#next step is posing from scratch on my own.

[nidstiniens]

dress-up estinien | [ 02 / ?? ]

[nereidprinc3ss]

i keep you clean; you surrounded me

in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.

angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily

“Daddy?”

Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment. 

“Huh?”

She holds her glass up for him. 

“Our drinks are the same color.”

“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”

Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”

Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you. 

“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”

She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing. 

“Daddy?”

“What, lovebug?”

You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face. 

“Mommy’s drink is red.”

Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table. 

Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently. 

“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”

“Oh.”

You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question. 

“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”

Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either. 

His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant. 

“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”

It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here. 

So there are standards. 

“Why not?”

You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”

You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole. 

She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.

“Can you and daddy come?”

You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table. 

“In a minute. Go ahead.”

Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand. 

“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada. 

“That was bad.”

“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t—”

He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over. 

“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”

“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”

A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants. 

“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”

“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”

He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him. 

“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”

His nose twitches. 

“I’m going to disappoint her.”

“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”

“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”

His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway. 

“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”

“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”

Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do. 

“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”

JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”

“She wants to know now.”

“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”

Spencer sniffs. 

“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”

“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”

“What if she asks again?”

“Then… you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”

Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly. 

“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.

“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face. 

“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”

Sainthood. You ponder that. 

Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead. 

You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.

“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”

He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.

“Me too.”

[xitsensunmoon]

My first ever comic con! And first cosplay too. Of course it's gonna be my boy :] Ramblings about the process are under the cut(Let me know if?? You would want me to elaborate with process images for any of the steps?)

The costume took me forever to make, as I've never done any machine sewing, sculpting, fabric dying or spray painting before but learning all of these was so fucking fun!! I never realised just how many different skills go into making a cosplay but it was so worth it!!!

Almost all of the clothes(except the hat) were purchased first as bases, but all of the detailing was added by me. All of the fabric used was originally just scraps that I was given for free so I needed to learn how to dye and dye all of the stars, they were originally white.

The sewing machine was its own beast that brought me tons of frustration from the lack of skill and knowledge (it was devastating to find out that 95% of fuck ups were my fault and not the machine's lmao). But as a result, a hat sewn from scratch, all of the fur trims, embroidery on the corset, stars and the collar(which is very hard to see on the pictures unfortunately) was all added manually. The stars and the stripes(on the back of the cape) were attached using heat-and-bond adhesive (I WISH I knew about such thing just when I started working on this. It would save me so much time and nerves.)

Then I found out about polymorph(mouldable plastic) and it has become the next thing I wanted to learn, to sculpt the claws and the fangs(yes, they're handmade jfksjs). The claws I then primed and painted in trillion coats because I wasn't satisfied with the colour of the spray paint. The fangs I moulded to my own teeth and then stained with tea to match the colour of my teeth :)c

As for makeup, I used Mehron Paradise water activated paints. At first I wanted to try to save money and bought myself Snazaroo instead, which unfortunately turned out to be a waste. Snazaroo didn't hold on my face for longer than 2 hours, cracking and peeling awfully. Mehron on the other hand survived 11 hours of me smiling, talking, emoting and such and didn't even crease at the smile lines(I'm actually shocked about that). It obviously works like any other makeup which means your skin texture and wrinkles won't go anywhere but Mehron's elasticity pleasantly surprised me. It did obviously smear from sweat and saliva(if you're eating and licking your lips) but if you don't touch the skin it just dries again, self setting. But if it's dry it's fully smear-proof. Highly recommend!

And last but not least, I've decided against painting my hands as it was very risky that I will stain everything I touch at the smallest hint of sweat. So instead I got myself gloves-tights(? Not sure how they're called but it's made from the same fabric as tights) and painted them with normal acrylic paint(did you know you could dye fabric with acrylic paint? I personally didn't), then heat set with an iron and voilà, they're reusable, my hands are not stained after an exhausting day and I don't stain everything I touch. It worked wonderfully which honestly was a surprise as I was really sceptical that acrylic paint will somehow stay in place.

I think this whole thing took me minimum of 6 months with big-big breaks for my school and life in general. But I'm really proud! This project taught me so many new skills and I couldn't have been happier about learning new knowledge, even if it sucked to fail in the meantime.

Everyone at the con was really nice and gave me a large confidence boost even tho it was my first time and I had no idea what I was doing. Taking photos with other people was really awkward/new for me as I hate cameras so I really had no idea how to pose/behave in front of one. But that's okay I think. This whole experience definitely made me want to do this again, so I think that will come with experience. Thank you for reading this far, hope you enjoyed this little summary :)

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Sun In The Morning

Golden Girl Chapter 9 Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: "I know Valentine's Day is super commercial and all that," Dieter says, "but I still wanted to do something special for you." Warnings: pov switching, fluff, smut, domestic bliss, dieter bravo is good at being romantic, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), bathtub sex, a reminder dieter is rich and owns a mansion because sometimes i forget, public outing, anxiety, marijuana, drinking Words: 5,150

A/N: This has been done for a bit, but Joel Miller took over my life, as he usually does. I cannot believe the next chapter I post of Dieter and Sweets will be double digits! If you're here with me, reading and loving them, please know how much I appreciate you. This started as a one shot and now I'm here, and there's SO MUCH story left for them. Thank you, as always, to @devineconjuring for being the best dot eater.

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

✨✨✨ It takes ten days of Dieter being back in Los Angeles before he casually strolls into Bloom, his sunglasses perched on his nose and a bag from your favorite sandwich shop in his hand. Thank god it’s slow. Only one customer does a double-take, almost knocking down a potted fern as she gasps, clumsily grabbing for her phone, clearly trying to sneak a photo.

You attempt to focus on the philodendron you’re repotting, trying to maintain a professional demeanor as your Oscar-winner boyfriend weaves through the store.

“Delivery," he casually says as he slides between two monsteras to reach your workstation.

You’re shocked to see him, a wide smile lifting your lips when he reaches the bag out to you.

“Mediterranean veggie sandwich, extra peppers and caramelized onions.”

You happily take the bag, your mouth already watering.

Angela's eyes widen when she emerges from the back room, holding a freshly assembled bouquet. She freezes mid-step when she spots Dieter.

“I also got one for Angela,” he mentions with a smile.

Angela figures it out instantly, her jaw dropping as she looks between the two of you. “Oh my god, the boyfriend.”

You chuckle nervously, taking the bouquet that’s tilting dangerously to one side from her arms.

“Oh shit, that’s what I am,” Dieter laughs, scratching at the stubbled of his jaw. “Nice to meet you,” Dieter extends his ring-covered hand to her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

The customer with the phone is now openly taking photos, abandoning all pretense of subtlety.

Angela takes his hand, shaking it with enthusiasm, a wide smile across her face. "I can't believe—I mean, I knew she was dating someone, but I didn't realize. I’m sorry, I need to calm down." She stops herself, clearly trying to regain composure.

"It’s cool," Dieter reassures.

The starstruck customer finally approaches, clutching her phone to her chest. "I'm so sorry to interrupt,” her voice quivers, “but are you Dieter Bravo?"

You feel your stomach tighten. This is another part of dating him that you're going to need to get used to.

He nods and responds warmly, “I am.”

The woman giggles nervously. "Could I—would it be okay if—"

"Of course," he says before she can stammer out her request.

Dieter poses with his fan, sliding his sunglasses up to rest atop his head, smiling widely with his arm casually draped around her shoulder. He doesn't rush her when her shaky hands fumble with her phone, just waits patiently until she gets the perfect shot.

Angela watches, eyes big and unbelieving that Hollywood’s own Dieter Bravo is standing in her shop. To you, he’s always been Dee, not the famous actor, not the Oscar winner… just Dee. It was easy to remove yourself from the celebrity effect of him when you were just his friend, but now, as he’s officially been called your boyfriend, the reality that he now shares his fame with you is quite overwhelming.

After the fan has left and Angela has excused herself to help another customer, as Dieter looks at you with the look that makes your heart melt, you feel incredibly lucky to share everything with him.

—-

Dieter’s house sits nestled in the Hollywood Hills, amongst other sprawling mansions owned by celebrities, CEOs, and blessed nepo babies. He’s lived here for over ten years, yet it never really felt like home. It was just a “practical long-term investment,” as his financial advisor called it, a place for him to crash while he’s in town. He didn’t even flinch when he dropped the six million dollars on it–cash, right out the door.

He’s filled it with art he’s impulsively bought, expensive furniture he too often spills wine on, and that piano he can hardly remember how to play. You’ve only been to his house a few times throughout the years–you were never part of his parties he’d throw or his Hollywood lifestyle. But every time you’d walk through his door, he’d dream of the day you’d be there, not just as a visitor. It used to feel so far away and unattainable, but now, as he pulls his car up the winding driveway, with you in the passengers seat after spending two weeks waking up in your bed and making toast in your toaster, the modern, sprawling mansion no longer feels like his—or anywhere he’d want you, or himself, to live.

He leads you into his house, everything in its proper place, thanks to the house cleaners and gardeners. Your footsteps echo off the shiny tile as you look around. “God, when’s the last time I was here?”

“Maybe that time you and Warren came over after the Golden Globes? That was what, two years ago?" Dieter replies, tossing his keys onto the entryway table.

You run your hand along the sleek lines of his gray velvet couch. "Yeah, I remember that, you were dating that one actress… Brianne, I think?" You make a face, remembering the blonde who barely acknowledged your existence that night.

Dieter cringes visibly. "Brianna. God, she was the worst."

"You dated her for like six months," you remind him with a small smile.

"Yeah, because she was hot." He winks with a wide smile.

You roll your eyes at him. "You're incorrigible."

"But you love me anyway."

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close before he kisses you in the middle of his fancy living room.

When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his. “I do love you,” you whisper. “Even if you have questionable taste in women.”

“Had,” he corrects.

The truth is, he’s always had great taste in women… because he’s always wanted you. He just had to be patient; good things are worth the wait. You, definitely, were worth the wait.

Especially now, as his dream girl sits on the edge of his bed, running your hand along the soft fabric of the too-expensive duvet.

The sight of your beautiful face when you turn to him with a shy smile takes his breath away. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in your bedroom,” you say, looking around the large space, full of designer furniture he hired some young interior decorating phenom to place.

He walks over, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You definitely haven’t,” he says, leaning down to kiss your lips. “I would have remembered.”

“Mm?” you grunt against his lips.

He pulls away, grinning mischievously. “I mean, I’ve thought about it enough.”

“Oh yeah?” Your voice lowers, sending a shiver through his body. His cock already twitching at the way your eyes drop to his crotch.

“Mmhmm.”

“And what exactly would you think about, Dee?”

Your finger starts running a line up and down his thigh, close to where his pants are beginning to tent.

"Everything," he says. "Fucking you in my bed, your sweet body under me, over me—hell, anywhere you want to be." He lowers himself to the floor, kneeling between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading your legs. "I've imagined making you cum so many times in this room, you have no idea."

He watches a smile lift your lips. “Show me,” you challenge, leaning back on your elbows, your eyes watching him.

He pushes your dress up. “I dreamed about this. Even when I shouldn’t have, even when we were just friends.”

You run your fingers through his hair, gently pulling at his waves. “Me too,” you admit.

He growls at your confession, pulling you forward, your panties meeting his mouth. He breathes you in, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the familiar, heady scent of you.

He quickly shucks off your panties, throwing them behind him. “I’d think about you while I was lying in this bed. Think about how sweet you’d taste,” he darts his tongue out, slowly licking and savoring your essence.

“And how do I taste?” you ask, lifting your head to look into his eyes.

"Like heaven, baby," he groans against you.

His tongue rolls through your slick, relishing every inch of you as you gasp and moan for him. The way you taste—better than anything he’s ever had—makes him higher than any drug he’s ever taken. He laps and sucks, drinking you down, amazed at how your body responds to his tongue.

He still finds it hard to believe that after all his years of longing, of dreaming, now you’re here in his bed, his mouth worshipping your cunt as he watches your face contort in pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pulling back, licking your juices off his lips. “Still can’t believe you’re mine.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pushing him back towards your swollen pussy. “Greedy girl,” he growls, before sucking against your sensitive clit.

Your moans echo off the walls of the bedroom he used to lie in alone… or with someone who never mattered as much as you did to him.

“Fuck, Dee,” you gasp, your hips bucking against his face. “Don’t stop.”

He could never stop. Not when you're this close to shattering for him, your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips rhythmically moving against him. He slides a finger inside, your walls clenching it while his tongue works your clit. You’re so tight and wet for him. “That’s it baby,” he encourages, adding a second finger, feeling the overwhelming grip of your pussy. He can tell you’re getting close, your hands fisting in his hair, your screams vibrating through the room.

"Cum for me, Sweets," he coaxes between licks and sucks, hardly believing he’s finally able to say those words to you in his bedroom. "Make that perfect pussy cum."

He can feel your body orgasm, your pussy flooding his mouth as your back arches off the bed, a long keen of his name escaping your lips as your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him in place, your sweet pussy pulsing and throbbing against his mouth.

He drinks you down, hardly able to contain his smile as he makes the girl of his dreams shatter with his tongue.

“Fuck,” you pant over and over, a wide grin on your face, your skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

He leaves a gentle kiss against your trembling thigh before crawling up the bed to cuddle next to you. He wraps you in his arms, pulling you close. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point. "I love you," he whispers.

You turn in his arms, facing him, your nose brushing against his. "I love you, too." Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, your thumb gently stroking his stubbled jaw. "So much."

He can't help but think about how, even though he loves his sprawling mansion, it no longer feels that way. He's never felt more at home than he does when he's with you in your space, with your art hanging on the walls, the flowers you grew arranged in a vase on the kitchen table, your clothes hanging next to his in your sensible closet.

—-

You’ve lived alone for three months. One plate at the table, one blanket on the couch, one set of keys hung by the front door. Until… Dieter came home.

Now, it’s been three weeks of his fancy face cream–that his groomer insists he uses–next to yours, his Crocs kicked off by the door, his favorite drink (Topo Chico) in the fridge. Three weeks of falling asleep in his arms, laughing at his silly jokes as he cuddles you close, seeing the lazy smile form across his lips when he enters you.

You now smile while doing the most mundane, domestic things. Sorting laundry, his bright blue socks with little marijuana leaves printed on them on top of the hamper. Making dinner, Dieter striding into the kitchen, pulling you away from the stove to dance with you. Gardening outside, he’s somehow instantly covered in dirt, happy to dig up the yard alongside you, ever curious about what you’re planting and harvesting.

Three weeks of your home becoming his home.

It’s funny, the things you notice when you’re falling deeper and deeper in love with him. The way he’s always humming or tapping his fingers, trying to calm the energy that always seems to be trying to escape. How he always wants to be close to you, touching you, kissing you, holding you.

It’s vastly different from how you’ve lived the past few years. You’ve felt like you’ve been alone for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone’s heart beat against your ear at night, to wake up to someone bringing you coffee, to have help bringing the groceries in. Your house is now filled with Dieter’s laughter, his voice, his touch, and his love. It changes you, making you feel like you’re one of the flowers you grow… blossoming.

—-

The sound of laughter floating in from the living room brings a warm smile to Dieter’s face as he grabs another bottle of wine from the wine fridge. You’re playing host to a group of your friends, people he hasn’t seen in years.

He opens the wine and grabs the charcuterie board he just finished putting together. He likes this feeling–the simple act of making something and taking care of you and your friends. Showing people close to you that he cares and wants to make you happy.

He walks into the living room, and the sight of you smiling and glowing with joy as you chat with your friends makes his heart thud against his chest. You’re glowing and smiling. He sets the charcuterie board on the coffee table, trying not to blush as everyone compliments his plating skills. He tops everyone’s wine glasses off. You smile at him, a proud, thankful smile as he tops off your glass last with a wink.

“Take a seat, Mr. Bravo, I have a question for the two of you,” your friend Liv offers, gesturing to the armrest next to where you sit.

He sits, his body naturally gravitating towards yours as it always does.

“So, you both finally figured it out. When did you two finally realize you were meant to be?” your friend Liv asks, gesturing between the two of you with her wine glass.

You choke on your wine and cough at the question. He chuckles, grabbing your glass before he places his hand on your back and gently pats it.

“I've always known," Dieter says, his eyes locking with yours. "But I had to wait.”

“Awwwww,” your friends coo.

“I would have waited forever for her,” he shrugs, letting the truth slip out.

"Finally," Liv sighs, her eyes misty as she looks between you and Dieter. "I feel like I have my friend back. The real you, the you that's been hidden away for so long."

He sits there, answering every question thrown at him, with a wide grin on his face. He charms your friends with every question he answers, with stories of your past friendship... as if he's on a talkshow. It feels good to make not only you, but your friends laugh.

He excuses himself, before pulling you close and brushing his lips against your temple.

Before he walks into the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder. The sight of you laughing, surrounded by people who love and care for you, fills his chest with pride and happiness, knowing you’re now blooming again.

This is what he’s wanted for you: not just to love you but to see you fully happy again.

—-

Every morning, you’re woken up with a gentle kiss from Dieter’s lips as he brings you a cup of coffee before climbing back into bed with you. Sometimes, he walks you to work, yawning the whole way there while clad in his pajama pants and a fluffy robe, always leaving you with a kiss before you walk into Bloom and start your day.

You’ve never been as busy as you’ve been the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. A record number of orders come in for Bloom, word having gotten around about your unique bouquets. You spend all day varying between building gigantic, garishly romantic arrangements of red roses and pink tulips placed in fancy vases and cute, teensy bouquets wrapped in brown paper.

You’re on your feet for hours every day, and by the time Angela turns the OPEN sign to CLOSED on Valentine’s Day evening, you finally allow the exhaustion to take hold.

“We survived,” Angela smiles. “I can’t believe the number of orders we had this year.”

“It was crazy,” you yawn.

“I can take care of closing up, go on home, and enjoy your time off tomorrow. You’ve earned it.”

“I will, I plan on going home and falling into the first soft thing I see,” you say, grabbing your bag and jacket. “Thanks again, Ang.”

It’s chillier than normal, and rain keeps attempting to drizzle from the clouds. Your feet hurt with each step as you walk down the sidewalk and turn to begin your journey up the hill. You’re already dreading the literal uphill battle towards your home when you look up and catch a familiar silhouette leaning against a sleek car parked ahead.

Dieter stands there, clad in grey sweatpants and a large, black cardigan. He lifts his hand in a small wave, an adoring smile spreading across his face when you spot him.

"Thought you might want a ride," he calls out, pushing himself off the car.

You grin widely, your heart swelling as your tired feet hurry over to him.

"I thought you were at that meeting,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and melting into his soothing warmth.

"Finished early,” he tells you, leaving a kiss against your forehead. “Or, well, I left early. You’ve been on your feet all day, there’s no way I’d let you walk home. I needed to take care of my girl. Now,” he opens the door for you, “get in, I have a surprise.”

You slip into the passenger seat, already relishing in finally being off your feet, even if it’s only for the two-minute drive home.

You sigh in relief when you get out of the car in front of your home.

“I was afraid you were going to want to take me somewhere. I’m beat.”

Dieter chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby. My surprise is here,” he says with a wink, steering you towards the steps. "This way. Let's get you upstairs."

He leads you into your bedroom and, with an excited smile, tells you to wait for him.

“Undress,” he instructs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He disappears into the bathroom. You slowly peel off your work clothes, your body aching with each movement. A slight smile lights your tired face when you hear the bath running.

When you push the bathroom door open, your breath catches. Dieter’s collected what seems to be every candle in your home, the low lights flickering across the tile. The tub is filled, steam billowing slightly across the surface, shimmering with bath oils and floating candles. A small tray sits on the edge with two glasses of wine, a joint, and a plate of cheese and chocolate-covered strawberries.

Dieter’s bent over, gorgeous and naked, testing the water temperature with his hand. He looks up at you, his face softening as you pad towards him.

“Dee,” you breathe out, “it’s gorgeous.”

“I figured you needed a relaxing night after working so hard, baby,” he leaves a soft kiss against your lips. “Let’s get in.”

Dieter slowly lowers himself into the water before you follow, settling between his legs, your back against his chest. You sigh contentedly as the warm water envelops your tired body and Dieter’s strong arms wrap around you.

"Good?" he whispers against your ear.

"This is perfect,” you groan, letting your head fall back against his shoulder.

Dieter reaches for the joint, lighting it before taking a drag and passing it to you. You inhale, happy to finally be able to relax.

"I know Valentine's Day is super commercial and all that," Dieter says, "but I still wanted to do something special for you."

“Mm,” you hum. Your eyes close as you relax further against Dieter's body, the warm water and Dieter’s gentle hands soothing your aching muscles. "This is so much better than what I had planned."

"Which was?" he asks.

"Falling face-first into bed and possibly crying from exhaustion.”

Dieter chuckles. “Can’t have that happen to you, baby.”

You take another hit from the joint before passing it back to him, feeling the tension melting from your body.

Dieter begins massaging your shoulders, his fingers pressing into your tight muscles.

You take a sip of wine as his thumbs work against the knots that have formed from your days of arranging flowers, moving vases, and standing for hours.

“Ohhh, right there,” you breathe, almost dropping your wine glass. A low moan leaves your lips when he presses harder into your sore muscles. “God, that feels so good, Dee.”

His hands work lower, kneading the muscles along your spine, earning more moans from you.

"Sweets, you sound so good,” he whispers. “I love the sounds you make.”

You can feel the poke of him against your lower back and hear his breathing becoming heavier.

He slides his hands around to your sides, tracing your curves, charting a path up your body to your breasts. He cups the weight of them, circling your nipples with his thumbs until they pebble under his attention. You arch against him as his hands skim lower, gliding across your stomach before dipping between your thighs.

"Dee," you moan, at his first touch against your clit. The warm water laps against your body as his hand explores your pussy.

“Let me take care of you, Sweets,” he breathes into your ear as he runs his other hand down between your legs.

His fingers circle your entrance, teasing you before one slips inside, gently fucking into you, curling and dragging against you, taking your breath away as you take another drag from the joint. You’re stoned, a little tipsy from the wine, and overwhelmed by Dieter’s love and attention.

“I’m so high, this feels sooo good,” you say, a happy chuckle escaping your throat before Dieter adds a second finger, eliciting a low moan. “But I want to feel you inside me.”

His cock jumps at your words as you push his hands away and turn. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub as you straddle his hips and capture his lips in a searing kiss. He grips your waist as you line yourself over him, and slowly sink down on his hard cock.

Your shared moans fill the air as you take him deep inside you, your arms looping around his neck, your chest pressing against his. You both stay there, holding each other in the warm water, relishing in the warmth of each other’s bodies. Dieter picks up the joint and takes a hit before sealing his mouth over yours, blowing the smoke into your mouth. Your tongues lazily move against each other, soft, loving kisses left against each other’s lips as you languidly start to move.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. He thrusts up to meet you, as you ride him quicker, chasing your high, his fingers digging into your skin.

Your lips find his again as water splashes onto the tile floor with each roll of your hips.

"Touch me," you plead against his mouth.

He obeys instantly, one hand leaving your hip. His fingers find your clit again, swirling around your sensitive nub.

"Come on baby, cum on my cock," he rasps, his hips snapping up harder, faster, water sloshing around your bodies. "I want to feel you choke my dick."

A few more thrusts, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, and you're floating from your orgasm. Your body clenches around him, moaning and mewing as your hips gyrate on top of him, your pussy milking his cock, drawing out his own release. Dieter curses, spilling deep inside you as he holds you close, kissing you as his cock pulses inside you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting, your hearts racing in sync. Dieter runs his hands up and down your back soothingly as you catch your breath.

"Happy Valentine's Day Sweets," he whispers against your temple, before pressing a soft kiss there.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, his eyelids heavy, his eyes a little cloudy from the weed. "Happy Valentine's Day, Dee.”

—-

Chief Wiggum tells Lisa Simpson, “nothing gets chocolate out” as Dieter holds you close in bed, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your spine as you nestle deeper against his chest. Funny how being with the love of his life makes him think Valentine’s Day is a great holiday.

“So," he catches your attention, "I was thinking, we should go to Melrose Trading Post tomorrow."

You lift your head to look at him, a small crease forming between your brows. "The flea market?" you ask.

"Yeah," he smiles, brushing his thumb against your cheek. "Remember how we used to go all the time? I think it’d be fun to go now that we’re together.”

“Yeah? I guess…”

He notices your hesitation immediately, his expression softening. "What's wrong, Sweets?"

"It's just—that was before you were famous," you sigh, resting your chin on his chest. "What if someone recognizes you? What if they take pictures of us together? I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of attention… not after London.”

He tries not to let you feel the way his body locks up, his finger stilling against your skin when the vulnerability in your voice wraps around his heart.

London. The paparazzi photos that still float around social media, no matter how much Alex and his team worked to make them disappear. The way you withdrew, scared and anxious about the attention. The comments and the speculation from total strangers about sweet, precious you.

“I want you to be comfortable, baby. We don’t have to go. I just wanted to do something normal with you—something we used to do together as friends. But I totally get it if you’re not ready.”

“I miss it, though,” you muse, tracing a pattern on his chest with your finger. "Maybe we could try.”

“I’ll keep it low-key. Hat and sunglasses. No one will be looking for Dieter Bravo in jeans at a flea market at 9 AM on a Sunday. Besides, most people are too wrapped up in their own shit to notice."

“Then, I think we should do it.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you close and leaving a kiss against your forehead.

—-

You’ve had to do things you never thought you would have to since that fateful day Warren walked out of your house… but pumping yourself up to go to a flea market is not one of them. You want to prove to yourself that you can do this, that you can be brave for Dieter, that those paparazzi photos from London don’t still bother you—even though they do. You can’t ask him to stay locked up in your house forever, because it seems like that’s what he’s been doing since his return from London.

So, you put on your cutest dress and jean jacket along with a sensible pair of sneakers and force yourself out the bedroom door.

You’ve got this.

Dieter’s slipping on his sneakers, bypassing Crocs to try to, in his words, “fit in” when you make your way downstairs. His eyes light when he looks up and sees you.

“There’s my girl, you look gorgeous.” The wide smile on his face makes all of your anxieties worth it. “Come on, I’m looking forward to this.”

It’s your first day out in LA as a couple, and you picked just the day to celebrate. The Melrose Trading Post is full of couples holding hands, bustling around you, and dozens of vendors selling everything from fresh flowers to vintage clothes to handmade jewelry hawk their wares. The sun shines bright in the sky as you and Dieter walk through the crowded aisles.

At first, you’re hyper-aware of every glance sent towards you and Dieter. You can swear you hear every “Is that him?” whispered from passersby. But Dieter remains cool and relaxed beside you, respecting your wish not to hold hands or draw any attention.

Dieter gets stopped several times by fans–the hat and glasses don’t fool them at all. He cheerfully poses for selfies and signs whatever surface his fans can scrounge up. You try to shrink away, focusing your attention on a stall or pretending to be engrossed in something else.

You’ve seen him do this a hundred times, smile and pose with a fan, charming them with his lazy smile and enthusiasm… but it feels so different now that you’re his girlfriend. You want to be part of the moment, standing there, holding his hand, and smiling at his fans, showing how proud you are to be with him. But you don’t. You merely step away, letting him enjoy the attention as you try to stay invisible.

Dieter spots a vendor selling hand-painted art, a framed canvas catching his eye–a flaky, golden croissant is painted on it, almost looking real enough to bite.

"Amazing!" he exclaims, pulling you over to the stall.

As you approach the painting, the vendor's eyes widen in recognition when she spots Dieter. You tense, bracing yourself, but she simply smiles and greets you both warmly.

Dieter grins, picking up the canvas. "This would be perfect in our kitchen, don't you think?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Our kitchen. You don’t even know if he realizes the slip. Your heart swells hearing him talk about your house like it's his, like he belongs there with you. Like it's your shared home. You nod approvingly. “It'll look great in there.”

"Then let's get this masterpiece and head home."

Home. The word settles in your chest.

He pays for the painting, chatting animatedly with the vendor who carefully wraps it up. His excitement is palpable.

As you begin to walk through the market, before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out and take his free hand in yours. Dieter looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his brows raised, a hint of surprise in his brown eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asks softly, searching your face. He knows what a big step this is for you, to do this in public, to let everyone see.

You smile and nod, feeling brave… and right, and squeeze his hand. "I'm sure."

Dieter's face splits into a beaming smile, and he lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don't let go of his hand the entire time, even as curious eyes follow you.

As you make your way through the market, a realization hits you: your hand is held in Dieter’s, the croissant painting tucked underneath his arm. This is the love you've always wanted.

✨✨✨

Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @forspringcleaning Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted

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@vibin-hippie, @noisynightmarepoetry, @titlee78, @bergamote-catsandbooks

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Law catching you impersonating him…

Placing the white hat on top of your head, you wiggled it slightly to get the right adjustment. It was a slightly looser fit but it was enough to not slip off.

Crossing your arms, you attempted to pose with a menacing scowl.

“I’m Trafalgar D. Water Law.” You declared mimicking his tone.

Shachi and Penguin threw their heads back with a cackle. Ikkaku clasped her stomach and barrelled forward. Bepo jumped up with his paws in the air.

“Do another one!” He cried in delight.

Turning your back to them, you laughed before recomposing yourself and then whirled around halfway. One arm was extended, fingers and palm facing down.

“Room.” You called out, resulting in the same boisterous laughter from the crew. You flipped your hand upright in the same manner as the broody captain did. “Shambles.”

…silence.

You frowned and looked at the faces staring back at you all traces of their previous smiles gone. Had you done it wrong?

Even Bepo was looking at you funny with his jaw slack.

Looking over your hand and stance, you scratched your head. “I’m sure I got it right.” You said and glanced at your friends. “Was I not deadpan enough? Or broody? Maybe I wasn’t dramatic enough…”

“Y/n-ya.” Law called out.

Turning your head to him, you sent him a quick wave. “Oh, hi.” You said before returning to figure out what was wrong with your performance.

Recounting all the elements, it took you longer than it should have to realise that their lack of cheers was because you all had been caught by the Heart Pirate Captain.

Your stomach should have dropped, you should have frozen in fear like the rest but there was a sense of pride in you. Law was far too rigid, his reasons were valid, but a simple moment of lighthearted humour surely couldn’t hurt. Although, maybe he’d disagree if it was at his expense.

He stepped forward and you couldn’t help but internally chuckle at his unruly hair. You would definitely attempt to rake your fingers through that mess to bother him next.

He looked at his frozen crew and with a single glare, they scurried to their usual duties. Bepo squeaking in a panic before he too vanished to hide.

Law looked at you and let out a small sigh. “I told you not to take my hat.”

He reached out to take it back when you ducked and stepped out of reach.

“You also told me that I’d be back on the Thousand Sunny three days ago.” You argued.

It’s not that you didn’t love a few extra days on the Polar Tang but you were desperately missing the antics of the Strawhats and it was starting to show aboard the Heart Pirates.

Law said nothing to address the delay. He closed the space and lifted the soft fabric from your head to place it back atop his own but this time, it carried the faint scent of your shampoo.

You watched as he turned and started to walk away. With a smile, you cupped your hands over your mouth.

“Admit it, it looks better on me!” You called out behind him.

Law merely lowered his head, hiding a small smile - it definitely looked better on you.

~ More imagines here ~

[superblysubpar]

thank you so much for requesting @retrosabers soooooooooooooo...idk what this is. but it turned into a makeup sex, kind of angry with steve, to I guess, the beginnings of the "How Sweet It Is AU" for me?? - you could just read this as stand alone smut, but please read the warnings below if you're unfamiliar with that AU and don't want a pretty big surprise at the end!

2,119 words

warnings: mentions of wearing Steve's boxers, SMUT (piv intercourse - creampie, angry/makeup sex & all the language and actions that may go with it - some kingish steve vocabulary if you will)| pregnant reader announcement - see How Sweet It Is AU warnings for more | my blog is 18+

Late Summer, Early Fall, 1986

Your fingers slip from his neck and shoulders, sweat slicked tan skin there making the bright red of the scratches you made brighter. Angrier. 

They match the mood -  the deep lines between his brows, the pout of your lips, the brutal punch of his thrust inside of you, the clench of your jaw so you don’t do something satisfying like scream his name or fuck, say sorry. 

Neither of you can remember what started it now. You said something bratty, he said something even more so. Sharp tones and stressful weeks. Cupboards and drawers with volume and slams worthy of a battle of the bands. Silent tooth brushing while glaring at one another in the mirror sessions, and purposeful, childish things, like making only enough coffee for one cup each morning.  

Not that you had even wanted any today. 

The sun was brutal, the AC was busted, and Steve had found you lying on the hard kitchen floor, practically naked, and sipping something out of a blue, glass mason jar that was sweating more than you. 

He’d swallowed at the sight of your stomach and arms fully on display, the curve of lace over your chest, his boxers rolled over your thighs too high to be decent if you stood. Perhaps Steve could have taken the gesture of you wearing next to nothing as a white flag, but all he could think about was how hot he was, how tight the tie was around his neck, and how he was mad at you for a reason he didn’t even remember. 

Steve stepped over to the thermostat and without opening your eyes you called, “No difference.”

“When’s the last time you checked?” He grumbled under his breath, tapping at it with a roll of his eyes. “No difference.”

“Right,” you propped up on your elbows, glaring at him as you snapped, “Like I just said.”

He looked right at you for what felt like the first time in years, when really it had only been a day or two. But the sight of eyes that were honey turned hard, though just as sticky as they lingered on your own, had something in your chest warming. 

Steve glanced down at your body again as he yanked at his tie, throwing it on the counter before taking on his naturally annoyed position of hands on his hips. His fingers flexed against them while his head tilted in a way that exposed his throat more, made it easy to follow his swallow or the bead of sweat curving down his jaw. It made you want to curse whatever god created this man, and that was before he opened his mouth with a tone bitchy enough to match his pose. 

“Can you put a shirt on?”

The bite of his question made your eyes narrow, made you stick out your peachy, lace covered chest more just to spite him. His gaze returned to yours, challenging, fire burning between you both making his gaze molten - pure lava that was sure to consume you before you even had the thought of running from it. 

You stood as he harshly unbuttoned the white button down he was dressed in, revealing dark chest hair and the gold chain nestled there, both threatening to make you fold first, but you couldn’t. Wouldn’t. 

His finger’s movements slowed as they worked at the cuffs when you set your glass on the counter. As you took a step closer, then another, you both refused to break eye contact until your chests were almost touching and your chin tipped up at him in your own challenge back. 

“Make me.”

The space between your lips buzzed, his cupid’s bow mocking you, the heave of your chest doing the same to him.  

Maybe you tilted higher first, maybe he bent lower, but your lips crashed into each other - literally. 

Teeth against plush bottom lips and noses bumping, hands gripping at each other like you’re about to push the other off, yet you both only get closer. 

Steve pants into your mouth, his fingers dig into the skin just below your ribs as he pushes you in a direction clumsily, till your back is hitting the counter and you can feel how hard he already is as he pulls your hips against his own. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of making any noise when his thumb brushes over a hard nipple through lace, or when his tongue meets yours. He doesn’t give you any either when you pull a little hard at the hair at the back of his head and roll your hips. 

Neither of you say a word or let your faces show any sign that this is all exactly what you want, what you need when he pushes at the boxers and lets them fall to the floor as he lifts you onto the counter or when you pull and push at his belt and dress slacks enough to free his length. 

Steve slips up a little when you wrap your hand around him, his head thrown back and teeth digging into his lip, fists forming against the counter next to your thighs with each slow tug. 

“What’s the matter Steve?” Faux pouting lips form the coy question while your hand pumps faster. You smirk when Steve lets loose a shaky exhale on your next words. “You wanna tell me how good it feels? How turned on you are right now? How sor-“

You inhale sharply when his thumbs spread you and a low rumble leaves his lips, too close to your ear, “Oh babe…me? I think if anyone here is turned on it’s-fuck.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass and pushing him closer so his tip hits your entrance, your hand glides it through your folds dripping around him already, teasing at your clit then back down. 

“Speaking of fuck-oh.”

Your brows knit together, lips clamp shut as he slides into you slowly. His chest is heaving, white button down open so you could scrape you nails down the gray tank top revealed to you now, but you don’t. Your eyelashes are fluttering, fingers slipping against the counter and back arching so he could go deeper. 

He doesn’t. 

Steve keeps his thrusts shallow and slow, only giving you just enough to make you angry. Your cheeks grow hot, spine tingling, tongue pushing against your teeth with every glide in, silently willing, begging, him to go deeper. 

Your clit throbs, heels dig into him, but Steve stands firm, watching you closely, waiting till you look up at him. 

One damp strand of brown hair falls over his forehead, while eyes soften towards you again. Sweat rolls down his temple, each pulse of his steady heartbeat making his cologne sharper, mint and cedar distracting you, placating you. When you grip at his shoulders, finally touching him again, he exhales as his name leaves you in a whisper. 

“Steve,” your fingers grip the collar of his button down, “More.”

As your hands slip, nails curling into his chest, Steve finally gives you more. 

Then he stops.

Pressed against you, he inhales slow and steady, watching you. His arms flex around yours as his palms press to the cool counter, ignoring how thrilled he is to feel you fluttering around him fully now. 

He grins, finally, when a whine bubbles out of your throat at the lack of movement. He can’t help himself, raising his pitch and mocking your words earlier, “What’s the matter? Wanna tell me how good it feels? Wanna tell me you’re sor-“

“I said more,” you gasp around the words, rolling your hips until his hands fly to them and hold them in place. 

Steve looks at you seriously, black lust filled pupils taken over his gaze, and his tongue slides over his bottom lip before he speaks, like he’s debating his words. 

“I did give you more. Want something else? Gonna have to be specific babe. Maybe use a word that starts with ‘P’ and ends with leas-“

“Fucking, fuck me, Harrington!” You grip the cotton tank between your fingers, voice hot and body hotter and only getting more so when he throws his head back in a laugh. A laugh which only makes you clench around him more and spurring him on. 

“Harrington?! Did you just call me Harrington and then tell me to fuck you?!” He grins wider, his perfect smile on display, like he just can’t help himself. 

“Would you prefer King Ste-ohmygod!”

Steve pulls out and thrusts into you hard, his forehead furrowed as his mouth searches for yours. You meet him in a kiss that starts with another gasp as he sets a brutal pace. Your fingers slip around his neck and he lays over you so your back is against the counter. His hands drag you to the edge still, so his hips can meet yours over and over again as his tongue works at the seam of your lips once more.

He slows his kiss down, sucking on your bottom lip and pulling, breath exhaled against your cheek through his nose as your back arches and your nails leave their marks. Steve keeps thrusting, coarse hair hitting your clit that only aches for more when he releases your mouth. Lips kiss bitten and parting in shock when he speaks down to you with a deep and hoarse gravel, chest heaving as his nails scratch down your thigh. 

“Am I fucking you good enough, honey?” He pushes at your legs, bending them up and towards your chest so you do cry out as he somehow gets more inside of you, “Feel that? Feel how deep I am?”

He rolls his hips, a thumb pressed to your clit and you break, the lava creeping closer. 

Steve groans when you gasp a yes, a more. 

He thrusts faster, hands skating over your body, pulling and tugging you closer to him, lips brushing against your jaw then your neck as he speaks. 

“Wanna come for me baby? Feels like you do, this pussy’s just crying around me.”

You gasp at the filth coming out of him, hating that it only makes him slip inside of you easier, faster. 

Steve lets your legs fall, guiding one around his hip and the other pressed next to your head, his torso rising so his gaze can stay on where your bodies meet with an intensity you haven’t quite seen before. He looks like an older version of a Steve you met a long time ago. 

Realizing now, his pants aren’t even down, his shirt only just unbuttoned, chain glistening in damp chest hair. His forearm veins and shoulders flex with determination you used to see on a court, jaw pulsing, and his brow sweating, but no longer furrowed - like he knows he’s won. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, tongue between his lips as his thumb swipes over your clit in a large figure eight and you jolt. His hand reflexively pushes your shoulder down, while he keeps working on the swollen nerves in time with his thrusts. 

Each pass, each thrust, is a clock counting down drowning out a crowd for him, knowing if he just keeps going, he’ll make it. For you, it’s lava gaining ground, inches from your demise, the heat licking at your body now enough for you to cry out his name just like an adoring fan. 

Steve grunts, brow furrowed again so he can focus on what he’s trying to say. 

“Oh, it’s first name basis again, yeah? Did that good of a job? An-another slut satisfied with their fuck from Harrington?”

You cry out a yes, literally, your orgasm breaking over you in multiple releases. You clench around him, thighs tightening on his hips and Steve’s rhythm stutters as you take everything he gives you. The rush of every pent up emotion makes it’s way over your lash lines. Angry tears, sad tears, relieved tears. Maybe delirious as you start laughing, fingers swiping at them and Steve’s head whips up. 

He slips out of you with a wince, his fingers catching the tears and his forehead furrowed with worry now, “Baby, babe. Hey, hey, hey, what’s-I’m sorry, that was too far, I thought you-“

“Steve,” you hiccup, fingers catching his, eyes doing the same to worried and back to warm honey irises. 

He waits, thumbs soothing over yours only pausing when you speak again. The scratches on his neck and shoulders pink now, less angry - sorry. They match the pink lips that part, the cheeks that stand out behind tear tracks. They still match the mood. 

Softer. 

Sweeter. 

Just like the words leaving your lips. 

“I’m pregnant.”

[anakinstwinklebunny]

To Infinity and Beyond..

SAM MONROE didn’t exactly get hyped about birthdays. Not his own, not anyone else’s. But Vinnie's? His kid, the one who’d somehow turned his whole world upside down in the best way possible? Yeah, birthdays became a big freaking deal.

That’s why, at midnight, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of Vinnie’s tiny room, surrounded by Toy Story action figures and a tangled mess of balloons. The figures were brand new--Buzz, Woody, Jessie, even Rex--and Sam had saved up for months to get them all. His job at the auto shop didn’t pay much, but every spare penny went into making sure Vinnie had the best second birthday possible.

“Okay, Buzz, you better stay put this time,” he muttered, pressing the figure down onto the floor. Buzz tipped over again, taking Woody with him, and Sam groaned quietly so to not wake up the little guy before rubbing his face with both hands. “You’re supposed to be a Space Ranger, man. Act like it.”

Finally, after what felt like hours of rearranging and tying earlier blown up balloons to the toys, Sam got everything set up just right. Toys posed around Vinnie’s bed, with a colorful balloon floating above them. Sam couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself.

“Kid’s gonna love this,” he mumbled to himself, standing back to admire his work, hands shoving into his pockets.

When morning finally came, Sam was already awake, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He’d spent half the night checking on Vinnie, and the presents, making sure he didn’t wake up too early and ruin the surprise. Now, with the sunlight streaming through the window, Sam stepped closer, gently waking the little guy by patting his chubby cheek. After a short while, little boy stirred, tiny body wiggling under the covers.

Vinnie blinked sleepily, big eyes landing Sam first. He let out a huge yawn, tiny fists rubbing his eyes as Sam began mumbling first «happy birthday». When Vinnie finally grew a courage to stand up, his mouth dropped open in a loud gasp before he let out a delighted, “Buh! Buh! Woooo!”

Sam grinned, scooping the boy from the bed and setting him on the floor “Yeah, buddy. Buzz and Woody showed up just for you.”

Vinnie sat up, curls sticking out in every direction, and pointed a chubby finger at Buzz Lightyear. “Buhhh!” voice high-pitched with excitement. “Buh buh go sky!”

“Yeah, Buzz goes to space,” Sam crouched down next to the boy, tone failing down to a soft whisper. “He told me he wanted to meet you with his friends. They said you’re the coolest kid around.”

Vinnie giggled, immediately reaching out with pudgy hands to grab Buzz by the legs. The balloon attached to him bobbed wildly as Vinnie held him close to his chest. “Buhhh mine!” he declared proudly

“Yeah, he’s yours, buddy,”

Vinnie’s excitement only grew as he noticed, and then groped on, the other toys, clumsily crawling/walking across the room to grab Woody and Jessie. Little mouth never stopped moving, babbling gibberish that Sam could only half understand.

“Yeh!” the boy grabbed Woody and lifted it up to Sam with wide, expectant eyes.

“Yeah, that’s Woody,” Sam mumbled, taking the figure and pretending to make him walk across the floor. “He’s Buzz’s best friend. Kinda like how you're my best friend.”

Vinnie giggled again, joy so pure it made Sam’s chest ache. He didn’t care that the whole setup had taken him hours, or that he’d spent most of his paycheck on the toys. Seeing Vinnie this happy made it all worth it. The boy clapped his pudgy hands, immediately getting on Sam's lap to inspect other toys properly "Happy birthday buddy" Sam whispered, kissing Vinnie's temple

Sam’s mom appeared in the doorway, her phone in hand. “Oh, Sam, this is perfect,” she said, smiling as she hit record.

“Mom, c’mon,” Sam grumbled, cheeks turning red. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to hide his face from the camera while on the other hand, Vinnie was proudly grinning to it. Immediately wobbling to his grandpa, with arms outstretched, showing a new toy with a giggle

But at the end of the day, Sam would do anything for his little guy. Even if it meant having to be recorded in every occasion and learning how to tie balloons to Space Rangers at three in the morning.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Forty-Two: A Softer Kind of Strength

It had started early in the morning—you trying to mind your business and kids deciding you were their new playground equipment.

Still on the island, you had found that the townspeople were friendly, but it was the children who locked onto you like a heat-seeking missile every time you stepped off the Sunny. Each time, they seemed to multiply. 

"You look strong! Can you carry a cow?!" "Will you play tag with us?" "Your hair is so cool—can I braid it?!"

And you, for whatever reason, didn’t say no.

Unbeknownst to you, the entire crew was watching from behind various bushes, barrels, and crates like they were spying on a secret government meeting.

Luffy crouched on a roof. Usopp had binoculars. Nami was squinting behind a fence. Sanji held his breath behind a fruit stand, apron still on. Zoro, in the least subtle spot of all, stood directly behind a tree that was definitely too skinny to hide him. Robin, elegantly sipping tea behind a wall, didn’t even bother pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping.

And all of them were watching you—laughing, hair half-tied into crooked braids and floral knots by a giggling little girl as two other kids ran circles around you in some chaotic version of freeze tag.

"Is… is she giggling at something other than being hit?" Nami whispered.

"I’ve never seen her look like that," Sanji breathed, practically trembling.

Zoro squinted. “She’s… actually soft?”

"Like a cool big sister," Chopper whispered, starry-eyed. "I didn’t know she could sit still for this long."

Luffy grinned. “I like this version! She looks happy.”

You didn’t notice the stalkers. You were too busy sitting on a blanket beneath a tree, letting the little girl tug flower clips into your hair with fierce determination.

"Doesn’t that hurt?" one kid asked, wincing, as you gently combed your fingers through another’s wild curls.

You shrugged. "I’ve been punched by giants. This is nothing."

"Are they on your pirate crew?!"

You grinned, heart swelling just a bit. "Nah, the crew is better. Want to hear about them?"

The kids gasped. "YES!"

You held your hands out dramatically. "Let me tell you the legends of my crew—"

"First, our captain—Monkey D. Luffy." You puffed your cheeks and put your hands on your hips (the best you could, swarmed by child shaped monkeys) "He can stretch like rubber, eat more food than an entire village, and once punched a sea monster so hard it ran away crying. He’s kind of an idiot, but he’s also the bravest person I’ve ever met."

"Then there's Roronoa Zoro." You struck a sword pose, using a stick as a prop. "He’s always grumpy, always training, always getting lost—but he’d fight the world for the people he cares about. He acts like he’s all tough, but he’s one of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet."

"Next up—Sanji." You fluttered your eyelashes dramatically. "He’s our cook. He’s charming, dramatic, and makes food so good it’ll bring tears to your eyes. Also he once kicked through a wall to save me. He flirts a lot, but he’s got the softest heart."

"Nami. Our navigator." You leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "One of the smartest women alive. Could rob you blind while looking you dead in the eye. She’s brilliant, fierce, and way too pretty for her own good."

"Usopp. The sharpshooter." You held up your hand like a slingshot. "He’s funny, creative, and one of the bravest cowards you’ll ever meet. He always stands up in the end. Always."

"Chopper. Our doctor." You ruffled the nearest kid’s hair. "He’s adorable and super smart and turns into a giant monster when he wants to. Best hugs in the world, hands down."

"Robin. Our archaeologist." You lowered your voice dramatically. "She’s elegant, quiet, and could end a man in five seconds. But she’s also kind and curious and reads stories to me when I can’t sleep."

"And last but not least—Franky. The shipwright." You flexed both arms. "Half-man, half-machine, all chaos. He yells 'SUPER' every few minutes and built our ship from scratch. He’s a big softie. Literally and emotionally."

You leaned back, resting your chin in your hand as the little girl twisted the final flower clip into your hair.

“…They’re a pain sometimes. But they’re my family.”

The crew could not handle it.

Sanji had dropped to one knee, wiping his face. “She called me soft—in a good way!”

Zoro was very purposefully not reacting, but his ears were red. Nami was already planning to get the rundown embroidered. Luffy was bouncing with excitement. Robin… was smiling wider than usual.

Usopp whispered, “We have to do something. Like… something nice back.”

“Like what?” Chopper whispered.

Luffy blinked. “A surprise hug attack.”

“…That might actually work.”

As you sat there in the grass, laughing with the kids and covered in flower barrettes, you had no idea that half your crew had just fallen in love with you all over again.

You just smiled and said, “Alright, who wants to hear about the time I punched a Sea King in the nose?”

And every single little hand shot up.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light over the grassy clearing where you lounged with the village kids. Your hair was now officially more floral centerpiece than hair, and your cheeks ached from smiling so much.

The kids were still gathered around you, a few sprawled out on the blanket, some perched in your lap, one determined to balance a daisy on your nose.

You were entirely at peace. (Which, of course, meant your crew was still hiding behind various objects, quietly losing their minds with every soft word that fell from your mouth.)

One of the smallest girls leaned into your side, clutching your sleeve. “Do you have a best friend?”

The question was so soft, so simple. And yet it made you pause, blinking up at the golden sky.

You smiled gently.

“Hmmm… I think I do. Actually, I think I have two super best friends.”

"Super best friends?!" the kids echoed, eyes wide.

You nodded sagely. “Sanji and Zoro.”

Behind the crates, a bottle clattered to the ground. (Usopp smacked Luffy’s arm, hissing, “Stop freaking out, they’ll hear you!”)

“Wait!” a little boy chirped. “What about the others? Don’t you like them too?”

You laughed, ruffling his hair. “Of course I do! The whole crew are my best friends. But those two…”

You glanced to the side, cheeks just faintly warm. “They’re different. We’ve been through a lot. They’ve seen sides of me no one else has, and they didn’t run.”

The kids were hooked. “Tell us about them!” “What makes them super best friends?” “Are you gonna marry them both?”

“NO.” You cleared your throat quickly. “That’s… that’s not how this works.”

One little boy leaned in like he was about to hear ancient treasure lore. “Please tell us about themmmmmm.”

You gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, but you didn’t hear this from me.”

“Sanji,” you began, voice soft, “is... a dork.”

The kids gasped. You grinned. “But he’s also one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He flirts too much, sure, and he’s dramatic as hell, but when I was sick, he didn’t leave my side. He brought me soup, fluffed my pillow, scolded me gently but never left.”

Behind the fruit stand, Sanji covered his mouth and turned completely red, muttering, “Oh my god, she remembers that?”

“He always calls me things like ‘mon amour’ and ‘goddess,’ and yeah, I tease him about it, but... I don’t mind it as much as I pretend to.”

(Behind the crates: Zoro muttered, “Pathetic.” Usopp and Chopper silently pointed at Zoro’s ears—very pink.)

You smiled. “He’s sunshine wrapped in frustration. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel cared for. He’s just… always there.”

The kids melted.

Then you held up a finger. “And then there’s Zoro.”

You rested your chin in your hand, gazing out over the hills.

“He’s… complicated. Quiet. Rough around the edges. But when things are really bad? He’s the one who keeps me grounded.”

The kids were silent, clinging to your every word.

“He doesn’t always say nice things. Sometimes he makes me wanna fight him. But he always listens when it matters. He notices when I’m hurting before I do.”

You smiled, warm and sincere. “He throws me in the ocean when I’m annoying, but also, he’s the first to pull me out when I’m drowning.”

Behind the tree, Zoro stared at the ground, jaw tight.

You shrugged. “Together, they balance me out. Sanji lifts me up. Zoro holds me steady. It’s not perfect, but it works. They’re my stupid, stubborn, dramatic, loyal super best friends.”

From behind the wall, Robin murmured, “How poetic.”

Nami smiled faintly. “She really does love them.”

Sanji had to sit down before he fainted. “She called me sunshine…”

Zoro hadn’t moved. He just kept staring into the grass like it personally offended him.

Usopp whispered, “We’re never letting her live this down.”

Luffy just beamed. “She’s got good taste.”

You leaned back into the grass as the little girl tucked the last flower into your hair.

"Do you think they’d be our friends too?" one kid asked quietly.

You closed your eyes, smiling. "Absolutely. Just… be careful. They’re both way too soft for kids like you."

"Are you saying you’re not soft?"

You peeked one eye open. “Hey, I’m still terrifying. I just have a weakness for flower crowns and tiny hands.”

And behind you, your crew was falling apart quietly, completely smitten all over again.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Saint of the Smallest Sun

[A Becky/Ambriel fic]

The first time Ambriel came to earth, it was new, and fresh, and innocent. The lesser angels were taken on a tour in proto-humanoid-vessels, before the real humans were awoken. Ambriel had stepped into a pile of rotting fruit with her vessel's bare foot, and decided not to come again if she could help it.

The second time she came to earth, it had had an extra 4.5 billion years in which to rot, and she was forced there. One moment, she was processing information through the incorporeal fibers of her wings, and the next she was bound to a 5 foot circle of space in a human form wearing a pantsuit. She looked from the ring of holy fire surrounding her to the room it was set in; a crumpled bed with a stretched out photograph as  the duvet pattern, a series of posters depicting scenes from the Winchester Gospels, a chunky computer monitor showing a forum comment page, and a young woman kneeling amongst a flurry of papers with a mortar and pestle beside her, the crackle of after-magic still hovering over it. The woman was staring at her, eyes and mouth agape, like one of the fish that the archangel Gabriel kept brandishing at anyone close to him on that first day on earth. Ambriel had only seen it from a distance, but the image had remained in her mind, as everything she learned remained.

Ambriel touched her own cheek gently, and then pinched it hard between her fingers. She winced. This wasn't a vessel. This temporary form must have been crafted by the spell, which suggested that the person who brought her here was either a powerful spellcaster or had an abnormally strong sense of will. She glanced skeptically back at the kneeling woman, who had brought up both hands to cover her mouth and was still just staring at her. Maybe there was a third option.

"Can you let me go?" She tried, careful to speak with her new vocal chords instead of her true voice. It scratched a little, but seemed serviceable. "I have like, a lot to do."

"Mmnnhn," the human said, muffled by her own hands, and then she started and dropped them: "I mean. Michael. Wow! I was expecting - I mean, just based on all the other characters, I thought you'd be, you know, a guy. Not that there's anything wrong with girls - I - I was such a big fan of Jo! You know, after it was clear she wasn't going to be a threat to the brother's relationship. I just think it gets in the way, sometimes, like, the story is about men, why do girls even need to be involved, you know? But I am a feminist! So, yeah, I- I love that you're a woman that's - that's great."

Ambriel squinted at her, deeply confused. What is she talking about? This seemed to fluster the woman, who finally blinked, and rapidly.

"Oh, god. Don't ramble Becky. Be normal. Be normal, Becky. Okay! So..."

The woman - Becky, presumably - lowers her forehead to the floor and links her fingers in front of her in a prayer pose. Her voice trembles when she speaks again:

"Dear...you. I know I'm not important to the story. And I know it's not fated or plotted or anything. But I thought...I have to try, right? That's what Sam would do. Trying against impossible odds is what Supernatural is all about. So, I'm here on behalf of humanity to beg for our lives. Please. Don't do the Apocalypse. It'd be really bad if you did the Apocalypse. Chuck's not the most descriptive writer, but from what I've seen of his notes...yikes. And it's already pretty bad now, just with Lucifer walking the Earth. Just, grab him and duke it out on Mars, or something, if you really have to fight. Please, please, just leave the Earth alone."

"You want me to...cancel the Apocalypse?" Ambriel asked, and Becky desperately nodded. "Oh, I can't do that. So, can you let me out now, or...?"

Read my Becky/Ambriel fic, Saint of the Smallest Sun, on ao3 for more!

[namu-the-orca]

Do you have any advice on how to begin drawing a cetacean? When I'm drawing terrestrial animals, I can break them down into simpler shapes pretty easily, but cetaceans are just Big Tubes and I'm completely stumped on how to start

(Disclaimer that my work is rather stylised, so I'm not looking for advice on photorealism! Just any advice you have in general. I admire your ability to understand and render these sausage-bodied beasts)

Hi! That's an interesting question. I have to admit I had to draw a couple of dolphins first to see how I actually deal with them when free-handing lol. So much of my work as of late is scientific illustration, where in many cases I can build upon my own older illustrations. The new pieces are always 100% new, but correcting a base - however poor - is easier than starting from scratch.

Before I go any further let me stress the eternal importance of references. I can draw a dolphin fine from memory but for it to be actually accurate I need references. I always use them. Especially when it comes to weird poses or angles, but even for illustrations I will reference 25-50 photographs. Use them, study them, find them. They are a resource not a cheat.

Also, years ago I actually started work on a whole series of dolphin drawing tutorials. Or rather, collections of notes and tips for different topics (anatomy, differences between males and females, colouration, variation). Looking at the files now I see I had actually written and drawn a frightening amount already. Perhaps I should try to finish them? Is that something people would be interested in? Anyway, it starts off with a word of encouragement, which I do want to share here:

Actual advice is below the cut:

ONTO METHODS - illustrations

I found that for me, my method depends on whether I'm making an illustration or a full scene painting. For illustrations - which are in flat side view - I actually embrace the sausage. I drew a dolphin for you and saved the steps of how I go about it.

And this is the first. I start with a sort of flat-bottomed airfoil shape, and then add fins and a beak in approximate locations.

Next is refining the appendages and giving a face. Shape and placement of appendages as well as eye and mouth line is all experience and/or reference work.

Then comes fixing what I messed up lol. I always make the head too big first try (would have been good for a baby dolphin though!). Using cutting/transforming/moving selections around I correct proportions to what feels correct to me (again, that part comes from having seen and drawn a lot of dolphins).

Add some markings and hooray we have a spinner dolphin! This is the part where I would seriously start consulting references to check all the details and proportions are in order. If you don't need (photo)realism you can skip that step and use refs further back in the process just to get the shape/idea/colour of the species you're trying to paint right.

MORE METHODS - for different poses

When it comes to dynamic poses, my workflow is completely different. I just start from the nose and build my dolphin from there. Because as said above, they do have anatomy. And I think the way the beak flows into the cheek, the eye bumps connect, then the curve of the throat, the attachment of the pectoral fin, the way the belly curved up towards the genital region, the slight bulge behind that, then the muscles of the peduncle which flow into the flukes - I think the relations between those separate parts are enough for me?

These are the little dolphins (and a porpoise) I sketched from memory. In all cases I started from the tip of the nose and built from there, with minimal or no adjustments/erasing along the way. It was very much outline work. Details on eyes, mouth, etc, would come later. The killer whale is a bit different and got way more detailed than the rest. With such a front view angle I do use some spherical shapes to break it down for the body and face.

Otherwise I've never really liked or used the method of breaking an animal down into shapes, it never felt logical or intuitive to me. My "method" (if you can call it that lol) just comes from having drawn a lot of dolphins. I don't know if it is necessarily helpful when you want to get a grasp of them when starting out. Regardless I do hope this answered your question somewhat and you could get something useful out of it!

Also, I realise now I mostly talked about "standard "dolphins - for whales/short-beaked smaller cetaceans/etc my process is mostly the same, except their heads just have different shapes.

[iztea]

Iztea I need your help💔💔 I'm genuinely trying to find my art style but I'm not very good at art in the first place, I'm a beginner and I just don't feel motivated to draw anymore because I'm not good at it,, can you pls link your tutorials so I can try to follow them the best I can..😓 I genuinely love your art and your a huge inspiration but I can't draw for shit. A lot of the tutorials on YouTube don't actually help me as much as they do for other people so I'm lowkey putting my faith in you to try and help me lmao, I just can't get the proportions of anything right, like I can't draw a body or head,, and when I trace things it just feels like cheating in art like ugghhjjnn,, can you help me😓☹️

If you struggle with proportions, then drawing over the reference photo (which you should totally have, btw) to get a feel for the distance between things is a great starting point. I also think you should have simplified anatomy references, as well as references from other artists. Basically, everything I mentioned here i don't want to repeat the same points

Tracing is not "cheating" if you're using it to learn. It can be very distasteful if it's used for finished art, where it is obviously meant to replace actual skill, or if it's traced from another artist. If you're using it to study and as a stepping stone to improve your skills, then it's totally fine and even encouraged (it's like doing assisted pull-ups at the gym). But you gotta to play it smart—tracing the actual outline without engaging in critical thought leads to ugly, mediocre, commercialized art that we don't want because we're cool based and always striving to improve ourselves

Okay anyways "But how exactly do I trace references in a smart way, iztea?" Well, like I said, you can lower the opacity of your reference photo and draw over it. Use the general shapes and volume of the body as your guide until you learn to draw without them. Don't follow the outline exactly—exaggerate or stylize the limbs to your liking. For example, I like drawing small wrists and long, slim necks because I think it looks more appealing. So whenever I'm using a reference, I (subconsciously most of the time) slim these body parts down, elongate the fingers, and so on. If you're still not sure what your style is, that's fine too. Use this exercise to find out what your hand naturally leans into

I'm not the cleanest sketcher, and it's been a while since I've done this sort of approach, so excuse the messiness but I wanted to show an example of how I'd tackle this technique. If you look closely, you'll see that I didn't exactly draw over the body parts, especially in the neck and arm area. I exaggerated the posture by adding more gestures—I made the shoulders rounder, the skull bigger, and the arms and neck longer and slimmer. I didn't focus on details like the face or fingers because that's not the point

The next important step after creating your guidelines is to redraw the lines from scratch on a separate layer, but this time without the reference. Set the reference aside and focus on copying your own guidelines. Afterward, compare the two drawings to check if your proportions are accurate. If they're off, take note of any recurring mistakes and correct them. For example, I have a tendency to draw the mouth too far down on the face, so it's something I am always aware of whenever I'm drawing. Other times, I draw the eyebrows too high from the eyes and so on. Another important thing to point out is that not all references are created equal—there are such things as bad or poor references. If the body’s silhouette looks like a blob or the limbs are heavily foreshortened, you'll find it much harder to draw so for practice, I recommend choosing poses that are fluid, clear, and expressive, with good lighting and features you can exaggerate. This will make it easier to understand the form and you'll have more fun in general I've provided a little comparison below. I'm not saying the 2nd pose is terrible and impossible to draw, it's obviously not, you can draw anything you want howeveerrr if you're just starting out, painting the 2nd one can be much more challenging due to it not being very clear in shape, value range, pose, gesture etc. So what I'm trying to say is to choose your poses wisely too

I don't remember doing any tutorials outside that hair one unless you consider my rambling sessions tutorials (i don't) but you can also scroll through the #ask iztea: art talk hashtag for whatever art-related question I might have answered I'm too lazy to link everything so YOU put the work and stalk my page

anyways yeah idk this is how i'd start.... so to summarize:

pull up references, from both real-life people, simplified anatomy sheets, and artists you like

draw over your reference photo and treat it as your training wheels

close the og reference, and use the newly traced, much more simplified outline as your new reference, and now draw the pose again, but "freehand" this time

compare the traced and the freehand version, take notice of your proportions and try to correct them

choose good, readable, easy to draw refs

never give up never what

[tumblingxelian]

Wednesday Fanfic Concept - The Nevermore Affair

Summary:

When Wednesday Addams was forced to attend Nevermore Academy she was confident about two things.

1: She would be escaping in short order. 2: She would in no way follow her mothers matrimonial footsteps.

Which begs the question of how she managed to find herself engaged twice over within the first twenty four hours!?

Worse still, it is to the two most vexing people at Nevermore, Enid Sinclair and Bianca Barclay.

Concept:

Nevermore is quite literally a magical place.

One suffused with the power of oath and ritual, so much so that it requires a specialized rulebook to make sure you don't accidentally invoke a binding spell on accident.

Nevermore's Guide to the Magical and Mundane. This was a guidebook that Wednesday did not read because she had no intention of staying.

This becomes a problem on the first night when her argument with Enid is not interrupted and spills over into an actual fight after Wednesday ignored Enid's physical "Back off" warning.

This is a fight Wednesday loses due to not knowing Enid knew martial arts, underestimating her Lycan strength and generally assuming Enid posed no real threat and would become afraid the moment she gave her a slight scare.

Instead said fight ended with Enid's fangs buried in her neck, fangs Enid normally doesn't have access to.

Enid freaks out, apologies and flees while Wednesday is left annoyed, confused, a touch disappointed in several ways but dismissed it as "I miscalculated, won't happen again."

Long story short, the pose Enid adopted was actually a Lycan custom, saying "If you step forward to battle, you place your life in my hands"

So when she wins & doesn't kill Wednesday… Yeah you get it.

The very next morning, Wednesday arrives at fencing all kitted up in her suit from home, mask on her face and neck markings covered.

As is custom she picks a fight with Bianca and after a win, a loss with the final round being a tie breaker, she demands either military rules or something with similar principles much to the tittering of the crowed.

Wednesday herself ignores it, simply having defaulted to something she knows will make the fight more dangerous cos her parents always did it and she is excited but also wants to know Bianca off balance.

Duel of Dominion perhaps? Duel of Blood perhaps? Not sure.

Bianca, is incredibly vexed and not a little bit scared. Interpreting this as Wednesday trying to either 'claim' her or intimidate her into surrendering, but she is not about to back down.

Enid's efforts to subtly intervene are ignored by all and while normally the coach would intervene. Due to a mix of Wednesday's background and the fact Bianca can just refuse he doesn't.

They duel, Bianca wins.

"I suppose I will get to see you in white," She intones, before licking Wednesday's blood off the blade and sealing the pact.

"Its barely a scratch" Wednesday dismissed, taking off her helmet and revealing Enid's mark.

Much to the crowds surprise; the act itself may even have been encouraged by Enid.

Xavier starts losing his shit and is sent away.

It is worth noting that the binding can be broken, but that is an expensive and drawn out process and requires the victors permission.

Bianca intended to just hold onto it to keep Wednesday until she could extract a major debt from the Addams for breaking it.

Enid has no idea if the bond can be broken or even happened given her own issues, but was hoping to find a solution in secret.

Wednesday is sent to the nurses office for the cut but also to ensure she is physically well and also not been siren songed or anything else. This is also where she finds out about... All this and reacts as you'd expect.

Meanwhile, Coach Vlad drags Enid & Bianca to Weems to explain how Wednesday somehow got herself engaged by ancient rights of Lycan culture and Nevermore dueling culture within 24 hours!

Fun fact, but because both of these happened and in such quick succession, breaking the bindings will be much harder than normal.

Weems: I have the sneaking suspicion this is going to be about Miss Addams somehow. Enid (Trying to ease the tension) Well its Misses Addams now isn't it? Bianca (Exhausted with this) If you think I'm taking her name you're insane. Weems:... I trust... I pray that you two are merely telling a poor joke. Vlad: No Madame, I am afraid not.

Somewhere in Nevermore a scream of outrage echoed through the stone halls.

Notes:

This is very much a "Crack taken seriously" style story. It begins as a comedy of errors and becomes much more messy and complicated as the three have to navigate the bonds, trying to break them, live with them, other people's perceptions of them and so on. Let alone the murder mystery.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Actually Decent (3)

[12:47 pm] HEY gav

[12:47 pm] guess what

[12:48 pm] me and Jasmine are finally official 

 

Gavin glanced down at his phone, scanning through the messages he had just received from Tina, scoffing fondly. After a few moments of deliberation, he fired off a playful response:

 

You:

that's great ti

and the last nine months of you hooking up in the supply closet didnt count because…?

 

As the reply was sent, Nines emerged from the kitchen, deftly sidestepping the assembly of cats congregating at his feet. Carrie seemed determined to trip him up, intercepting his path with every movement. Wendy supported the efforts, trailing closely behind, batting her tail. 

The android was wearing one of his favourite lounging tops, an old graphic t-shirt of Gavin's that he hadn't worn in years. It depicted a montage of famous horror icons drawn in a cartoonish style. Their arms were draped around each other as they posed for a group photo, pulling faces at the camera. 

 

Actually Decent (2)

Because its finally on the socials <3 <3 <3

this is the best day of my life

 

Observing his approach, Gavin couldn't help but marvel at how Nines managed to look so effortlessly good whilst wearing a beaten-up shirt that was at least fifteen years old—paired with a set of baggy sweatpants that looked like they'd lost a fight with a swarm of moths. 

He supposed it helped that the garment was a tad too short, teasing at a small sliver of midsection every time he raised his arms. It was downright pornographic, and he intended to write a letter to CyberLife regarding the issue. Either a complaint or a thank you. He hadn't decided yet. 

"The popcorn is in the microwave," Nines smoothly informed, scooping up the most placid of the cats, Nancy, into his arms. He stroked her soft brown fur in long, affectionate brushes before skillfully finding the sweet spot between her neck and ear. The cat melted into the touch as the android moved his fingers with well-rehearsed precision.

"Okay, cool, now all we gotta do is find something to watch," Gavin mumbled, tearing his attention away from the appealing sight long enough to trail his thumb across the power button of a chewed-up television remote. 

The action was delayed, however, as not seconds after setting down his phone, it fired off again, demanding his attention with a precession of frenzied dings:

 

Actually Decent (7)

I might ask her if she wants to move in with me 

thats the next step after socials right?

OMG

GSVNI

G AS VIN

GAVIN*

Is it too early to propose?

 

Nines had reached the sofa, tutting frustratedly at the pair of legs strewn across the thoroughly claw-marked cushions. He nudged one of the offending limbs with his knee, continuing to scratch behind the ear of an increasingly vocal Nancy. "Move."

Gavin huffed indignantly, although a playful roll of his eyes assured it wasn't serious. He raised his legs, allowing his partner to sit before casually slumping his feet across his lap. Nines, having anticipated this, lifted up the fluffy mound that was purring appreciatively in his arms. Once settled, he placed the cat in the junction between his feet.

As he replied to Tina, the android claimed the forgotten remote and proceeded to flick through channels, searching for something of interest.

 

You:

How very lesbian of you.

Yes its too early you freak.

 

Actually Decent:

:( Sad.

we could have had a joint wedding.

When you and Nines get married, are you gonna take his name, or are you gonna keep yours?

 

You:

Nines doesn't have a last name 

and he's basically taken mine already

 

Actually Decent:

Awww, that sucks. I thought Gavin Serial Number 

313 248 317 - 87 had a nice ring to it.

I'd definitely take Jas’ surname. Mrs and Mrs 162 441 229. Really rolls off the tongue don't you think <3 

 

"I'm not seeing anything I think we'd particularly enjoy," Nines commented, as he made a subtle gesture towards the TV.

Gavin looked up to inspect the screen and was assaulted with a visual barrage of rapidly changing images, blurring into each other at a dizzying rate. His eyes ached, and his forehead pulsed as he vainly attempted to process what he was seeing. "Jesus , slow down. We don't all have advanced optical units; I can't take shit in that quickly."

The pace of the flicking decreased, albeit marginally, as Nines glanced over at him—a mischievous smirk pulling at his lips. "I'm struggling to recall the last time you asked me to slow down."

The seductive resonance of his voice betrayed the double meaning with transparency. It left Gavin to splutter incredulously, mouth gaping in disbelief before he matched his partner's expression with his own crooked smile. "We literally did it this morning, asshole. God, you’re insatiable."

"I see no reason why we can't also partake this afternoon. It is my day off, after all." Carefully so as not to disturb the cat, Nines had begun trailing his free hand across the inside of one of the man's legs. Starting at his ankle before migrating up the taut muscle of his calf. 

It didn’t matter how much time they spent together; the seemingly endless endurance of his libido was something that Gavin was still adjusting to. The android had been permitted decidedly less time to indulge in carnal pleasures, and had made it clear since the beginning of their relationship that he was intent on making up for lost time.

"Easy, Casanova," the man said lowly, suppressing the emergent groan that was building in his throat as the hand brushed the inside of his thigh, seemingly intent on trailing further. "Let's watch a movie first, and then I'll think about it. Give my body a chance to recover."

He squinted at the television again, making another attempt at assigning sense to the disorientating mess being hurled in his face. The rate seemed to have increased significantly in the wake of their playful exchange, and he knew for a fact Nines was doing it on purpose.

Having had some fun at his partner's expense, he eventually relented, handing the remote back to Gavin with quiet complacency. The frenetic blur of images halted, settling on what seemed to be an antique evaluation show. A well-dressed couple engaged in an animated conversation with a heavy-set man in a garish bright suit. They were sharing a bewildering level of enthusiasm over what looked to be a teapot.

Oh, Hell no.

Gavin switched the channel quickly, grimacing as he did so. The sour expression only deepened as the next show involved another suburban, button-down couple chatting menially with a dour-looking host. The only discernible difference seemed to be that the subject of interest was now determining which shade of indistinguishable beige paint should be used to decorate a downstairs bathroom.

After breezing through a few more channels of equally mind-numbing programming, he grew increasingly defeated, grunting under his breath in frustration. "Ugh, you're right. This is all trash—the joys of Daytime TV, I guess."

"If you would pay for a streaming service or two, then you wouldn't be at the mercy of public broadcasting."

"What do I look like, a millionaire? Those sickness paychecks only go so far. I don't have streaming money."

"You'll be back at work and earning your full pay soon enough." The android reclined back in his seat as Nancy kneaded her claws into his lap, seeking a comfortable position. Ultimately, she sank down, curling into a tight ball. "Perhaps you ought to treat yourself; I'd be happy to split the cost."

"Animal shelter money doesn't really constitute ‘rolling in it’ either, Nines."

His partner tutted at the persistent pessimism before seeking out another compromise. "Alright, fine. Then we can watch one of your DVDs."

"We've watched the entire collection more times than I can count. I wanna find something you haven't seen yet."

"Truly, I don't mind what we watch as long as we do it together."

Gavin pointed to his throat and made a prolonged retching noise. "You and the sappy crap."

Nancy, who had begun dozing against his leg, roused slightly, her tail bristling and amber eyes scanning her surroundings. The noise was not enough to prompt her to flee, as a soothing stroke from Nines ensured she settled back down. 

He shot his partner an incredulous look, to which Gavin responded by prodding a heel into his abdomen. "Oh, don't give me that look, I'm kidding."

"I know you are. You'd be utterly devastated if I ever relented on the ‘sappy crap’" There was a brief crackle of static, which marked a shift in tone towards the end of the sentence. The typically smooth, measured resonance of his voice adopted a more abrasive quality. 

Gavin scowled, noting the uncanny familiarity as he sunk further into the cushions. "I do not sound like that."

"You sound exactly like that—It is a sample of your voice."

"Bullshit. You pitch-shifted it, and now you're just trying to mess with me." Returning his attention to the television, the man continued to trawl through the increasingly dire options. He was on the brink of admitting defeat when an unwelcome image asserted its presence, filling the screen from corner to corner:

 

Dimitar Petrov stood at a wooden stand, fixating on something out of view. His hazel eyes appeared relentlessly cold, darkened with detached cruelty. A nervous-looking man in an ill-fitting blue suit stood to his side, running his fingers anxiously through spiked black hair. Gavin felt his chest tighten as the once-jovial air surrounding the couple dissipated, replaced by an unpleasant tension.

He’d forgotten what day it was—and suspected he had done so consciously, at least to some extent. Not wanting the unwelcome reminder of the events that took place several months ago to dampen the mood.

After the initial shock waned, he sat himself upright, focusing his attention on the screen. The camera panned over to a gallery filled with solemn faces, with the corresponding attendants sitting in respectful silence. A few voices broke through, with the laboured sobs of one attendee proving particularly disruptive. Gavin recognised her as Stephenie, the sister of Jennifer Parkins — the Reaper's only human victim. 

Focus then shifted to an older man on the opposite end of the room, looming over the proceedings with a stern expression. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, Your Honor."

 

An anticipative breath lodged in his throat as Gavin leaned closer. The forgotten remote was still clutched in his grasp, trapped in an increasingly tightened vice. Then, a hand found his forearm, stirring his attention just enough that his focus pulled away from the screen.

As their gazes locked, Nines gave his arm a tentative squeeze before softly addressing him. "I suggest we find some lighter viewing. Perhaps a psychological horror."

"Doesn't get much more horrifying than this fucker," the man seethed, glowering at the television as the camera focused back on Dimitar. He quietly reassured the android, resting a hand across his in a placating gesture. "It's okay, I wanna hear what they say."

 

Any lingering noise in the court dissipated as an effort was made by the more hysterical onlookers to quiet themselves. The foreperson stood from his chair, a paper clutched in his hands. His eyes were narrowed as he gave it a cursory scan before finally addressing the courtroom. "In the Case of The Androids Of Detroit Versus Dimitar Petrov, we find the defendant… Guilty of all charges."

The gallery stirred back to life as ripples of sounds echoed through. Gasps of relief mingled with more vocal affirmations as tearful spectators embraced each other. 

"The court accepts the jury's verdict. Dimitar Petrov, you are hereby convicted of sixteen counts of first-degree murder. Given the severity of your crimes, the court sentences you to life in prison without the possibility of parole."

With a defeated sigh, the blue-clad lawyer slumped in his chair, casting a weary glance at a man on an opposing bench. The figure in question, decked head-to-toe in ostentatious maroon, quietly gathered his papers, nodding in measured satisfaction. Dimitar seldom reacted to the verdict save for a cruel sneer. A set of bailiffs emerged at the stand, flanking him on either side before placing their hands on his shoulders and leading him away.

 

"Fucking good," Gavin remarked, exhaling the fraught breath that he had been holding during the deliberation. "Exactly what that piece of shit deserves."

As he said this, a high-pitched ding could be heard from the kitchen, which he recognised as the microwave. The man stood up from his semi-reclined position, grunting as he did. Though he made an effort to withdraw his feet slowly, the action proved enough to finally disturb Nancy. She dropped to the floor and plodded away towards the kitchen, presumably in anticipation of food. Nines was visibly saddened by her departure as his hand hovered longingly where she had been resting.

"Need to get a new couch; the support on this one is terrible." Gavin craned forward, pressing his hands to the small of his back as the bones emitted a soft crack. "My back is killing me."

The android transitioned from displeasure to amusement in rapid succession as he let out a terse snort.

"Hey, don't laugh," the man retorted, levelling him with an accusatory look. "It's completely reasonable for me to want to sit on a comfortable couch."

"I'm not laughing because it's unreasonable. I just think you're being a tad dramatic."

Gavin scoffed, spinning on his heel in a deliberate show of theatrics, accompanied by a flagrant eye roll. Advancing toward the kitchen, a distant mewl could be heard, accompanied by a more exuberant yowl of impatience—easily recognisable as Tiffany. 

"It's all part of ageing, Nines, and it's only getting worse from here. You still gonna want me when I look like a wrinkled ball sack?"

"That would imply you don't already."

"Ooo, harsh .” He emitted a sharp hissing noise, clutching his chest in a show of exaggerated offence. "I'm thirty-six, you smug asshole."

"Thirty-seven in a few weeks.”

"Yeah, don't remind me," he growled as his playful demeanour started to wane. "I found another grey hair this morning. That's five now."

"Ahh yes, a sure sign that false teeth and an orthopaedic pillow loom closely on the horizon."

"If you keep teasing, I'll have to bump my midlife crisis ahead a few years."

Emerging into the kitchen, the sounds of anticipative yowls grew, and he made a detour en route to the microwave. A growing congregation of hungry cats gathered at his feet, glassy eyes staring up in anticipation.

"Gavin, none of that matters to me," he heard Nines protest from the other room. The playful joviality of his voice was absent, replaced with something more sincere. “Your appearance may change, but you will be the same person—and I will continue to adore you.” 

"Easy to say when you're gonna spend the rest of your life looking like an underwear model."

As the cupboard creaked open, he heard a flurry of movement from another room, followed by the frantic plodding of feet. A frenzied blur of black and white came screeching into the kitchen, thunderous paws losing grip as the cat collided head-first with a wall.

 

Goddammit Richie. 

 

"If you knew I would age the same as you, that my physical appearance would also be subject to change, would you feel any differently?"

His hand stilled on the handle. Bristling at the unexpected question, he swiftly abandoned his current task, much to the vocal chagrin of his pets. "No, of course not. Why the hell would that change anything?"

Then a realisation struck him. He had never been one for overt sentiment, with Nines having comfortably taken that role in the relationship. That being said, the negligence he had demonstrated at failing to express that particular affirmation—several months after its emergence—couldn't really be excused.

"Nines…I love you. You know that, right?" 

The confession was met by a weighty silence, which left Gavin with a disquieting sense of unease. He quietly receded back through the kitchen and peered his head around the corner of the doorway, seeking to gauge his partner's response.

Nines was staring at him, eyes glossed with ill-concealed sentiment, as his lips were pulled into a small, grateful smile. Everything about his softened expression seemed to exude adoration—and unyielding devotion. "I do, but it feels truly wonderful to hear you say it."

The draw of his voice was magnetising, compelling the man to abandon everything he had been doing. He hurried back to the couch and, without another word exchanged, straddled his partner's hips, capturing his mouth in a fervid kiss. The android groaned appreciatively, mingled with a static-like charge, as he kissed back with matched enthusiasm. 

"What about the popcorn?" Nines gently teased, having pulled back just enough that the words danced enticingly against the man's lips.

"Fuck it, that can wait," Gavin murmured, his mouth running a languid path across the length of his jaw. "The movie, too. I've had enough rest."

Then Richie—who the couple had long since surmised was the embodiment of chaos tenuously masquerading as a cat—barrelled his way through the living room. His trajectory was only halted as he jumped onto a windowsill, knocking over several ornaments with a brush of his tail.

Rather than stopping there, he somehow managed to scamper his way up one of the curtains, getting his claws embedded at the top and marking it with sizeable tears as he tried to wriggle free. In the process, the rail above dislodged, collapsing to the floor, taking the curtains, and a still-attached cat with it. 

Anything that remained on the windowsill was promptly displaced, including a succulent that Tina had gifted Gavin as a Get Well Soon gift. The plant hit the floor with a crack, shattering into a mess of dirt and ceramic.

 

Goddammit Richie.

 

He emitted a deep groan into his partner’s shoulder as the android shared in his discontent, albeit with a more subdued resignation. "That's a shame; I rather liked that plant."

Carefully, he encouraged his partner off his lap so they could both stand to inspect the damage. As he did so, Wendy came charging out of the kitchen, being chased by Carrie, dashing in front of the couple and almost sending them toppling over. 

"You know, with all these additional bodies, conditions are getting rather cramped."

Picking up the curtains, Gavin noted in frustration that the flimsy support beam had been warped as a result of the impact. "I'm gonna move out soon…before I lose any more of my fucking deposit."

Nines stood to his side, conducting a survey of the room. His attention was drawn to the distinctive scratch marks etched across nearly every wooden surface, as well as a large indent in the plasterboard beside the door. "I’m afraid it might be a bit late for that."

Gavin grumbled in begrudging acknowledgement. He set the mangled curtains back on the floor, determining them to be beyond salvaging, as he folded his arms over his chest. "Don’t get me wrong, this place is a shithole, but it kind of sucks to leave so soon. I only just moved in."

"You’ve been here for almost a year," Nines smoothly corrected.

"Yeah, but I only just finished unpacking."

There was a lull in the discussion as his partner fell silent, lips pursed thoughtfully. At times like this, he missed the days when flickers of light on his forehead would seek to betray his line of thinking. The android was much harder to read without his LED, although he respected his decision to remove it —seeking to shed all superfluous reminders of his past. 

Mercifully, this had extended to his CyberLife jacket, which had found itself on the receiving end of Gavin's lighter. It had been an extremely cathartic evening for both of them.

"Well, my home is larger than yours," Nines eventually said, his voice carrying with it an air of measured rationale. "You could always stay with me for a while. Until you find other living arrangements."

The invitation caught Gavin off-guard as his folded arms slackened, falling limply to his sides. "You’d let me move in with you? Seriously?"

"I see no reason why we could not reach some sort of ‘agreement.’"There was a teasing edge to this as the android leaned forward, deftly cupping his jaw and capturing his lips in a stolen kiss. "On the promise that you might make some effort to be a touch more organised."

The man snorted at the suggestion, brow raised incredulously as he leant his weight into the affectionate touch. "Not happening. Nice try, though."

"The arrangement needn’t be temporary…" Nines continued, his gaze flickering to the side as though claimed by a sudden rush of uncertainty. "You could stay indefinitely, should you like."

It was Gavin's turn to fall silent. In his previous relationships, moving in together hadn't even been a consideration until a full year of established dating. Even then, he had met the suggestion with marked resistance. 

With Nines, nothing about their relationship had ever run as conventional, making the swift progression seem oddly fitting. Any fleeting reservations he may have held soon deserted him, yielding to the trepidation in his partner's eyes. 

It occurred that he had never felt so deeply compelled to commit himself to someone, and it would be foolish to dismiss the significance of that. 

"I guess we’re together most nights anyway, so it makes practical sense. Might take you up on that offer."

"I hope you will," Nines replied, his voice airy and drawn out, like a gracious sigh. He wrapped his arms smoothly around his partner, pulling him close. "I love you, Gavin."

"I know you do—schmaltzy bastard."

[sin-cognito]

OT3 March ch1: Morning, Red/Stretch/Blue

SFW, Wordcount: 717

I'm late in participating to my own event ha ha ha! Anyway, I chose Red/Stretch/Blue as my OT3 for this event, and I'm planning on writing short and sweet (and sometimes a little spicy) slice of life chapters! Hope you enjoy!

As usual, Blue doesn't need his alarm to ring to wake up. His internal clock is enough to get him to emerge from a deep, restful sleep, feeling refreshed and ready to go about his day.

READ ON AO3 or under the cut!

As usual, Blue doesn't need his alarm to ring to wake up. His internal clock is enough to get him to emerge from a deep, restful sleep, feeling refreshed and ready to go about his day.

He ignores the slight sting in his pelvis as he hops out of bed, making sure to stay as silent as possible. Not everyone in the household enjoys waking up this early.

While he usually likes to get some coffee ready first thing in the morning, he decides to visit the bathroom first this time around. He didn't get to clean himself up properly last night, and he feels icky down there. He watches with a giddy blush as the suds wash off the dried up magic around his symphysis. Last night was amazing, he can't help but think as his SOUL flutters in his chest.

Hopefully every evening from now on can be just as perfect.

He then makes his way to the kitchen with a spring in his step, making a mental list of everything needed for the best of breakfasts.

Blueberry yogurt for him, honey pancakes for Stretch, and strawberry jam toasts for Red. He makes both coffee and tea so that his lovers can pick whichever one they fancy this morning, then starts preparing pancakes from scratch. He can already tell he's making way too much but it's alright.

Today is special anyway, they can have a feast, as a treat.

Being so energetic that early in the morning has its perks: Blue is able to make quick work of all the preparations, and in no time at all, he's got everything nicely arranged on a tray. He even decides to be a little fancy and quickly runs to the garden to pluck a couple flowers that he places in a glass of water on the tray.

Looking at this handiwork, he nods to himself.

He takes it slow when walking up the stairs, worried that he might lose his balance and send everything flying. He did make way too many pancakes and now the tray is pretty heavy, but Blue exercises regularly so he can handle that much. He may have wanted to have the coffee and teapot on a different tray, but it's too late now.

Thankfully he makes it safely up the stairs. Opening the bedroom door, he notices he's not the only one awake anymore. He's about to greet Stretch when the tall skeleton, who was playing on his phone (a habit Blue is trying to make him lose), lifts a finger to his mouth. Following his side glance, Blue can see that Red is far from being awake, so he simply smiles lovingly at Stretch. Putting the tray out of the way, he crawls back onto the bed, flopping on Stretch's chest.

"Good morning," he whispers, planting a little kiss on his tallest lover.

"Morning, babe. Do i smell pancakes?" Stretch whispers back playfully, already eyeing the pancakes on the tray.

Blue is about to tease him when a sleepy grumble next to him catches his attention. The sheets move and Red's sleepy face emerges from the white linen.

"did someone say pancakes?"

Stretch and Blue burst out laughing together while Red scratches his eyesockets, trying to wake up faster.

"GOOD MORNING, RED," Blue says, now at full volume, before giving him his own morning kiss. He snuggles with a purr when Red wraps an arm around his waist to keep his close.

"wow, you made a ton too," Red notices. "what's the occasion?"

"Yeah, are we celebrating something?" Stretch adds, looking thoughtful. "It's neither of your birthdays, is it?"

"NO, BUT I'M GLAD YOU ASKED!" Blue says triumphantly, hopping to the tray and bringing it back to the bed. "TODAY IS INDEED A VERY SPECIAL DAY!" He strikes a pose while Stretch and Red look at him curiously, then smiles brightly at his two clueless lovers. "WELL, I GET TO SPEND THE ENTIRE DAY WITH MY TWO MOST FAVORITE PEOPLE IN THE UNIVERSE! HOW AWESOME IS THAT?"

He can't get another word out before he's snatched by two pair of arms.

It takes a while for Red and Stretch to let him go so they can finally have that celebratory breakfast in bed, but Blue wouldn't have it any other way.

[adiruma]

DeepSeek’s Global Success: China’s AI Triumph Sparks Pride and Playful Banter

DeepSeek’s Global Success: China’s AI Triumph Sparks Pride and Playful BanterThe AI battlefield just got a new champion—DeepSeek. While OpenAI’s ChatGPT and Google’s Gemini have been flexing their muscles worldwide, this Chinese AI startup has swooped in, snagging the top spot on the App Store, leaving tech giants scratching their heads. The reaction? China is bursting with national pride, and the internet is having a field day.DeepSeek: The New AI Kid on the BlockDeepSeek, an emerging AI assistant from China, has rapidly climbed the charts, surpassing even ChatGPT in downloads. This unexpected victory is more than just an app store ranking—it’s a symbol of China’s ability to innovate and compete on the global AI stage, despite trade sanctions and geopolitical challenges.Tech enthusiasts and everyday users alike have taken to social media, celebrating DeepSeek’s win with a mix of pride and humor. "Who needs ChatGPT when DeepSeek speaks my language—literally and figuratively?" quipped one user. Another joked, “DeepSeek just deep-sixed the competition!”But behind the memes and playful jabs lies a serious achievement. China’s AI ambitions are no secret, and DeepSeek’s success signals a major step toward technological self-reliance.A Strategic Move in the AI Chess GameFrom a professional standpoint, DeepSeek’s rise is a calculated play in the ongoing AI arms race. With Western AI models dominating the landscape, China has been steadily investing in homegrown alternatives. The timing couldn’t be better—U.S. sanctions have limited China’s access to advanced semiconductor technology, making it crucial for the country to develop its own AI infrastructure.DeepSeek’s success showcases the power of China’s digital ecosystem. With a robust user base and extensive language models tailored for Chinese audiences, it provides a seamless experience that resonates with local users. While OpenAI and Google are still struggling with language nuances and regional restrictions, DeepSeek is delivering precisely what its audience needs.What’s Next for DeepSeek?While China celebrates, the global AI community is taking notes. DeepSeek’s rapid rise poses an important question: Can it sustain this momentum, or is this just a fleeting moment of glory? Competing with established AI giants requires continuous innovation, robust infrastructure, and a global outreach strategy.If DeepSeek wants to truly challenge the status quo, it may need to expand beyond China’s borders. But with growing AI regulations, international politics, and competition from other AI startups, the road ahead is anything but easy.Final Thoughts: A Win for AI DiversityWhether DeepSeek becomes a long-term rival to ChatGPT or simply enjoys its moment in the spotlight, its success is a win for AI diversity. The tech world thrives on competition, and having multiple strong players ensures better innovation, fewer monopolies, and—let’s be honest—more entertaining internet debates.For now, China is reveling in DeepSeek’s triumph, and the rest of the world is watching closely. As the AI wars heat up, one thing is clear: the game is far from over, and DeepSeek has just made a very loud opening move.

[diangelofan]

Happy birthday Percy!!!

Percy was woken up as usual by the low noises of people driving their cars to their boring office jobs; just another busy day in New York City, “where nobody ever stops working!” That what it said in the postcard (and it really did seemed like that during the busy mornings!) Percy had gotten from his biological father (the only time he had any type of contact) at 3. Now at the much wiser age of 6, he questioned why the man would have chosen such a boring postcard instead of the usual birthday card (his ma’s candy store sold much more beautiful cards and it wasn’t even a card shop!). Maybe he wanted to make sure Percy knew that he knew where he lived? Still a bizarre choice for the only thing resembling a birthday gift that the boy had ever received from him. but whatever…

After returning from his musings into the real world, and becoming aware of his surroundings again, Percy realized that there was in fact another, and much nicer at that, sound apart from the buzzing streets. His mother’s voice. More specifically, his mother’s voice singing (more like humming) along to the radio. It was a Monday morning and his ma wasn’t at her usual morning shift at the store! Percy immediately jumped out of bed and into the kitchen, curiosity burning in his chest. He found his mother in her usual weekend pose, eyes focus on the stove and hips moving to the rhythm of the music. Her mother could have been the next Shakira, Percy thought, she had the voice, the moves and the looks!

Her mother must have heard his loud steps in the hallway as she immediately turn around, open her arms wide in greeting, ready for the boy, who quickly jumped to envelop her in a hug: “Good morning! Is my little boy excited for today?”, his mother asked.

“Today? What’s going on today?” Percy had never felt more confused in his short life.

“Oooh… Don’t tell me someone forgot what today is?”, his ma said while trying to hide a smile.

“Forgot what? What is today?” Scratch what he said before. Percy had never felt more confused now than ever before in his life.

Today was Monday, that Percy knew as he had classes in the evening. But the day exactly? Well… they were learning the days of the year already in preschool, but, honestly? Percy was still getting the hang of it. The teacher wanted them to read the calendar a few times and just have it all up in their heads?! Honestly, the gall of that woman! (or at least that was the phrase his mother said when she didn’t agree with her boss). Those were too words and numbers, with so few pictures! It was practically impossible!

“Someone got so excited yesterday, it was a tough feat to put him to sleep, and now he’s forgotten his own birthday”, his ma finally let her smile stand up and proud.

OMG right! His birthday! How could Percy forget his own birthday! With the busyness of the morning and the surprise of his mother being here, he had forgot to think about the reason behind her being here. Wait! If his mother was up cooking breakfast for his birthday that meant he was getting…!

“Someone order a serving of blue blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, sadly not blue but what can we do, and a blue candle on top? With a side of blue jellybeans? Sarah, my coworker was nice enough to give them to me on Friday, knowing I wouldn’t be going this morning. Hmmm… It was a miracle you didn’t find them during the weekend! Bueno, a cantar cumpleaños feliz y luego a comer se ha dicho!!”, his ma handed him a plate filled to the brink with pancakes (four to be exact; such an enormous amount!) an a lightened candle.

They sang happy birthday and ate a delicious plate of blue pancakes each. It was a wonderful birthday. Percy hoped all the rest to come would be as wonderful.

(As an older child, Percy would come and think about to these memories with pity and anger, as his birthdays had never been the same after Smelly Gabe appeared. His mother had tried, but there was no more work-free mornings and blueberry pancakes, but instead quiet birthday celebrations with some candy if Gabe was away at one of his buddies’ houses, gambling away his ma’s hard earned money. Later on, as a teen, Percy would look back with a sad smile, thinking of how happy and easy those innocent childhood days had been. Now, finally, as a tired young adult, Percy is happy to be back with his mother, and the additions of Paul and Estelle, every birthday morning to celebrate with wonderful blueberry pancakes and then hanging out with his friends in the evening. What more could someone ask for? Nothing. Nothing At All.)