with a style consistency is still present, and it is more noticable when it's on a video. There will be multiple sketches of the same character in widely different styles until it lands on the one from the prompt picture.

This also happens with reder styles. You will see a picture go from a watercolor render to a painterly one to flat colors and the changes happen quite fast.

It will move from sketch to color back to sketch a lot. Sometimes a part of the "art" will be fully rendered and then suddenly change shape to be what's esentially a different sketch, but still be fully rendered without showing the full process.

When something on the sketch is wrong, instead of fixing just that detail, the AI tends to just fully "sketch" everything again

There is A LOT of color correction before the "drawing" is finished. Although artist do color correct in order to get to a palette they like, it usually isn't done throughout the entire drawing process.

The image will go from being very sharp with thin lines to very blurry with the characteristic melty look of AI generated "art". The color of the lines and background will also change a little. This is mostly visible during the sketch stage.

These are just some of the tings that stand out to me, Please check out this video by actual artist Lola Holliday about it. You cans ee some examples of these AI generated "speedpaints". And you can compare it with real speedpaints as well.

Please be careful and don't get scammed by these idiots. And also, support real artists please.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Shale, under a cut for length:

"Oops! I realized I'd moved on from DAO but missed one of the companions I'd written. Which checks out, honestly, because I almost didn't write Shale and, even after I'd written her, she almost didn't happen anyhow. Then she did. Prepare yourself for... PIGEON QUEST. 🦤 So... I'm wracking my brain, but I don't recall how Shale began. I have this vague memory of us wanting a "weird" party member who didn't conform to the normal classes (this was back when Dog didn't need to be in the party), and I think my mind drifted to an old indie comic character named Concrete."

"Now, your reaction to that is probably "who?" That's OK. When I explain that HK-47 in KotOR was inspired by an old Canadian TV show called the Littlest Hobo I get the same perplexed response. 😅 In short: Concrete was just a regular dude. Who happened to also be a walking hulk of rock. Cue hi-jinx. The problem here is I don't remember whether the Concrete thing was part of the original inspiration or something I thought of at the point when I started writing the character. Because I didn't, at first. That was later. Shale was initially taken on by Jay Turner, then one of our junior writers. Jay had an idea to make Shale more of a robot, an emotionless automoton killer... think HK-47, but without the layer of sarcasm. I was leery, and told Jay he'd have to be very careful. "Emotionless" can very quickly turn into "boring", after all, unless you're VERY careful. But Jay was determined. Sigh. This was a fail on my part, as his lead. There's been a couple of times in my career when I've let a junior convince me with their enthusiasm to take on something my experience said they shouldn't. And then watch their confidence crumble despite every effort I made to reassure them it was OK. This was one of those times. Jay, no idea if you'll read this but: I'm sorry. Even an experienced writer would have found that a daunting challenge. Tonia, my other Big Fail on a similar situation in DAI: I'm sorry. Both times, I should have known. You did your best, but I set you up to fail. 😔"

"Jay did his best, and this version of Shale was certainly interesting... but, when he was done, it was one of those peer reviews where every writer had that look of "I'm REALLY sorry to say this..." It felt flat. Jay tried numerous revisions, but the issue wasn't his ability - it was the concept. I only allowed my writers a certain number of tries before I take it away. This hearkens back to an earlier time at Bio when writers would hack away at something that wasn't working 6, 7, 8 times or more until finally their soul was dust. Mike Laidlaw can attest. Revision isn't always the answer. So I moved (a much relieved, I think) Jay onto something else, and the question arose: what do we do with Shale? Do we cut it? It was already very late. Then Shale dropped in my lap. I don't remember if it was me refusing to let it go or maybe Brent (Knowles, Creative Director) giving it to me. I suspect it was the latter, because I recall being a bit bitter about the whole thing. WHAT am I going to do with this character? At the time, they'd moved me out of the writers pit to instead be in a big office with the other leads. I had this corner desk by a window (yay) with an awful view (ugh) What was so awful about it? It looked out onto the neighbouring roof, where there was only an HVAC unit to see. In the winter, pigeons would gather around it. They pooped all over everything - there was this alcove around the access door, right? The pigeons roosted there and it was POOP FAUCET city."

"Not only that, the pigeons used the HVAC like some kind of sex den. Angry, ugly pigeon sex. The only respite was when a hawk would appear and the pigeons scattered. Then I'd get maybe a day when there was a single pigeon corpse, like an exploded ball of down, to act as a scarecrow. Good days, those. What does any of this have to do with Shale? Well, there's me, staring out the window trying desperately to think what I'm going to do. But I CAN'T stare out the window because, gross. But what else am I going to stare at while I think? It was making me furious. I hated those pigeons SO SO MUCH. And then it hit me: Shale is basically an animated statue, right? Something that pigeons are rather notorious for also gathering on? And so I wrote. I wrote like the angry, angry wind. I had zero time to do this so it was basically me vomiting all my annoyance at everything into a single character. Not that it helped much. There was a battle going on over Shale - first, as I recall, it was the art team. They were going to make every doorway in the game EXTRA HUGE because they were worried that Shale was too large and might clip. So, yes, let's alter the whole world to fix that. Good idea. 🙃 Eventually, they compromised by making Shale smaller. Sten-sized. Or Brent went Akira mode, but I don't really know. This was a battle happening above my level. Yet Shale got cut anyhow. There wasn't time to do her abilities and we were short on cinematics time. There was never enough time on DAO."

""Oh well," I thought. "That's that." I did what I could, but cut content is almost never resurrected. The idea was floated of making Shale into a DLC but I scoffed. Yeah, right! But... it happened. That's why the "almost" is there. Enough of the team liked Shale they made it happen this one time. This meant I could finish up the writing once we'd more or less wrapped DAO, and the rest of the team (cinematics, in particular, who were pressed the hardest for time) could move onto the Shale DLC once they were ready. It was supposed to come out well after release, but you know. Shenanigans. This particular shenanigan was EA deciding to sit on the finished DAO a few months in order to delay the release. Why? Again, not my level. To get closer to Christmas, maybe, or maybe for sim ship. It did mean Shale ended up being ready for release day. Unexpected confluence of events, honestly. Cue some fans getting upset that "cut content" was sold to them separately, which... fair, I guess? The alternative would have been that Shale was simply cut, period, and it just worked out this way but... yes, fair. This was back when DLC was the main beef of hardcore gamers. Oh, the good old days. Overall? I have a soft spot for Shale. She has no soft spot for anyone, being... you know... made of rock. It's why I put her in Asunder, and why she was also going to be in the - apparently now notorious for its Fenris murder - cancelled fourth DA novel. Also, if you're a pigeon fan: not sorry. 😇"

[source thread]

[videokilled]

Vox giggled under his breath as Alastor talked about ‘these humans’ as if he had just landed from space. He would be lying if he wasn’t getting the little flip flop of excitement in his gut at trying out his craft up top again. After all his success and practice down below.

“I’m introducing you as David they look like bible thumpers..” Vox said under his breath as one of the men moved over to intercept them understandably. Two strange men approaching their families.

The moment the man called out to him, Vox seemed to just flip his sleezeball switch, and his voice matched the others immediately. Volume intensity, even the crescendo. He shook hands with the man and immediately launched into a story about how he didn’t want to pull the man away from his family- but if he could spare 10 minutes to get them to the nearest car rental area it would be a blessing. His mannerisms were so loose and to someone like Alastor it was probably so obviously a blatant mirroring tactic. Just simple flattery and matching presumed values and priorities. Lots of flat open hand movements and within a minute, Vox was standing at the man’s side instead of face to face with him.

The man said he would have to ask his wife and it was his kids game and yadda yadda- Vox introduced himself as John and Alastor as David, and even said he had a wife he was trying to not keep waiting with a made up daughter as well.

The man seemed sympathetic but ‘had his hands tied’ until Vox mentioned that his phone service wasn’t working and how anything could happen when you were out of touch.

Then the man put his hands up and said he would ask his wife, since the half time was coming up in the game.

As he walked away Vox gave Alastor one of the most smug looks. Clearly very pleased with himself, and enjoying it immensely.

If only took another minute before the man came back, with another man at his side. Happy to tell Vox and Alastor they would indeed drive them just to the nearest car rental place in the downtown area, just about ten minutes drive.

Vox shook the other man’s hand too and introduced themselves again under their fake names and used a lot of ‘God bless you’ language. Throwing in a very shallow and tacky dad joke. To which they both laughed and said they would bring the car around, then walked off.

The tv demon looked back at Alastor with a very proud grin and rubbed his palms together like it had given him some kind of adrenaline rush.

“This is going to be so fun.” He whispered under his breath.

The tv demon watched the other arrange his outfit, and his own self consciousness grew. Nothing he couldn’t stuff down. But it felt odd. This was not something he would wear presently- and if he were honest- if he ever met the version of himself that used to frequent this.. he would off him without a thought given the chance.

The other option though was to just go about with the white t shirt he had on underneath it. And that was far too undone. Regardless of current fashion. Which- weirdly enough. He did recognize some of the fashion from the distant stragglers going about their business. Velvette had done a good job keeping them up to date on that.

He did at least however push his sleeve cuffs up toward his elbows. Then did a double take at how much lighter his own skin was, caught up in looking over his own hands again. Momentarily though.

Vox’s attention was immediately caught by Alastor asking if he knew how to traverse the sides of a road.

“I’m not walking thirty some miles. There’s traffic all over. We can get a ride. And no I didn’t get a hotel. It took me weeks just to get the location out of you.”

Vox started walking toward a much wider area that looked like it was some sort of church outing. Lots of teens and tweens running around playing soccer on some grass with the adults in chairs and chatting and laughing nearby. But it was a football field or so away, it would be a walk, but he wasn’t opening this trip with walking a dirt road pointlessly.

Besides. This was his shtick. He could get some bucket heads to drive him somewhere.

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for sashene; “the one where omegaverse fucks up Red Hood’s life”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Dick makes another pained sound, and it sounds so much more than just “half”-feral this time. Jason’s breath hitches in his throat, and he’s stupid, he’s stupid, he needs to leave, he’s not giving up what he came here for just because Dick’s lying to him about this, just because Dick’s a liar who smells so good and smells like everything he’s missed so bad and–and he didn’t even realize how crazy it was making him not to be able to smell him, he thinks numbly; didn’t even realize how it was making him feel, with Dick right there in front of him again and all wrapped up and locked away and hiding from him– 

“You want it?” Dick asks, his voice a little uneven. “You want–” 

“Yes, obviously, fucking bastard, I–” hate you, Jason doesn’t say, because he can only smell Dick’s scent from that one exposed wrist, but it’s pressed in close enough against his neck that it doesn’t matter anyway, even with the scent of the blood on his throat all mixed in with it too. 

So he can smell–can smell it when– 

When Dick’s scent changes. Or . . . or doesn’t change, maybe, but . . . shifts its center of balance, or . . . or something like . . . 

Stops smelling like just the frantic distress and worry that can’t be real, and starts smelling like–like something else that definitely can’t be real. Like . . . 

“You’re lonely?” Dick says, his voice the kind of hurt rasp Jason’s only ever heard from him when someone was bleeding out and his mouth and wrist both nuzzling into Jason’s throat, and then both his hands dragging across him instead–down his throat and across his shoulder, down his back and over his ribs, and he’s bigger than Dick–obviously, Dick’s a fucking acrobat and he’s built like a wall, but it still somehow feels like Dick’s the one holding him, somehow, and–and–“Won’t let you be, won’t, m’here, I–” 

“Shut up,” Jason chokes, his nails digging into Nightwing’s night-colored kevlar and shoulders hunching, and he needs to leave he needs to leave he needs to– 

Dick kisses the exposed scent gland in the side of his throat and then presses the flats of his teeth against it, and Jason thinks his heart stops. He’s pretty fucking positive it does, in fact. 

Not like he doesn’t know what that feels like, after all.