#maybe. just maybe if you could lmk which drawing it was that you saw w the hands that made you recognize that it was my art

[toki-toro]

For the evil art style challenge‼️ soft lineart that's usually not black (sometimes it is but when I picture your style I picture it w/o black lineart) generally your art style looks very soft which is a little vague but I think you know what I mean. You usually use warmer and more saturated colours, especially when shading. You don't always shade but when you do it's usually smooth and not cel-shading.... your proportions and expressions are pretty realistic and not too exaggerated, and the brushes you tend to use are quite simple, as in they're not excessively textured. You also have a distinct way of drawing hands but I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is that makes them look so distinct to me (I once recognized one of your drawings as being yours just by the hands alone before I even read the url)

THIS isn’t the first time you paid really , really close attention to my art and then perfectly described it to me !! You’re literally the best for putting in your time into do that ❤️ like I feel as if I should thank you bc you explaining every detail to a T. So ty bestie lolol

I absolutely get what you mean by the hand thing lol. I have never properly learned how to draw hands so I think they’re just so bad that they’re instantly recognizable, and somehow became a staple of my style. Like seriously lmao I’m not even trying to exaggerate that. Ik artists typically make a big deal about hands being so hard to draw, and hands aren’t really even that bad. But for some reason, I’ve been drawing hands the same way for several years now and have never been able to improve upon them

I don’t exactly know why that’s the case. There really is just something about the way I draw them. Maybe its the lack of detail (compared to the rest of the drawing) and weird fingers. But it’s okay <3 I forgive my weird hands

[pedgito]

i just saw your post about glasses!eddie munson and whenever you have the time, would you be able to write a cute series of reader finding out about his glasses ITS JUST ADORABLE

author’s note: this was meant to post sooner than now but here it is lol, i finished this pretty quick but got sidetracked. glasses!eddie has invaded my brain and it’s never leaving.

cw: sfw, glasses!eddie, eddie’s not so subtle flirting, acquaintances to friends, once again another fic where everyone bullies eddie (give this man a break), if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.5k

“Do you wanna switch seats with me?” Your voice is soft, leaning back toward Eddie, whose eyes are nearly closed from how hard he’s focusing on the board, blindly scribbling something down on the paper. He’s lost on where the voice comes from until you’re in focus, looking back at him with a smile.

Eddie wasn’t a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. He was the boy who got picked on relentlessly and as much as you wanted to help, you weren’t sure it would change anything. Plus, he didn’t seem that bothered by it—or he was just really good at faking like he wasn’t.

“Oh,” Eddie replies, still confused, “I’ll be fine—Mr. Donahue’s handwriting is always shit, I can barely understand it.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but it was still legible.

“Munson!” The teacher's voice rings from the front of the classroom, “let's stop trying to distract other classmates and focus on our own work, okay?”

And if it wasn’t the condescension in his tone that pissed you off, it was the way he so quickly blamed Eddie for the interaction. He shrinks slightly, sending you an apologetic look.

It happens a few more times that week, catching Eddie glancing at the board as if it’s nearly impossible to see—and maybe he was telling the truth, but it’s also obvious that Donahue hates Eddie for no other apparent reason than just because he thinks he’s up to no good, which isn’t fair to Eddie.

You show up early to class the following week, bag resting in the chair of the desk beside you—Eddie’s usual seat, waiting. He’s always bordering on being late, making it to class as the bell rings, looking more frazzled than the others.

You weren’t sure what he got up to between classes, but he definitely seemed overwhelmed.

“This seat taken?” He asks with a smug smirk, pointing at your backpack. You smile slightly, reaching for it.

“Sorry—I just wanted to make sure I could sit beside you.” You tell him honestly. It throws Eddie off, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly before relaxing, eyes roaming over you curiously. “You said you can’t understand his handwriting, I was gonna let you copy my notes.”

“Can I copy your work too?” Eddie asks jokingly, but you can tell he means it. “I’m barely scraping by with a D in this class.”

You snort out a quiet laugh. “Let’s worry about the notes first.”

Eddie spends most of the class still struggling, forehead creased up as he sifts through your notes, writing things down sparingly. It’s almost like he’s trying not to be mean, focusing a little too hard on one word every now and then as he looks over, your papers perched on the corner of the desk.

“If my writing is horrible you can tell me,” You say, which makes Eddie chuckle, “seriously, I won’t be offended.”

“It’s not that,” He assures you, “it’s just—the angle, it’s a little hard to read them—“

“Oh, well,” You grab the papers in a bunch, extending them toward him, “here, just take them.”

Eddie ignored you, his fingers wrapping around the leg of your desk to pull it flush against his—it’s quick enough that it doesn’t make much noise, only a slight shifting that draws a few eyes.

“Or…that works too.” You say shyly, face heating up at his straightforwardness. “Better?”

He glances over, shifting the papers to his side and gives a subtle nod as his lips pull together in a tight line, “Yeah, actually.”

And it’s almost blissful silence as Eddie copies them down, asking a few questions when your words meld together out of habit when you’re writing too quickly, he still leans in slightly but you don’t pester him on it—eventually Eddie’s actions are noticed, all eyes shifting toward the back of the classroom.

When you look up, everyone is staring back, including the pensive and threatening eyes of your teacher.

Eddie mumbles a soft, “Sorry.” as he pushes your desk back.

“Do I need to remind you two that this isn’t a matchmaking class?”

And it’s a ridiculous comment to make, but it has Eddie scoffing slightly underneath his breath.

“I’m letting him copy my notes,” You say innocently, “is that okay?”

You can’t remember having a problem in any of your classes, either flying under the radar or one of the usual favorites—you’ve never felt this tense, staring down the entirety of the group that was staring right back, though your gaze was focused on Mr. Donahue.

Eddie looks at you briefly before settling his eyes toward the desk, fiddling with pen in his hands to soothe his anxiety.

“If Eddie has a problem, he can come sit up front,” He says coarsely, “I don’t think you have the wiggle room to be socializing, do you?”

And suddenly his gaze on you is forgotten, flicking toward Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t give him the satisfaction, shuffling his shoulders forward in an effort to hide himself, scribbling something random down on the paper in front of him—it’s something he did when was bored or uncomfortable, even, a comfort.

You catch Eddie toward the end of class, gripping his sleeve before he can sneak away.

“How far behind are you?” You ask him, peering up at him curiously. Eddie looks sheepish, glancing away for a moment.

“Uh, I haven’t really taken notes all semester—I kinda just..scribble shit down so it looks like I’m working.”

Your eyes slant down slightly, in an ire of disbelief as your mouth parts, “Eddie, are you serious?”

He shrugs, reaching a hand up to scratch his jaw. You huff through your nose, snatching the pen perched in Eddie’s pocket and uncapping it before shoving it into his hands.

“Give me your address.” You insist, holding out your arm to him. Eddie seems skeptical, fingers wrapping around your arm gently, shifting your sleeve up, “I’m getting you caught up—don’t look at me like that.”

And truly, he’s not sure how to respond. Kindness and niceties weren’t at all familiar, feeling like there was always some ulterior motive. Still, he scribbles down the information with slow strokes, careful that it doesn’t smudge—leaving a small smiley face out of spite, forcing a similar expression onto your own face.

“I’m free after six,” He tells you, “so unless you want to get caught up in awkward conversation with my uncle, wait until then.”

You laugh at that, pulling your sleeve down.

“How else am I supposed to uncover all of your secrets?”

Eddie smirks slightly, eyes averting toward the floor.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—you just have to ask.”

He spends most of his nights—sans the ones where he’s performing for the small audience at The Hideout or hosting Hellfire meetings—organizing campaigns and writing down random things that come to his mind, feeling the need to get the thought out on paper, even if it’s song lyrics or a drawing.

He adjusts the thin rimmed glasses up his nose, eyes hurting from the strain he’s forced them through all day. He knows he should spend a few minutes resting, even just closing his eyes for a moment, but he can’t help it. Eddie knows it’s his fault, the beginnings of a headache forming as he tries to focus, his finger sneaking up to rub at his eye—he can feel the haziness, willing it away.

But then you’re knocking at his door and every thought is thrown out the window—part of him never expected you to show, his heart thrumming in his chest as he leaps from the bed, tossing the papers away haphazardly and forcing the glasses up into his hair without a thought, pushing his bangs away from his face.

Eddie whips the door open, causing you to startle slightly.

“Hi.” You say wearily, a soft smile on your face.

“Hi,” Eddie responds slightly out of breath, before clearing his throat and offering a smoother, “Hey.”

Your eyes glance up, noticing the difference in his face. His bangs were like a trademark, constantly hiding his eyebrows. You point up curiously, speaking before you can think things through.

“You wear glasses?” You ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“No—no uh, of course not.” Eddie responds quickly, adamant in his refusal. “Why would you—“

He’s clearly caught off guard, standing awkwardly in the doorway, eyes crossing as he follows your finger, only realizing his mistake when you drag the glasses down slowly, pushing them gently up the bridge of his nose.

“Well, that is definitely an interesting pair of non-existent glasses.” You say jokingly, grinning at his embarrassment, cheeks flushing a deep red.

It’s hard to explain how perfectly they fit his face—like it’s the missing piece that pulls him together. He’s not dressed up like usual, in a faded graphic shirt and gray pair of sweats, no jacket or rings in sight. It’s natural—and it’s in that split second you can see the real Eddie. Not the threatening, menacing Eddie Munson that everyone played him out to be.

Eddie nods wearily, beckoning you inside.

“I won’t tell anyone,” You promise him with a tinge of amusement, rounding on him as he closes the door, shoving the stack of papers at his chest, “—if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eddie pulls the glasses off of his face, folding them up.

“It’s not that,” Eddie tells you, “—didn’t mean for you to find out about them, it kinda ruins the whole image, you know?”

Image. It makes you laugh to yourself silently.

“You didn’t seem like you were trying to hide them,” You giggled slightly, “besides, I don’t think they ruin anything.”

“I kinda forgot you were coming.” Eddie lies, knowing he had been riddled with nerves since he stepped foot inside of the trailer that evening, not understanding why he was so anxious to begin with.

“Look, I don’t mean to overstep or anything—“ You stop briefly, sighing softly, “but if you need a tutor or even just…some help, I don’t mind.”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to take it, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

“I study with Nancy a lot,” You explain, “it’s really not a big deal.”

“I’m a lost cause,” Eddie admits with half-smile, “there’s no saving me.”

“I don’t believe that,” You tell him honestly, approaching him to shove the glasses back toward his chest, his other hand still stuffed full with the papers containing your notes, “—seriously, put them back on and I can spend a couple hours seeing where you’re at.”

Eddie listens, though skeptically, placing the glasses back onto his face—you smile without really thinking, causing him to react similarly.

“It’s okay to let someone be nice to you,” You assure him, “as many assholes as there are at Hawkins, there’s still a few of us who mean well.”

“I can’t be taught, I’m just warning you now.” Eddie remains adamant, leading the way toward his room. You follow behind eagerly, taking in the abstract way of decoration littered around the trailer.

“Fine—you can at least show me your drawings then.”

Eddie looks back at you briefly, a confused grin on his face.

“I’m really observant,” You tease, “and curious.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?” Eddie asks.

“I’ve already got one secret to keep,” You respond, teasing him lightly, “what’s one more?”

“How bad is it?” You ask him, staring up expectantly.

“What—oh, my eyes?” Eddie asks, “Uh, kinda bad. It’s okay, though—I manage.”

You crease your eyebrows together, motioning for him to remove the glasses. He does, watching as you reach for a paper, holding it up in front of him.

“Tell me when you can read it clearly.”

Eddie nods, squinting as you move the paper closer and closer, until it’s only a few inches from his face, your eyes widening in shock.

“Eddie,” You stress, “you can’t be serious?”

“I told you I manage,” He argues with a slight laugh, “but it’s bad, I meant that.”

Your expression remains the same, arms falling to your side as you discarded the paper.

“They look weird,” Eddie defends, “that’s why I only wear them at home—I already get enough shit at school anyways.”

“Bullshit,” You say boldly, “they do not look weird.”

Unfortunately, you did see all of the relentless teasing he caught at school, that wasn’t lost on you.

“You don’t have to lie,” Eddie says, “it won’t bother me.”

“I’m not,” You counter, smiling as the glasses returned to his face, his eyelashes touching the lenses, bangs brushing against the rim, “they fit you—they’re…cute.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “Okay, enough.”

You smile to yourself, watching as his cheek flushed a faint pink.

“Can I try them on?”

Eddie doesn’t answer outright, pulling them away from his face and handing them over—they’re a little bigger, his more prominent facial structure different from yours and causing the glasses to slide down your nose slightly. You push them up with your finger, squinting at the strain it puts on your eyes.

You can see Eddie smiling over the rim, admiring how perplexed you look in the moment, “Don’t look at me like that,” You say playfully, “these things are really strong.”

Eddie shakes his head, “It’s—nothing, nevermind.” He pulls the glasses from your face gently, placing them back on his own.

And Eddie’s never been shy, but suddenly he can’t force the words out, afraid of the mix of both rejection and embarrassment.

“I like you like this,” You tell him, hoping it eases him, seeing how tense he was—clearly unloved by many, “I mean, I like you both ways but this—it’s nice.”

“You’re the first.” He says flippantly, not aimed at you for any specific reason. He’s not immune to the words thrown at him, they do start to wear on him after time, even if he brushes them off for the most part.

“They’re insane,” You tell him with a surety, “all of them.”

“Careful,” Eddie treads, “Jason would have a fuckin’ field day if he heard you say that.”

You shrug, smugness in your expression.

“He’s terrified of me.”

“Jason—terrified of you?” Eddie asks, begging for more clarification.

“Our parents are friends—I’ve seen…a lot.” You say cryptically, not wanting to dive into details, “I’m not one for blackmail but I’m not totally above it.”

“You’re so interesting,” Eddie speaks candidly.

“I’ll take that was a compliment?” You respond, “Hopefully.”

Eddie nods with a subtle smile.

“Well—like you said,” You start, repeating his earlier sentiment, “I’ll tell you anything, just ask.”

You hold your finger up as his mouth opens—

“But, notes first—secrets later.”

Eddie pushes his glasses up comedically, forcing a quiet laugh from you—it’s the exact reaction he wants. He settles, agreeing with your rules.

“Deal.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[lithiag]

Drawn Together (part 2, Derek Morgan fanfic)

A/n: Here ya go, part 2

Idk how many part I'm gonna make. Probably a lot, but not all of them will have smut.

If you have tips or ideas, lmk

Hope you enjoy

Cw: smut, oral(f receiving), fingering, piv sex(w protection)

"How many of them do you want to see?" Derek asked Melony. He really should have chosen different wording. His mind went straight to the gutter.

Melony had looked at him, her deep green eyes staring right into his soul. He couldn't help but think about how they would look after a night of good loving. His gaze dropped to her lips, which were parted ever so slightly. There were a soft pink, plump, but a bit thin. But well, size didn't matter, right? As long as you use them right. She must be able to use those lips really well in a lot of different ways. He imagined them against his own lips, then on his neck. He imagined her kissing him down his body and the-

"All of them" melony breathed softly. It interrupted his thoughts, but only for a second. She wanted to see all his talents? He could definitely show her how well he could use his hands on her, both above the waist and below. She would probably appreciate it if he used his lips on her. He knew he could leave her moaning his name, and begging for more. He couldn't help but imagine how she would sound if he did all those things to her. Touch her, rub her, kiss her, lick certain area's.

"All of them? Well, I don't know if we can get to all of them tonight" he said and leaned closer to her. He could smell her perfume. It smelled sweet, like flowers. It had started to fade and was mixing with her own scent. He wanted to lean even closer and dive deep into her scent and mix it with his own. She would smell amazing if their scents would mix after some good love making. He imagined her the morning after, coming downstairs for breakfast wearing only his button up, hair messy and softly smiling at him before kissing him and going for an extra round. He would give it to her any time she wanted.

"H-how about we start with seeing if you can draw? You said it was easy" she said. Did she stutter a bit? He was making her nervous. Perhaps she felt a very similar way to him. Was she imagining the same things he was? It probably wouldn't be difficult to convince her to let him show her how good those fantasties could be in real life if she was. He felt his throat dry up.

"Sure, could i have another drink?" He asked her. He wanted to add 'sweetheart' or 'baby', but he didn't want to make her feel like a maid, or make it obvious he was on the verge of trying to seduce her well and truly.

She grabbed his glass and walked towards the counter. Gosh, did those pants make her butt look good. They looked so beautifully round. Wouldn't they just make the perfect view if he would bend her over the counter or the table, and pull her pants down. Maybe she was even wearing sexy underwear. He could take them off, expose her core to him so he coul-

Melony stumbled slightly. Derek snapped out of his daydreams and got up. Perhaps she had had too much alcohol. He walked towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. Being so close after all those thoughts made it difficult to not pull her close, kiss her and move her to the bedroom to make all those delicious thoughts real.

"Are you okay?" He had to be sure she was.

She replied in the positive, but Derek didn't believe her.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded this time. She didn't want to say anything? She looked at him and he saw her eyes were a bit darker, they looked at him differently.

"You're not. Do you need anything?"

Why did he choose those words? It made his mind wander again. He wanted her to say one word, and one word only. But he also knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back anymore once she did.

And then she said it.

He pulled her against him and kissed her. Melony wrapped her arms round him and pulled him closer to her. Derek moved one hand down to her wiast to pull her body closer against his, and he knew she had to feel how much he wanted her.

And she did. The moment their hips met, Melony could feel his desire strain against his pants and press against her through all the fabric still between them. If only he could feel her pooling desire for him that had soaked her underwear.

Melony pressed closer against him, wanting to feel more of him, she wanted to feel all of him. And he wanted to feel all of her. Derek slipped his hand under her shirt and pulled it up. Every time their skin touched he could feel himself grow harder and more needy. He wanted, needed her so bad.

Melony started to undo the buttons of his shirt. Once she had undone them all she pushed the shirt off of his shoulders and down his arms, getting a good feel for how big and strong they were. They broke their kiss just long enough so Derek could take off Melony's shirt, and then their lips found each other again. Melony moved her hands up his strong arms, taking in every curve of his muscles, then down his chest.

Derek placed one hand on the small of her back to hold her close, and let the other hand wander across her skin. It went down her side, up her arm, then down her chest and into her bra so he could cup her breast.

Melony let out a soft moan. Derek took in sharp breath at the sound. It sounded so good. He needed to hear it more. He moved his hand away from her breast and down her body. He then picked her up, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. It would be fun to just press her against the wall and take quick care of both their neediness, but they both knew they wanted it to last longer.

Derek started walking them towards the hall and up the stairs. He almost tripped a few times, but kept himself up straight.

"First door on the right" melony mumbled against his lips. Derek groaned slightly to let her know he heard her and walked that way.

Melony deepened their kiss more. She bumped into a wall a few times because Derek couldn't really see where he was going, and he broke their kiss to be able to look for the right door.

He walked them into the bedroom and kicked the door closed with his heel before making his way to the bed.

Derek softly lay Melony down on the bed. He stood over her and looked at the beautiful sight in front of him. He leaned down and placed his hands on either side of her chest before he leaned closer and started kissing her neck. Melony let out a soft hum in pleasure. Her hands started roaming his skin. She always knew he was muscular, but the feeling of his skin against hers was so much more enticing than she could have imagined. As her hands moved across his back she felt his muscles tighten and relax with every move he made. He kissed his way along the side of her jaw towards her ear, and he kissed her right below it. Melony moaned softly and pulled him closer.

Derek slightly pulled back and leaned close to her ear,

"That's right, baby girl, let me hear you. Let me know what feels good." He said in a low, seductive voice before he kissed her below her ear again and kissed further down her neck. One hand reached behind her back and he swiftly undid the clasp of her bra. Melony removed her arms from his neck and she removed her brastraps from her arms. Derek tossed the small piece of clothing to the side and moved one hand across the skin of her waist and belly, before moving it up and cupping one of her breasts. Melony let out a moan and ran her hands across his back again. Derek kissed down her chest, then moved his lips towards the breast he wasnt fondling and took the nipple in his mouth. He felt Melony's entire body relax for a moment as she let out a pleasured sigh and he grinned a bit. He kissed her nipple and slightly sucked it. He moved his tongue across it, and each movement of his lips and tongue on the little pink bud was rewarded with another moan from Melony. She softly placed a hand on the back of his head to encourage him to continue. He let go of the breast he was cupping and slowly moved the hand down to the edge of her pants. Melony let out a slightly shakey breath,

"Please." She breathed.

Derek undid the button on her pants, then undid the zipper teasingly slow. Melony let out a slightly desperate moan and moved her hips. Derek used both his hands to pull down her pants, all while keeping his lips firmly on her nipple. Once her pants were gone, he moved a hand up the inside of her leg to her core. He grinned and pulled back so he could look at her,

"Are you this wet already?" He asked. Melony's eyes were full of desire, and she saw that exact same desire in his. Derek could feel that his name was on the edge of her lips, and he wanted to hear her moan it. He moved her panties down her legs and softly rubbed her clit with his thumb. Melony bit her lip and let out a slight moan, and when Derek pushed two fingers inside her dripping pussy, her head fell back,

"Derek! Oh, yes" she moaned. Derek moved his fingers in and out of her. Her wetness coated his fingers and he slipped in and out of her with ease. He couldn't wait to fill her up properly. His pants started to get very tight and uncomfortable. He kept moving his fingers inside her while he moved his face up to level with hers and he kissed her. Melony moaned against his lips and held him close. Derek then curled his fingers against her spot, and melony let out a loud moan and she slightly dug her nails into his skin. Derek groaned and deepened the kiss. Melony started to move her hands down his chest towards his pants, and she started to take them off.

"Derek, please" she moaned as he curled his fingers again.

"You want me?"

"Yes, Derek, baby, i want you so bad," Melony sighed. She wanted to feel him inside her properly. She wanted him to stretch her and fill her up. She knew he had to have a big cock, and knew he would feel amazing in her, she just wanted it to be real instead of just fantasies.

Derek grinned and sat up, removing his fingers from her pussy. He moved his pants down and melony glanced down. Even though his underwear was still on, Melony could see how big he was, and that he was rock hard for her.

Now that his fingers were no longer inside her, she wanted his cock even more. She sat up and reached for him. She moved his underwear down and was met with his hard member pointing right at her. Melony wrapped her hand around the base and moved her hand up and down a few times. There were so many things she wanted to do. She could rub him with her hands until he covered her in his cum, or she could take him in her mouth and swallow all he gave her. Most of all, she wanted him deep inside her dripping pussy. She wanted to feel all of him on top of her and inside her.

She then noticed a small packet he had in his hand. He had pulled it from his pocked before he had pulled his pants down.

Melony took it from him and opened it. She pulled out the piece of latex and placed it over the head of his cock, before rolling it down his shaft.

Derek softly pushed her onto her back, and Melony pulled him into a kiss so he had to move with her and he would be on top of her.

"Oh, baby, I want you so much" he breathed.

"I want you too."

"Almost" Derek said. He wanted to push into her so much, but he first wanted to make sure she would have an orgasm. He kissed down her neck one more time, this time doing it fairly quickly. He kissed down her chest and belly before kissing her clit. Melony moaned out, louder than before, and the grabbed onto the sheets.

Derek slipped two fingers back inside her. He started moving them in and out of her, curling them at the right time to make sure he would hit her spot as much as he could. He kept his lips against her as well, moving his tongue across her clit. He slightly moved his lips down and pulled his fingers from her core before pushing his tongue inside her.

Melony moaned out loudly. Derek licked at her a few more times before moving his lips back to her clit and pushing his fingers inside her again.

"Derek! Oh, I'm cumming. Please" Melony moaned. Derek curled his fingers again and flicked his tongue across her clit. Then the bubble inside her popped and melony moaned out, grabbing onto the sheets tightly. Her legs started shaking. Derek kept moving his fingers to work her through her orgasm. When she came down he pulled out his fingers and started kissing up her body. He moved his hands across her waist. Melony moaned with every touch, still very sensitive.

Derek kissed up her belly, her chest, and her neck before kissing her on her lips again. Melony kissed back and wrapped her arms around him.

"Derek, i want you." She breathed

"I want you too, baby. But i wanted you to feel good first" Derek said softly and stroke her hair

"You make me feel so good. I want to make you feel good too."

"You will, baby." Derek said and positioned himself at her entrance. When Melony felt his tip against her, she slightly wrapped her legs around his.

Derek grinned a little bit and slowly pushed into her. Melony let out a moan and grabbed onto him. She bit her lip and slightly dug her nails into his skin as he stretched her. He felt so good, but the first stretch was a little painful.

Derek kissed her neck as he pushed in further. He felt her stretch further around him. He filled her up nicely. She was tight around him, but she could take him well. He slowly pulled out until only his tip was inside her. Melony softly moaned and pulled him closer. He pushed in again and started moving at a steady pace once he felt her relax.

"Oh, you feel so good, baby." He groaned softly.

"Oh, Derek" Melony moaned, "oh, you fill me up so good."

Derek kissed her again and picked up his pace slightly. He was so hard, he couldn't wait much longer. He needed his own release so badly. He wanted it to feel good to her, but he couldn't wait too long anymore. She felt so good around him. So tight, slick and warm.

Melony started moving her hips with him and relaxed under him. Each time he trusted into her, she moaned against his lips. Soon they found a steady rhythm and they both let out pleasured sounds each time their hips met.

"Oh, Derek, harder" Melony moaned. Derek groaned softly at her request and moved one hand down to hold her hip while he picked up the pace, thrusting deeper into her and harder. Melony moaned louder and started to kiss his neck,

"You feel so good, baby" she said in his ear, "so good inside me. Yes, keep going. Oh, Derek."

"Mel..." derek moaned. Her moans were bringing him closer and close to tbe edge.

"Yes, oh, you are stretching me so good. Yes, Derek, oh"

"You're so tight and wet for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, it's all for you. You make me so wet."

"Mel, I'm close." Derek groaned and thrusted into her a bit faster. Melony removed her legs from his thighs, spreading them a bit wider so he could go deeper.

Derek groaned louder and pushed in when he finished, spilling his seed into the condom. As he did, Melony tightened around him again. He had sent her over the edge again and she held him tight during her second orgasm. Derek pressed his face into the crook of her neck, taking in her scent.

They both panted and held each other close while they came down.

Derek carefully pulled out and lay nex to Melony on the bed. Melony moaned softly at the loss of touch, then smiled at him.

"That was even better than i imagined." She said.

"It was, baby. So you were thinking about it too downstairs?"

"With all those comments you made, how could i not." Melony teased.

"I didn't make that many. I just used normal phrases."

"That had double meaning."

"I didn't even do it intentionally."

"Really? That surprises me."

"Well, i think i surprised you enough tonight didn't I?" Derek said and grinned a bit

"Oh, you definitely have." Melony smiled softly and bit her lower lip. Derek noticed and chuckled softly.

"Where is the bathroom? I need to clean up a bit" he asked.

"That door. If you need anything, just say the word." Melony said and pointed at a door inside her room on the corner opposite from the door they came through before.

"Thank you." Derek said and went to the bathroom to get rid of the condom and clean himself up a bit.

Melony waited in bed. When Derek came back out, he grinned a little bit,

"You lied to be." He said. Melony looked at him and furrowed her brows in confusion,

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you weren't a musician. But those sounds you made sounded like music to me." Derek joked. Melony smiled but looked away in embarrassment, "and i think you can play my instrument very well." Derek added. Melony hid her face under the covers, making Derek chuckle.

Melony moved one arm from under the covers and pointed at the door, "you can go" she said. Derek let out a laugh,

"Already?" He asked teasingly. Melony pulled the covers down slightly so she could look at him again,

"Did you plan on more rounds?"

"I'm always packed."

Melony grinned, "oh," she said and looked down and his penis before looking back up at him, "you definitely are."

Derek chuckled and lay down next to her,

"It was a good thing i had something with me."

"Did you plan on this?"

"No, but i am absolutely not complaining."

"Neither am I."

Melony smiled at him and kissed him. Derek kissed back and held her close.

~*~

Derek woke up and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake melony.

He grabbed his underwear from the ground and quickly put in on before walking downstairs. He went into the kitchen and looked through some cabinets and the fridge to see what was available for breakfast. Since he couldn't find much of anything, he settled on preparing some eggs.

While he stirred the pan on the stove to make sure the eggs wouldn't burn, he heard someone come in behind him,

"Good morning" Melony said, still a bit sleepy. She walked up to him and smiled, "I thought something smelled good in here."

Derek smiled, "Just scrambled eggs, nothing special," He said and looked at her, "Good morning to you, too." He said.

He then noticed she looked just like he had imagined the night before. Eyes still a bit sleepy, hair messy, only wearing his button up. He looked back at the stove and swallowed, trying not to think of how the rest of that fantasy played out in his head.

Melony noticed and grinned a little bit,

"Are you alright?" She asked, knowing exactly what was going on. She had seen how he looked at her when she walked in. She had had to sneak into the dining room to grab his shirt so she could put it on without him noticing, but it was worth the look on his face.

"Baby, you know exactly how i feel." Derek said, "god, woman, you are a tease"

"Oh, you don't like it?" Melony asked, feigning innocence, "should i take it off?"

Derek couldn't help but grin, "so you don't want breakfast?"

"Breakfast can wait, right?" Melony said and put her arms around him.

Derek turned off the stove and turned slightly in her arms, he pulled her into a kiss, picked her up and walked towards the stairs.

[more-stuff-of-pi]

Promises and Threats and the Kisses in Between

a/n: how is it that the one fic that I’m really not sure about is also my longest one? i’m a clown, that’s how. dedicated to mom and all the Makki simps out there. lmk how to better characterize our good boi :’(

notes: it might not be v clear but this is a college!au technically. i did not re-read this at all so apologies in advance. i’m also the worst at tenses ugh! requests are open :) find my masterlist here

pairing: hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader | genre: minor angst (w/lots of fluff) | warnings: swearing | word count: 2,618 (edited: 11/12/20)

The odd thing about being sad is that there were different types of sad. There was the kind of sad that had you screaming into a pillow for release. There was the kind of sad that had you feeling like someone had scraped your throat with sandpaper and had forced you to chop onions for hours. And then there was the kind of sad that left you feeling hollow, amiss. At first, you might think that you’re having an off day or that you’re simply in a bit of a ‘funk’. But then, as the day drags on and nothing -- not even mindlessly binging a new season or the same one you’ve seen a million times -- offers you a sense of fulfillment, you come to understand that you’re experiencing a kind of sad.

That kind of sad is one that pulls you in like a siren’s call, subtle and sweet, almost, until you notice that your head is sinking under water and your hand is desperately clutching at nothing but air. It’s the kind of sad that you suffer quietly, settling over you without rhyme or reason. The kind of sad that’s like water in a pot. Once it’s hot enough, it comes boiling over, raging and uncontrollable until someone turns off the heat.

You were feeling that kind of sad -- you had had a rough day to say the least.

And it wasn’t anything in particular that had sent you spiralling. Rather, your insecurities that you’d locked away neatly had sprung free like Pandora’s box, crawling and fighting and clawing their way out, smiling demons emerging victoriously from their solemn slumber. You had tried for hours to ignore them, flinging yourself into meaningless tasks. When that didn’t work, you tried shoving them back inside. Needless to say, that also did not work.

Which is how you found yourself staring at your phone, Hanamaki Takahiro’s contact glaring up at you. You had been like that for a few minutes, apparently hoping that some spirit would possess you and just push the damn call button for you already. But, you sighed, it seemed like you would have to find the courage to do it yourself. And it’s not like you should even need the courage! This asshole was your best friend of nearly ten years, whether he or you liked it or not, and there shouldn’t be a single problem in pushing that fucking button.

And yet, that was another thing about this kind of sad. It made you feel utterly, hopelessly, simply… alone.

But you had more faith in your friendship than what any kind of sad could tell you otherwise.

You pushed the damn call button.

“Yo,” Hanamaki picked up on the third ring. “What’s up, shithead?” In the background you heard guns blazing and dramatic music swelling to its climax.

You chuckled weakly, doing your best to reply as usual. “Nothing much, ugly.”

“Whoa, you okay? That had none of your typical asshat-ery to it.” Leave it to Hanamaki to notice that your insults had less bite than normal.

“Maybe I’m feeling nice,” you tried to cover.

“You? Being nice? To me?,” Makki questioned and you could hear his teasing smile, “Never.”

“Like anyone would ever be nice to a moron like you,” you heard someone in the background say. Matsukawa, maybe.

“Makki! We’re in the middle of a movie, put the phone away!” You could tell immediately from the nickname and the ever present whine that it was Oikawa which meant that it was definitely Matsukawa from before which meant that Iwaizumi was also present.

“Oh, shit, sorry. I forgot you had guys’ night or whatever the hell Oikawa makes you call it,” you apologized, tugging at the hem of your sweatshirt. On second thought, it might have been Hanamaki’s. It was certainly large enough to be.

You heard Hanamaki move, the background noise growing more distant. “Nah, don’t worry about it. He’s making us watch some stupid fucking alien movie that I swear he’s seen, like, fifteen times.”

“This is only my eighth time, jeez!”

Oikawa yelped as Iwaizumi undoubtedly hit him. “Shut it, Trashykawa.”

“Atta boy, Iwaizumi,” Makki cheered, drawing himself further from the noise. You heard a click of a door, assuming he had found a separate room. “So? What’s up?”

“Oh. Nothing,” you half-lied. There was something wrong, you supposed, you just didn’t know what.

“Bullshit,” Hanamaki said firmly, “you’re a terrible liar. Something’s bothering you and you never call unless you either need something or you had a shitty day.”

You scoffed. “I call you just to call you!”

“Last time you called me you asked me to get you a meat bun and you hung up before I could say anything,” Makki reminded you, amusement clear in his voice.

“Okay, well,” you said sheepishly, “it worked. So… there.”

He laughed, the sound light and mischievous. It never failed to make you smile, even if the smile now was small and half-hearted. “You’re such a dork.”

“Why thank you, I try.”

“Yeah, sure seems like it half the time.”

You would have punched him if he were there with you. “Hey!”

“You said it first, not me,” he chuckled. He waited for a few moments, perhaps for you to say something, but you honestly didn’t know what to say. You were sad but you didn’t know why and you felt like the whole world was against you. It was a miracle you were even able to call Hanamaki in the first place. He sighed. “Meat buns or Pocky?”

The question startled you as your brows knitted together. “What?”

“Fuck it, I’ll just bring both. I’ll be at yours as soon as I can.”

Your eyes widened as you tried to stop Hanamaki. “Hana, wait, no--”

A door opened and the background noise of the movie became clearer as Makki moved yet again. “Yo, Shittykawa! Got any Pocky?”

“Get away from my kitchen, you snack monster!” you heard the man squawk.

“Nevermind, I’ll just get it with the meat buns. Oh,” Makki seemed to remember that he hadn’t hung up on you and softly said, “I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Y/n.” And the line went silent. 

“What the hell?” you whispered to yourself. You glanced outside your window, surprised that it was already dark outside, meaning that you had wasted away your entire day. You didn’t know what you expected to come out of talking with Hanamaki, but it certainly wasn't for him to ditch his friends to come see you. You sighed, flopping back across your bed and closing your eyes to take a few moments to focus on your breathing. The pilates girls on campus were always preaching about how good it was to take a few centering, meditative breaths throughout the day. Hanamaki and you constantly snickered at their bullshit but right now, you honestly felt as if you were a dam with a weak point, just waiting for that one final push to break you. So if the pilates girls were right and this whole centering bullshit ended up not being complete bullshit and it didn’t hurt to just breathe -- what the hell, might as well try something. All of your previous attempts turned out to be useless, so what harm could deep breaths do? You honestly were just hoping to keep your mind occupied until Hanamaki apparently showed up on your doorstep, ditching his old high school teammates he only gets to see every now and then in favor of coming to see your mopey ass. He just saw through you so easily -- a spy career was out of the cards for you, you mused -- that it was almost infuriating. All because the usual insult that you fling his way sounded a little less bitchy. Damn him and his stupidly keen intuition.

The breathing thing must have worked because, before you know it, your door is opening and Hanamaki is calling out a casual “Yo!” as he lets himself in.

You groan, forcing yourself to get up and actually greet him. He’s in your kitchen, shuffling through the fridge to find the beer you keep for him hidden in the back. You can tell he’s been sweating, beads of it lightly dripping down his temples. “You stink, ugly.”

Makki turns around beer in hand, lifting an eyebrow at you. “Nice to see you, too.”

“You’re sweating, what else am I supposed to say?”

He rolls his eyes, clutching dramatically at his heart. “I ran here from the station and I even brought you food and this is how you repay me? Some friend.” He gestures to the bag sitting on your countertops. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds, sipping from his beer.

"Hana, you didn't have--"

Hanamaki huffs, lazily waving your words away. "Yeah, yeah, but food always helps when you're feeling down and you've been nagging me to get you meat buns for the past two weeks." He gave you a pointed look. “So consider this as me caving. I even got you Pocky, too.”

You persist, "Still--"

"Listen," he sighed, glancing at you, his features almost bored, "I know you're sad and there's nothing wrong with a guy wanting to be there for his best friend, now is there?"

(Your heart did a weird thing and you knew it was because he had called you his best friend but you had always been that and would continue to always be that, so what was the problem?)

You shifted your feet, tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Well, no, but guys night--"

"Whatever, I see those guys every month," 

You quirked your brows. "You see me almost every day, Hana, we go to the same college."

"Yeah, but I actually like you instead of those dweebs. Plus, you’re sad. I’d be a dick if I just ignored that." Hanamaki made his way over to your couch, perching onto the arm, facing you and nursing his stolen drink.

You crossed your arms as you leaned against the counter. “You’re really annoying for being able to do that, by the way.”

“For being able to do what?”

“For being able to tell that I’m sad! Sometimes a girl just wants to be sad by herself.”

Makki quirked his brow. “You called me, princess.” You swallowed the heat that wanted to rise at hearing your best friend call you that.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” you choked out defiantly.

Hanamaki grins as you huff, snatching a box of the mint chocolate biscuit sticks and tearing into it, crunching one into your mouth. You glared at him as you swallowed the treat, his stupidly cute smirk doing its best to coax more warmth to flood your system.

“You’re feeling better now, yeah?” he asks, after a minute. You nod reluctantly to which he chuckles, grin never once leaving his face. “So you don’t mind if I tell you something?”

You cock your head to the side, a little confused. Usually the asshole doesn’t hesitate to ask you the most invasive questions so you can only wonder. "Tell me what?"

Makki nods, chugging the rest of his beer – you didn’t notice how little of it was left in the first place – and sets the bottle down onto the coffee table. "It's been on my mind for a really long time, now. Like, months. Years, even."

"That's surprising, I didn't know you could think for that long."

A wide grin split over his mouth. "Oh, shut it."

A matching smile lifts the corners of your mouth. "So, Hana, what has your brain so occupied? You need all the space you can get up there."

He exhales a shaky, laughing breath. You wonder why he seems so nervous. He never gets nervous. There's even a flush to his cheeks that you don't think is just from the beer. “I think," he says slowly, methodically," I’m in love with you. No, I know I’m in love with you.”

Your heart feels like it comes to an utterly abrupt stop. You swear you can feel it seize up. Heat climbs up your body, swirling throughout. Maybe you should have cleaned your ears while you were waiting for him to show up, you don't think you heard him correctly. “What?”

“My stupid fucking heart does this really stupid fucking thing where it feels like it can skip a beat when you call me ugly. My goddamn lungs feel like they are entirely incapable of breathing properly when I’m around you because I just love you so much–”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you blurt out, wincing at your lack of self control.

Makki stops and just stares at you. Your fingers immediately find the hem of your shirt once again, playing with it to distract you from the total fool that you made of yourself. But, then again, that wasn’t anything new around Makki… who continues to just stare at you. And then he’s bursting into fits of laughter, trying to hold them in and only making the choking sounds worse.

“Did you– did you just… fucking insult me while I was confessing? Ouch,” he wheezed.

“I– This doesn’t happen to me very often, Hanamaki, how the hell else do you expect me to react?”

He quieted and for the first time when he looked at you, he looked almost shy. Almost. He was still the same calm and collected Hanamaki Takahiro that you had grown to adore. “Maybe for you to say that you love me, too?”

Your breathing hitched and you finally allowed yourself to admit that your heart always did weird things around your best friend because you were maybe, sort of, wholeheartedly in love with him too.

“Is this how you cheer girls up when they’re sad? By telling them that you love them?”

His smile is soft and kind. “Only the ugly ones.” You groaned, covering your face at his idiocy. “And the ones I get to call mine.”

Your heart fluttered as you peeked at him from beneath your hands. “There better only be one.”

“Is..." he takes a deep breath, "Is that ‘one’ gonna be you?”

You gulp underneath his serious stare, entirely unused to it. “O-Only if you don’t mind being the uglier half.”

It takes a moment for him to register your words and watching him do so is like watching fireworks explode. His whole body lights up and his face is quick to be reignited with his signature grin, his eyes beaming with joy and pride. In order to do something, anything but look at Hanamaki, you snatch up another Pocky, stuffing it into your mouth.

Emboldened by your return of his affections, Hanamaki slinks over, bracing himself against the counter with his arms on either side of you. A hand comes to gently guide your chin to look at him. Impossibly, his smirk grows wider as he bravely leans in and bites down on the half of the Pocky sticking straight out of your mouth. His eyes are alive with amusement in the face of your embarrassment. Honestly though, you couldn't tell if you were more mildly disgusted or vaguely turned on.

"If you don't fucking kiss me, I'll kiss you myself." It was impossible not to glance at his lips.

His grin widens, licking at his lips hungrily. "Is that a promise or a threat?"

"Both," you breathe, butterflies battering around your stomach like crazy.

"Nice," he grins and then you’re both diving in for a kiss, both of your hearts swelling with joy and amusement and the pleasurable insanity of being in love with your best friend.

So here’s to promises and threats and the kisses in between.

taglist: @samwrights​ 

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 01 | thomas jefferson

title: freedom of the press

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8@assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers lmk if you want to be added to tags

words: 5.8k

warnings: thomas jefferson

desc: you’d just moved to d.c. full time, a promotion at your publication leading to a transfer to another district chapter, and you were more than thrilled to be there, more than ready to immerse yourself in the world of politics. what you weren’t ready for, though, was how the campaign trail you were following made your heart flutter and your stomach turn. you also hadn’t expected it to be so... gaudy? magenta? — or perhaps, though you wouldn’t hear of it, that wasn’t the campaign’s effect at all.

THOMAS JEFFERSON WAS an arrogant, pompous prick. Holding an entire press conference just so he could make a big, extraneous speech on "making the world a better place" was just about the most conceited thing a person could do — the fact that he expected people to show up was another thing entirely. The worst part was that so many people did.

And that was how one Y/N L/N found herself at the press conference of a man whose political views she absolutely despised, who she'd heard nothing but malice about from one of her best friends, and who she'd hated; his presence didn't make hate seem like a strong enough word.

At that particular moment in time, as she could feel the skin of her feet blistering in the heels she'd shoved them into early that morning, as she was fighting not to be pressed flush against the scratchy blazers of reporters within inches of her every side, as she could feel her thighs beginning to chafe under her pencil skirt, she was seriously regretting her decision to be a political journalist.

Yes, we get it, world peace, reducing poverty, bullshitting your way through a speech you wrote not twenty-four hours ago, she thought, but when can we get to the questions?

She huffed as he continued to his next point, frantically scribbling down his every last word despite the knowledge that every line was drawing her closer to insanity. She had a bottle of wine and a family-size bag of Takis waiting for her in her pantry upon her arrival back at her apartment. However, it wasn't long before she found that the brink of insanity was almost worth it. And it only took seven words.

Secretary Jefferson was nearing what sounded akin to a conclusion. While Y/N hadn't perhaps understood the purpose of the public address (if there was one at all), she was itching to get to questions so she could finally gain the material needed for her article. For her first serious article.

But that was when he said it.

"So, with these noble goals in mind, I find that it is in our nation's best interest that I step down from my position as Secretary of State." He cleared his throat, closing his eyes as though gathering his wits before flashing a confident smile, his gaze sweeping through the expanse of the crowd. "I'm stepping down to run for president."

A collective gasp ran over the crowd. Stepping down to run for president?

There was a skip as everyone jotted the words down, a moment marked only by a quiet buzzing of reporters before all hell broke loose, and everyone around Y/N started pushing toward the stage, demanding answers to their countless questions. (All she wanted was not to get trampled.)

She clutched her camera tightly and hunched her shoulders to shield herself as Jefferson called for order, though he could hardly be heard over the cacophony of a crowd. It didn't take long the man snapped, for better or for worse. Y/N couldn't complain; it stopped the journalist beside her who'd begun to storm the stage, and she was already bracing herself for impact.

"Hey!" he yelled, an annoyed expression painting his face, before the cacophony faded, and Y/N finally found herself able to stand straight up without fear of being KOed by another writer channeling their inner MMA star. "No questions will be taken today," —Y/N's eyes widened— "as we feel that the public should be given time to process the news. However, a full statement will be released from my office later this evening."

That was what elicited the rising discord from the sea of reporters, that time including Y/N.

"What?!" she breathed before pursing her lips. If she'd thought she'd resented the Secretary of State before, it was nothing to how she felt now. A press conference, as defined in all its exactitude, invariably included a period of time dedicated solely to taking questions from the press. Whatever Mr. Jefferson was trying to pull was not that.

She heard him yelling for order, urging the journalists to calm down, but the words seemed to be from a degree of removal; she'd begun to spiral in her thoughts, mind racing as she deliberated how in the world to turn the little she'd gained that afternoon into a real article. And all around her, Jefferson's call for harmony was the furthest thing from what manifested.

"You'll all have time to get a more extensive story throughout my campaign." Somehow, the man didn't look distraught, but simply annoyed as he exited the stage (which was, of course, met with outrage) and climbed into his car.

Y/N wanted to scream. She'd been transferred to D.C. to cover gritty, dramatic, headline politics; it was supposed to be a promotion. But, of course, if she blew the first assignment she was given, she wouldn't exactly be at the top of the list in the future, especially as the race for the presidency began. From her perspective, Thomas Jefferson was single-handedly ruining her career as a political journalist. She was thoroughly convinced that he was Beelzebub incarnate.

Despite her fury, as everyone around her rushed the stage, Y/N began trying to push her way out — if Thomas Jefferson said he wasn't taking questions, he meant it, regardless of how many people he'd spent hours inconveniencing with it. As she emerged onto the sidewalk from the mass of bourgie young-adults who reeked of cheap cologne, all she could think of was how the secretary had wasted her beautiful day. She could've been relaxing in her apartment with her roommate. Perhaps her sister could've been over, too, if she wasn't too busy with her kids. The lost possibilities were all she could focus on as she made her way down the street.

She'd worked with her roommate Angelica since they both started at the Washington Post, and they'd grown close quickly, not wasting much time before splitting rent on an apartment. Over the years, she'd become nearly as familiar with Angelica's sister, Eliza, as well as her husband, Alex — that is, her husband who conveniently happened to be the Secretary of the Treasury. The connection had proved helpful, as his network had pushed her career forward on more than one occasion. However, she couldn't claim that his constant bad-mouthing hadn't soured her opinion of Secretary Jefferson.

Y/N wasn't far from the building she and Angelica lived in, but in her tall heels with the weather bleak, the walk was considerably unpleasant. As she put in earbuds to drown out the din of the masses, her train of thought was only spiraling closer and closer to Dante's Inferno of partisan resentment — she couldn't pinpoint exactly where her emotions lie; she was torn between needing to scream until her throat was raw and wanting to curl into herself and softly weep. If this was her big, exciting, breakout article, she wasn't feeling too optimistic about the rest of her career.

It was only when the crowd thinned and she turned down an alley, taking a shortcut home, that she was torn from her mental soliloquy. As she turned right, venturing to throw herself onto her couch and bury herself in blankets as soon as possible, a black van turned into the other side of the lane, headed directly towards her at breakneck speed. Her eyes widened, cold panic shooting through her veins, and she stood frozen much like a deer in unfortunately-literal headlights, unable to do more than cover her head and brace for impact in the milliseconds she could only assume she had left.

She didn't hear the car screeching to a halt in front of her. It was ten seconds later when she realized that she wasn't splattered against the pavement, and tentatively, she opened her eyes, brow knit tightly in confusion.

As Y/N saw the motionless van, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she bit her lip, as her heart thumped in her chest. Her moment of relief passed nearly as soon as it arrived, the accumulation of anger that the afternoon had left her with now radiating from her in waves. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled as she began walking toward the van, fists tightly clenched as she yanked out her earbuds, stuffed them into her pocket.

"Hey, asshat!" she yelled, "Maybe next time consider not trying to drive down the alleys meant for people to pile their trash in?" She let out a bitter laugh as her face twisted into a sardonic smile. "Actually, my deepest apologies; I retract that. I suppose having no regard for the lives of pedestrians does make you trash, so maybe you do belong here. Forgive my oversight."

By then, she was nearly leaning over the hood of the car, directing her sneer and accusatory glare to whoever sat behind the tinted windshield at the driver's seat. It was then that a door began to open in the periphery of her vision, but she didn't notice, consumed wholly by her furious rant.

"Oh, and what's more—"

A man off to her left cleared his throat, and the sight before her as her gaze snapped to the sound nearly felt like a physical blow. Her words caught in her throat; her eyes grew wide. Thomas Jefferson folded his arms across his chest, clad in a burgundy three-piece suit, raising an annoyed eyebrow.

"What, exactly, is more?" He furrowed his dark brow, offering her his mocking interest, and Y/N's jaw ticked as she narrowed her eyes.

"Of course, it's you. Isn't that just perfect?" she huffed, and he raised his eyebrows, taken aback.

"Excuse me?"

"Please, you can't expect me to be feeling great about you right now," she scoffed, staring daggers into his expression of surprise, "You literally just held a press conference where you refused to take a single question. In the future, go waste someone else's time whose career doesn't depend on it."

"I just gave you the week's biggest news to report on. You should be thankin' me." His jaw hung slack as she shook her head in indignation.

"Don't flatter yourself; the fact that you're resigning from office doesn't mean that speech had even a fragment of substance. Instead, now all we know is that Thomas Jefferson wants world peace and enjoys kissing babies!"

"I was layin' out goals for the world when I'm elected!"

"'When'? When you're elected?" She scoffed. "Please. You won't get the nomination."

"I—" Jefferson scowled, cutting himself off before he could retaliate. He took a deep breath. "Look, can you just move? I've gotta be at the capitol of our country, and I don't have time to be arguin' with you."

Y/N raised her eyebrows, plastering on an expression of contrived surprise. "Oh? The capitol? Y'know, I seem to remember you issuing a very public resignation, like, less than an hour ago, no?"

He sighed. "C'mon, ma'am, I'm not kidding."

"I'll move," —His face lit up, and she crossed her arms— "if you give me an interview."

He let out a soft groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. Whatever."

"See, this is exactly what I—" Y/N stopped herself short, her eyebrows shooting up as she processed his words. "Wait, really?"

"I mean, you're not goin' anywhere." A grin flitted across his face, and he added, "And I mean, I could always have Secret Service move you outta the way, but I don't think that'd be great for public relations."

She smiled in spite of herself, pursing her lips in a weak effort to smother it. "Alright, Mr. Secretary. If nothing else, I appreciate that."

"Oh, so now you're bein' nice to me?"

"You are giving me what I want."

"I'm a man of the people, Miss... ?" He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"... Just Y/N," she supplied with a soft smile.

"Then call me Thomas."

She nodded, withdrawing her notepad with a cheeky smile playing at her lips. "Well, who knew it'd be this easy to get on a first name basis with the Secretary of State?"

"Are you gonna interview me or not, Y/N?" He raised a playful eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes.

"I can assure you, I'm not letting an exclusive go." She flipped to an empty page in her notepad, clicked her pen, and pulled out her phone before hesitating. "Do you mind if I record this?"

"So, I'm an exclusive now?" His smirk only grew, and she had to suppress a laugh.

"If you'll let me record this, you're whatever you want to be."

"Have at it, sweetheart." He leaned back on the hood of the van, arms crossed with a smile that was smug without a cause. She smiled as she tucked her phone into her pocket, having pressed record, and began asking questions.

"So, when exactly does your resignation go into effect?" She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, ready to start writing.

"Well, that was the public announcement, but it's been known in the capitol for a month now. Just now, that was me officially issuin' my one month's notice, 'cause it's a little harder to fill a federal government position than it is to fill a desk job." He chuckled lightly at his own words, but he cleared his throat when Y/N looked less than impressed.

"Alright, and if elected, what policies of the current administration would you see to protecting?"

"Well, our relationship with France has been rocky at times, but I think our maritime alliance is gonna continue to serve us well, considerin' how isolationism has been spreadin' overseas, and..."

As he began to drone on about foreign policy, the pair went on like that for several more minutes, Y/N's pen scratching furiously on her paper as Thomas just stood there, occasionally raking a bored hand through his hair. And soon, she was out of questions, and soon, he had no more answers to give.

"Well, thank you, Secretary Jefferson," she said, tucking her notebook and pen back into her purse and ending the recording on her phone. "I'll get out of your way, now."

He raised a teasing eyebrow. "Didn't I ask you to call me Thomas?"

She rolled her eyes. "Forgive me, but I'm not used to being on a first-name basis with presidential candidates."

"Better get used to it." He shot her a quick wink, pushing himself off the hood of the car before walking back around to the door. "Nice meetin' you, Y/N."

She hummed her agreement, wearing a knowing smile. "We'll see whether you're singing a different tune by the time you actually see my article."

"That a threat?"

"Just thinking out loud." She shrugged, hardly sparing him a glance where he stood by the passenger seat of the car, appearingly amused. "If you're that concerned about it, maybe your next close call with vehicular manslaughter shouldn't involve a journalist."

"Can't make any promises. I do seem to have a hard time avoidin' the press."

She was glad he couldn't see the egoistic smile she wore at hearing the skepticism that drenched his tone as she walked off. "Then maybe this won't be the last you see of me, Thomas."

She looked back over her shoulder to see the bemused look he wore, eyes narrowed in the slightest, arms folded as he leaned against the side of the van. Of all the ways to cheat death, she decided this one wasn't so bad.

_______________

"OH MY GOD, Angelica, I'm freaking out." Y/N rushed into her apartment with her heart pounding, all her movements erratic as she dropped her bag, nearly tripped as she ran to her laptop. Her roommate's eyes widened as she met her where she stood.

"What? What happened?" When Y/N ignored her, she grabbed her arms, pulling her to a stop. "Talk to me."

She took a deep breath. "I just got the first interview with Thomas Jefferson after he announced he was running for president, and I need to get the article out within the hour."

Angelica's eyes widened. "Oh god, what? How did you— I only saw the live broadcast, but he didn't take any questions, did he?"

Y/N shrugged, ego pervading her smile. "Perks of the Secretary of State almost hitting you with his car, I guess."

By then, Angelica's eyes were bugged out. "He what?!"

"Well, technically it was his driver's fault, but still." Y/N finally found where her laptop had been charging and surged toward it, breaking from her roommate's grasp. Angelica could only watch in horror as she frantically slammed the power button, urging the computer to go faster as she emptied the contents of her bag onto the kitchen counter.

As the computer turned on, they both let out sighs of relief, though for different reasons. Angelica was just glad Y/N hadn't quite Hulk-smashed her own keyboard.

The remainder of the night was a blur, with Y/N hardly aware of the time that flew by as Angelica nearly had to force-feed her any sort of dinner (it was ultimately several individually-packaged bags of chips and a few glasses of gas-station alcohol, really) and Y/N proceeding to push just a few yards past the medically-advised limit of coffee in her bloodstream, just to the point where she was shaking, her fingers a blur as they glided across the keys of her laptop.

The article was finished by 7:30 pm, hardly proofread in her eager haste, and forwarded to her editor the moment the last word was typed. Y/N's eyes widened as she sent the email, and she proceeded to close the laptop, taking a deep breath as a grin played at her lips.

"Guess who just sent in her article?" she sang as Angelica glanced back from the living room. She snorted.

"Finally. Maybe now I can stop hearing Thomas Jefferson's voice played on repeat from your phone."

Y/N only shrugged. "Internalizing what was said is part of the creative process, Angelica."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, whatever. Just go eat some actual dinner, and do your very best not to pass out from the caffeine in your system."

"No promises." Y/N walked over to the fridge, rolling her shoulders after she pulled the doors open. "Damn, I feel like I could run a marathon."

"But it might be just a bit better for you to take a nap," Angelica interrupted, and Y/N pursed her lips.

"I mean, either way," she agreed, and Angelica rolled her eyes. "Alright, now I've just gotta wait for my editor to read it, and I'm golden."

"Or, you have to make several edits and accept thorough draft feedback, and then you're golden," Angelica pointed out, and Y/N rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair as she rummaged through the fridge.

"Always a cynic." Her eyes widened slightly, and a moment later, she withdrew a bottle of champagne. "Hey, can we crack this open to celebrate my first exclusive?"

"Hmm?" Angelica craned her neck back from the couch, and smiled when she saw what her friend was holding. "I mean, sure, but I think you'd be obligated to invite Alex and Eliza over."

Y/N scowled. "You're right; you're right."

The pair had been gifted the bottle by Angelica's sister and her husband, but only on the condition that they opened it only when it really merited the celebration (it's an excellent vintage bubbly; 1920 was a long time ago, as Alex had lectured them) and that Alex and Eliza were there. It was a strange choice of housewarming gift, but Angelica and Y/N appreciated it nonetheless.

But in that regard, there was nothing left to do with the evening except drop herself onto the couch and wait for the green light to publish (in extreme apprehension, of course).

And Y/N was far from aware of the fuse she'd just lit.

_______________

@Y/N_L/N: My new article is up now, direct from the Washington Post! First hand news not only about the future of our government, but about the 2020 presidential race.

The First Steps Into the Race

https://washingtonpost.com/veryreallink/presidentialrace

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@Thomas_Jefferson: Just so you don't have to read the article, here's a spoiler: I'm running for president 🎉

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: why can't you just let me do my job

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@Thomas_Jefferson: Where's the fun in that?

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: The fun is that people read the article I worked hard on????

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@Thomas_Jefferson: So should I assume I can't count on your vote?

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: why are you like this

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@A_Hamilton: See this is what I've been telling you

Replying to @A_Hamilton:

@Y/N_L/N: can't you stay out of this

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@A_Hamilton: Ok but where's the fun in that

Replying to @A_Hamilton:

@Y/N_L/N: God, you're just like him

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@AngelicaSchuy: 👀 that's serious shade, considering who you're talking to

Replying to @AngelicaSchuy:

@Thomas_Jefferson: call him out

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: You're literally a politician, why are you part of this

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@Thomas_Jefferson: This is called public relations, last I checked

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: this literally started with you telling people not to read my article; you're awful at public relations

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@Thomas_Jefferson: I was just saving people time. I haven't even been elected yet and I'm already making steps for the public interest

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: Spoiler alert: Thomas Jefferson's election will cause unemployment rates to spike because he thinks he's better than everyone at their jobs

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@AngelicaSchuy: oh shit

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@A_Hamilton: can i sponsor your feud with him yet

Replying to @Y/N_L/N:

@Thomas_Jefferson: yeah, I'm definitely counting on your vote :)

Replying to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Y/N_L/N: leave

...

@Thomas_Jefferson started following you.

________________

AFTER THAT FRIDAY, life itself quickly began to escalate.

Her 79 twitter followers became 150, which soon became 300, and it wasn't long before she hit 1000. Her inbox was flooded with messages about her article (something which had never used to happen before). She had blown up—-to the extent that a political journalist could, of course. But regardless, she was a hit.

So the scattered congratulations and pats on the back she received when she arrived at work that Monday shouldn't have come as a shock. In fact, she'd nearly grown accustomed to it by the end of the day. What did come as a shock, though, was her boss approaching her as she was finishing up in the afternoon.

"L/N, you did some good work on the Jefferson article."

She looked up from her laptop to see Ashley, her editor, standing in front of her at the entrance to her office, hands folded across her chest and a small, proud smile resting on her lips. Y/N matched her stance, giving a self-satisfied grin.

"Why, thank you. Maybe there are advantages to nearly being hit by the Secretary of State's car." Y/N shrugged, and Ashley pushed herself off the doorframe, walking further into the office with an eyebrow raised.

"You're kidding, right? Are you— Can you explain?" she asked, and Y/N just grinned at her.

"A lady never tells," she taunted, though her tone erased any possibility that it might not have been in jest. Ashley rolled her eyes as she reached her desk.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she said, "And to think, I was coming in here to give you quite the enviable long-term assignment."

She perked up at that, eyes widening as she looked up to her from her desk chair. "Wait, seriously? What is it?"

"A lady never tells," Ashley mocked her in an overly-dramatic voice, and Y/N just scowled.

"Oh, c'mon, I don't talk like that," she complained, "Don't be like this."

"Just following suit," Ashley shot her a wink, and she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the first article you published in D.C. was an exclusive with the Secretary of State announcing that he was running for president. That was the first time people saw your name around here. So, their knee-jerk reaction next time they see it will be to believe what you're saying, especially if you're talking about the same thing."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, and Ashley grinned. "What I'm saying, Y/N, is that, because this is how you started your career, people trust you, especially about the presidential race, especially about Secretary Jefferson."

"I like the sound of that," Y/N said, and Ashley laughed.

"So do I. Trust me when I say it's good for business."

"I can imagine." Y/N hesitated, flipping her pen about her thumb, her brow furrowed, before asking, "So what, then? What's this 'enviable assignment'?"

"I want you to cover the Jefferson campaign through to the election." Y/N's eyes widened, and Ashley was quick to continue, "Now before you say anything, I want to elaborate. This would be a primary assignment. You'd have to build a network exclusively for information on the campaign. You'd have to spend your time digging up dirt on Jefferson and staying updated on his campaign, ideally from near to the source. Essentially, you'll have to structure your life around paying attention to his."

Y/N wrinkled her nose; she agreed with neither his rhetoric nor his policy, so being paid to think about him every waking moment wasn't the most appealing idea.

"But on the other hand, you'll quickly become the person that sources reach out to with pertinent information, your name will become known in our field, and you'll be able to get... well, just about whatever role you want as a journalist after the election, assuming you do the job well. It'd be something of a shortcut to the top."

Y/N sighed, her eyes wide, and pursed her lips. "Sounds like... a lot. It'd be a lot."

"I know," Ashley said, "but I want you to consider it. It'd be good for the Post and for you."

She let out a dry chuckle, raking a hand through her hair and looking back up at Ashley. "It would be good for me, wouldn't it?" Y/N said softly, a small smile resting on her lips. Ashley nodded.

"It'd be more than good."

Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line, dropping her gaze to the floor wordlessly. Ashley folded her arms. She recognized Y/N's blank expression — as stunned as she herself had been when promoted to manager of the Washington sector. She knew she'd need time.

"Just... think on it. You have until Friday," she said softly, tapping on Y/N's desk as she turned to leave.

__________________

"SO HOW LONG did she give you to decide?" Angelica stuffed another chopstick-full of takeout noodles into her mouth as Eliza struggled to get Netflix running on their TV. Y/N sighed.

"Only the next four days. I have to tell her on Friday."

"You shouldn't do it. Can you imagine having to spend a whole year dealing with that dick?" Alex asked, scrunching up his nose as he entered, popcorn and glasses in hand. Eliza shot him a glare as Y/N groaned.

"Language!" she hissed, and Alex rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, Philip's with the sitter," he whined, "It's, like, not that deep."

"That doesn't mean you should make it a habit of cursing about Jefferson! Our son is impressionable," she huffed, whacking his knee as he reached the couch. He pursed his lips.

"Also, for the last time, Alex, you hating him isn't an argument for me not to do this." Y/N yanked the dumplings out of his hands, angrily stuffing the entirety of one into her mouth as she glared at him. "Anyway, ar'n't you a politician? Ishn't talking about your coworkersh like that, like, illegal?"

"You're lucky we understood any of that with how much food you're eating." Eliza sat down next to Y/N, stealing the takeout container from her lap as Y/N whined in protest. Alex scoffed.

"I can talk about that asshole any way I want. He's resigning, anyway." Alex took a seat next to Eliza, absentmindedly draping an arm over her shoulders. "Besides, you hate him just as much as I do; don't even pretend."

"Hate's a strong word for it," she protested, "How could I hate him? I don't even know him."

"Sure, but you hate what he stands for," Alex said reasonably. Y/N huffed.

He was far from wrong; that was the exact thing that'd left her with such heavy reservations, but she couldn't give him the satisfaction of saying it. At that point, Angelica rolled her eyes, chucking a chopstick at him.

"Can you think about the positives for a half second?" she asked, turning to Y/N, "This would be such a good career move for you—"

"But at what cost?" Alex interjected.

"Don't start," Eliza scolded, whacking his chest lightly.

"And almost anyone else would jump at an opportunity like this. I know I would," Angelica continued, ignoring him, "And Alex could get you great connections and sources for your articles. Your networking is just about done for you."

Alex narrowed his eyes at that. "I am so not going to—"

"Yes, you are." Eliza narrowed her eyes right back. Alex scowled.

"Anyway," Angelica continued, "I think you should do it. Don't let Jefferson's horrible personality get in the way of your success."

Y/N scrunched up her nose. "I dunno; his horrible personality is a pretty big factor."

"Y/N, just know that I support your decision either way. It's your career, not these two's," Eliza said, giving Y/N a comforting smile as she reached over to squeeze her hand. Y/N met her expression with a soft smile of her own, though it didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Thanks, Lize," she sighed, "I just feel like, y'know... I might regret it if I take the job, but I'll always wonder if I don't."

"There's no good option, honey; we know," Angelica said sympathetically, "But look at the pros and cons, alright? What's the worst that happens if you take the job, hm?" She raised her eyebrows, and Y/N pursed her lips, holding back a scowl.

"I spend over a year miserable while tracking Jefferson's every move," she grumbled. Eliza sighed.

"And what's the realistic worst outcome?" she asked, "Because first, you really oughta think about whether this is honestly something that's gonna hold your interest for over a year."

Angelica nodded her agreement, her lips pursed at Y/N's sullen expression. "If you really think you're gonna be miserable, then by all means, don't do it. But if the assignment sounds like it could really be appealing..." She shrugged. "I think it's worth it."

Y/N sighed, raking a hand through her hair. Angelica's words were reasonable; they always were. And really, did she think she'd be miserable?

"For what it's worth," Alex added, interrupting her train of thought, "I still think it's a bad idea. Jefferson's trouble; you don't wanna spend that much time around him and his life."

Eliza whacked him, eyes wide and scolding, and Y/N huffed. "Thanks, Alex, real productive," she said bitterly, as both her friends glared at him. He held his hands up in defense, eyes wide.

"Hey, I'm just saying!" he protested, "If you take it, you have to be careful with him, alright? If he doesn't like what you report, I wouldn't put it past him to pull some underhanded bullshit."

Y/N scoffed, raising her eyebrows at Alex in disbelief. "What's he gonna do, set a hitman on me? Make me 'mysteriously disappear'?"

"I'm just saying!" he defended, and they all shared a laugh, Angelica rolling her eyes at Alex.

Y/N sighed, gave him a patronizing smile and patted his knee. "Alright, I'll keep it in mind." He scowled in response.

"But really, Y/N, Angelica's right," Eliza said, circling back, "You really need to think about whether you'll enjoy covering this. 'Cause if you won't, the career benefits shouldn't be the biggest factor, okay?"

She drew in a shaky breath, nodding. Would she enjoy it? She wasn't sure, and really, she had no way to be. But she couldn't deny the thrill that ran down her spine when he broke the news, when she had run into him, when she was writing the article, every time she thought of it. Was that enough to know?

She wasn't sure. She couldn't have been; she couldn't have known everything it would spiral into, how tangled her life would become into his. But she knew very well that, even so, there wouldn't be a single dull moment if she took the assignment. The past few days had already served to prove that.

She hoped that it would turn out to be enough.

_________________

"I'LL TAKE THE project," Y/N announced on Friday as she marched up to her boss's desk, surprisingly confident for having spent all week tearing her hair out over the decision. Ashley raised her eyebrows, not overly surprised, but entirely pleased.

"Oh really?" she asked, her expression only showing hints of conceit. "And just what made you decide that?"

Y/N gave a small smile, shrugged. "Couldn't throw away an opportunity like this on the off-chance that I got bored with Jefferson," she said, "Wouldn't be worth it."

Ashley grinned up at her. "Well, Y/N, I'm glad you think so. And I agree with you, for what it's worth."

"Well, good. Makes me feel like I'm making the right decision." She matched Ashley's expression, committing herself to optimism.

"And even so," Ashley added, folding her hands atop her desk. "You will not be getting bored over the time between now and the inauguration. I promise."

Y/N cocked a brow. "You sound like you speak from experience." Ashley only shrugged, a sigh escaping her lips.

"Yeah, I've had a few projects not too far off from this in my day," she admitted, "And the one thing they always are is interesting. Especially with politics."

"So I should strap in for a wild two years?" Y/N quipped, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ashley grinned.

"Just know that you won't be surviving it standing up."

[swordmaid]

I just saw your post about the lann armour again and I've got a question: I'm just starting out w/ digital art and would you recommend doing colours first and patterns after or the other way round? Also, have you maybe any tips for a beginner in digital drawing? Thanks in advance, you're awesome and I love your style!

i REALLY recommend you doing the colours first then patterns after just because if you want to change the pattern or try something else, it’s easier to hide the pattern layer and work with a blank slate again than restarting the whole thing. i don’t know which program you’re using, but i really recommend you to utilize clipping layers! it makes coloring easier and if you want an in depth explanation on it, feel free to dm it and i’ll try to explain it as best as i could!

and as for tips in general, make sure to constantly save lol i’m not lying. too many times i’ve lost wips because i don’t save and my program crashes. and as for digital drawing, honestly experiment and watch speedpaints in YT. that’s really how i learnt best. i’m not too sure what area you want tips on (if u want to know abt anything specific lmk!), know your keyboard shortcuts --this will come in handy most esp if you ever want to digital paint, use clipping layers and name your files properly haha

sorry if this isn’t anything specific, but if you really want me to explain anything in art or digital drawing, my IM is always open <33

[nejirespiral]

anyways literally just mafe this side blog to make this post (manga ch 222 spoilers btw) but anyways i feel like in this arc or maybe later in the story but i feel like eri and shigariki's arcs are going to be really relevant to each other. i saw a post on here earlier (i don't remember who made it lmk if you do tho so i can credit them) talking about how eri and shiggy both have quirks that developed randomly along with red eyes & blue hair, and similar back stories (lost family bc of quirk they couldn't control, and were used by larger antagonists for their own purposes) so i think horikoshi is intenionally drawing parallels between them bc of how their paths will end up intersecting. personally, i think this could play out a few ways. with eri's quirk being so that she can rewind people to a previous state, its reasonable to assume that she could restore shiggy's memories OR she could possibly rewind one of the hands of his dead family members to when they were alive. i could see it playing out as like the league decides to kidnap eri bc of how strong she is, but of course shes absolutely terrified and accidentally activates her power and rewinds one of shiggy's hands. then whichever relative (probably his father bc thats shigs favorite hand) will tell shiggy about nana or his childhood or maybe smth abt afo or say him loves him yk some mushy shit and its kinda sweet but shortlived bc eri can't control her power and rewinds the relative out of existence. obviously the whole encounter will mess shiggy up pretty bad and i doubt it will cause him to join the heros or anything but i think it will lead him to kill afo (assuming this event takes place after the prisonbreak arc that almost definitely is gonna happen) which would set shiggy up as the true leader of the lov and it could set up his ultimate showdown w/ deku. if this scenario was the case, all might would probably die around here too, bc deku and shig are foils and the successors of afo and all might. i doubt this is going to happen anytime soon ESPECIALLY if its going to set up the big battle between deku and shig, but horikoshi loves to put things in the story that won't be relevant until a hundred chapters later. with the development that shiggy dosen't remember much of his past i think that him eventually remembering or learning about it is going to be one of, if not the biggest moment in his character arc and i think it could totally alter his relationship and view of afo. anyways lmk your thoughts

[angelinuhh]

you seem really knowledgeable about race-related issues w/ the rpc so i thought i'd ask: is it just me, or does the rpc seem to have a problem w/ actually acknowledging and using japanese fcs?

ty ! but when it comes to race issues, i genuinely have a lot to learn.

 to answer your question—— i do believe the rpc has a problem acknowledging and using japanese fcs. but– in the same way the rpc has a problem engaging with most types of poc. however, if you (or anyone else) feels differently, please enlighten me. i would love to know. 

in the meanwhile, i did some… statistics and analysis for you below the cut. thank you to the 21 roleplays from which I used their taken character information. 

A STUDY IN THE USAGE OF JAPANESE FCS (a la the RPC 2019)

for a fuller and better understanding of your question, i decided to do a little research. i wanted to see which japanese fcs were being used, how often japanese fcs were being used, compare this to real-life numbers and more. 

STEP 1. GATHERING DATA 

trawling the tags, i came up with a list of rps. from there, i excluded any rp with under 20 muses— though i do note that none of the rps under 20 muses had more than one japanese fc. and then, i noted every single time i saw a japanese fc being used and the frequency of japanese fcs in the rp. i also went ahead and identified what country’s entertainment industry they were in (western/american, japanese, korean) and if they were of mixed descent.  

STEP 2. RESULTS

Based on these 21 RPs, the AVERAGE % of Japanese FCs is 1.53%.

OF NOTE, if there is any japanese fcs in an rp, the average is boosted to around 2.59%. With the exception of 2 RPs, every single RP that had any japanese fcs in it was within .2% of this score… aka, while there are some failures in our sampling (non-random), all of the members of our sample were fairly similar in terms of % of japanese fcs. 

The most popular fcs to see were RYAN POTTER (½ japanese and a western fc), NANA KOMATSU (full japanese, in the japanese industry ), & KAYLEE BRYANT (¼ japanese and a western fc). 

nearly all the fcs with multiple occurrences were mixed fcs from western entertainment. in addition, nearly all the fcs from western entertainment were mixed while the ones from eastern industries were full-blooded.  

STEP 3. INTERPRETATION. 

according to worldometers, the actual percentage of japanese people in the world is equivalent to 1.64%. the census shows that the percentage of japanese people in the us is 0.4%

so yeah. based on my crappy data, we’re doing okay. 

and tbh. im actually. really shocked and impressed by that. 

on one hand, it makes sense. while i would love to see more japanese fcs used (catch me… making gif icons of chiharu okunugi and saila kunikida in my free time all day), i’ve never noticed anything egregious abt japanese fcs in particular and this does back up the argument. 

 but… on the other, you’re right. i feel you 100% on the fact that we have a problem. as someone who is asian and in the rpc, i feel like it is important to emphasize that we need to and we CAN DO so much better. my data, as presented thus far, is skewed heavily in favor of “everyone’s doing the right thing! and everyone’s writing these people as japanese!”– when really that’s not the case at all.

for one, just because the percentages show that japanese fcs are being played, this does not guarantee good portrayal.

secondly, changing the definition of japanese… will change the results extensively. for example, this dataset includes people who are less than ½ japanese (booboo and fivel stewart (japanese, chinese, korean, ½ white + claims of blackfoot), ming lee simmons and kaylee bryant (¼ japanese) ) while they are still japanese, they ARE also mixed. and it’s hard. to make that decision. whether they should count as japanese portrayal and representation. 

i’ve also noticed that not all these characters are even played as japanese. in particular, kaylee bryant’s japanese heritage is sometimes ignored and she will be used to play played a white character, while booboo stewart is usually either native or just… ambiguously asian. neither of these things are good. 

and thus… if i stop giving people the benefit of the doubt and actually look for japanese portrayal instead of just … any japanese fc, this will put us  BELOW average.   

WHY WE MIGHT FEEL THAT PEOPLE ARE NOT USING OR ACKNOWLEDGING JAPANESE FCS (also WHY WE R VALID TO)

mixed fcs have privilege. and while we can love and support them and validate their identity, it is sometimes hard to see ourselves in them or to immediately identify them and acknowledge them as representation. sure, ryan potter is great. but even he’s spoken at length about how being hapa/hafu benefits him. 

other races (cough… just white people and maybe kpop fcs) seem to have a lot more variety in terms of fc choices. there’s a hundred different white fcs in use. in contrast, when there is japanese representation, it is usually the same people. if you go to ten rps and they each have one japanese fc, that’s dope. but if each of those ten rps just use nana komatsu… then you’re going to feel like. people don’t use japanese fcs. 

people might be writing shitty japanese stereotypes or portrayals. 

regardless if… all or none of the above is what you think, if you feel like an ethnicity is being slept on in the rpc. you are not wrong. you are also not alone. this is not the only group that feels this way. a big reason i run @vietrpc is for similar reasons. i wanted to see more viet faces. i wanted to see more diversity. but— lbr, the frequency of just lana condor in an rp will probably equal to the frequency of vietnamese people in the world. even though, lana condor is the only viet person ppl play (s/o to jessica vu, hyulari + karrueche for trying tho). 

i’ve seen black muns do similar things when they say that people don’t play black muses. while most rps i’ve seen do have some sort of black characters in it. they just happen to be… the most ‘passable��, the most ‘acceptable’. we all love zendaya, but when she’s the only black person that ever gets used in the rpc– that’s not great. it is so easy to feel like… because these are token fcs, that they don’t count. 

( note: i haven’t done the math. but i would probably put money down on that people don’t play black muses… to a level that’s beyond what asians in the rpc face. and there’s a lot more going on with this issue than there is w/ viet or japanese representation. i just wanted to reference it, because it is a similar topic.)

look. the rpc sleeps on poc. we know that. even if they use our faces. they still suck at doing it right. 

part of it is most of the rpc is western. and… lbr… there’s really not that many asians in western media. people just don’t like using fcs they’re unfamiliar with. and they’re not willing to immerse themself in the japanese entertainment industry or whatever.  that’s just going to be a thing. 

part of it is. cough. racism. wow, look at the time. 

.

.

lastly. 

ok ngl that was… more work than i expected but it was really rewarding to see the data like that. if anyone enjoyed reading that or seeing that and wanted to see more, lmk. you could even help out tbh. i think it would be interesting to do this for other races. 

my lab reports always include my errors, so, if i had to redo this, i would have a larger sample and choose a random sample of 20 from it. i would do all my data in excel so i could see how my data was affected by removing people who were less than ½ japanese. i would also maybe include… a poll on how people write their characters. inclusive of the following questions.

what is your race? (you may answer with non-japanese/japanese or your specific race)

what do you do to write this character? what references do you draw upon?

is your character japanese

this would weed out the white-washing ppl n ppl who just don’t play a multiracial character in that way. 

if your fc was changed to that of another ethnicity, would your backstory change? 

would the way you play your character change?

on a scale of 1-4 with 1 being not important at all to 4 being very important, how important is your fc’s ethnicity when it comes to writing and developing your muse?

these open-ended questions would help me understand the portrayal of japanese characters in the rpc

if you can contribute anything to this conversation, my inbox is always open. i’m glad to hear it. 

[isabellaflvme]

( hi it’s jinx again!! hopefully for the last time !!! i also play mary!! )

ISABELLA FLUME has joined the fight! the TWENTY-SEVEN year old works as a MANAGER/OWNER OF HONEYDUKES, but spend HER time fighting for NEUTRAL. ISA is known to be INTELLIGENT & MATERNAL, as well as PEOPLE PLEASING & OVERTHINKING. ( fc: deborah ann woll )

AESTHETIC: always having a deck of cards & candies in her robes, sugar, curiosity, rain, worn hardback books, broken paper back spines, courage that doesn’t roar, learning to abandon masquerades but having trouble not telling white lies, a fire crackling, exploding when you least expect it, hiking trails. fighting through the fear, recovering one day at a time, forcefully finding peace & purpose while the world is falling apart.  PINTEREST: [ x ] 

triggers: eating disorder tw ( i will specifically label it ), illness tw, 

quick points before her bio!!!

don’t call her bella, bells, you can use isabella but that’s usually if you know her, she’ll usually introduce her name as isa. Edgelord obviously™

Tired Mom Friend

is a halfblood but her parents have paraded her as a pureblood for A WHILE

The War is a lot and she’s neutral, wants to know how to help but is scared. gets a lot of pressure to mingle with prejudiced purebloods and did as a kid and in school but the past few years she’s gotten more distant. doesn’t believe in blood prejudice, but also doesn’t really know where her place is to help in the war. 

if u ever hear this lady raise her voice LMK!!! or run cause she is v soft spoken

just a heads up -- i have extensive experience and have done research w/ eating disorders, and im not here to glamorize it, use it as a plot device etc. still, i will tag it so it doesn’t trigger anyone else!!! 

BIOGRAPHY ( it’s long sorry ):

Born on the cusp of winter and spring, March 21, 1951, was a day her parents, Michael and Amelia Flume, cherished. They were two highly respected Aurors who had been trying for the longest time to conceive children — their  window of opportunity was running out. It was their only way they could think of keeping their marriage together, especially after the war. Both had been through a great deal, including losing two of their previous children after Grindewald ( due to fallout of them being Aurors )  and found themselves irreparably changed — but scared of being alone. In turn, they clung to each other and decided to build a new life — starting by restarting a family. Her mother who was almost too old and weathered to have children, went to healer after healer, trying everything she could to have a child. Finally, their miracle of miracles, Isabella Marié Flume was born.

They spoiled their daughter rotten and made sure she was educated in absolutely anything and everything from a young age. Her mother, Amelia, was harder on her daughter than her father was ( they had been trying to re-enter Pureblood Society as a means of protection, hoping that it would help them survive which reflected their parenting style towards their daughter ). Especially when it came to food and appearance. She wanted her daughter to be the epitome of perfection but not only that, to grow up a strong woman. Amelia felt by being tough on her daughter, this would cultivate a strong exterior. While this did happen, Isabella was also utterly miserable. Instead of playing wizard games with the other children in Godric’s Hallow, Isabella was learning French, and just injected with all kinds of knowledge she didn’t really want at the time. Happy was what she wanted, and happiness to her was in the form of being free, especially from these expectations — but going outside to play would do.  Isabella never got the chance and eventually gave up trying to fight her parents, and ultimately instead started trying to please them.

Still, the absence of the children they should have had, weighed heavily on Isabella’s shoulders. Late at night when they thought their prized daughter was asleep, her parents would bicker and cry about how much they missed their other children. Amelia and Michael blamed each other — and all this made Isabella want to do was make them happy even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. The only truly happy childhood memories Isabella could draw around her childhood revolved around food — which was a great coincidence seeing as her uncle owned the infamous Honeydukes Sweet Shop. She was always completely entranced when she went in, and Ambrosius and Arabella Flume always gave her the parental love she desperately needed and was lacking. Once her mother saw her love sweets she nicknamed her daughter  “Belly”, in an attempt to maybe get her to lay off the candies. It didn’t really work, so her mother’s primping and comments became frequent.

Isabella tried to be what they wanted and failed at first when she was sorted into Ravenclaw instead of prized Slytherin. But her parents overlooked that first transgression — Ravenclaw was respectable. Isabella became the perfect daughter they wanted her to be. Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team her Second year. Made prefect in her  fifth year. But — when they wanted her to make Captain in her Seventh as well as Head Girl — she faltered. Isabella was just average at best. She had reached her potential and it was never enough. The girl was under such pressure, one day she just snapped and yelled at her parents, telling them what she thought. Her parents then started to fight, and blaming each other.  In turn, Isabella once again felt she had to make them happy. The cycle continued.

[ !!!! eating disorder tw !!!! ] It was in the beginning of that seventh year that Isabella fully started to feel her parents pressure. Food became a comfort, and she’d often sneak to her uncle and aunts shop to binge on sweets whenever she was nervous or anxious about something. Then, because she felt guilty for eating so much, she’d force herself to throw it up. This became a coping mechanism, and it gave her a sense of calm until it just became something she couldn’t stop. Bulimia was something all her own, something her parents didn’t control. Something she was good at. [ eating disorder tw end ] 

[  eating disorder mentions ] At the start and for a long time after that, Isabella’s life became a blur. After she graduated, she desperately wanted to move to Romania to work with dragons for a year before becoming an Unspeakable — but it was something her parents disapproved of. Isabella ended up taking a lot of shifts at her uncle’s store, Honeydukes, and when her uncle fell ill — they trusted her to take care of the store. Since her aunt was always taking care of her husband, they gave complete ownership to Isabella — who now feels completely bound to it. Her and her eating disorder are in a hellish like equilibrium. To try to cope further with it, she’d engage in excessive drinking, meaningless sex, drugs occasionally on nights because being in her head was too much to handle. She clung to it, it was her, an escape but knew after a while that those were horrible behaviors to have and a disease that eats away at her even with magic.

The years she was supposed to use finding herself and discovering who she was have been used to help with Honeydukes and fuel her disorder. She finally looked into treatment and luckily St. Mungos had very good outpatient treatment when the Muggle World hadn’t even had a name for her eating disorder - bulimia - yet. Isa didn’t know much about what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew it wasn’t destroying herself. Finally, with intensive outpatient treatment and Isa opening up to and getting support from some friends -- she got better. She became more open. She fought for herself and her sanity and has been in recovery for over two years, healthier than she’s been before.  [  eating disorder mentions end ]

You’ll more than likely see Isabella walking around with a bright smile, walking around, talking with her customers, getting to know each in every one of them. Isa is very caring, extremely kind, but also very nice which sometimes make people think she’s a pushover which she’s really not ( anymore ). She does like to please people, something she’s still not managed to shake off as time has gone by and what really tethers her to Honeydukes but she’s trying to make the best of it. Being very soft spoken, it’s been really hard for Isa to stand up for herself as well, something she’s working on. She still goes to therapy, because while everyone else is fighting a war on the outside, she’s waging an internal one that she needs to win more than ever on the inside. There’s a guilt she feels, not being more active in the war effort but also a wonder of what she COULD actually do help. 

that’s it im done phew pls like it if you’d like to plot!!

[isamariejones-blog]

( hey demons it’s ya boi ( or girl idc at this point the gender of the day? cheetos )  jinx and i’m here with my one of my fave ocs isabella jones!! i hope everyone is doing well and pls like this if you’d like to plot and i’ll come bother u! )

is that ( isabella 'isa' jones )? i think i saw the ( thirty-one ) year old ( cis-female ) ( candy store manager & owner ) in the town square earlier. the ( deborah ann woll ) lookalike could be described as ( kind ), but also be considered ( overthinking ). i heard someone in town say ( she ) was the town’s ( heart of gold ), but only time can tell if that’s true or not !

AESTHETIC: always having a deck of cards & candies in her pockets & purses, sugar, curiosity, rain, worn hardback books, broken paper back spines, courage that doesn’t roar, learning to abandon masquerades but having trouble not telling white lies, a fire crackling, exploding when you least expect it, hiking trails. fighting through the fear, recovering one day at a time, forcefully finding peace & screaming off a mountain top. PINTEREST: [ x ]

triggers: eating disorder tw ( i will specifically label it ), illness tw, death tw, drinking tw, drugs tw

quick points before her bio!!!

don’t call her bella, bells, you can use isabella but that’s usually if you know her, she’ll usually introduce her name as isa. Edgelord obviously™

Tired Mom Friend

comes from a wealthy af family that owns a small string of candy stores around the US. one in chicago, one in san francisco  and one in new york!!

if u ever hear this lady raise her voice LMK!!! or run cause she is v soft spoken

she wants to travel the world and climb everywhere and honestly wants to backpack through europe all that eat pray love shit and !!! has not

loves nature tho! a hoe for nature

probs an annoying white person who’ll suggest u try yoga for something wild but SHE MEANS WELL she just likes yoga

*NSYNC VOICE* BI BI BI ( BI BI )

just a heads up – i have extensive experience and have done research w/ eating disorders, and im not here to glamorize it, use it as a plot device etc. still, i will tag it so it doesn’t trigger anyone else!!!

BIOGRAPHY ( it’s long sorry ):

Born on the cusp of winter and spring, March 21,1986, was a day her parents, Michael and Amelia Jones, cherished. They were two highly respected FBI Agents who had been trying for the longest time to conceive children — their  window of opportunity was running out. It was their only way they could think of keeping their marriage together, especially after the war. Both had been through a great deal, including losing two of their previous children ( due to backlash from various enemies they’d made on the job )  and found themselves irreparably changed — but scared of being alone. In turn, they clung to each other and decided to build a new life — starting by restarting a family. Her mother who was almost too old and weathered to have children, went to doctor after healer, trying everything she could to have a child. Finally, their miracle of miracles, Isabella Marié Jones was born.

They spoiled their daughter rotten and made sure she was educated in absolutely anything and everything from a young age. Her mother, Amelia, was harder on her daughter than her father was. Especially when it came to food and appearance. She wanted her daughter to be the epitome of perfection but not only that, to grow up a strong woman. Amelia felt by being tough on her daughter, this would cultivate a strong exterior. While this did happen, Isabella was also utterly miserable. Instead of playing games with the other children in their new Chicago suburb, Isabella was learning languages like Spanish, French, German, and just injected with all kinds of knowledge she didn’t really want at the time. Happy was what she wanted, and happiness to her was in the form of being free, especially from these expectations — but going outside to play would do.  Isabella never got the chance and eventually gave up trying to fight her parents, and ultimately instead started trying to please them.

Still, the absence of the children they should have had, weighed heavily on Isabella’s shoulders. Late at night when they thought their prized daughter was asleep, her parents would bicker and cry about how much they missed their other children. Amelia and Michael blamed each other — and all this made Isabella want to do was make them happy even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. The only truly happy childhood memories Isabella could draw around her childhood revolved around food — which was a great coincidence seeing as her uncle owned a self made business, 'Jonesin' For Sugar' Candy Shop . She was always completely entranced when she went in, and Andrew and Arabella Jones always gave her the parental love she desperately needed and was lacking. Once her mother saw her love sweets she nicknamed her daughter  “Belly”, in an attempt to maybe get her to lay off the candies. It didn’t really work, so her mother’s primping and comments became frequent.

Isabella tried to be what they wanted and it never seemed to be enough even when Isabella became the perfect daughter they wanted her to be. Involved on sports teams, community outreach, perfect grades. Still, to them, Isabella felt just average at best especially when at her preppy private school she never seemed to be the top of her class or the president of their student government. She was always either second best or fell further behind. The girl was under such pressure, one day she just snapped and yelled at her parents, telling them what she thought. Her parents then started to fight, and blaming each other.  In turn, Isabella once again felt she had to make them happy. The cycle continued.

[ !!!! eating disorder tw !!!! ] It was in the beginning of her Junior year that Isabella fully started to feel her parents pressure. Food became a comfort, and she’d often sneak to her uncle and aunts shop to binge on sweets whenever she was nervous or anxious about something. Then, because she felt guilty for eating so much, she’d force herself to throw it up. This became a coping mechanism, and it gave her a sense of calm until it just became something she couldn’t stop. Bulimia was something all her own, something her parents didn’t control. Something she was good at. [ eating disorder tw end ]

[  eating disorder mentions, drugs mention ] At the start and for a long time after that, Isabella’s life became a blur. She maintained her grades, but starting hanging around the wrong side of Chicago -- getting into drugs, drinking, promiscuous sex and even drug dealing for a thrill. After she graduated, her parents practically forced her into her first stint at a treatment center but left when she realized it would interfere with her classes at Northwestern if she stayed any longer. Isabella ended up taking a lot of shifts at her uncle’s store, Jonesin’, and when her uncle fell ill — they trusted her to take care of the store. Since her aunt was always taking care of her husband, they gave complete ownership to Isabella — who felt completely bound to it. Her and her eating disorder were in a hellish like equilibrium as she graduated with a generic degree in Business. To try to cope further with it, she went back into the cycle she fell into during high school ( though, she never really stopped ) -- excessive drinking, meaningless sex, drugs occasionally ( it wasn’t AS bad as high school, she tried to convince herself ) on nights because being in her head was too much to handle. She clung to it, it was her, an escape but knew after a while that those were horrible behaviors to have as well as a disease that ate away at her. Self awareness came slow, but it did, finally come. 

The years she was supposed to use finding herself and discovering who she was have been used to help with Jonesin’ and fuel her disorder. At age 29, she finally looked into treatment and luckily her parents supported her financially but barely emotionally, but it was enough. Isa didn’t know much about what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew it wasn’t destroying herself. Finally, with a residential treatment center in Colorado and Isa opening up to and getting support from some friends – she got better. She became more open. She fought for herself and her sanity and has been in recovery for over two years, healthier than she’s been before.  [  eating disorder mentions end ]

Her parents helped run the family candy store that her aunt and uncle were too ill to do, and as the years went by it gained traction. They opened two more stores, but as Isa raved about how amazing Colorado was -- they figured opening a store in a small town atmosphere would be a risk they were willing to take as well as a good business opportunity without as much competition like Ghiradelli and such. They figured it would also be good to have Isa there, to run the store, overlook it and since she feels indebted to her parents as well as chained to Jonesin’ she agreed -- though she did love Colorado too. She moved there about a year ago after completing intensive outpatient in the city. 

You’ll more than likely see Isabella walking around with a bright smile, walking around, talking with her customers, getting to know each in every one of them. Isa is very caring, extremely kind, but also very nice which sometimes make people think she’s a pushover which she’s really not ( anymore ). She does like to please people, something she’s still not managed to shake off as time has gone by and what really tethers her to Jonesin’ but she’s trying to make the best of it. Being very soft spoken, it’s been really hard for Isa to stand up for herself as well, something she’s working on. She still goes to therapy because even though she’s been behavior free for a couple years, she still wasn’t completely recovered or healed from what years of self destruction did to her. Isa has a quiet fire and she’s doing everything she can to fight & think for herself. 

negative traits: overthinking, guarded, distant, defensive, overly logical

positive traits: maternal, kind, witty/has a sense of humor, intelligent