#like what do you mean i spent a month on this

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader argue about their next steps

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

this is a combination of a few asks and takes place pre-OBX season 3. warning for some angst + arguing

Y/n ended her call with her manager Morgan with a sigh. It was a conversation she had been dreading, but she also knew was inevitable with the direction her career (and character on OBX) was moving. She had been dropping hints to Drew that her contract with OBX was ending, that she wanted to move onto some different projects, Caroline’s character arc was coming to a close…

“Hey, baby.” Drew smiled as y/n walked into their living room. He was sprawled out on the couch, his limbs propped on the ottoman and Charleston curled up at his side. Y/n smiled lightly at him, the grin not quite reaching her eyes in a way that made Drew’s brain sound off with bells and whistles.

“Um, I just got off the phone with Morgan,” y/n said quietly, Drew leaning in intently as she spoke, “and I don’t think I’m going to be renewing my contract for OBX.”

Drew’s face dropped, his eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at her in a stunned silence.

“W–what?” Drew said incredulously. Y/n sighed, running a shaking hand through her hair. Whether or not either of them cared to admit it, Outer Banks and shooting together was a big aspect of their relationship. Hell, it was how they met and how they spent months of the year practically inseparable on set.

“I– I just…” y/n swallowed harshly, “I want to try new things and I don’t want to feel tied down to—”

“‘Tied down’? Is that really how you feel?” Drew scoffed, shaking his head at her words.

“Drew, you know I don’t mean it like that.” Y/n sighed, her hand resting on Drew’s tensed shoulder.

“What do you mean, then?” Drew said. “‘Cause I’m trying to understand and it just sounds like you think the show’s a burden and—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/n said sharply. “I love the show and working with the cast— and working with you— but I just… it’s time for me to move on.”

“But I’m still stuck on this— what, this shitty, teenaged Netflix show? I can’t move on?” Drew shook his head. It was hard to not take it so personally when the show had given them so much, and for her to just leave like that… it hurt.

“This has nothing to do with how I think of you or your acting or career. You know you’re… a lot more important to the show than I am and you have a much more challenging role and—” y/n ran hand down her face with a sigh, “—this is 100% only to do with me and my career and my future.”

“But what about our future?” Drew said. “I just… don’t you think this is going to change things between us?”

“But it doesn’t have to. It doesn’t have to change anything.” Y/n said, taking Drew’s hand. His eyes closed, Drew ran his hand through his hair with a deep sigh.

“This is… this is really what you want?” Drew whispered, his thumb brushing along the back of y/n’s hand lightly.

“I think it’s the right step.” Y/n said quietly. Drew chewed on his bottom lip, mulling over his racing thoughts and questions before his gaze finally lifted to meet y/n’s. She could see a glint of sadness in his eyes, a recognition that the unique bond of the show would be changing.

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t think about us when I was making this decision.” Y/n whispered, squeezing Drew’s hand lightly. Drew nodded, squeezing her hand back.

“If this is what you think is best, then I support you.” Drew said. Y/n let out a sigh of relief, cupping the side of Drew’s face as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel forgotten or—” Y/n began, but Drew cut her off, kissing her forehead chastely.

“I’m sorry for freaking out, it's just… I can’t imagine the show without you and it just scared me to think about it.” Drew said lowly. Y/n frowned, to which Drew shook his head, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. Her arms snaked around his torso, feeling the ridges of his muscles under her fingertips and hearing the thrum of his heart in her ear.

“We’ll figure it out, ok? I love you and we’ll figure it out.” Drew said simply. Y/n, squeeze him tighter.

“I love you. Thank you for supporting me, Drew. Really.” Y/n whispered.

[wayward-dreamer]

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 3,730

Summary: Dean resigns himself to the fact that his girlfriend has to miss out on Christmas with him, hard at work and trying to meet a deadline over the holidays, states away. He hopes she can make it.

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, lots of fluff towards the end, smut: dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), v fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), breeding kink if you squint, Dean being a domestic dream boyfriend.

A/N: Requested by @xlynnbbyx. I hope you like it! Happy reading everyone! Unbeta'd.

There’s nothing quite like coming home to a warm house, especially just as the chill of winter starts to set in. As Dean stepped into his home, scarf bundled around his neck and tucked into his long, black coat he was thankful that his home was well insulated, even when the heating wasn’t on. Snow was just beginning to fall, causing him to dust it off his shoulders and hair before he removed his coat, hanging it by the door on the rack along with his scarf. He slipped off his black loafers, turning the thermostat on as he walked into the kitchen. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the bar stool, making his way over to the fridge. He took out a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off and took a long swig, sitting in the bar stool with a heavy exhale.

He looked around the darkened house, the only light on in the kitchen, his eyes scanning over the photos on the wall. The only thing better than escaping the cold for warmth, was having the warmth of someone next to him. He smiled softly as he looked at his favorite photos of him and his girlfriend, wishing she had been there to greet him when he got back from work. It had been several months that hadn’t occurred, and he was starting to get sick of coming back to an empty nest. He took out his phone, checking the time and shaking his head when he realized it was too late to call her. He might just have to try for your lunch break the next day.

Y/N had been offered a new position at her company, which came in the form of a relocation for 10 months. It had been hard in the first few weeks to be apart, but they had made it work with her coming home every other weekend, or him flying in to see her on the alternate ones. As things got busier for both of them that meant they had less freedom to do that. He had spent many sleepless nights in their bed, wishing she could be back in Kansas with him and not miles away in another state.

Now with just a week until Christmas, he had to live with the fact that she couldn’t come home for the holidays. She had broken the news to him a week prior, apologizing profusely as they had to work through the Christmas period to meet a deadline. As usual, he understood it was her job and she had responsibilities, but it just plain sucked that he wasn’t going to have her home to celebrate.

He just hoped that they had a better shot at New Years Eve.

“So we’re doing 24th dinner here, and presents in the morning and then 25th dinner at mom and dad’s,” Sam explained, passing the box of orange chicken to Dean across the table.

“Sounds good,” Dean muttered, taking some of the chicken out onto his plate. “I gotta go to Benny’s after I’m done with work, but I’ll be here after that.”

Sam nodded, as he took the noodles from Eileen. “What time is Y/N flying in?”

Dean pursed his lips as he looked between both of them, totally forgetting the fact that he hadn’t told them yet. “Uh, she’s actually not gonna be here for Christmas. Her team’s working through to meet a deadline and she can’t make it.”

“Seriously? She’s not going to be here?” Eileen signed, frowning as she watched Dean sit back in his chair.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean, yeah it sucks that this’ll be our first time away from each other during Christmas, but she’s gotta work.”

“You’re shockingly cool about this,” Sam stated.

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “What do you want me to say, Sammy? You want me to say I want her here for Christmas, because it’s already been 5 months without her being home? Yeah, that’s what I want, okay? I really want that, but it’s her job, man. I can’t argue with that.”

Shoving a huge forkful of food meant the conversation was over, but as they continued with dinner and moved onto talking about other things, Sam couldn’t get the thought of Y/N not coming home for Christmas out of his mind.

Maybe he had to use his persuasive skills thanks to his job for this situation too.

If there was one place Y/N didn’t want to be so close to Christmas, it was work.

Relocating to Philadelphia had been exciting at first, even if she was sad about leaving her friends and family behind in Lawrence. She knew 10 months was going to be a lot, but she hoped with all the work that needed to be done, that time would fly by. However, it had 5 months of ridiculous hours, and only getting to see her boyfriend once every few weeks, if they could manage it. The work was fine, she was good at her job, but she never loved it. It was only meant to be temporary when she was back at the Kansas City branch, but when her boss asked her to relocate she hoped that it was just a way to prove herself and get back home sooner. Maybe even get a promotion because of it. Then hearing that she couldn’t travel back for the holidays was the tasteless icing on a shitty cake.

She just prayed they could meet the deadline by the weekend and she could still try and make it before it was too late.

Y/N finished typing up the latest report that needed to be collated with the others, emailing it to the administrative assistant of her department. Checking the time, she sighed in relief that it was just after 1pm and she could finally eat. Picking up her purse, she walked out of her office, her heels clacking against the wooden floors as she passed the assistant’s desk.

“Hey, Riley. I just emailed you the latest report, can you make 10 copies of those and have them on my desk by the end of lunch?” she asked, slinging her tote over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Riley replied, blandly as she ignored her.

Y/N closed her eyes, breathed in deep before she exhaled, trying to let go of her frustration. She looked at the younger blonde woman, plastering on a polite smile. “Please. In half an hour.”

She walked away before she caught Riley no doubt rolling her eyes, making her way to the elevators. She went down a few floors to the cafeteria, opting for lunch inside rather than enduring the cold and finding a cafe to go to. She didn’t have the energy or willpower for that today. As she sat down with her salad and water, she checked her texts and other emails she hadn’t gotten to yet. She scrolled mindlessly on Instagram, liking a post every now and then as she shoved food into her mouth. Her thumb lingered on one post, a sad smile pulling at her lips when she saw her boyfriend and his brother and sister-in-law just taking a casual selfie at family dinner, something she also would’ve been a part of had she been there. Double tapping and moving on after the heart appeared, she flinched as her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her. She recovered quickly, seeing Sam’s name pop up on the screen.

“Hey, Sam,” she answered, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hey! How’s Philly treating you?” he asked, no doubt smiling.

“Just making me wish I was somewhere tropical right now,” she replied, glancing out the huge glass windows at the bleak sky.

She heard his boisterous laugh through the speaker, making her smile softly. “Well, it’s not much better here in Kansas, but we’re getting through it. Missing those gingerbread cookies of yours, though.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m missing the fact that I haven’t made them this year,” she admitted. “And I miss y’all enjoying them, too.”

“So… maybe we can expect a small batch at least if you swing by for just Christmas Eve and Christmas Day?” he asked, suggestively.

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Sam. I mean, I really want to and I’m working overtime just trying to get stuff done so that I can hopefully make it in time, but I don’t even know if we’ll be done by Tuesday at this point.”

Sam was quiet for a moment before she heard his soft timbre.

“Look, Y/N, I know that it’s your job and if you really can’t make it work then I completely understand… but if there’s a way you can, then just know that at least my brother’s not going to be brooding at the dinner table.”

She huffed a small laugh at that. She knew Dean was just being supportive of her and she loved him for it, but she wouldn’t have blamed him for being upset about this unfortunate circumstance. She was upset about it, knowing she’d much rather be with all of them.

“Okay, Sam. I’m gonna try like hell to be there,” she stated, firmly.

“Good. See you soon,” Sam ended the call with what she hoped was his words to God’s ears.

Y/N sat back in chair, fingers tapping against the screen of his phone, causing it to light up and show her she still had fifteen minutes before she had to head up to her desk. While she had hoped this relocation would be a way to come home to promotion, it was that she wished she could find her way home before kicking this job to the curb. She didn’t know how much longer she could handle being away from everyone, or how much longer she could endure the work that gave her absolutely no joy. Her phone buzzed again, this a text from her boss in all caps, reading: BE UP IN 5!!!

She glared down at the message, shaking her head as she considered the fact that she just felt like a pack mule carrying the entire load of the work and getting nothing in return. She had been there 6 years and barely had anything to show for it. She breathed in deep, closed her eyes and when she eventually opened them again, she knew what she needed to do. Something she should’ve done a long time ago.

When she got to her boss’s office, she walked in and was greeted by his scowling face barking orders at her. They went in one ear and out the other as she sat down calmly in the chair in front of his desk, waiting for him to finish before she spoke.

“There’s actually something we need to talk about first.”

Snowfall had begun and was sticking to the ground by the time Dean got home from his last day of work until after the new year began.

After leaving and making a quick stop at Benny’s to catch up before he left for Louisiana, he was intending to go straight to Sam’s, but he decided to go home first and change. Truly he didn’t care anymore if he was a dishevelled mess after work, but his mom would’ve had a few things to say and he didn’t want to deal with that today. It was Christmas Eve, and all he wanted to do was eat, drink and not think about the fact that Y/N was all the way in Philadelphia. He kept his mind occupied with the thought of food and alcohol, and not his beautiful girlfriend that he hadn’t seen in months. He missed her too much and he supposed for the sake of everyone in his family he should at least try not to dwell on the fact that she wasn’t there with them, to be more tolerable for the next few days.

He walked into the house, closing the door behind him and blocking out the cold. He frowned as he felt the house was warmer than usual, which meant he probably didn’t turn the heat off before leaving in the morning. Shaking his head at his own forgetfulness, he took off his coat and scarf, hung it up and was about to slip his loafers off when he heard a clattering sound from the kitchen. His jaw clenched as he stilled himself, wondering if he was just hearing things but then he heard the oven open and close, making him realize that the house was wafting with the smell of ginger and cinnamon. He took slow, tentative steps towards the arch to the living room and kitchen area, his heart beating rapidly in his chest until he saw the intruder he thought had broken very easily into his home wasn’t an intruder at all.

“Hey, baby,” Y/N greeted him with her signature beaming smile, placing a tray of her famous gingerbread cookies on the kitchen counter.

His eyes widened as he looked around the room before he focused on her. “I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or be insulted,” she teased, leaning her hands on the edge of the bench.

A smirk crept up on his face as he stared at her, taking in her beautiful face. “Fuck.”

He rushed over just as she skipped out of the kitchen and met him halfway, jumping up and wrapping her arms around him. She squealed as his arms wrapped tight around her waist, spinning her around as she buried her face into his neck. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw before looking deep into her eyes, confirming that this wasn’t a dream and pressing a searing kiss to her lips.

“Okay, okay, wait,” he muttered, pulling away but his face was still close to hers. “How the fuck are you here? I thought you had to work all-”

“Well, it turns out that I couldn’t take one more day in that place and being away from you,” she said, her hand combing through his short hair. “So, after a very brief but convincing phone call from your brother I went to my boss and asked if I could come home.”

“Damn, that was generous of him,” he stated, holding her tight. “I thought he was a hardass.”

“Oh, he is and he made a big noise about me leaving before the deadline, so I quit.”

“What?” he asked, frowning. “Babe, wait. Why would you do that?”

“Because I already had one foot out the door these last few months and I couldn’t spend another day doing something I didn’t love,” she explained, pecking his lips. “Plus, I missed you too much.”

“Y/N,” he shook his head, comprehending everything she just told him. “You gotta be totally sure about this, ‘cause-”

She cut him off with a soft kiss to his lips, looking deep into his eyes. “I am.”

“Fuck, I missed you so much, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. “I guess I owe Sam, huh?”

“Yes, and I owe him a whole batch of cookies just for him,” she chuckled, pointing her thumb behind her to the kitchen.

He hummed as he kissed her once, twice as he walked back towards the staircase near the front of the house. “That’s gonna have to wait until I’m done with you, though.”

“Dean, I have to put another batch in!” she exclaimed as he carried her upstairs.

“Later,” he breathed, his gaze intense as he looked into her eyes. “Right now we got a lot of time to make up for.”

“We’ll be late,” she mumbled between kisses as he moved towards their bed.

“They’ll live.”

She giggled as they quickly stripped themselves of their clothes before he helped her onto the bed. She laid down and pulled him with her, wrapping herself around him as he kissed her, roughly. Taking her hands in his, he moved them above her head, drifting down and leaving a trail of kisses along her body. Time apart hadn’t hindered the effect that he had on her, her legs immediately falling open as he nipped and licked along her soft skin. She sighed as his tongue found the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs, her fingers combing into his locks and keeping him in place. Soft moans gained volume as he continued to pleasure her with his talented mouth.

“Dean, oh god,” she moaned, loudly, throwing her head back. “Fuck, I missed this.”

He chuckled as he pulled away slightly, looking up at her. “Gotta make sure you didn’t forget it.”

“As if I ever could,” she sighed, meeting his gaze.

He continued his ministrations, groaning at the feel and taste of her against his tongue as he circled the bundle of nerves. He slipped two fingers into her, a sharp cry escaping her as he wasted no time and set a quick pace, finding that sweet spot inside with each thrust. Her arousal grew as he kept going, the familiar heat pooling deep in her core and she knew she was close. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time, hadn’t felt him in such a long time and she found herself growing impatient.

“Dean, please,” she pleaded, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I’m so close, baby, please.”

She gripped his hair roughly between her fingers as he sped up, his tongue flicking over her clit expertly. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the burning knot in her stomach wind tighter, his name falling from her lips in a loud whimper once she reached the blissful peak. Her wetness coated his tongue and fingers as he slowly withdrew from her, shifting up and pressing his lips to hers. She moaned at the taste of herself against him, clinging to him as he gathered her in his embrace.

“Fuck me,” she ordered, her lustful gaze meeting his. “Now, right now, please…”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice, babe,” he grinned.

He took hold of his hard shaft, notching himself to her entrance and in one quick motion, buried himself inside her soft walls. Her mouth fell open as a long moan escaped her, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulled out slightly, sliding into her wet heat again and setting a languid rhythm to his thrusts.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he groaned, nipping at her jaw. “Missed feeling this sweet little pussy around my cock.”

Their faces were close as they gazed into each other’s eyes, neither wanting to look away considering how long it had been without this type of connection. She shifted her hips to meet his, the pace not being enough to satisfy her in that moment. She wanted more, needed more.

“Harder, Dean,” she gasped, pulling him closer by his shoulders. “Fuck me harder, wanna feel it for days…”

“Yeah? You wanna feel my dick deep inside you, huh?” he husked, low and rough.

She whined with desperation, the rumble of his voice making her clench around him. One hand slid down his muscular back, squeezing the curve of his pert ass. “Yeah, fuck me like you missed me, baby. Come on.”

She got exactly what she wanted as he slammed into her, a shrieking moan falling from her lips, feet locked as she wrapped herself around him to keep him right where he was. He pounded into her, the head of his cock pressing against that spot that made her toes curl, that caused her moans to grow louder with each stroke.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” she whimpered, her eyes half closed in bliss. “Right there, Dean, feel so fucking good inside me.”

“So perfect, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “So fucking perfect.”

She grabbed his face in both of her hands and pulled him into a passionate kiss, their lips fused together as he continued to move within her. He felt her slick walls clench around him, her impending release as close as his.

She hummed as she looked up at him, her thumb stroking his jaw. “So close, Dean…”

He smirked as his hand drifted down between their bodies, his fingers circling her clit and making her eyes widen as she clung to him. Her breath stuttered as he moved them faster, in time with the hard drive of his hips against her, the heat deep in her core growing. With another thrust, her walls contracted around him as she came undone, a sharp cry of his name from between her lips as her arousal covered his shaft. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer as his hips faltered, his cock throbbing inside her as he felt a heat curling in his belly.

“Cum inside me, baby,” her soft voice encouraged, her eyes sparkling with love for him. “Fill me up, I wanna feel it.”

A guttural moan rumbled in his chest as he slammed harder into her, his rhythm sloppier as he felt himself about to reach that perfect release. A shaky grunt escaped him as he finally shattered, pushing into her as far as possible. She moaned softly in his ear as she felt spurts of his seed flood her, content with being filled by him. He rolled his hips into her, the need to get his come as deep as he could inside her overwhelming in that moment.

He slowly dropped down on top of her, his head falling on her chest as her fingers combed his hair. They breathed heavily, coming down from the high they hadn’t experienced in a long time. She bit her lip as she stared up at the ceiling, a small giggle bubbling up through her lips. He lifted his head, resting his chin on her as he looked into her eyes.

“What?” His voice was low but rough from their activity.

She shook her head, smiling down at him. “Just… I’m so happy to be home. I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he husked, kissing her chest. “Best Christmas ever.”

She beamed, her lips resting against his forehead as she sighed. She had never been happier about a decision in her life, and she was glad she came home before it was too late to celebrate the holidays.

“Best Christmas ever.”

[happilyhertale]

Take your Place – Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Your husband was away for months, leading the battle against the Triarchy and ultimately bringing victory. Now he is back and a ball is being held in celebration. Throughout the evening, you have spoken with many lords and ladies – but you have not seen the person you long for. So you go in search of him.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Sex (p in v)

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.8 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The hall is filled with music and laughter. Lords and ladies are sitting at the various tables, engrossed in conversation. The wine tastes good and has already caused a few men to slip off their chairs tonight. And this exuberant mood is appropriate, because the Triarchy has finally been repelled in the Stepstones and your husband is being celebrated for it.

You walk through the rows of tables, looking for your husband. You know that he is most likely sitting somewhere with his men and has already had way too much to drink. But although you would normally be able to spot his silver hair anywhere, you can't see him.

But then something grabs your hand and pulls you down roughly. You cry out a little and are about to answer this impertinence with a slap in the face. But you look up as you land on a lap, fingers on your face, caressing you, while a drunken smile reflects back at you.

“Daemon!” you say, but you can't stop the smile that is already spreading across your face. You slowly try to get up again, but Daemon has other plans. His arms wrap around you and he presses his face into the crook of your neck while pressing your back against his chest.

“Stay.” is the only thing he slurs, and you notice the wine on his breath, which he has been consuming all evening.

You just smile slightly, but nod barely noticeable, as you stay on his lap. Your eyes wander around and you were right, his men have spent the evening with him. Some are already hanging drunk in the chairs and a few others are still trying to talk, but you only perceive a kind of grunt.

Daemon kisses your neck, his fingers press lightly into your thighs as he whispers in a low voice, “What are we going to do after this ball?”

You glance slightly over your shoulder and your eyes meet. His gaze is almost soft and you have to smile, “well... I'm going to go to sleep after this ball... you'll probably throw up...” you say to him, trying to suppress a smile.

Daemon chuckles and then laughs a little – he can't deny how many times he's thrown up in a bowl while you've been in bed.

“You know damn well that's not what I meant,” he mutters into your neck as his laughter subsides.

Now you have to giggle a little, “No?” you ask playfully, “I don't know what you mean...”

Daemon leans in and kisses your neck again, breathing into your ear, “I mean that I'd like to spend some time alone with you, love.”

Your eyes are locked on him and you see the determination in his gaze.

“Are you sure you're capable of having a night of pleasure... you're very drunk ...” you say softly.

Daemon grins drunkenly and caresses your cheek. He leans forward and whispers seductively in your ear.

“I'm not too drunk to make you moan, love.”

Your cheeks flush and your eyes widen.

“Daemon!” you say, and even some of his men grin at you, seeming to know what he's saying to make you blush.

Daemon grins at you and his fingers press into your thighs again as he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.

“I'm not too drunk to make you scream for me, love.”

The blush is now creeping down your cleavage. You bite your lip lightly.

“Stop it, Daemon...” you whisper, but you try to squeeze your thighs together a little as you notice the pulsing between your thighs.

Daemon chuckles at your reaction and squeezes your thighs even tighter. He continues to whisper seductively in your ear, “Then stop me, love. Come on.”

You can't stop yourself and you move your hips slightly to create some friction. But then Daemon grabs you and lifts you slightly to turn you on his lap. Confusion graces your features until you straddle him. “We're not supposed to be doing this here,” you say quietly, but he just grins.

“What? You're my wife and you're happy that I'm back... and you show me that by sitting on my lap,” he says, his words slightly slurred. You just shake your head slightly, but before you can say anything, Daemon presses his lips against yours. You gasp slightly, but you respond to his kiss. He grins when he feels your hips moving again, grinding against him slightly. He caresses your cheek and pulls you closer to him, his tongue meeting yours and your kiss intensifying. You feel him getting hard and you let out a small moan, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Daemon smiles a little as he feels that you cannot stop moving, that you keep grinding against him. He pulls your hips closer to him as he speaks, letting his fingers glide along your thighs. His lips gently slide down your neck and whispers seductively, “I'd like to see your dress on the floor.” Your eyes flutter closed and his words elicit a slight moan from your lips. But you bite your lip to make no further sound.

“The skirt of my dress is very wide...” you finally whisper softly, breathing heavily. “Maybe you could unbutton your trousers and... I mean, I could sit on you and no one would notice...“ you say quietly.

“But you're already sitting on me...” he mumbles teasingly and gets an annoyed look from you. Daemon glances over at his men and tries not to grin. None of them are looking in your direction, they seem to be engaged in conversation or have their heads on the table, snoring.

“But maybe.. it could work,” he mutters finally. Daemon slides his hand under your skirt, begins to unbutton his trousers, and glances at you from time to time. You look at him, everything except for your upper bodies is hidden under the skirt of your dress. Daemon lets his hands move back to your hips and you move slightly again. Then you have to suppress a moan as you feel his hard cock, how its length presses against your folds. His hands slide to your hips, gripping you, as he presses his the tip of your cock against your entrance.

You look at him, gasp slightly and then lean forward to kiss him as you feel your cunt clench around nothing from the mere anticipation of getting to sheath him. Slowly you lift up and then slowly lower yourself onto his hard cock.

You let yourself sink all the way down, your breath catching. You don't move so that no one can see what you are doing, but you're breathing out heavily.

Daemon suppresses a groan as he feels you move. He leans back further in his chair, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly. His smile widens a little, you feel his cock twitch slightly inside you. “You're so filthy, love,” he murmurs. You bite your lip, moving your hips slightly. “Gods... Daemon...,” you whisper. You close your eyes as he fills you completely. Daemon's moans are becoming harder and harder to suppress. He looks around to make sure his men are not watching. He leans forward to speak seductively in your ear, “Good girl. You feel so good,“ and makes you whimper. “I've missed your big cock...“ you suddenly let slip, making Daemon chuckle briefly, but it ends in a groan as he feels you moving up and down slowly.

“Gods... You feel so good, my love.” He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth as he leans back in his chair and his hands return to your thighs. His hand finds its way under your skirt, his fingertips leaving a fiery trail on your skin.

His thumb glides through your folds until he finds your clit and begins to rub it, making you whimper again “Daemon... I... I...” you stutter as your hips move a little faster. You slide up and down along his length, breathing heavily, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, gripping him, and he growls. Daemon leans forward again, biting your earlobe, “Good girl. That's a good girl.” He leans his head back again, trying to suppress a groan. His gaze returns to you, and he feels your cunt flutter around his cock as you slam your hips down on him. His thumb rubs faster as he kisses you again.

“Come on... Show me how much you've missed this... Riding me... My cock deep inside your tight cunt,” he growls against your lips. And then you moan into his mouth. Your pussy clutches his thick cock. “Gods...” you whimper as your orgasm floods your body. Your cunt milks his cock as you slide up and down. He grunts as he feels his balls tighten. “Daemon...” you whimper, your hand on his neck slides into his hair, grabs lightly while you cum all over his cock. Daemon bites the inside of his lip to suppress a groan. His eyes are closed and his expression is full of lust; he is visibly enjoying it. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm subsides. You are breathing heavily, your eyes are closed. Slowly you open them again, you feel his hips moving slightly again. “Did you come?“ you ask in a whisper. Daemon sighs contentedly and looks down at you. He glances around to make sure that no one is around. ”Not yet, my love,” he speaks softly and caresses your face. “And you will help me finish it,” he grunts. You nod and lean forward again to kiss him. Your hips move slightly faster. “Come for me, my dragon,“ you whisper against his lips. Daemon is breathing heavily and his eyes are closed. He moans softly, your words making his cock twitch. He grabs your waist. "I'm close, love. I'm close.” “Fill me, my dragon...” you whisper against his lips. While you press your hips firmly against him. His cock is deep inside your tight heat as you gyrate your hips. Your hips move faster as you gently bite his lip.

And then he moans, his hips thrusting up and making you squeak slightly. He growls as he pumps his cum into you. You kiss him again and let your hips slow down. You slide up and down more slowly, milking the last drop out of him, to ride out his orgasm. His eyes are closed as he breathes heavily, clenching his teeth. “Love,” he growls.

Daemon leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. He tries to speak but nothing but breathless groans come out, although he tries to hide it. His breathing is slow and shallow as he holds you. “Gods, Love, gods.” he gasps quietly. You giggle slightly and gently kiss his cheek.

“Shall we retire to our chambers?” you whisper, and he just nods. His hands slide back under your skirt, fully covering himself again, and then he helps you up from his lap.

[venic-bxtch]

Joe x wife reader = romantic getaway

⋆·˚ ༘ *Husband!Joe x Wife!Reader ⋆·˚ ༘ *

The gentle hum of the plane’s engine was the only sound as you leaned your head on Joe’s shoulder, watching the horizon melt into shades of pink and gold. His fingers lazily traced patterns on the back of your hand, his touch warm and familiar. It was rare to get moments like this—just the two of you, away from the noise, away from his demanding schedule, and away from the endless pull of responsibilities. This trip was something you both needed, and the excitement of what lay ahead was already bubbling in your chest.

As the plane touched down on the private island, Joe turned to you with a grin, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Ready for paradise?” he asked, squeezing your hand.

You nodded, a matching smile tugging at your lips. “Lead the way, Burrow.”

The resort was straight out of a dream: white sand beaches, crystal-clear water, and your own private villa tucked away from the world. As you stepped into the villa, you couldn’t help but gasp. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the ocean, the soft sound of waves lapping at the shore creating an instant sense of calm. A king-sized bed draped in sheer white fabric sat in the center of the room, and outside on the deck, a private infinity pool sparkled under the sun.

Joe dropped your bags by the door and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Worth it?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You leaned back into him, closing your eyes for a moment as you let the peace of the moment wash over you. “More than worth it,” you whispered. “This is perfect.”

The first day was spent doing nothing but relaxing. Joe insisted on carrying you into the pool, your laughter echoing through the air as he spun you around before gently lowering you into the water. You spent hours just floating there together, the weight of the world forgotten as you talked about everything and nothing. Later, he ordered room service—a luxurious spread of fresh seafood and tropical cocktails—and the two of you ate on the deck as the sun dipped below the horizon.

That evening, Joe surprised you with a candlelit bath on the deck, the tub filled with rose petals and the soft glow of lanterns casting a romantic light over the space. He poured you a glass of wine and slid into the water beside you, pulling you close until your back was resting against his chest.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he admitted, his voice soft as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your arm. “Just you and me. No distractions.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. “Me too,” you said, your voice just as quiet. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

His expression softened further as he leaned down to kiss you, slow and sweet, as if he had all the time in the world. And in that moment, it felt like he did.

The next day, Joe insisted on taking you on an adventure. He rented a boat, and the two of you spent the morning exploring hidden coves and snorkeling in the vibrant coral reefs. You laughed as he tried—and failed—to catch a fish with his bare hands, his competitive streak getting the better of him as he splashed around in the water. By the time you returned to the villa, your cheeks were sore from smiling, and your heart felt lighter than it had in months.

That evening, the resort had arranged a private dinner on the beach. A table for two was set up under a canopy of twinkling lights, the sound of the waves providing the perfect background music. Joe pulled out your chair for you, ever the gentleman, and the two of you shared a meal that felt like something out of a movie.

As the night went on, Joe reached across the table to take your hand, his thumb brushing over your wedding ring. “I know things have been hectic lately,” he said, his voice earnest. “But I want you to know how much you mean to me. How grateful I am for you—for us.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion as you squeezed his hand. “I know, Joe. And I feel the same way. I wouldn’t trade this life with you for anything.”

He smiled then, that soft, boyish grin that never failed to make your heart flutter. “Good. Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The night ended with the two of you dancing barefoot in the sand, the stars overhead and the world fading away until it was just you and him. As he held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you realized that moments like this were what it was all about. No matter how busy life got, no matter the challenges that came your way, as long as you had each other, you had everything.

Taglist: @heavyhitterheaux @inmyfeelingsgnocchi @nami-swannn @iknowdatsrightbih @ikeepitlight @joeyfranchise @joeybsboo @funnyjb

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

Quite frankly… GP had expected fireworks. 

He had expected Max and Ariel to have explosive disagreements. He had expected her to give up 6 months in. He had expected them to clash at every turn. A battle of wills.

What he hadn't expected however...was the fact that the two of them needed less than 2 months to be completely and utterly besotted with each other.

Or Best Friends as they had titled themselves.

They got along creepily well. They didn't have disagreements. Or if they had, then they didn’t have them anywhere GP or any other staff member was privy too. 

Max and Ariel had an almost...terrifying dynamic. It was like they were on the same wave length, like they thought the same things at exactly the same time.

And the way Max would look at her sometimes...

It was like he was mesmerized.

But more than that...Max also actually... listened to her. 

She could say something to him and he would actually stop and think about it. She had a way to say things to him that made the cogs in his brain spin and Max actually reconsidered. It was almost unbelievable.

Max Verstappen: renowned wild child, and international racing car river… Was hanging on the words of a young, attractive girl. Not only hanging on her words, but taking them into account and adjusting his behavior according to them.

GP sometimes wished he could bottle some of that when Max was being unreasonable to him. 

But it seemed to be something that was just…utterly Ariel. 

Ariel who turned the mighty Dutch Lion off the race track into a domesticated kitten that looked at her adoringly and who GP had found more than once in his driver’s room napping with his head in her lap, while Ariel drew her fingernails over his scalp and answered her emails one-handed. 

Max clearly wasn’t the only one who was besotted. 

That was the part that was most concerning to GP. The fact that Ariel seemed to be just as head over heels for Max as Max was for her.

It was a mind-boggling turn of events. Gianpiero still had a bit of trouble wrapping his head around it, and it had been almost one and a half years since these two started working together.

It was crazy. It was insane. It almost felt surreal.

But there was no denying it. Max Verstappen was actually paying attention to Ariel's opinions and advice.

GP still couldn't decide if he was impressed, confused, scared or all of the above.

The rest of the team spent much of the 2020 season not worried about a global pandemic but wondering when the two of them would figure things out. GP had to admit, he and the other members of the team had more pressing things to worry about than the relationship between Max and Ariel. Between dealing with the restrictions and disruptions caused by the global pandemic, as well as Max Verstappen's actual races, there was plenty to worry about.

However, the ongoing...whatever was going on between the two of them was a frequent topic of conversation.

"Do you think they're dating?" one of the mechanics would ask.

"Nah, they're just friends," another one would reply.

"No way, there's something going on there," yet another person would chime in.

The constant chatter and speculation about Max and Ariel's relationship went on for months.

"I bet they're dating in secret," one of the engineers would say.

"Not a chance, they're just friends," a press officer would counter.

"I don't know, they seem pretty cozy together," a member of the marketing team would chime in.

It was like a never-ending game of “guess the relationship status”.

And then... Silverstone 2021 happened.

Gianpiero still winced when he thought about that day. 

It was one of the most intense and stressful races of the season. The mood around the Red Bull team was tense as the race unfolded. Everyone was on edge as they watched Max battle it out with Lewis. And then Max and Lewis Hamilton had come into contact. 

GP watched as the two cars came together at Copse corner, a sickening feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

The Mercedes was fine. The Red Bull careened into the wall.

GP would never forget those moments after the crash. The seconds that ticked by as they waited for confirmation that Max was alive and conscious. The silence, as everyone in the team held their breath, waiting for news.

He didn’t know how Ariel had reacted to it. He ha been so focused on the radio an the life stream to the accient sight, that Ariel hadn’t been on his mind. 

He did later hear that Ariel had been waiting in the medical tent by the time Max had been brought in there… that she had been in the hospital with him, when they had scanned his brain and sent him back to the hotel with a concussion and bruises but thankfully, gloriously alive…

The next morning he showed up at Max’s hotel room with definitely nutritionist unapproved cinnamon rolls and coffe, because the guy had nearly died, so the least he deserved was a sugar rush. 

Ariel was the one who answered the door.

There, standing in the doorway to Max's hotel room, was Ariel. She wore a simple t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and her hair was tousled, indicating that she had just woken up.

GP blinked, momentarily taken aback by her presence. "Ariel," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Is...Max still asleep?" 

He was also quite sure that she was wearing Max‘s shirt because it was too big for her, hanging loosely off her slender frame.

“I would be, but somebody insisted on waking me every hour,” came the grumbling voice of Max from inside the room. 

GP quirked an eyebrow at Ariel, who just rolled her eyes. He couldn't help but notice the look of fondness on Ariel's face even as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Good Morning, GP, I hope you slept well,” she greeted him drily, opening the door for him to enter the room. 

“And just for the record, it was Doctor’s orders because of his concussion,” Ariel explained. 

It made sense, but still...GP couldn’t help but find it slightly amusing that Ariel was the one who was apparently tasked with waking Max up every half-hour.

Max sat on the bed, still looking a bit groggy. He gave GP a sleepy nod in greeting, while Ariel closed the door behind him. 

GP couldn’t help but notice the domesticity of the scene. The two of them just woken up, in Max’s hotel room, and Ariel...wearing Max’s shirt. He returned Max's sleepy nod and turned his gaze towards Ariel, who leaned against the closed door with a fond yet slightly weary expression.

As he observed the domestic scene in front of him, GP couldn’t help but notice how...natural and effortless they seemed together. Max, still weary and in his pajamas, and Ariel, wearing his shirt, standing by his side.

"How are you feeling?" GP inquired, addressing Max. His eyes flicked between the two young people in front of him, trying to gauge the situation.

Max shrugged, running a hand through his messy hair. "Like Lewis Hamilton shunted me into a wall," he replied his voice quiet.

GP gave a sympathetic wince at that. "That bad, huh?"

Max nodded, a grim expression on his face. "Yeah, that bad," he said gruffly. "My head feels like it's been used as a boxing bag, and my back is killing me."

GP grimaced again. "Well, that's to be expected. You took a pretty hard hit."

He paused, studying Max's face for a moment before adding, "I know the doctors said you'll be okay, but you scared us all there for a bit."

Max grunted in acknowledgment, "Yeah, I guess I did." He looked a bit sheepish for a moment before returning his gaze to GP. "Sorry for worrying everyone," he muttered, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes, like he was secretly pleased with the attention.

Gianpiero gave a dry chuckle. "No need to apologize. You didn't plan on getting shunted into a wall, after all."

He glanced around the room, taking in the mess of clothes, blankets, and various medical supplies scattered around the bed.

"Looks like you have a good nurse keeping you company, though," he noted, shooting a look at Ariel.

She was still standing by the door, her head propped up against it lazily, watching the two men with a small, fond smile.

Max's mouth curled into a smirk. "The best nurse there is," he said with a shrug. “Even when she has a horrible bedside manner,” Max added drily. 

"Yeah, and you told me to fuck off," Ariel shot back.

A smirk tugged at the corner of GP’s mouth as he watched the exchange between the two.

Max reached out and patted the bed beside him, signaling for Ariel to sit down. She pushed off the door and padded over, sitting down beside Max and letting him wrap an arm around her.

GP found himself raising an eyebrow at the sight, taking notice of how comfortable and natural the gesture seemed to be for these two.

GP couldn’t deny it; the sight of Max’s arm wrapped around her like it was the most natural thing in the world, didn’t surprise him as much as it should’ve. There was something about their dynamic that was strangely magnetic…and a little disconcerting.

Max grumbled a bit, but there was no heat in his voice. "You deserved it," he muttered. "Who the fuck wakes someone up every hour after a concussion?"

Ariel rolled her eyes, a hint of amused irritation in her tone. "Someone who doesn't want your brain to leak out your ears," she shot back. "And I don't have a horrible bedside manner, you're just a pain in the ass when you're concussed."

Max huffed in mock affront, feigning offense. "I'll have you know, I'm a model patient when I'm concussed," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. GP let out a snort, silently disagreeing with Max's statement.

"Yeah, right," Ariel said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Because a model patient throws a pillow at the person trying to wake them up every hour."

Max shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic. "You shouldn't have said I was being cranky," he said with a sly grin.

Ariel rolled her eyes again, a hint of fond irritation in her expression. "I was only being honest," she said dryly. "You were being grumpy and moody and impossible to deal with."

Max feigned offense once more. "Grumpy and moody?" he repeated, sounding offended. "I wasn't being grumpy and moody! I was just...in pain. And tired."

Ariel shot him a disbelieving glance. "That's just a nice way of saying grumpy and moody," she pointed out. Gianpiero quietly chuckled, finding their banter quite entertaining.

Max pouted, his lower lip sticking out in a pouty expression that would have look silly on most people. On him, it looked...well, adorable. "I was being justifiably grumpy," he protested, and yet there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Quite frankly, GP had expected Max to be...well, furious about the crash. About the fact that he had had pole position and would have probably stoo on the podium if not actually won....

GP would’ve been furious if he were in Max’s shoes...but Max wasn’t angry. He seemed more resigned than anything, and strangely...comfortable. GP had to wonder if it was because of Ariel’s presence by his side.

There was something about Max when he was around her, like a transformation from his usual hotheaded, fiery self, to a calmer, gentler version of himself

"You seem surprisingly calm for someone who was on track to win the race before you were shunted off the track," GP noted, fixing Max with a curious glance. "I thought you would be angrier," he said carefully.

GP studied Max curiously, noting the slight wince of pain on his face as he shifted on the bed. Max's response was a nonchalant shrug, coupled with a grimace. "Oh, I am angry," he replied gruffly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "But somebody really smart has to me, that being pissed off won't change anything. It's not going to un-crash the car or heal my head."

GP couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle at that. Max’s grumbling response combined with the way he looked so disgruntled and resigned was rather amusing. "Somebody really smart, huh?" he repeated, looking pointedly at Ariel.

Max’s mouth curled into a half-smile, and he shot a sideways glance at Ariel. "Yeah, somebody really smart," he said with a hint of emphasis. Gianpiero noticed the way Max looked at her, a mixture of affection and something else in his eyes.

"And she also reminded me that nothing would hurt Mercedes more than to lose the championship," Max continued. “Looking back won’t help me win either.” 

GP’s eyebrows rose. "So...you're going to win the championship out of spite?" GP inquired, half-joking.

Max shrugged, a wicked grin on his lips. "Why not?" he said, his voice almost nonchalant. "If it'll really piss Mercedes off, I'm all for it. Plus, I get a championship. Win-win situation, right?"

"Powered by spite and Red Bull," Ariel said with some amusement.

Gianpiero chuckled at that, watching as Max nodded in agreement. "Nothing like a little spite and Red Bull to fuel a championship win," he agreed with a grin.

[jessiexflem]

– the black dog | jessie fleming x reader

Part 2 to So Long, London!

warnings: angst, happy-ish ending?

As you push open the heavy wooden door to your favorite North London pub, the smell of malt beer and greasy chips infiltrates your nose. Leah waves you over, her and Emily having already found a four-top near the bar. Ignoring their choice of specific table, you hug your teammates in greeting. Emily slides a pint toward you, and you smile at her in appreciation. Bringing the glass to your lips, you nod toward the empty seat next to you as you take a sip of your drink. You lick the layer of foam off of your top lip, savoring the sweet, carmelly taste of your favorite beer.

“Beth’s running a few minutes late,” Leah glances at her watch, “but she should be here soon. You settled back home okay?”

You nod, taking another swig of your beer, the cold liquid a stark contrast to the August heat. It was by no means sweltering in London, but the humidity after this morning’s rain and lack of air conditioning in the pub made your legs stick to your barstool. You had a few days off between the end of the Olympics and Arsenal’s preseason tour in the States, so some of the girls wanted to have a casual night out prior to your long travel day this weekend. Despite having only gotten home from Paris the other day and a nagging gut feeling that you should stay in, you missed your club teammates and wanted to catch up with them off the pitch.

Leah fills you in on her prior conversation with Emily, which had been an update of what the two of you had missed while you were at the Olympics. You laugh as the Englishwoman narrowly misses a passerby as she’s flailing her arms while recalling her and Keira’s trip to Ibiza. 

“Keira almost fell off of a wha–?” Emily, who’s clutching her stomach laughing, gets cut off by a frantic Beth scurrying toward the table.

“9-1-1, 9-9-9, red alert, red alert!” Beth blurts out with a panicked look on her face. Your eyes follow hers as she nervously scans the crowd behind her. She turns back toward the three of you, looking like she had seen a ghost.

“Red alert? Beth, what’s wrong?” you ask, noticing Emily’s posture straightening and Leah’s face hardening out of the corner of your eye.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls your name from behind you. A too familiar voice. A voice you hadn’t heard in months. Your eyes shut closed as heat rises in your chest. You take a deep breath and mentally count to three, fog already threatening to cloud your head. Exhaling, you turn toward the voice and open your eyes to confirm your fears.

“Jessie,” your voice wavers as you take in the sight of her. Though she fundamentally looked the same as she did that night in January, you noticed how her cheeks were dotted with a greater amount of freckles, and how her curls were more defined from her growing her hair out. Her eyes were soft, unsure of how you would react to her showing up unannounced.

Every feeling you had pushed into a corner in the back of your mind came crashing back at you full force. You hadn’t seen Jessie since you left her apartment in a haste – the second half of last season was spent nursing a nagging hamstring injury, so you were left off of the national team roster for the Gold Cup and SheBelieves. The United States and Canada had avoided each other on the Olympic bracket, so you didn’t cross paths in France either. Contact was limited between you, mostly short messages wishing each other “Happy Birthday” or Jessie texting you to congratulate you and the team on winning the Conti Cup.

You open your mouth again to speak, but nothing comes out. For months, you had practiced what you wanted to say to Jessie when this inevitable reunion occurred, but it was no use; you were at a loss for words.

“Hey,” Jessie chews at the corner of her thumb, a nervous tick you’ve seen her do since you’ve known her, “Could we, do you think we could talk? Outside, I mean?”

“Actually, I think you should leave,” Leah snaps, shooting the Canadian an icy glare.

“It’s okay, Lee,” you look at her in reassurement, before turning back toward Jessie, “Um, sure.”

Before you can stop yourself, your brain goes into autopilot, and you hop off of the barstool to follow Jessie outside. She leads the two of you to a bench a few meters away from the door, gesturing for you to sit. She sits down on the other side, making sure to leave a bit of space between the two of you. A beat of silence passes, neither of you knowing how to broach the subject. You sigh, deciding to break the ice.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be in town.”

Jessie looks at you apologetically, “I didn’t think you wanted to know. Uh, I was hoping I would run into you though, then I saw you sitting at our usual table.”

Not knowing how to respond, you stare down at your feet, kicking away the gravel under your feet. Your mind races, everything you’ve wanted to say to Jessie flooding into your head, but no coherent thoughts sticking long enough to form a full sentence. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Jessie frowns, her voice pulling you back into reality. She always knew when there was something bothering you, saying she could see it in your face whenever you were thinking too hard. 

“What did you bring me out here for, Jess?” you sigh, cutting straight to the point.

Jessie’s heart tugged at hearing you call her by her nickname. You rarely ever called her Jessie, always joking that it felt too formal. Even though her other friends and teammates used the same nickname, it felt different coming from you. More personal, more intimate. Warm. A warmth she had been missing since January, all from something she could have prevented in the first place.

“I miss you.”

You toss your head back and let out a wry laugh, much to Jessie’s chagrin. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” you shake your head, ignoring the twinge in your chest. You, of course, missed your best friend more than anything, but you couldn’t help but keep your guard up.

“Y/N,” Jessie turns her body to face you, “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am. I should’ve told you about my transfer as soon as I found out.”

“Why didn’t you? I understand that it’s your career, and I wanted to support you in everything, Jess, but you really hurt me,” you admit, tears stinging the back of your eyes. Logically, you knew Jessie owed you nothing when it came to her decision to leave, but finding out through a letter on her counter after spending the night together felt like a stab in the chest. She was your best friend, and you thought you meant more to her than that. You loved her, and you trusted her with a part of you that you couldn’t take back.

“I–, I fucked up, Y/N,” she shakes her head, “I know it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“With words would have been nice,” you bite, Jessie wincing at your tone. You immediately shoot her an apologetic glance, you didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. “I guess I just assumed you would tell me something as big as moving countries,” you shrug, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I know, and I wish I could go back and fix everything,” Jessie sighs, “I don’t know why I did it, I was scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what? Jess, you know you could tell me anything, right?”

Jessie squeezes her eyes shut, running a hand through her curls. “I–, I guess telling you meant that the move was real, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to leave yet.”

“Niamh said you requested the transfer.”

“I did. I knew I wanted to leave Chelsea, but I–,” Jessie stammers, “I wasn’t sure if I was ready to leave you.” 

You give Jessie a confused look, furrowing your brows together. You knew she had considered you one of her closest friends, but you couldn’t figure out what she meant by that. You watch the girl take a deep breath before reaching out for your hand resting on the metal bench.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Jessie starts, glancing up at the sky as she tried to formulate what she wanted to say, before looking back into your eyes, “because I love you, I–I’m in love with you, and I knew leaving meant that I couldn’t be with you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as your brain short circuits. She was joking, right? Or, she was saying I love you in the way you had always said I love you to each other, the same way you said I love you to Leah, or Beth, or Emily. She couldn’t possibly be confessing romantic feelings for you, right? But she said in love?

“You’re thinking out loud again,” Jessie gives your hand a squeeze, “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry for how I handled things back then, and I’m sorry that it took me this long to sit down and apologize. I also should probably apologize for using this to tell you how I feel about you because that’s not fair to you, because I really hurt you, and here I am, hoping that you forgive me, but not just because I told you I love you, which I do, but I don’t want to use that as a bargaining chip for your forgivene–”

“Jess,” you cut her off, knowing she would ramble for hours if you let her, “Do you think we could just, uh? Start fresh?”

A hopeful look falls onto Jessie’s face. “Start fresh?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lip, “I don’t want to say start over because what happened isn’t just something I can forget, but if you are open to it, I would like a fresh start, um, to everything.”

“I would like that too,” you watch the weight lift off Jessie’s shoulders as she gives you a small smile, “Pals, again?”

“Maybe a bit more than just pals if you play your apology cards right, Fleming,” you grin. You still had a ways to go before things would be back to how they were, but you were just happy that you had your Jess back, here with you.

[lloydskywalkers]

barometric pressure

it's finally getting cold here and actually feels somewhat like winter so!! Zane on the brain, i rewatched s11 again and had feelings about the complete and total lack of addressing everything that went down in the Neverrealm, etc, so here's a shorter snippet of Zangst (that isn't even angst really it's just snow ramblings oops)

Exactly four months, six days, and an indeterminable amount of hours (it is ten) after they returned from the Neverrealm, the clear, crisp skies of late autumn give way to the gray, overcast start of winter.

It’s a painfully familiar sky, one Zane knows nearly as well as he knows himself. The graying clouds are as clear a signal of snow as anything, though he’s already well-prepared.

Vex’s whispers returned to his ears around the same time the first, familiar chill began seeping through the monastery walls. 

For others who are not Zane, though, snow could still mean happier things. He still recalls the expression on Kai’s face the first winter he’d spent with them, snowflakes dotting his eyelashes as Jay wildly demonstrated how to craft a lopsided snowman. So Zane hopes, however weakly, that the rest of them can welcome the snow as enthusiastically as they have in the past. 

His hopes are neatly shattered, however, when the first thing Cole does is set straight out for the woods and return with enough firewood to burn down the entire mountain.

“What are you gonna do, roast every marshmallow in Ninjago?” Jay gapes at him.

Cole rubs the back of his neck, firewood precariously balanced in one mitten-covered hand, his nose a shade darker than the rest of him from the growing cold. “Just thought we should be prepared,” he says. “In case the power goes out, or we just, you know. Wanna have a fire.”

Zane feels the room slip a little colder from his words alone. Or perhaps it’s his imagination — it’s been active, of late. For example, Vex and his whispers are several dozen realms away, and Lloyd is choking on the hot chocolate he’s drinking too fast instead of staring lifelessly at him from a frozen prison. Kai and Nya are fighting over the few coats they have that aren’t torn or stained or covered in what’s either glitter or the fragmented remains of their last enemy’s vehicle, not encased in blocks of ice, voiceless and empty.

Cole is…now distracted and giving him concerned looks, while Jay struggles to keep the firewood from spilling over his arms. 

Ah. He’s drifting, again. 

“How about we start the fire — in the fireplace, Cole, help—”

“Are you okay?” Cole asks bluntly, absently adjusting his hold on the firewood as Jay stacks the loose logs back in his arms. 

“Of course,” Zane says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A crucial error. He knows better. Leaving things at ‘of course’ is a risky move, but it’s certainly a better option than flat out asking Cole to pounce. 

Jay makes it first. “Yeah, ‘cause when I’m fine, I disassociate staring out the window for hours all the time.” 

“I was not disassociating.”

“Uh-huh. Hold on, lemme find a dictionary. Right next to ‘disassociate’, there’s a nice little picture of—”

“Lloyd,” Zane says. “You will find my image next to ‘emotionally removed’.”

“That is dissociating, and Lloyd’s next to ‘traumatized’. Nice try, though.”

“We’re all next to traumatized,” Cole mutters, finally giving up and dumping his stack of firewood next to the door. Zane quietly calculates how long it will take Kai to set it ablaze, along with how much it will cost to replace the door if it ends up collateral damage. 

“Not me,” Jay says, hands on his hips. “I’m next to optimism. Which you could all use, you know.”

Cole stares at him in disbelief. “Optimism? You’ve predicted our deaths like, six times in the last month alone—”

“It’s called a joke, where’s your sense of humor?”

“Jokes are only funny if you aren’t screaming them, and — oh no you don’t.”

Zane sags in defeat as Cole snags him by the back of his sweater. He was so close, too. Normally, Cole and Jay’s arguments are the perfect time to make an escape. Either they’re getting more observant, or he’s getting careless. 

“Look.” Cole lets go of his sweater, crossing his arms in front of himself. Zane can’t tell if he’s warding off the chill, or warding off the same dark thoughts that have haunted them all since the snow began sticking. “I know we’re not…there, anymore, so it’s different. But if you’re having a hard time—”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Cole huffs, his forehead still scrunched up in worry. “But if you were to hypothetically be having a hard time, I’d hope you could talk to us. Any of us. It doesn’t have to be me, just…” He looks away, staring out the window wistfully. 

“Winters have always been fun, with everyone,” he finally continues. “Remember the first time it snowed, when it was just you and me and Jay?”

Zane avoids his eyes. He does remember, of course. He remembers everything, even the things he wishes he could forget. But the memories of those early days, the first few months adjusting to living with others in the monastery, have yet to be tainted with any kind of darkness. 

Jay had been near-comically scrawny back then, hair pressed resolutely against his forehead from his countless attempts to get it to stay there. Cole had been smaller, too — a bit sharper around the edges, his walls a bit higher, but still open enough to make Zane feel like a part of their little team. He still remembers Cole’s laughter, observing Zane’s terrible first attempt at sculpting anything from the snow, Jay his long-suffering teacher. 

It had been the first time snow had meant anything fun, instead of the perpetual silent blanket that cut Zane off from the rest of the world. 

And now here he is, years later, with all of Jay and Cole’s efforts gone to waste. 

“You should come outside with us, after Cole finishes his firewood mountain,” Jay suddenly says, a bit breathless. “See how your snowman skills are shaping up.”

It takes Zane a moment. His mouth is full of refusals, his mind stuck on the fact that the last shape he made from snow was an enormous, vicious ice dragon that nearly killed everyone he loves. 

But Jay looks painfully hopeful, and a bit too nervous that Zane will say no, and Cole’s edges are so soft now, Zane fears his own sharp edges will only hurt him. 

“Give me a moment,” he says, forcing his tone to sound light. “And I will. I will join you.”

Cole’s eyes light up, and a beaming smile breaks across Jay’s face. 

“Sweet!” Jay claps him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go drag Nya out of hiding, but the snow’s piling up in the courtyard, so if we get out early enough we can ambush Kai with snowballs when he comes out.”

Cole rolls his eyes. “I’m not digging you out of your snow grave this time,” he calls, following after Jay. 

“Spoken like someone who wants to take on Nya in one-on-one combat!”

“I’m not insane, I’m not doing that either!” 

Zane hesitates, left alone in the hallway. He crosses his own arms against the sudden chill, tiny stabs of regret already making themselves known. 

It is easy to lie, but what will happen when he actually joins them in the snow? What if the icy chill sets in, miles of white all around, and he loses himself again? 

The others weren’t there. They know his role in the Neverrealm, of course, but none of them saw the monster he let himself become. The depths of his cruelty, his coldness, what he was capable of — all of it remains Zane’s secret to keep. 

Well. 

That is a lie, and with it lies another significant reason Zane should avoid setting foot outside. His presence will only ruin things. 

Yet the quiet, aching part of him seeks out the exception anyways, because deep down, Zane is just as selfish as any other person. 

Lloyd looks little better than Zane feels, his eyes glued to the graying skies with the same look of faint dread Zane stared the drifting snowflakes with. His knees are drawn up tightly to his chest where he sits on the sofa, his mouth pinched as he picks apart the already-fraying edge of his scarf. 

His expression softens when he sees Zane, mouth curving up into a faint smile. 

“You get cornered, too?” 

At his brief look of confusion, Lloyd nods at the thick jacket Zane’s wearing. 

Zane looks away. “They seem to think it will be fun. A snow day.”

“Mmh.” Lloyd turns back to the window. With a sigh, he slides his legs out, standing as he throws the threadbare scarf around his shoulders. “Guess we should get out there, before Jay starts building his nightmare snowmen in the courtyard.”

Zane blinks at him, taken aback. “You’re joining them?”

“Duh,” Lloyd frowns. “I wanna have fun, too.”

“Ah.” Zane isn’t sure if what he feels is guilt, envy, or some odd mix of the two. Confusion, he finally decides on. “It doesn’t…you’ll be alright, in the cold?”

Lloyd’s expression falls, but he doesn’t look away. He fiddles with the edge of his scarf, as if turning words over in his head. 

“I’ll be okay,” he finally says, in the quiet, softer way he speaks now.

He used to be louder. Zane remembers, down to the exact cadence of his voice — straining a bit too low for his throat, acting a bit too old for his age. Less…reserved. 

Younger. 

Then Lloyd smiles, and Zane reminds himself that Lloyd’s voice is also lighter, these days. It’s been growing more so, ever since the last of the Oni attack was cleared away and the unhealthy pale left his skin. Lloyd’s quicker to laugh and easier to poke at. Slower to step into the role of leader, preferring to linger behind with the rest of them, as if he can soak up their warmth like a sadly starved sponge.

“I don’t mind wind,” Lloyd continues. “I like volcanoes. I think I’ll be fine in snow.”

He worries his lip, eyebrows furrowing. “The question is whether or not you will.”

Zane startles. “That is not—” He closes his mouth. The words do not come easily, or much at all. How can he make Lloyd understand, that he has no right to fear the snow? When snow is his element. When any pain caused by it is only his fault, in the first place. When Lloyd still bears the scars of frostbite, when Kai’s hands tremble in the cold, when Jay watches Cole with worried eyes and Nya frets over the water heater each night. 

Lloyd’s hand settles tentatively over his own, a bright burst of warmth that quells the tremors Zane hadn’t realized run through his fingers. 

“How about this,” he amends. “We can either stay inside and steal all Cole’s marshmallows for our hot chocolate, or you can come outside and help me fix Jay’s ugly snowman?”

Zane looks down. It’s a kind trick Lloyd’s using, one he’s learned well. Simple decisions — one a retreat, one a cautious step. 

A part of him still balks at the idea of stepping out into the cold. Vex’s voice lingers in the freezing air, the reminder of bitter ice beneath his fingers and the cries of his friends. 

Kai’s laughter shatters the silence, muffled through the monastery walls but no less clear. He can hear Nya’s quick follow-up, a round of foul cursing that would have Sensei frowning at them all. 

Zane lets out a breath. 

It is selfish. It is self-centered and short-sighted, and it is all but an insult to what he’s done to the people of the Neverrealm. 

And perhaps Zane is a terrible person, after all.

But Zane is not a coward, either. 

And Zane is fortunate enough to have a family, one who would lie and steal and cross realms and frozen wastelands for him, and he thinks, perhaps this once, he can be selfish for their sakes. 

Squeezing Lloyd’s hand briefly, he nods. “I suppose it would be cruel to the poor snowman, to leave him in Jay’s hands.”

A smile splits across Lloyd’s face, a faint echo of the boy who dyed his uniform pink. 

“Okay. Pixal’s got a scarf for you, then.”

Pixel does indeed have a scarf for him, and it is perhaps the most disastrous thing Zane’s ever laid eyes on.

“I don’t understand what happened,” she says, staring at the scarf in his hands. Her face screws up in frustration, lips set in what could be called a pout, if he didn’t know better. “I followed the instructions to the letter. My slipknots were perfect.”

Zane carefully places the scarf around his neck, wrapping the crooked, colorful mass of fabric around as many times as he’s able.

It ends up being about four, and he wonders briefly how many stores Pixal bankrupted of purple yarn. 

“I love it,” he tells her. “Thank you.”

Pixal’s face breaks into a bright smile. “It’s warm, isn’t it? I wanted to be sure, that it was warm.”

Ah. The many layers make a bit more sense now, and Zane’s heart aches. 

He does not deserve this, but the scarf still sits around his neck. Lloyd still waits for him by the door, endlessly patient and hopelessly trusting. 

Kai still beams when he sets foot outside, blinking snowflakes from his lashes as he waves, moments before Nya dumps a bucketful of snow over his head. 

Jay still lets him reshape his snowman, only scowling once at his critique before asking him which of their family they should recreate in snow. 

Cole still smiles, when Zane sweeps out that same warm smile in the snowman that only just resembles him. 

And Nya finally lets her hourly crisis over the water pipes go, handing him a snowball instead and instructing him to let Kai have it. 

He doesn’t know the answer to Lloyd’s question, exactly. Whether or not he’ll be okay, when the snow falls heavy and the reminder of what he’s done presses heavier. 

But he does know that the cold that followed him from the Neverrealm does not reach him, not even as he’s tackled into a heavy drift by Cole halfway through their snowball fight. 

And perhaps, for now, that can be enough. 

[mint-and-authoress]

Slime HRT - Full Core Integration

<<| ⏯️ |>>

[The scene opens to a not before seen living room. Familiar decor can be seen alongside other furnishings. Elise sits on a couch inside a small plastic tub, where only the upper half of her body can be seen. Next to her is a shorter woman, speckled with red scales across her skin and small claws and horns. The timestamp reads ‘5½ Months.’]

“Oh gosh, how does she do these…

“This is Elise’s entry at five and a half months into transition. I’m Pandora, her wife, and I’ll be speaking for her for this entry and hopefully only this entry. I just started my own species replacement therapy like two weeks ago I think? I kept it hidden from her to surprise her but about three days ago Elise’s vocal cords finally dissolved. That’s why I’m speaking for her.

“Normally she wouldn’t have done an update this early but I encouraged her to make something, mainly because I think it’s important to have this documented. Anyone who goes through the same stuff my wifey has should know how things go when you absolutely need help around the house.

[Pandora retrieves a piece of paper from offscreen.]

“We did make a list of things to go over. My love is going to be demonstrating a few things, and it is her documentation series… thing, so she’s gotta be a part of it! First off is the obvious: no more muscles, and no more bones either!

[Elise outstretches an ‘arm’ to show the lack of muscle and bone. The entire limb is transparent and a vibrant green.]

“All she has left is a few organs and her brain. Everything else is just a little goopy puddle.

[Elise nuzzles into Pandora’s shoulder, and is met with a kiss to the forehead.]

“All the affection is just my wife being all cute and loving, like she’s always been. She’s basically been biologically a slime for a few weeks now, and definitely passes as one from the few I’ve been able to see.

“As a matter of fact, we learned that slimes are apparently part of the country’s No Fly List, since they’re made up entirely of fluid. We had to do a whole cross-country road trip, meaning four days full of driving for me. Loved that. But it just meant that my little goop got to be a little passenger princess all the way back to the west coast!

“Back to the ‘my wife’s organs are starting to dissolve’ matter, she’s actually about two and a half months ahead of schedule. Which meant I had to have a very strongly worded talk with Dr. Acosta from Something Else Solutions. 

“Something Else Solutions is not licenced by anyone in Hyper City. We had to hire a private investigator to find that doctor. Turns out, he gave Elise a fake name and the whole office turned out to be some shady black market coven trying to advance their practices. So, my last week and a half has been spent talking to doctors and specialists and actual fucking witches. That last one was actually pleasant, and I would’ve enjoyed it a bit more if it wasn’t my love’s life on the line, possibly.

“The only real reason we’re doing an update now is because Elise is going into surgery tomorrow to get her core formed. Normally, Slime HRT has the patient go through something called C3 surgery: Core Cell Conversion. They’d take all your organs and link them together, and after a few weeks they’ll turn into what’s called a proto-core, which basically just replaces the organs. Eventually that proto-core absorbs the brain after like a month and at that point it’s just a normal slime core.

“Buuuut, now that someone went and fucked up my wife, she’s going into an emergency surgery called FCI: Full Core Integration. What they have to do–and thank the gods that we did this before her organs got dissolved–is take all her organs and her brain and rapidly accelerate that core formation process with donated nuclei from other slimes and a whole bunch of other inpatient hospital stuff. It takes a week, and after that Elise is gonna have a few gaps in her memory.

[Pandora hugs Elise from the side.]

“It’s scary. But we’ve somehow made it through worse.”

[The segment ends. The next segment fades in and shows a still image of a hospital waiting room. An anthropomorphic boar, a human skeleton with glowing green eyes, a well-dressed vampire and two humans are present around the room.]

-captions-

-The waiting room in the Hyper City Interspecies Hospital. Elise’s surgery was 12 hours long. 

[A picture of many specialists and surgeons, human and nonhuman, with a blonde human woman in the centre.]

-Thank you to the care team for everything and an even bigger thank you to Dr. Therkin for walking me through every step of the procedure.

[A picture of Elise in a pressurised tank, connected to a series of tubes, wires, and monitors. A very small, almost invisible mass is at the centre of the slime.]

-This was my wife for nine days. Very glad to report that she pulled through.

[The final picture fades out. The next segment fades in where Elise sits in a long tub in a hospital bed, with an intact emerald green core. A timestamp reads ‘Five Days Post Surgery - 6 Months.’]

“...This is…my entry at 6 months during transition. Or at least that is what I’ve been told.

“I’ve been conscious for five days. In that time I learned how to speak and I was reminded who everyone was. Apparently I was in a…terrible condition. My core was able to save my life, and for that I am very grateful.

“I came out of surgery with near total amnesia, they said. Apparently that is a risk when you undergo such a procedure. It isn’t all bad, though. Relearning you have a wife is incredibly nice, makes the core sing something fierce.

“I’ve watched through those progress reports and learned about the journey I’ve taken to get this far, and to think that all that progress is behind me is incredibly inspiring. I’m going to continue living, all because of the work she did. I get to be happy, have a wife, all thanks to her. 

“I’m not the same person as she was, definitely not. I have her voice, her life, and eventually the memories will come back, or so I’m told. But I don’t have her face, don’t have the same struggle that she had. So, please allow me to introduce myself once more to you all.

“My name is Mint, and I am a slime girl.”

[The scene fades to black as Mint extends herself towards the camera.]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SLIEM TIEM IS BACK EVERYGOOP!!!

Plot Twist: Mint is Authoress :3c

I've been meaning to get this out for a while and Solstice hit me with a lead brick of inspiration! Mint is now here to stay, but by no means is her story over!

Shoutouts today go to @ariathelamia whose character Dr. Therkin made an appearance to advise the surgery team! Tbh I do not trust Erian as far as I can throw him (and for therian standards that is not that far), so we got a second opinion and went to her!

Next time on Slime Ball Z: going to the solstice and definitely having a transgender moment[tm] with doubts about what makes oneself a 'real slime'

[xxnashiraxx]

✨Ali's Birthday Bash!✨

Part 2 | Part 3

Hi everyone!!! Welcome to my birthday bash!! I have exactly one week till my 26th bday!! (It's special cause I'm only 26 on the 26th once!! 😁) I decided a month or so ago that I would like to spend it giving back to the people who have made me feel loved and accepted here on this silly little app and in this wonderful community! 💕 I am oh so grateful, and so beyond awestruck by the friends I've made here and the opportunities to bond with people I never would have met or had otherwise, that I had to do something to show my appreciation. 💗 I won't wax poetic too hard in this opening section, except in the little tidbits below, but my goal is to get 2 of these out a day, probably at different times each day (cause my schedule is a little erratic haha 💗) and I'm going to try so hard to get to everyone- I have some backlog, and I hope I can finish all of these before next week is up! But please bear with me! 💕 This may extend past my bday cause I work fulltime and I have to travel for the holidays, but I have a big list and a lot of people to show love to, so! 💗 Without further ado!!

divider here!

Ysera (for @khywren)

This was the first portrait (right? portrait? ahh idk) I completed!! I have some gripes with it, and I spent so much time trying to go back and forth trying to get things and proportions and perspectives right, but I think she's ready!! I'm not going to be a perfectionist any longer (a bald-faced lie) but I can't keep staring at it!! Now on to what really matters! @khywren you have been such an amazing friend and wonderful presence in my life ever since I met you!! You were one of the very first people to read my fic and comment on it, and you care so much about my writing and show it and it just means so much to me (": Before you and a few other people began to read it, I didn't think I would continue anymore, but you helped me come out of that funk and feel better about the good and the bad! 💕I love Ysera so much, I cherish her and her nature and personality and wish I could hug her on the daily 💗 Your writing is so beautiful and evocative, and it's truly a gift to this fandom- I am so happy to call you my friend and so glad that I get to read your work! I hope I did your gal justice!! 💕 You have my heart forever 🥺💕

Tav (for @bby-bel-art)

BELLL!!! 💜💜 You are such an amazing person!!! I am so so so grateful we met! You are an incredibly talented artist with such a big heart and I treasure you so much! I cannot tell you how insanely overwhelmed with love I feel every time you send me a little art of Ofelia, or make a playlist for my fic, or tell me an idea and I just 🥺💕I feel so unworthy and awed that you like it and think about it and it's crazy- I truly don't know what I did to deserve you, but I am forever honored! You have the best music taste and I admire you so much- thank you for everything, and thank you for being my friend!!! 😁💜 I hope you like this little art of Tav- I am new to scales, so they may not look exactly like they do in the game, or much of the features 💀 But I hope you like it! 💜

Look out for more of these in the coming week! I will tag them all as #ali's birthday bash so hopefully they're a bit easier to find! I love you all so much!!!

[duskandcobalt]

somebody else

Merry Christmas @whysterian ✨🎄

For your Christmas present, I’ve written something that’s both sweet and a little angsty which I feel fits the general vibe of Elriel as a pair anyway ☺️

I hope you enjoy this! Happy @acotargiftexchange

Xoxo your secret santa🎅🏽

1.6 words, no warnings ☺️

Elain giggled into the chest of the Shadowsinger the second his bedroom door had shut behind them.

She’d been making her way back to bed after dinner, tiptoeing down the hallway… purposefully slowing down as she passed the door of the room he was inhabiting for the night, in the hopes that he’d do exactly what he’d done. There was no fear, only absolute happiness that built inside her in the split second it had taken for the door to open and a strong arm to wrap around her middle and pull her inside. There’d been no indication that he’d be waiting for her, but she knew. In her heart, in her bones - Elain knew he’d be waiting and listening for the sound of her footsteps to pass by his door.

“Happy Solstice, pretty girl.” Azriel whispered, one scarred hand sliding up her neck until he could tilt her jaw upwards so her lips met his. He’d wasted no time, the wish just barely leaving his mouth before he kissed her. It was sweet, tender, thorough - his other hand placed safely on her waist, his fingertips easily stretching to press gently against the small of her back.

She’d waited all night for this. To have a moment alone - just the two of them - unbeknownst to anyone else. It had been a torturous evening of avoiding eye contact, of pretending like the two of them hadn’t spent the last few months sneaking off to dark corners of the house or hidden sections of the garden whenever they got the chance. After the debacle last solstice, Elain had thought everything was done between them before they’d even had a chance to start but she soon found out that she’d been wrong. With the full story in the open between them, she’d only come to realise that Azriel hated being told what to do… something that had worked very, very well in her favour because it meant that when he’d come back to Velaris a couple weeks after that ill-fated night, he’d made it quite clear that he was determined to have her.

“Happy Solstice, Azriel.” Elain smiled against his mouth, pressing a hand against his chest to put some semblance of space between them before things got out of control as it tended to whenever they were left alone too long. There’d be time for that later but there were other things that needed to be done first. “I’ve got something for you…”

“Oh yeah?” He tried pulling her closer but she peeled back again, shaking her head and laughing at the mischievous look in his eyes. She loved this side of him - the playful easiness he seemed to reserve just for her.

“Mhm,” Elain bit her lip, doing her best to concentrate on the task at hand and not on the look he was giving her lest she abandon everything and let him have his way with her. She reached into the hidden pocket of her dress, slipping out a small box she’d carefully wrapped late last night and holding it out to him.

“Didn’t have to get me anything…” Azriel smiled, carefully taking the box from her and weighing it in his palm. “Earbuds, headache tonic… what will this year bring, I wonder?”

Elain sighed, impatient as Azriel took his time carefully unwrapping the present. Her nerves were getting the best of her.

“It’s really for us, more than anything. I mean it’s mine but for us to share…” her voice drifted off, quiet as Azriel picked up a small silver key and held it in between his fingers. There was a crease on his forehead as he looked at her, waiting for an explanation. She wanted to soothe away the line with her fingers.

“The bakery I like in town… there’s an apartment a couple floors above it. I… I bought it.”

“You bought an apartment?” Azriel asked, turning the key over in his hand. “For us?”

“It’s silly…” Elain shook her head, suddenly feeling like she’d made a massive mistake. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking when signed the papers and handed over the money. They’d spoken about one day having a place to themselves, where they wouldn’t have to worry about others seeing or hearing them and so she’d thought it would be a good idea. “I’m sorry, I just… it’s getting crowded here and I thought it’d be nice to have a place of my own. Somewhere we could go every now and then.”

“Hey,” Azriel stepped towards her, reaching forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not silly. It’s just… it’s really going to put my present to shame.”

Azriel chuckled as he pulled a small pouch from his back pocket and handed it to her.

Elain took it, opening it to find an ornate hair pin fashioned into the shape of wild flowers. It was beautiful, the tiny stones glimmering in the dim light of the room.

“That feels silly now,” he laughed, slipping the hair pin from her hand and then reaching behind her to wind her hair up before securing it in place. He looked her over, his eyes slowly scanning over her face and her newly exposed throat. “Perfect.”

“It’s lovely, thank you.” Elain wound her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Shall we go see this apartment now?” Azriel asked just as she felt him drag the key he still held up the length of her spine.

“Can you winnow us there?” She asked, heat and excitement building in her belly with each passing second.

…

Azriel could barely stand to be in the room this year, once again relegated to standing in the shadowed doorway as the festivities unfolded before him.

There was no excitement this year. No anticipation of sweeping a certain sister into his room after everyone else had gone to bed - happily drunk and bellies full, their newly acquired gifts scattered in front of the fireplace where they’d be collected the next morning. That anticipation was in the past. Now, he watched as his closest friends enjoyed the night. Watched as the love of his life sat still as a stone next to the male that had won in the end.

Azriel had fooled himself for the better part of three years. Had somehow tricked himself into thinking that for once, he could have what his heart desired despite all the extenuating factors against him. He’d thought that this would be it, that he’d finally been chosen. That he’d finally gotten the life that he’d always secretly dreamed of having. Of a female to come home to. A female to cherish. Someone that understood him.

The rug had been pulled out from under him one evening when Elain had stood in front of him uncharacteristically stone faced as she told him they couldn’t keep doing what they’d been doing and that it was time for her to accept what the Cauldron had planned for her.

A life away from him. A life with a son of Autumn.

He hadn’t been able to say anything. Hadn’t even really tried to argue that she was making a mistake. How could he when far in the back of his mind, a small part of him always knew that this had always been too good to be true.

For months now, he’d avoided her. Had been able to drown himself in work - throwing every bit of time and energy he had into his reports and assignments in order to keep his mind off of everything he’d lost because if he thought about it too much, he’d go crazy. Much like he was now.

He’d tried. He really had. He’d tried to not watch her from the second she walked into the River House with her arm looped through Lucien’s. But it was a lost cause because just like the very first time he’d met her, she’d drawn his attention with little to no effort. She was beautiful. Ethereal. There could be a thousand females in a room and Azriel would find her within seconds. He’d been quietly observing her all night, making sure she seemed okay. Making sure she seemed happy.

Elain on the other hand had refused to even look in his direction after an initial polite greeting and he’d given up after a while, had taken to sulking in the shadows as he nursed a tumbler of whisky and avoided making eye contact with Nesta. That sister in particular had an uncanny ability to read him when no one else could and he hated it.

It wasn’t until he’d overheard the tail end of a conversation that he dared to look at Elain again.

“I have to head back to the Spring Court tonight, unfortunately.” Lucien had said.

“Oh, what a shame,” Feyre pouted. “I was looking forward to spending time with my sister before you two wed.”

“Well,” Elain’s voice pierced Azriel’s heart. It’d been so long since he’d heard that gentle voice so clearly. Paired with Feyre’s reminder of the upcoming mating ceremony, it was like a dagger to the heart. “Lucien’s going back but I… I thought I’d stay behind but I… I, um… I’ve arranged for a place to stay in town for a couple nights so that I’ll be out of your way but I’ll come visit during the day.”

Azriel’s breath halted as Elain’s gaze lifted suddenly, her eyes meeting his for one searing moment before she returned her attention to Feyre who’d squealed at the news and had immediately set to planning what they could do with their time together.

He could’ve been imagining it - the invitation he thought he might’ve seen in that short glimpse they’d shared. They’d always had a knack for communicating their thoughts and needs with few words actually spoken aloud. But it wasn’t until Elain stood abruptly, heading for the kitchen, that he caught a glimpse of the pin nestled into her dark curls. A delicate bunch of wildflowers that was as familiar as the key he swore he could feel warming his skin from where it still resided in his back pocket.

[martianbugsbunny]

That's How He Knows He's Yours (A Lokius Fic)

Okayyyy I would have sworn up and down that I had already posted this fic ??? but I did a bunch of different search attempts and I couldn't find it so I guess I didn't

The premise is basically Loki and Mobius are going to a party and Mobius is helping him with his hair, but Mobius has been studying up on the meanings of different Jotun hairstyles and accidentally-on-purpose picks the one that means "I'm taken." Ofc there's a bit of cultural headcanon involved. It's super fluffy w a little bit of flirtatiousness, so read on and enjoy!

The TVA was having a party.

That wasn’t really the important thing, but it was interesting. Mobius couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a party—but they needed to keep their spirits up after finding out that their entire lives were, in fact, lies, so a party it was. Every sector was having its own, because the TVA was too immense for all of the employees to have fit in a single room if they’d been threatened with death to do it.

Well, anyway, the important thing was that Mobius wasn’t going alone. He’d convinced Loki that it would be more fun to go together than to go separately, or not to go at all.

The other important thing was that Mobius had offered to braid Loki’s hair, which had grown considerably longer than it had been the first time they’d met, and that Loki had taken him up on it.

He’d spent hours studying both Jotun and Aesir braiding styles—not just the actual construction, but also the meaning behind them. In the end he’d picked the Jotun style that signaled “I’m taken” because it was beautiful, and because he was pretty sure Loki didn’t know enough about his own culture to know what it meant himself, so Mobius could convince himself it wasn’t that much of a presumption.

“I’m not so sure about this suit,” Loki said, sitting patiently as Mobius brushed his hair before plaiting it. “The gold stripes are a bit much, don’t you think?”

“What happened to the guy who used to strut around wearing gold armor and a cape?” Mobius teased, beginning the first braid. Left under the middle, right under the middle, he muttered under his breath.

“I’ve been wearing your boring TVA clothes for months,” Loki said, holding out one arm to watch the threads glitter. “The drab must’ve rubbed off on me.”

Mobius rolled his eyes. The truth was, he was outside his own comfort zone in a fancy suit. His didn’t have metallic pin-striping on it like Loki’s did (because it was a bit much) but it was a much sharper cut and a much more dashing style than he was used to wearing. He’d been just an analyst in a plain brown suit for centuries, and now here he was all dressed up like he thought he was Prince Charming or something.

He tried to focus more on the different strands of dark hair in his hands than on the way his fingertips brushed against Loki’s temples as he gathered new locks to add to the braids.

He failed.

As he began to pin the braids up using glittering golden hair pins, he tried to focus more on not stabbing Loki’s  scalp than on the brush of his hands against the nape of Loki’s neck.

He failed.

Loki was built like a prince, Mobius sometimes caught himself thinking. It didn’t matter if it was princedom of Asgard or of Jotunheim. There was an elegance in the set of his shoulders, in the movements of his hands as he wielded his magic, and a determination in the curve of his back and the way he stepped, that was utterly regal. Gold, like the simple rings he was wearing that night and the hair pins Mobius had found for him and the single slim chain around his neck, seemed to have been built into the cosmos for no reason other than to decorate Loki's trim form.

That was waxing poetic. Mobius didn’t do that often—only for Loki and Jet Skis. What could he say, they were both remarkable singularities in the universe.

He finished setting the last braid into place, nestled among several others like a crown across the top of Loki’s head. “All done, puss,” he said, patting Loki on the shoulder.

Loki’s head turned slightly to the side at the use of the nickname, and Mobius could just see a smile tugging at the corner of his mauve-tinted lips. “Do I dare look?” he asked.

“I didn’t mess it up that bad,” Mobius said. Loki chuckled and got up from the floor in front of Mobius’s couch to go check his reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room.

Mobius could see the reflected green eyes widening as Loki caught sight of himself. For some reason Mobius’s heart was in his throat.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do this,” Loki said.

“What, braids?” Mobius managed to speak past his racing pulse. “It’s not that hard.” It was, actually, quite difficult to his untrained hands, but learning it for Loki had made it seem easier.

“No. The Jotun style.”

That quick pulse stopped altogether. Mobius sat there, stock still, feeling very much like he was going to throw up if Loki didn’t break the sudden silence.

He turned from the mirror to look Mobius in the eyes properly. He was smiling, his eyes glittering beneath the faint liner he’d applied earlier that evening and a light dusting of shimmery grey eyeshadow. “Seems the pussycat has caught himself a guilty little mouse,” he said, his voice sultry and honey-smooth, dripping into Mobius’s soul. “You didn’t realize I knew what these braids meant.” It was a statement, not a question. There wasn’t a hint of doubt on his face.

“You caught me,” Mobius said. He was impressed with himself for being able to get any words out at all with Loki’s gaze focused on him like that.

“I’m taken, am I?”

Now Mobius found himself entirely unable to speak. What could he say, after all, other than we’ve been spending a lot of time together and you don’t mind when I call you ‘puss’ and I catch you staring at me sometimes in a way nobody ever has? It seemed stupid even in his brain. None of it meant he and Loki were…whatever he’d been subconsciously thinking they could be when he’d picked the style.

Loki walked back across the room, a new sway in his hips that Mobius was positive hadn’t been there before, and sat down on the couch to lean directly into Mobius’s personal space. For a long moment, far too long, far too breathless, he simply studied Mobius’s face, as though he could see everything single thought that had ever crossed his mind.

“We’ll see about that when we get back from the party,” he said finally, gaze flicking briefly down to Mobius’s lips. “Maybe you’re the one who’s going to be…taken.”

He crossed into that last bit of personal space and pressed their lips together, his touch surprisingly light, stunningly tender, as one arm came up to drape across Mobius’s shoulders and draw him even closer.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, puss.” Mobius finally found his tongue again and flirted back, laying a hand on Loki’s thigh. “You’re the one with the fancy hairstyle to prove it.”

As Loki laughed, Mobius captured his lips in another kiss, just as soft as before but oh-so-many leagues more passionate, and he thanked his lucky stars he’d been fool enough to pick a Jotun way to call Loki his.

[miss-allsundays]

i was kind of expecting it (because of the danny motta pandemic), but the amount of people that just. write off octavia as some sort of ungrateful brat is really pissing me off.

we, as the viewers, have a much broader understanding of stolas, his life, and his relationship with stella. we are also made to look at it in a positive light for stolas, because we are shown instances of stella and her brother being the terrible antagonists they were written to be.

and most importantly, we do not have an attachment to stolas and stella’s relationship.

octavia instead, has had her life recently upended, has seen her father do a 180 change and (in her eyes) ruin his whole relationship.

her parents are divorcing, and they’re going about it in the worst way possible. they keep badmouthing each other, and they are, quite frankly, very dismissive of octavia— stolas as well, even if he doesn’t mean it.

and then, her father risks his life for the guy he destroyed his family for. and she is left with her mother and uncle, who clearly don’t have her best interests in mind.

of course stolas deserves to be happy, and of course he can love both blitzø and octavia at the same time, but what a lot of people don’t get is that she is a hurt child, who is very lonely at the moment, and who has not had the time to process everything.

instead she has to watch her dad fawn over his affair partner, talk shit about her mother even after the divorce, and then he suddenly leaves and oh! he will be banned from their house for a hundred years.

of course she holds resentment over her father!! he hurt her, just as much as her mother hurt her!!

because yes, stolas’ hatred towards his ex-wife is justified, but he has subconsciously let that feeling cloud over his love for octavia.

for a child, seeing your parents go through a divorce is really fucking tough. even if their relationship wasn’t the best, even if the love wasn’t there anymore, your parents splitting up still feels like a point of no return. as someone who went through that, i cannot tell you how many nights i spent as a teen wishing my family would go back to normal, even if the rational part of me knew that their separation was a much better outcome, and that the normal i hoped for hadn’t been that in years.

their divorce is only a couple of months old, it isn’t nearly enough time to begin getting over it, especially if you don’t have a good outlet for your emotions— which octavia doesn’t have.

and as i’ve mentioned earlier, the fact that her parents hate each other so openly is also another big fucking problem!! it does nothing but make the child in between feel bad, because they feel guilty for still caring about both of them, like their love for their parents is wrong and tainted.

(again, stella is terrible, and we can all agree on that— but octavia doesn’t know the full extent of it!! sue just wants her family back!!)

i feel for stolas, and it’s so, so obvious that he loves his daughter more than anything in this world, but i also understand why octavia wants some distance from him.

even though he didn’t mean to, he failed to think of how his daughter was holding up, until it was too late.

(and to everyone that says octavia hates her dad, go fuck yourself and pick up a pair of glasses. there is a difference between being hurt by someone’s actions and hating them. she went to IMP to give him his meds. she saved stolitz + IMP from andrealphus. learn some media literacy before you speak thanksssssssss<3 )

[nneteyamss]

ROSES — 19. FAWK

(partly written)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

y/n walked to the park, clutching her jacket closer to her body. the december air blew into her face making her cheeks red as she buried her face further into her scarf.

“why the fuck couldn’t i have picked somewhere warm… my ass should not be put in the cold at 8 o’clock at night.” y/n mumbled to herself, already regretting leaving her warm bed. from a distance she spotted intak seated on a bench, looking at his phone. he was bundled up in a big winter jacket and a scarf wrapped around his neck. yet he had hat, letting snow fall and stick to his black hair. intak suddenly looked up hearing y/n approach and stood to greet her.

“hey… thanks for meeting with me, sorry it’s cold.” guilt instantly ran through y/n’s body because he seemed nervous.

“sorry for making you wait, i don’t know why i picked outside..”

“no it’s okay, i just got here a couple minutes before you.”

y/n simply nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets. the silence was lasted as neither of the two said anything after that.

“uhm do you want to sit? i cleared the snow off the bench.” he gestures to the bench and she nods. they sit down and another awkward silence fills the air.

“so, what did you want to talk about?” y/n turns to him, breaking the silence.

“oh right! i wanted to apologize again about the other day. i shouldn’t have kissed you without asking or so suddenly like that.”

“i appreciate and accept your apology, but why were you there?”

“i don’t know how to explain this without sounding crazy but i knew jaehyun was going to be there, and i had a weird feeling he was going to try something. i came in disguise and i approached you because i saw him walking up to you” y/n started at him with a blank stare, processing what he just said.

“so you were stalking me?”

“well no… but yes? yes to an extent!” intak fumbled over his words, not expecting that question. he thought of it more as keeping an eye out on her for a space she knew the man she so says didn’t like was going to be in. now that she said it though, it kind of seemed like stalking. “sorry” he mumbled.

“your disguise was ass by the way, you should’ve asked shota for his fake mustache” she giggled looking ahead of her. the situation was getting too serious, and she felt the need to make it more lighthearted.

“no way… he said the SAME thing. how do YOU know about the fake stache?”

“i’m the one who bought it for him of course!”

“this is like a full circle moment, what the fuck.” the two laughed together at the moment. who would’ve ever thought that shota having a fake mustache would arise in this convo. however, the laughter eventually died down and intak turned serious. he turned to y/n and grabbed her hands, which were now out of her pockets.

“listen, i need to talk about the main reason i wanted to talk. please don’t say anything until i’m done.” he was dead serious, y/n nodded and pushed down any jokes she could’ve made in the moment. “we’ve been fake dating for a couple months now. we both know the original reason this started. but y/n… i really like spending time with you, like a lot. you’re funny, gorgeous, caring, and so much more. i didn’t plan it but i thought this was just gonna be some fun side quest activity. the more time i spent with you and got to actually know you and your personality, the more i started to actually like you. i tried to fight it off because i mean this relationship wasn’t real and i’m your brothers friend, but i can’t help it. i really… really want this to be real. we get along so well, and there’s a connection. what i really called you out here for was to ask this. i really really like you, could i have the honor of being your boyfriend?”

the long speech was followed by silence. one blink, two blinks, no words. embarrassment gnaws at intak who immediately started to regret asking out of fear of her not feeling the same. yet, he didn’t say anything and let her take her time.

“intak, i didn’t know you felt that way. i feel like this is very sudden though. i need to think about this before i answer, im so sorry” intak nodded and gave her hands a squeeze before letting go. “i’ll text you, i just need to think.” she said again before standing up.

“that’s okay” he gave her a small, yet warm smile. his cheeks were red and his hair was getting damp from the snow. y/n reached forward and pulled his jacket hat onto his head.

“you should get home before you get sick… it’s cold and you don’t have a hat.” the words left her mouth quietly, but intak still heard since the night was quiet was well.

“you should get back as well”

y/n nodded and put her hands back in her pockets, “i’ll see you.” she said and began making her exit of the park and going back home, leaving intak standing in the cold. by time she got in her car and started driving away, intak made his way to his car, waving as she backed out the parking spot.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

previous — masterlist — next

taglist (closed): @cloudmrk @yyangj3lly @vehaez @mmjhh1998 @gomdoleemyson @alethea-moon @jkslvsnella @starfilledgaze @solvrse @dudekiss3r @nattan127 @nerdsungie @lovesuhng @tokitosun @dokgrayson @222brainrot @jakeshuneybby @antifrggile @cyjzzl @nctseventeensworld @bloomyroses @doughyk @lovefooi @chaerinmin @chenlesfavorite @urlocalbeaner5 @thegracerammy @lionzyon @fairyoflia @haefelt @sunflowerbebe07 @seventeeneration @apolloxxivmin @onlyhyunjin @pinklemonade34 @adorwooks @angelpiixie @jkxlvrr @hisrkive @sunghoonsgfreal @zzurao @mango-bear @bee-the-loser @callita @lttlekomori @neozon3nha @calssunflower @natokkiz @joonsprettygf

notes: lalala guess who finished finals, passed all their classes, and got back to work again this week (i need to make all the money i can over break for psyfe and 127 concerts) 🙂‍↕️

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What do you make of the sexual assault allegations Blake Lively just accused her director of?

Justin just spent three months on a media tour talking about DV and toxic masculinty and raising awareness for SA victims. Why not call him out on this hypocrisy four months ago? Why not use his media appearances to hold his feet to the fire about his behavior? (Because it would've tanked the box office.) Why bring this up now? Why wait two years to file the lawsuit? Why not make it a problem on set when the filming was actually happening? Blake had a producer credit and Colleen Hoover was on her side; that gives her a ton of power on that set - why not use that power to put a stop to his behavior? We're in a post Weinstein-era where women speaking out in real time about this kind of thing, especially SA, would be taken seriously.

(Now, I must interject here that it looks like Blake did follow the proper process. She initially filed a complaint, which then turned into a lawsuit, and that process could explain the timeline. NBC News broke the story on the lawsuit - according to the New York Times - when they received a copy of the lawsuit. Did they get it from the court or did someone leak it to them?)

It feels to me like Blake's reputation and career prospects took a hit after her behavior and attitude on the 'It Ends With Us' media tour and she blames Justin for it, hence the lawsuit. It feels very mean-girl-bullying to me (especially since this leaked out the same exact weekend that IEWU landed on Netflix) that I have to wonder if maybe she's trying to push Justin out of any profits or terminate any deals he might have for the sequel so she can take it over.

And the other piece of it for me is Ryan Reynolds. Why mention him? Why include him being in this 'all hands' production meeting that the lawsuit says confronted Justin for his behavior and harassment? Ryan has nothing to do with the production. He has no role. Was Blake seriously that scared for her safety or that upset that she needed her husband for protection or moral support? Or is she backtracking her gleeful promotions that Ryan rewrote portions of the script during the Writers' Strike, which most likely got him in trouble with the Writers' Guild (of which Ryan is a card-carrying member) and now trying to say his presence on set was for a different reason altogether, or trying to justify his scabbing by claiming personal safety?

However, all that said, what Blake is alleging is very serious. Among her complaints: Justin sexually harassed and assaulted her under claims of 'improvisation,' he cast a personal friend in the role of her character's OB/GYN instead of a professional actor, that he showed and discussed pornography, that he tried to enter her trailer while she was changing, and that he led a calculated smear campaign against her over the summer in the media tour. If Justin really did all these things and it really was an unsafe, toxic, and abusive set, then I hope Blake takes everything from him and he gets what he deserves.

[inkk-tv]

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ]

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair." "Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says with half a smile, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

in which: Lucy is reluctantly recruited into Chris' pub golf video at the last minute, but it turns out to be very worth it.

4.7k words [ masterlist ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd] [warnings: excessive drinking, sexual inudendos]

There’s a certain risk that comes with renting an office in a building full of youtubers. Mainly being ambushed in the kitchen by a camera for a reaction or her two cents on whatever challenge video was underway is not an uncommon occurrence. Although, being fully roped into a video is never too far out of the realm of possibility. 

Luckily, there’s only one person with the gaul to break into her office, and that’s Chris. 

It’s been affectionately nicknamed, ‘the fishbowl’.

Sitting right on the hallway's bend, with two walls and a giant door of nothing but glass that means anyone who steps out the lift can see right into her office. Hence the name. Once she showed up to find someone had stuck fish and bubble stickers all over the windows- she’s pretty sure it was Sam, who does all her captioning, but she’s never gotten him to confess it.

It’s a pretty decent workspace despite the lack of privacy. Lucy’s desk is off to one side, and the three desks for her London-based employees are in a little cluster to the right of it. Only Shelly, the head editor and Lucy had been in today, but it’s nearing five pm and Shelly had headed off about twenty minutes prior, so it’s just Lucy hauled up alone working on a script as she hides from the rest of the building.

Chris invites himself in. As always. For some reason, the wall of glass just doesn’t present the same barrier to him as it does to everyone else. 

She glances up as the door hinges open, the soundproofing scraps against the carpet before closing with a soft click. There’s something a little frantic in his expression- not exactly panic, but stress maybe- and he’s got a white monster energy can that's dripping condensation in one hand and a takeaway bag from the fish and chip shop two blocks over that uses the perfect amount of salt, in the other.

Lucy is no fool. She knows a bribe when she sees one. "No."

All the tension leaks from his shoulders as Chris heaves a defeated sigh, falling back onto the two seater couch just inside the door. "But I haven't even asked yet."

"But you brought me an incentive." She points out and Chris leans over to thunk the can down on the corner of her desk he could reach. Lucy scrunches her nose up at the ring of water that settles underneath it. "You didn't even do that last time and that involved having footballs booted at me for three hours."

Objectively, Lucy has fun on the ChrisMD channel. She’d always been an active person and while the dreams of being a professional athlete did not work out for her like many others, she does still like sports, especially if they’re team based. Chris’s videos are perhaps the most fun variant of them she’s experienced since quitting her Sunday league team back in uni. 

But Lucy drew a hard line in the sand after the break up.

The problem with having fun on Chris’ videos, is that somewhere along the line, wires got a bit crossed. Lucy isn’t really all too sure when it happened, but she remembers realising. Looking at Chris, and realising she fancied him. It was four months before, and she spent all of it agonising over every conversation they had, kicking herself for liking a taken man, beating herself up over every word or glance as the guilt of it all ate away at her. 

Then he was single and the biggest motivator for Lucy to shut her fucking mouth and stomp down her feelings, she got a little worried things would run away from her. She wasn’t keen to make a mess of things, in private or on the internet, so she took a step back. 

It does help that in her last appearance on the ChrisMD channel, she took a particularly solid shot from Simon Minter to the stomach during the World Cup Ball video. A few days later, Lucy's flatmate had bullied her into going to A and E where they found out she’d managed to acquire a cracked rib. 

Simon- bless him- still apologises every time she runs into him. 

Lucy doesn’t know how to thank him for giving her a reasonable excuse to avoid Chris for an extended period of time.

"You had fun." Chris points out with a roll of his eyes, unpacking the takeaway bag to set two boxes on the coffee table in front of him, opening one and digging into a calamari meal.

"And a broken bone."

Another sigh. "This isn't goal keeping."

Lucy's hands still over her keyboard, little cursor blinking on page is of what was going to be a 12 page script. She huffs a breath, telling herself that she will at least hear the man out. 

It was a stupid thing really, fancying him. It’s probably one of those prolonged exposure things, she spent so much time with him that things got blurry in her mind. But the controlled exposure has been working. No more nights out if he was going and no one on one hang outs for the past few months have really helped her get a handle on things. Make the lines of platonic and romantic a little clearer in her head. 

Even if he’s grown a beard that looks annoyingly good on him. She’s allowed to appreciate it without fancying him. Or at least, that’s how she tries to tell her flatmate. 

Lucy had put measures in place, a little bit of distance to get over her puppy crush and they had been working. 

The little bubbliness she used to get has been smothered in the past few months. They’d done Chip’s karting race together just fine and she’s been significantly more invested in the occasional hinge date she secures. Lucy’s building her way up towards nights out again, knowing that he’ll be there and trusting her mouth to not run away from her. Maybe filming with him would be good- keeping her contained to the version of herself that the internet is allowed to see, the version that never fancied one of her coworkers. 

When she pushes her chair out from the desk and turns to level Chris with a look, considering it for a few long moments before sighing and looking up to the ceiling, already regretting what she hasn't agreed to yet. There's a smile on Chris' face - he knows he's won. Apparently, Ciaran Carlin managed to snag himself a case of food poisoning the day of Chris' 'pub golf' shoot ("thought you did football content" - "Its football themed.") so they were down one whole player. Hence why Chris was there, a few moments from dropping to his knees to beg. 

Lucy is, admittedly an outlier amongst the office. At least in terms of content creation. It's actually the Fellas Studio building, but those who invested in the business to help the boys get it up and running, like Chris and Lucy, have their own office space inside. She makes video essays with the occasional social commentary video mixed in - a far cry from Chris' football challenges or the min-maxing style of videos that seems to have taken over the platform in the last few years.

So their friendship has stayed mostly off camera, as she doesn’t often have people on her main channel, posting occasional vlogs on her second channel but he’s only ever made the cut once or twice. The most the internet knows of Lucy Bell and Chris Dixon is that he’s roped her into a few football challenges over the years. 

When it comes to Chris’s channel, Lucy does make for a good feature. She’s just tipped over four million subscribers in the last few months, with almost a completely different audience, so it brings in a lot of new viewers. She’s not half bad at football either, a few years playing football in uni meant she could keep up with most of the UK YouTube scene if Chris begged nicely enough. 

"Alright, but it’s an extra twenty quid for each time you bite me." 

The biting gets her every time. She’s always had a bit of a thing for it, teeth marks and hickeys. It’s a condition that Lucy adds to save her own sanity more than anything.

See, there’s something about Chris when he’s drunk that just makes the man want to bite. Sink his teeth into whichever friend is closest after a pint or two. Doesn’t matter where, hand arm or neck- he’s even gone for her ear once. He’s not handsy per-say, because none of it was sexual really, but it couldn’t be called clingy either because he got way too mean.  

Cuteness aggression seems to fit the bill. But no matter what someone was to call it, the fact is, Chris gets his teeth out when he’s drinking.

Maybe charging him for it will be enough to remind him not to.

Chris grins. "Done." 

Turns out, the pub golf ‘night-out’ she had been lured into starts at one pm. 

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair."

The line up was clearly in no way designed for fairness. With the 'English team' consisting of Lucy, Chris and Arthur-TV, going against the 'German Team' of Stephen Tries, Bambino Becky and Harry Wroetoshaw.

Now Lucy isn’t a lightweight- at least not proportionally. For a woman of five five, she could hold her drink. But Chris Dixon on the other hand, who was the same height, most definitely was a lightweight. There was not a whole lot of faith to be put in their alcohol tolerance.

"Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

She ducks her head to hide the quick frown that flashes over her face. There’s only two people who call her ‘Luce’ and that’s Chris and her flatmate, Spencer. It’s obvious where he’s picked it up from and the thought of Chris chatting about her to one of his friends with such familiarity is enough to make her stomach flutter. Today was not going to be good. 

Lucy's met Arthur before, in passing. At parties or events, seen him at the office once or twice when he'd presumedly come to film with someone. He’s good friends with George and Arthur Hill too. She knows him and Chris have been mates since school, and that he's one of the most frequent victims of the ChrisMD channel. Miraculously, she's never ended up on a set with him before.

She hopes he holds his drink well.

"A little hard to have faith when Becky and Harry are gonna drink us under the table." She says, thumbing at the team jersey she’s been given.

It’s soft, more so than she expected. 

Football has never much been Lucy’s thing. She was on a team during her uni years, but that was more social than competitive. She owns a couple of kits, her old uni jersey that was mainly a work shirt and the Brighton Jersey her brother bought her for Christmas one year- Lucy makes sure to wear it whenever she watches a game. But that’s about the extent of it, she’s never had much reason to go buy an official kit. 

But apparently for the football-ification of pub golf, team jerseys were a must. 

The tag says it’s their away kit from the 1990 world cup and the fabric is so abrasively red, Lucy feels like a stop sign when she pulls it on. It doesn’t help that it was originally bought for Ciaran, so it’s two sizes too large. Sadly it completely tanks her outfit, the black skater skirt and platform mary-janes with lacy white socks had gone so much better with the cosy white knit sweater she’d started the day in, but it does sort of work. Even if it makes her look like a pick-me girl. 

The collar slips about on her shoulders and Lucy pulls the collar about a little, trying to make it sit properly, which apparently, Chris takes as an invitation. 

He comes up from behind and drapes his arms over her shoulders- not exactly unusual behaviour from him, but it does typically take a few more drinks. There’s not even a moment of hesitation before Chris sinks his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, biting down. Not hard enough to hurt exactly, more like a pinch. 

She doesn’t yelp but grunts a little, swatting at his hair to duck out of his grip. When he backs off, there’s a dark semi-circle on the jersey, highlighting where he’d bitten at the material. “Right. That’s twenty quid then.”

Chris blinks, then rolls his eyes. “What? No, come one. We haven’t even started filming yet.”

He’s smiling though, watching as Lucy digs a black marker out of her purse and bites the lid off to draw a thick line on the inside of her right forearm. “A deal is a deal, Chris.”

“We’ll if we’re keeping track like that, someone else has to be in charge of the pen.” He plucks it from her fingers and Lucy goes to swipe it back but he pulls it up high above both their heads. 

She could snatch it back. They’re about the same height; every time someone whips out a tape measure they end up with a different answer to who is taller, so it always depends on the shoes. Today, she’s even wearing platforms with more than enough heel to beat out Chris' white air forces but Lucy’s not sacrificing a single sliver of her dignity to jump for the marker. 

Perhaps realising that she’s not taking the bait, he holds it out to Arthur instead, who has been watching them with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this then?”

“Lucy agreed to be in the video, if I paid her twenty pounds each time I bit her.” Chris says, looking a little proud of himself for some reason, as if wrangling her into a video was some sort of impressive feat. “But I don’t trust her to not just draw a bunch of lines.”

“Damn. That’s smart, you’ll make a couple hundred quid today, easy.” Arthur plucks the marker out of Chris’ fingers and looks at it a little funny. “Will you give me twenty every time you bite me?”

The marker is tucked away into the pocket of his shorts with a grin. 

“You were coming no matter what.”

“With you looking like that, damn right I was.” Arthur holds his hand up for a high-five, probably more of a reflex than anything. Chris doesn't go for it, but Lucy does, swinging up to her tiptoes, to clap her palm against his.

“Come on,” He grins at Lucy, keeping their hands clasped for a few seconds with the momentum and it has her feeling a little better about the afternoon ahead.

One of the film crew, Sam she thinks his name is, waves Lucy over to mic her up. They make their way through the ‘before game interviews’, with the warning they will be spliced with the aftermath that was to be recorded at the last pub.

"Are you going to enjoy today?" Chris pokes the mic against the tip of her nose and Lucy scrunches it up a little at the feeling of scratchy foam.

"Considering I was bribed to be here, no." She plays the reluctant friend well, but they both know she’d been happy to help Chris out in his time of crisis and that she probably wouldn’t end up chasing him up about the money she was supposedly charging him per bite.

The first two holes (“It’s Goal, Luce. Use the right terminology.”) left their team with a rather bleak outlook.

Lucy’s played enough drinking games in her life to be able to down a pint in one go, so that isn’t a problem. She chugs the IPA, so while it’s down in one, Lucy is left with a bitter taste in her mouth, complaining to the table that if she was forced to drink beer, it should at least be lager. Arthur and Chris both down theirs in one, but are cautioned for shit jokes and chose to do a shot each instead of taking the additional points. 

The second pub is no hands, white sambuca shots, but they get a bench so it’s not much hassle to lean down and get her lips around the glass rim and knock it back.

But when they’re done, and Arthur’s wandered off, her, Chris and Harry pounce on his backpack to turn it inside out. It makes her feel like she’s back in secondary playing silly pranks when someone leaves their bag unattended. Tragically he comes back with the news that he’s thrown up. Twice. There’s an attempt to blame the McDonalds wrap he’d scranned a bit too quickly but Calfreezey is not a forgiving referee and they are penalised three points, leaving them at seven as Chris has failed to down his shot in one. 

“We are not winning that dominos pizza.” Arthur whines, frowning down at his inside out bag.

Lucy holds her hands out, an unspoken gesture that he accepts with a smile and starts piling his belongings into her hands. “Cheer up Mr.Television. I’ll Deliveroo one to the last pub.”

“And ruin Chris’ incentive? Where’s your competitive spirit Miss Bell?” He quips back, grabbing a fist full of his bag’s canvas and turning it back out the right way, shoving his pencil case and jacket back into it. 

There’s an instinct to roll her eyes at the last name but fair is fair. She did sort of do it to him first. “I think winning for us is already a lost cause. Becky and Harry can outdrink us all.”

Arthur zips his bag up and swings it over his shoulders, heading for the door but glancing back at her as he speaks. “Not Stephen?”

“He’s more of a mascot I think.” Lucy muses, skipping up to his side and out the door as he holds it with one hand. “Like Chris.”

“Fair enough, they are the two lightweights.” He says, jutting his chin out to where Chris and Stephen were squabbling a good hundred metres up the footpath. “You seem a bit better at handling the beers than Chris to be honest.”

She can’t quite stop the way her nose scrunches at the memories of parties and chundering in bushes out the front of train stations. Lucy hisses through her teeth. “Yeah, I had a few too many nights out in Uni. Spiked my tolerance.”

There’s this little quirk of Arthur’s head, like he’s a curious cat that’s been offered a toy mouse to play with. “I didn’t know you went to uni, what did you study?”

“Journalism. Hence the video essays- if you know what kind of videos I do.”

“Not to brag, but I'm kind of subscribed.” He puts on a little bit of a voice, an impression of the typical ‘nice guy’ when he says it with an exaggerated roll of the eyes that earns a smile.

“Really?” This time it’s Lucy who’s tilting her head, peering up at him a little from under the few loose strands of hair that hang over her forehead and it makes Arthur sort of sheepish. 

“Oh yeah,” He pulls out his phone and opens the youtube app. She’s in his subscriptions tab, along the top bar even. “I really like the rage bait one. And the one about the barbie movies.” 

“You actually watch my videos?” He must do. The rage bait one was recent but Lucy’s deep-dive into the animated barbie movies of the early two-thousands was from her uni days, buried under six years of more recent uploads. 

“Yeah, they’re good. Informative, funny.”

Lucy blushes. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Arthur. I’ll check out your channel after today, promise.”

“It’s not much, a lot of reality TV content- hence the name. I started with Airline freakouts and ended up with ninety-day fiancé.” He holds out his phone for her to take with his own channel pulled up. 

She flicks though, and it is admittedly a lot of ninety-day fiancé, but when she flicks the ‘popular’ filter on, some of the thumbnails look kind of familiar. “Wait, like the old ‘Airline UK’ show? I used to watch some of those.”

Arthur grins. “Really?”

“Yeah, just compilations of the passengers screaming at the easy jet desk.” 

There’s a mental note to watch them when she gets home (pr depending on how drunk she ends up, tomorrow) and see if they’re familiar. 

It happens every now and then, watching a video then realising years later you’ve just met the person who made it. A couple of months after meeting George Clarkey at the gym she realised she’d watched him chase a beep around his garage on tiktok a year earlier.

“Maybe you saw some of mine.” Arthur offers a little shyly, as if he’s nervous about suggesting it. “They did decent numbers. It’s how I got started with youtube.”

“Yeah?”

He hums in agreement. “Needed something to pay the bills in Uni and youtube ended up being way more fun than Law.”

Lucy can’t help the judgemental tone that sneaks into her voice. “You studied Law?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He scoffs with a smile.

“No you’re just nicer than all the other law students I met while in Uni. Most of them were right pricks.”

Especially the one she’d dated in second year. He’d been good at first, but after a couple of pints he was anyone's. The guy played up on her all the time and it wasn’t until he tried hitting on the first year who’d just moved into Lucy’s student Accommodation that she finally called it off. 

After that, all the law students who tried to chat her up at the Uni bars left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Not Arthur though. He isn’t quite a law student, she supposes, he’s a youtuber and Lucy does get on well with most of the UK scene. They were a good bunch and any of the dickheads were pretty easy to weed out- there is a couple she fully avoids, simply because she couldn’t be arsed putting up with them. Lucy scribbles Arthur’s name on the mental list of people she wouldn’t mind chatting to at the next party. 

He’s got decent chat, certainly better than some of the dull people she’s put up with out of politeness and when he smiles, it’s a flash of pearly white. Teeth that all line up perfect- save for his pointed canines. She could stand to see it a bit more often, carve out some space for it in her chest amongst the fluttering of butterflies. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Luce.”

“Hurry up you two, stop dawdling!” Chris shouts from out the front of pub number three. 

They wave him off with a few jeered ‘yeah, yeah’s but do pick up the pace a little. 

“I meant to ask earlier,” Arthur says. “Want to put your purse in my bag? it looks like it’s bothering you.”

Her purse has been bothering her. It was the one she’d taken into the office and was more for fashion than function, a little black leather crossbody bag that she’s had over one shoulder so it doesn't make her boobs look weird on camera. It’s only really got her phone, earbuds and keys in it. She’s been keeping it at her hip with one hand but it’s getting tiring. “Yeah, thanks Arthur.” 

He tucks it away gently, with much more care than he’d had with his own portable charger and pencil case a few minutes earlier. Arthur’s sweeter than she expected. 

Not many of the youtube boys were sweet. Nice, friendly even, but part of being amongst them meant she could take the banter and hard hitting. Catch hurled comments that strangers would say border on cruel with her bleeding hands and hurl them back. There’s an added layer, being a woman online appearing on channels with a male dominated audience. A thick oily sheen that taints the comments of collab videos. 

But Lucy has managed to find the youtubers she could stomach, some of which she spends more time with than others. George is her gym buddy, even if he’s been slacking lately. Will lacks enough of a social life that he tends to rot in the office just as late as she does so they always end up ordering Deliveroo and shit talking for an extra hour or two. She doesn’t mind the occasional pint with Harry or Tobi either. They’re all sweet, but sweet enough that it's threatening to make her blush? Well, only Chris made that far. 

Lucy tucks that thought away and settles into the seat at the end of the table, tapping the toes of her shoes together idly as the production team set up go-pros and camera angles.

Pub number three was goalie rules. Six seconds to down a pint and it had to be done with keeper gloves. 

All six sets set on the table are Large and it looks utterly ridiculous when they all don the gloves. Black and green leathery material that’s oddly padded on the inside, it feels weird enough that it sort of captivates her for a few moments, the new sensation against her hands. Lucy keeps balling her fists up then splaying her fingers again, listening to the scrunch of them before pressing her hands flat against the table to feel the padding compress and spring back up slightly when she released the pressure. 

Arthur has a similar reaction, although he just starts running his hands over everything. From the wooden table to his own legs. Down Lucy’s right forearm where it rests on the table, over Chris’s head. The latter of which, he does so much that it actually gets a reaction, which Lucy is starting to think most of Arthur’s oddities don’t.

“Stop rubbing my head!” Chris squeaks, ducking away from Arthur’s widespread palms that are messing up his quiff. “Rub the head I want to be rubbed!”

Lucy snorts into her keeper glove when Chris gestures rudely to his crotch and Stephen goes to kick it from under the table. 

Thankfully, before things can devolve into more dick jokes, a member of Chris’s team brings over a tray of pints. 

Lucy and Arthur both get it down in one, but Chris fails- laughing after about an inch and having to set the drink down. Easy to say, no one is impressed and he earns them a yellow card for time wasting.

“How have you done worse than the females?” Arthur jokes, setting Chris’ still half full glass between Lucy and Becky’s empty ones. 

“We’ll take ourselves back to the kitchen.” Becky declares, raising a hand for a high five that Arthur meets- an assurance that it’s all jokes- before leaning in to stage whisper to Lucy. “There might be pints in there.”

Despite England's mostly good performance, Calfreezy once again proves that he’s out to get them as he issues two yellows and a red card. Lucy and Chris take the penalty shots- tequila upon request- and there’s three points added to their tally as well. 

It burns the back of her mouth and stings against her tongue. Whichever production member had fetched their shots did not return with the curiosity of a chaser. Still, it’s easier to down than a pint so Lucy takes what she can get. 

Although, everyone seems to be under the impression that it’s going to finish her. Probably because she keels over coughing after getting it down. It’s the closest Lucy’s come to spitting out a drink all afternoon, which is saying something considering the IPA at the first pub was utter shit. 

Her reaction has Steven so confident in his team’s performance that he starts demanding forfeits, anything from shots of the winners choice to public spankings in ‘piccadilly square’.

While Lucy focuses on not tripping over the drag of her platform shoes, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue and haunts her all the way to the next pub. 

[ masterlist ] [ part two, coming soon... ]

ink note: and we are underway! thanks so much for reading! feel free to send asks about the fic or check out the notes at the bottom of Lucy's masterlist to see how this fic is going to develop.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

[vimse]

Ah wow it’s almost 2025, which means it’s time for the yearly art recap. Time flies when you’re struggling through your thesis, but I’m very pleased to scrounge up at least one Tech drawing per month. I’ll do a (not so) short reflection about my 2024 art under the cut if you’re interested, but for now, I’d like to express my greatest gratitude for everybody who has stuck around and shared my art. Hoping that 2025 will be a more productive art year. Byeee 🧡

Tl;dr under the cut: ramblings about my struggle in school, 2024 highlights, hopes and dreams next year

—

Let’s look back at last year’s summary:

What's next in 2024?

More Tech. Some things I'd like to explore in 2024 is character drawings beyond portraits, anatomy, simple backgrounds, OCs, storytelling through short comics, TBB band au, and maybe some commission work

Well, safe to say I didn’t get too much of that done haha. The reason for that is I’ve been really struggling with my undergraduate thesis work in chemistry. I don’t really know the root cause of it, but I just can’t bring myself to finish it and I’ve been procrastinating badly, so much that I’ve missed two presentation opportunities. The third opportunity is within 2 weeks and I’m nowhere finished or ready. It has been a constant source of stress and anxiety throughout 2024. I got burned out by the end of May and went to the school counsel to hand in my resignation notice, but got convinced to stick around but to finish it at a later date, because this is literally the last thing to do before I get my degree. Then afterwards I decided to go back to my old job full time, which has been very tiring and took a long time to adjust to. This is very obviously reflected in the amount of full illustration produced during July to October, especially September when I couldn’t bring myself to draw anything beyond Tech’s hand lol.

If I don’t finish my thesis in time for this round, I think I’ll finally throw in the towel for real. Maybe I’ve doomed my future or something but…this experience has made me feel incredibly (and constantly) bad for a whole year, and it has affected every aspect of my life. I’m very tired of it. And although my current job is very tiresome and probably detrimental to my health, it pays well and the colleagues are wonderful. Additionally, it is a niche job that I have years of experience in, with good connections, so I’m not currently worrying about my future job at all. And it’s still within the chemistry industry, so all the time I spent in school isn’t going to waste. In regard to my future, I’m more worried about wasting all of it on a conventional 7-16 job, of which I don’t think a degree in analytical chemistry would help me avoid anyways.

Okay, I’ve rambled enough. If you’re still here, thank you. Now, let’s look back to some positive highlights in my art year of 2024:

I think I’ve finally reached the point where I’m content with how I draw Tech. As evident by the picture above, it’s sort of consistent too, which is a bonus.

I joined my first zine!! It’s the Pabu Days zine and I can’t wait for everyone to get their copy of it. Everybody’s pieces are amazing. I wish I did better/more, but the creation period was during the worst time of my year, mental health-wise, and I have to accept that it was the best I could do at the time.

As for the “masterpiece” of 2024, my most proudest work is the CX-Tech piece I did during the height of TBB season 3. I’m incredibly happy with how the rim lights turned out and the overall mood of it. Also the texture on the armour turned out sooo good, I can’t believe I was the one who painted it lol. I wish I could personally show the picture from my monitor, because all the details seem to disappear when viewed on tumblr. Below is the illustration I’m talking about, along with a side by side comparison to the picture I referenced the lighting from + some closeups. Looking back at it now, I wish I added a stronger frontal light source, so that the picture isn’t so dark.

Also, extra shout out to the back study series. I am traditionally not a painter (just grew up as an anime weeb) so making these this was an incredible accomplishment.

With that, I’m wrapping this very long post (sorry) with some 2025 hopes and dreams. Basically it’s the same things I wanted to do in 2024: improve anatomy, more background, work on OC, work on AUs. I want to try very hard to make commissions happen next year, if people are still interested. Something else I want to do that isn’t strictly art related is to connect more with people, especially with those who are still hyperfixated on TBB as I am. I find it hard to socialise on tumblr, but I try to be more social on bluesky. Idk, I think it would be fun to find a small active community that is maybe more focused on clones and oc stuff.

Okay, that’s all! If you’ve made it this far, thank you thank you thank you. Have a happy holiday and may your 2025 be a wonderful, wonderful year.

🧡 vimse