#and y'all...I already like the sketch So Much

[jbbuckybarnes]

Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

[teacupchimera]

y'all I am Vibrating with excitement about this new piece I've just started working on 👀

[iydiamartinx]

WINE & PAINT NIGHT

Pairing: Kyle Rayner x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.1k synopsis: Wine and paint night with Kyle. a/n: Y'all can't judge me for writing another Kyle Rayner fic, he's just too damn sweet.

The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and fresh takeout—cheap pad Thai in cartons perched haphazardly on the counter, abandoned in favour of the two canvases set up side by side on the living room floor. A plastic drop cloth crinkled beneath your socks as you moved, settling into your spot in front of the easel with a glass of wine in hand.

Across from you, Kyle was already grinning like an idiot.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at mine,” you warned, pointing your paintbrush at him like a sword. “I’m a civilian. A normal civilian with zero artistic skills.”

“Please,” he said, swirling his wine with theatrical flair, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the concept of anyone not being an abstract prodigy with a paintbrush after two glasses of Merlot.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

The wine had warmed you from the inside out, loosening your shoulders and making you bolder with every brushstroke. Soft jazz filtered through the speakers, the apartment bathed in the glow of fairy lights and the golden flicker of the candle Kyle had lit an hour ago. 

You sat cross-legged across from each other, canvases angled and half-finished. His was some kind of half-sketched skyline that somehow already looked beautiful, even only halfway done. You glanced down at your canvas. Yours… well, yours might’ve been a tree. Or a shrub. A very confident shrub. Either way, it was a valiant effort.

The next time you looked up, Kyle was no longer focused on his painting. He’d abandoned the canvas completely, now sprawled out on his stomach and sketching something directly onto the drop cloth beneath him. His wine glass sat untouched by his elbow, half-forgotten, as he worked. His brows were furrowed, tongue poking slightly out the corner of his mouth in that way he probably didn’t realize he was doing it, completely lost in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting your brush down and leaning forward curiously.

He didn’t answer right away, pencil still moving in light, practiced strokes. Then, without looking up, he said casually, “Just needed to sketch you from this angle.”

Your stomach did a stupid little flutter. “What?”

He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek against his hand, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You look so serious and focused,” he murmured. “It’s adorable.”

A soft heat bloomed in your cheeks, and his eyes caught on it instantly before shifting to another spot on your face as his grin widened.

“You’ve got a little something…” he said, gesturing vaguely with a finger still stained with paint. His brush hovered midair, forgotten. “Right there.” He tapped the bridge of his own nose, eyes flicking back to yours, mischief glinting in their depths.

You blinked, confused at the sudden subject change. “Where?”

“There.”

You leaned toward the table to look at your reflection in the glass but never got the chance. Because before you could even process it, Kyle dabbed a streak of blue paint on your nose with the tip of his brush.

You gasped. “You did not.”

He bit back a smile. “I absolutely did.”

“You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Before he could retreat, you dipped your finger into your palette—coincidentally green—and smudged it across his cheek with theatrical flair.

“Now you really are the Green Lantern.” You giggled.

“Okay,” he said slowly, blinking. “…this is so war.”

The next few seconds were a flurry of poorly aimed brush swipes, giggles, yelps, and colour. Kyle ducked as you flicked paint at him, retaliated by streaking your collarbone with a dash of violet. You smeared green across his jaw, and he retaliated with a burst of yellow across your forehead.

“Kyle!”

You shrieked, trying to bolt—but Kyle was faster. He caught you around the waist with ease, hauling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. You barely had time to laugh before he lifted you off the ground entirely, spinning you both in a dizzying circle. Your giggles mixed with squeals as you clung to his paint-slicked arms, breathless and laughing

By the time the chaos settled, you were both breathless and laughing, covered in messy swirls of pigment. You collapsed backward onto the plastic-covered floor with a soft oof, your chest rising and falling with aftershocks of laughter. Kyle followed, lying beside you, one arm draped across his forehead like a man dramatically defeated.

“Truce?” you murmured.

He peeked at you from under his arm, cheeks flushed—not just from the wine or the laughter. “Only if you kiss it better.”

You rolled onto your side, fingers gently brushing the paint off his cheek, softening as you took him in. “You look like a rainbow threw up on you.”

He huffed out a laugh, “So do you,” he grinned before his voice dropped, quieter now. Tender. “Still the prettiest thing in the room.”

You smiled and leaned in, before he could say anything cheesier, you kissed him. The kiss was soft, slow. He tasted like wine and you could feel him smile against your lips, the way his hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing just under your ear.

His other hand found your waist, fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t quite bear the thought of letting go. 

When you finally pulled back, noses brushing, breath mingling, you stayed close—your forehead resting against his.

“I think I like wine nights,” you whispered.

Kyle nodded, eyes half-lidded as he stared down you. “Next time we skip the painting and go straight to the kissing.”

You grinned. “But then how would I win the paint war?”

His smirk deepened as he tugged you closer, until your noses bumped—his still streaked with a smear of blue, yours dusted with specks of orange.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection, “I’d let you win any war… if it meant I got to taste your lips again.”

And just like that, he kissed you again. The rest of the night faded into soft kisses, slow jazz, and the comfortable hum of being exactly where you wanted to be—in Kyle’s arms and surrounded by his love.

[scarletlizzard]

Inked Desires - Part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Pairing: gp!Natasha × fem!Reader

Tags Minors DNI: natasha has a dick, miscommunication, unprotected sex, breeding, cheesy shit

Masterlist

A/n: Thank you to everyone who stuck around for this part, and thank you for 1,000 followers! 🥳 There are no more parts to this, but I do have some drabbles I'd like to write for it if y'all are interested 🫶 Please leave some feedback, and thank you again for reading ❤️

Art Creds for the first 2 pics: @sweet--escape17 (Please go check out their art, it's amazing!)

Also, shoutout: @oolsen (Thanks for helping me with the plot when I get stuck!)

****

Your eyes glaze over as you stare at the screen of your phone, looking at the same messages that had been sitting in your conversation with Natasha for the past week. You replay the events from the last night you saw her at Joe's bar, wondering where you went wrong. An entire week, gone, and not a single text. No 'Good Morning'. No 'Have a great day'. No ridiculous smiling emojis attached to an even more ridiculous joke. Instead, a one-sided conversation with yourself:

Y/N: I had so much fun last night!

Y/N: Have a good day, baby <3

Y/N: Maybe we can get together soon? Kate told me about a fair happening nearby next weekend. I think that might be fun!

Y/N: Hey, is everything okay?

It wasn't like Natasha to not text you back. The two of you had practically talked every day since meeting, and when you hadn't, she always had a good reason for not replying. Most of the time, it had been you that was too busy to text back... but now the quietness of the empty chat in the palm of your hand allowed an eerie loneliness to seep into your chest, along with a feeling of guilt.

***

"Come on, it'll be fun! " Kates voice rings in your ear from your phone. A sigh spills from your lips as you shake your head, knowing she can't see you.

"I don't know, I'm just not really in the mood..." You mumble into the speaker and silently thank the man who opens the door for you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee enters your nose, a small sense of comfort filling the cracks in your chest.

"Well, you don't really have a choice. You already know I'm dragging you with me... Plus, you can't be in a bad mood when you're eating caramel popcorn," You can practically see the grin on Kates face, knowing how much you loved the simple fair treat. You can also hear movement from the other side of the phone, raising an eyebrow as Kate shuffles around.

"Alright then, fine. Only for the popcorn," you sigh again as Kate cheers. She tells you goodbye as you walk up to the counter to order your usual latte. You pay and move to the opposite side of the counter to await your drink, when you spot a familiar red head in the corner.

Your eyes widen, chest bursting at the sight of Natasha. The feelings hit you all at once, guilt, anger, confusion. Overwhelmingly at the top, happiness. Her brows pull together in concentration at the paper, headphones rest atop her head as she sketches away in a notebook. Her short sleeve shirt reveals her inked skin, and you feel the familiar desire for her all over again.

You give yourself a second longer to stare, a second longer to mentally prepare yourself for what you want to say. Where have you been? Why haven't you texted me back? But as you step closer to the table, and her kind green eyes move away from the paper and to your not so composed stature, your mind seemingly empties.

"Hi," you say with a small smile after she removes her headphones. Natasha clears her throat awkwardly. You want to kiss her red cheeks.

"Y/N, hey," the smile she gives you back doesn't seem genuine, causing your own to fade.

"I've texted you a few times. Is... everything okay?" You ask, a small tilt of your head.

"Um, yeah, you know. I've just been busy?" She avoids your eyes, her body language distant as she crosses her arms with a shrug. You glimpse at the notebook open on the table, an intricate design of lines and shapes, before she closes it abruptly. "I actually have to get to work," Natasha sighs and throws the notebook and pencils into her bag. You don't miss the fact she's not wearing her work shirt.

"Right." You click your tongue as she stands, the tension in the air killing both of you.

As badly as Natasha wanted to pull you into her arms and kiss the worry off of your face, she couldn't. She couldn't deal with the fact she wanted more and that it was reciprocated. She couldn't deal with the fact that she wanted late night talks and laughs, while assuming you only wanted late night hookups. She couldn't deal with the fact that she liked you more than she thought she would, while assuming your interest in her was not on the same level.

"Look, can we talk?" Your soft tone surprises her as she stands, her tall frame towering over you. "Maybe tomorrow we can get together and just... talk. Huh, baby?" The term of endearment slips your tongue, and in a last ditch effort, your hand reaches out to softly touch her bicep.

Natasha finally meets your eyes again, and the two of you still for a moment, the coffee shop fading around you. She almost gives into you once again. She was weak against you. You feel her muscles tense in your grip, and the sound of your name being called by the barista takes her attention away from you. She takes a step backward and pulls on her pierced lip with her teeth.

"I uh, I'm hanging out with Yelena tomorrow," she rubs the back of her neck, attempting to sooth her nerves. You only stare up at her, feeling defeated. "Maybe next time."

You frown up at her, the feelings of confusion and anger rising to the surface as she refuses to look you in the eyes. "Sure. Next time."

Natasha opens her mouth to speak again, but no words come out. Instead, she turns her back to you and walks away, leaving you behind.

***

The next day, you found yourself once again staring at the empty conversation on your phone. You had typed up a million different messages, none of them sounding good enough to send. All night, you had tried to come up with the words to say to her. Ranging from paragraphs of you confessing your feelings to a simple, 'Hey, I like you. What are we doing?'

She had said she wanted more, didn't she? Why were you suddenly getting the cold shoulder?

You sigh aloud as you walk into your apartment building, calling Kate for the fourth time since you got off work early. In a rush this morning, you had forgotten your key, and you desperately hoped she was still there to let you in. Trudging slowly up the stairs, you get her voicemail - again.

As you walk up to the familiar sight of your door you knock hard, "Bishop, you'd better have a good fucking reason for not answering my calls," you joke and continue banging on the door. The lock clicks, and the door swings open. "I'm so glad you're home I-" you stop mid sentence, a now unfamiliar sight standing before you.

"Kate saw she had missed calls from you, I think she's hiding," Yelena laughs and steps back inside the apartment as you walk in behind her.

"Yelena.. I- what are you..?" Your heart picks up for a moment, assuming Natasha would be here with her.

"Oh, Kate invited me over for a movie day," her accent is thick as she speaks, and she gives you a friendly smile. Apparently, she was unaware of the current state between you and her sister.

"Aren't you hanging out with Natasha today?" You ask with a tilt of your head. Yelena raises an eyebrow and shakes her own head.

"No?" She questions and returns to her seat on the couch amongst a pile of pillows and blankets.

Your stomach drops. Natasha had lied to you. Why would she lie to you? Your mind begins to spiral at the list of reasons as to why she would. Kate walks out from the bathroom in the hall and sees the furious expression written on your face.

"Uh.. hey, you got off early!" Kate strides across the room towards you. "Everything okay?" She asks.

"Everything's great." You give her a bitter smile, making her eyes widen. "I'm sorry to interrupt your movie day," you look behind Kate to Yelena.

"Well, maybe since you're here, we can call Natasha over?" Yelena looks back to the now wide, sarcastic smile planted on your face.

"You know what, that's actually a great idea," you mutter and walk past Kate towards Yelena, who was already grabbing her phone.

"Y/N," Kate starts, but you quickly silence her with a glare.

"Oh, she finally answers!" Yelena laughs into the speaker and looks to you, blind to the situation unfolding in front of her. "Where are you at? Of course you are, that was a stupid question. Look, I'm at Y/N and Kates, we are having a movie day! Why don't you quit working out for 2 minutes and come over?"

At Yelenas words, you quickly walk to the kitchen counter where your key rests, grabbing it. She was at the gym, of course she was. You don't need to see Yelenas face change as you hear her English switch to fluent Russian. Natasha was finally filling her in. Kate gives you a look that you ignore as you leave the apartment and prepare yourself to make the 5 minute walk to Natashas gym.

The two of you passed by it any time you hung out, always pointing out the fact it was so close to your place and how you wondered why the two of you had never met before her party. Your footsteps are heavy against the sidewalk, and you don't give yourself a second to think about your current state. Still in your work uniformed shirt and slacks, hair a mess, eyes dark underneath from lack of sleep. It didn't matter. You were set on finally confronting her.

You walk inside to see Natasha standing by the weights, an unsurprised look on her face as she watches you move swiftly amongst the workout equipment. Your heart races in your chest, an uneasy feeling as Natasha begins to tower over you the closer you get. You try your best to ignore the tight black tank top she wore, along with the tight black shorts that showed off her toned and tatted thighs. You forced yourself to look only in her eyes.

"Y/N... let me explain," Natasha begins. You roll your eyes and ignore her words, anger bursting from every crack.

"So what is this then? You're just going to fuck me in a dirty bathroom bar then ignore me? Lie to me?" It leaves your mouth faster than you can think about it. Natasha meets your gaze at the words, a hurt expression on her face. Gone are the soft eyes once reserved for you, replaced with the cold stare everyone else receives.

"Are you kidding me? That's funny coming from you, Y/N," she scoffs, tone laced with venom.

"What the fuck does that mean?" You raise your voice, watching as Natasha steps forward towards you.

"Lower your tone," she commands, looking around the gym. You suddenly feel small. "I mean, that's all you want from me, isn't it? Look, I told you I wanted more of-of this," she motions between the two of you. "You don't, and that's fine, but stop trying to text me every time you need to get off." The last part is said in spite, and you feel as if you'd been pushed back. Natasha wanted to take it back as quick as she'd said it, but maybe being harsh was what she needed to get rid of her growing feelings towards you.

"Is that what you think I am? Just some slut trying to use you?" You spit back, watching her face twist in confusion.

"I never said that, Y/N."

"No, but it's implied."

"Unless the words leave my mouth, don't you dare put them in yourself."

"Is that seriously what you think?" You huff out. She nods, standing straight and crossing her arms.

"Well, yeah?" Her voice is unsure as she looks down at you. You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers.

"You are a fucking idiot," you say with a shake of your head. Natasha face contorts as you look back up.

"Excuse m-"

"Why do you think I text you all the time to hang out? Why I invited you to hang out with my friends ?" You ask her in a serious tone, seeing her body language soften. "You want to talk about putting words in mouths? You don't get to say if I do or don't like you - and for your information, I do. A lot," you sigh as you finish your ramble.

"You do?" Is all she says, and you don't know if you want to slap her or kiss her.

"Of course I do.. I thought that was pretty obvious." It's your turn to cross your arms as she brings a hand up to rub her inked neck, her cheeks turning red to match the hair braided behind her.

"It's just - I thought maybe - You didn't -" She stumbles over her words, suddenly with a nervous demeanor.

Natasha wasn't prepared for this. She was prepared for an argument and then to never see you again. She hadn't given it a thought that you actually did reciprocate those feelings. And now here you were standing before her, in her mind, looking as beautiful as ever. She was putty, again.

"You didn't say anything that night back, so I just assumed.." her voice is soft to match her eyes, and you feel that guilt again, seeping out of you.

"Baby.. I'm so sorry. It was only because I was so excited that you felt the same way I did, I didn't know what to say," you reply just as soft and step forward. Natashas eyes spark with life at the use of her favorite word, leaving your lips, and her arm instinctively flexes as you touch her forearm. "Maybe next time, give a girl a moment to gather her thoughts?" You say with a small smile. Your heart leaps at the smile that spreads across her lips.

There's a moment of silence between the two of you, and just like before, the world seems to quiet and blur around you.

"Hi," Natasha chuckles, and you roll your eyes at the familiar game.

"Hi," You giggle back and reach up to cup her cheek. She leans down with a strong hand resting on your hip, lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

The two of your pull apart, but her large hand continues to rest on your side as you stand in front of her, now letting your eyes admire her toned muscles that were on display. The black lines on her skin move with every flex in her arm.

"Tell me more about this fair... will there be caramel popcorn?" Natasha asks. Your eyes shoot quickly up to hers as a warmth spreads through your chest.

You hadn't told her about your love for the snack. You lean up and kiss her again, ignoring the confused look on her face and letting yourself melt against her.

***

Lights of all colors of the rainbow seemed to flash around you. The sounds of laughter and screaming of people on the rides filled your ears. Your eyes search the area around you, watching as couples and families walk from stand to stand. A few teenagers run by, and a loud ringing and a cry of, "Winner!" catches your attention from next to you.

"Holy shit!" Kate laughs and taps your arm, showing you the brown teddy bear she won. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"Only took you about ten tries," you laugh along with her, reaching out to check out the bear. As you hand it back to her, you notice her eyes trail above your head. Then, a pair of thick arms wrap around your waist from behind. You can smell the familiar scent of the fragrance she wore.

"Well, well, what have we won?" Natasha asks from behind you. You lean back against her, smiling widely as she leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Pretty girl.." She mumbles in your ear, fingers tracing the material of your dress.

Things had been going great with Natasha since you talked about your miscommunication. Her morning texts returned, along with nightly chats over the phone until one of you fell asleep. She took you on dates, and you even went with her to the gym. Though, that mostly consisted of you shamelessly checking her out while she blushed gorgeously. You were happy, truly happy. One thing that had been building between the two of you was a certain... tension. The last time you both were intimate was the night at the bar. Since then, there have only been a few heavy make-out sessions and teasing between you. It seemed neither one of you wanted to be the first one to give in to those oh so familiar desires.

"Kate finally won a teddy bear, twenty dollars later," you cough out the last part jokingly and rest your hands on top of Natashas that stayed wrapped securely around you.

Kate groans and rolls her eyes playfully, "You know what? I'm not sharing him with you anymore."

You scoff, feeling Natashas chest rumble as she laughs along with Kate. "Yelena is at the ticket stand, by the way," Natasha says with a small smirk on her lips. Kates eyes widen a bit.

"Oh?" She says with a slow nod. "You know, actually, I think I need some more tickets!" Kate pats her pockets innocently with a shrug and gives you a smile. "Meet you later?" She asks, and you give her nod before she walks away.

Turning in Natashas arms, you finally get a good look at her, and you could drool at the sight of her in her white shirt and blue jeans. Just as always, you can see the pops of color peaking out from the seams, dark lines visible through the thin fabric. Her crooked smile lets a chuckle slip through.

"Alright?" She asks, raising an eyebrow as you continue to gawk at her.

"More than alright," you clear your throat and step back, letting your hand take hers. "Now, are you going to win me a teddy bear, or do I have to do it myself?" You poke her side, and she laughs.

"Step aside, I've got this," Natasha leans down to kiss your forehead, taking out her wallet and handing money to the man in charge of the booth.

"Three shots to knock down the bottles, and it's all yours!" He cheers loudly to gain the attention of others, showing off the teddy bear in question. Natasha takes the ball in her hand, and your eyes are glued to her broad shoulders as she winds up. She throws the ball, missing completely.

"That was just a warm-up," she turns back to look at you, clearing her throat. You stiffle a laugh and purse your lips, nodding.

"Of course, baby! Just a warm-up."

"Two more shots!" The man cries.

Natashas gaze changes from playful to pure concentration, eyes focused intently on the stacked bottles in front of her. She throws again, this time knocking two of the three bottles down. You can't help but let out a giggle this time at the proud expression on her face as she turns to you once more.

"One shot, and it's all yours!" He says loudly, shaking the bear next to her.

"Piece of cake," Natasha says with a laugh. She takes the last ball and winds up again, only to miss completely.

"Ohh, out of luck!" He says with a shrug and moves away. "Who's next?" He yells.

Natasha turns to you with red cheeks, "So maybe I'm not so good at this?" She rubs the back of her neck, and you only shake your head.

"Step aside," you repeat her own words to her, brushing against her as you hand the man money. He goes through his same shpiel and hands you a ball. Only when you go to throw it, the ball hits the bottles perfectly. All three go down instantly.

"Winner!" He yells loudly, handing you the stuffed bear. You smile widley as you take it and return to Natasha, a stunned look on her face.

"But.. how did you.." She shakes her head.

"Here you go, princess," you tease and hand her the bear, giggling as she rolls her eyes but accepts it.

"Alright now, at least let me buy you some popcorn," Natasha laughs along with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk.

The two of you spend the next couple of hours riding the carnival rides the fair had to offer, walking around aimlessly, laughing and smiling, teasing each other. You had never felt happier. As you stand there, finally eating your favorite sweet treat, you look at Natasha stood next to you, the sight making you smile. You take out your phone and step back, ignoring the questioning look from her and snap a picture.

You giggle at the image you got of her, the stark contrast of her heavily tattooed and pierced body whilst standing there holding a teddy bear and a box of popcorn was a sight to behold.

"What was that for?" She raises an eyebrow, trying to look at the picture you took.

"Nothing, I just wanted a good memory of this," you smile and put your phone back in your pocket quickly, grabbing another handful of the caramel popcorn. Natasha smiles back. Before she can say anything, a raindrop hits her face.

"What the -" She starts, looking up at the dark night sky. The drops start coming faster, hitting harder as the rain begins to pour. All around you, people begin walking quickly to canopies, attempting to stay dry. "Come on," she says and grabs your hand.

The two of you make your way through the crowds of people, rain pouring down as she leads you out of the fairgrounds. The bright lights and loud music begin to fade as you run behind her, seeing her car just across the lot. Once you reach it, Natasha opens the passenger door for you.

The small act has you swooning as she stands there, waiting with a smile for you to get in. That even in the pouring rain, she was just the type of person to open the door for you. Instead of moving past her, you reach up to take her face in your hands, stepping on your tiptoes to kiss her.

The darkness is thick around the two of you, rain drowning out any nearby sounds. Natashas hands move from the door to wrap around your back, letting you down on your feet as she leans down to deepen the kiss. The cold rain is unforgiving as you melt into each other. A shiver runs through your body as her tongue slips in your mouth, a groan leaving your throat as the two halves spread to engulf your own. At your shiver, she pulls away breathlessly.

"We should get in," she utters against your lips. You nod feverishly.

"Backseat," you say, earning a groan from Natasha. She quickly pulls you away and opens the back door, letting you climb in. She follows behind, and as soon as the door is shut, you are climbing into her lap, lips colliding with hers again. The kiss is messy, tongues sloppily licking at eachothers mouths as you make out.

"Do you have any idea how crazy you drive me?" Natasha moans as your lips travel to her neck, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every nip. At her words, you grind your hips down in her lap, feeling her growing bulge. "F-fuck," she whimpers, bucking her hips up as you grind against her. "I need to be inside you, now," she groans. Her large hands move to your thighs, lifting your dress above your hips.

"Desperate, are we?" You purr, bitting down hard against her neck. She moans and nods, letting one of her hands move up to grip your jaw.

"Y/n," the soft look in her eyes is replaced with dark lust. "I need to fuck you. Now," she reiterates, grip on your jaw tight. Her thumb slips into your mouth, and as you suck on the digit she moans.

Your hands move to the bottom of her shirt, lifting the heavy, wet fabric over her head, along with her bra. Your fingers trace the tattoos that litter her collarbone, nails scratching lightly. You couldn't deny you were just as desperate for her. Natasha lets you up slightly to undo her jeans, pulling them down past her knees along with her underwear. She winces as you return to your previous position in her lap, hard cock rubbing against your still clothed pussy. She could feel you soaking through the thin material.

"God, I've missed this," you mumble as her lips reconnect with yours. You feel her fingers pull your underwear to the side, the tip of her cock rubbing against your aching cunt. Your hips hover over her length before slowly taking in a few inches.

The two of you moan loudly in the small car at the feeling, windows already fogged from your breathy groans.

"My pretty girl.. fuck," Natasha hisses as you lower yourself all the way down, feeling her thick cock stretching you out completely. "You were just made to take me," she moans again, hands resting on your hips. Your hands grip onto her shoulders, nails digging into the side of her neck. Her hands guide your hips to move, and you begin to ride her. Your eyes screw shut as she splits you in two, euphoria filling your veins with every movement of her own hips slapping up to meet your bounces.

"Look at you riding my cock, such a good girl for me," Natasha grunts as she watches your lips part, head thrown back in pleasure. "Taking every inch, fucking yourself on me," she pants out.

The coil in your stomach was building quickly, and as your legs began to grow weak, Natasha held tightly onto your hips, thrusting up into you harshly. Your mouth met hers again, and she swallowed your moans as you kissed her. "Baby I-I'm gonna cum," you moan out, whimpering as she shakes her head.

"Hold it. You cum with me or not at all," Natashas voice is stern, and your head falls forward into her neck. Your chests press together, and you can feel the piercings on her nipples rub against your dress as her arms wrap around your back to hold you in place.

"I wanna feel you soak my cock, god just listen to your pretty cunt make those noises," she moans. You can hear your wetness with every thrust, mixing the the rain hammering onto the roof of the car. The two of you are wet, sticky, and messy. Natashas primal urges to fuck you sending you closer and closer.

"Ohh, Nat, please I need to cum! Fill me up, baby," your moans turn higher pitched and she knows you won't last any longer, and neither will she.

"That's it, pretty girl.. cum for me. That's it, soak my cock, fuck, fuck!" Natashas mouth let's out a string of curses, fucking up into you mercilessly. The coil in your stomach snaps at her words, and you feel your orgasm hit hard. You moan her name loudly, body trembling as you feel her load fill you up, your hot walls swallowing every drop. Natashas hips finally slow to a stop, and you're left limp in her arms as the two of you pant against each others skin.

"So good, so good... my pretty girl..." Natasha whispers against your neck, holding you tightly. You stay like that for a while, head resting against her shoulder and just holding onto each other. The cool piercing on her lip brushes against your skin as she peppers kisses up to your face.

You lift your head to meet her soft green eyes with a smile, feeling her fingers brush your messy, damp hair out of your face. Before Natasha can even think to say it, you open your mouth.

"Hi," you giggle, earning a breathy laugh from the red head.

"Hi," she gives you a toothy grin and kisses your head.

****

The sunlight creeps through the windows, warming your skin. It was late in the morning, when you habitually reached out to grab your phone. Your heavy eyes barely peeking open as you check the screen. For a moment, in your sleepy morning haze, you looked for a 'good morning' text, but saw none.

It was then a pair of inked arms wrap around you from behind, and you smile to yourself, feeling Natashas body wrap around you protectively.

"Good morning," she mumbles tiredly against you, breath fanning the back of your neck. You chuckle and let yourself melt back into her hold, hands holding onto her arms as you drift back to sleep.

[ravenstargames]

✦ LOST IN LIMBO DEVLOG #19 | 06.02.2025

Happy Pride month besties! 💜 Yes, this year too we'll have a Pride month piece, but it's in the making!

This month has been packed with concept art and getting the new update ready, so there's not that much to write about. Showing all the concept art would spoil the artbook, so apologies if this devlog looks shorter than it should. Don't worry, we are still going full-speed ahead! Let's jump into it!

World, meet your trustworthy sidekick, she who has had your back since the beginning—Evie!

You already know a bit of her; she likes everything related to the occult world, is a prime member of the Faybourne Waterpolo Club, and her favorite color is blue!

Evie's base sprite is finished, so now we gotta jump to her expressions. Those are fairly easy and quick (Raquel's words, not mine), so I expect to start coding kind of soon! ✨

Also, concept art on the MC's dear mom is done! So we've moved on to the sprite phase, and also started working on the concept art of MC's troublemaking grandmother. Kickstarter folks will have ✨juicy✨ previews on that content, so y'all will have to wait for a bit as per usual!

May has been Amon's month. I've been writing the first chapter of his route, as well as editing the prologue following our editor's guidelines. I think this month will be packed of corrections, and I'm excited to tackle them!

As y'all know, demo update 1.1.0 (now 1.1.1, as some characters were very insistent in partaking in some floating activities) went live! This month I've been working on patching stuff as well as refining the android build. I originally used two different projects for the PC version and the mobile one, but after lady and savior Feniks graced me with knowledge once more, I dipped my toes into Ren'py variants; and it's been going great! After publishing these devlogs, I'll start uploading the new android build everywhere 💜✨

Kayden has been working on more mini-CGs to enhance the ✨experience✨of the new prologue! Amongst those CGs, we have the Sovereign's hospitality in the shape of breakfast. I wonder who delivers it...?

So now that we've seen how the concept art / sprite part of it all works with Airyn's addition to the team, we're confident things will be up to speed in the upcoming months! Airyn works like a beast, has amazing ideas, and executes them flawlessly, with the addition of being a great friend of ours!

What else...I'm still working on my investigation plan (my PhD, hahaa...), Raquel is now taking driving lessons, and she's also been working on the Pride Month piece. We got a sketch yesterday but agreed to modify it a bit after some thought. Initially, Gael was going to be the one getting an illustration for Pride Month this year, but things didn't go as planned (Raquel was frustrated with not being able to come up with a good idea for him) and Amon has taken his place. Happens to the best of us!

Work this month has been good! A lot of concept and planning that we can't show (well, Kickstarter folks will see more of it) but that is vital for the development of the game. I'm not going to ramble a lot in this one—sometimes you've to go straight to the point!

Thank you everyone who played our 1.1.1 update; thank you for the comments, well-wishes, feedback, and everything else. Also, thanks for keeping our ask box lively and overflowing! 💜

Let's see each other around!

[ethtyn]

LET'S GO OUT WITH A BANG 🚦

taglist:

@ashiyn @single-malt-scotch @goodtimeswithetho @pebbltree @crabbunch @catmaidetho @amethyst-allium @stitchthesewords

sooooo ermm i guess i get to talk about this piece now YIPPEE

i am one of those people who's constantly trying to figure out what their own art style looks like LMFAO. i take frequent breaks from art due to mental health shit so it feels like every time i come back i'm trying to find my footing again.

that being said, i had a lot of caffeine yesterday and started this on a whim and it ended up being something i'm incredibly proud of. i think it helps that i've been redrawing old emotes for a friend's twitch channel, so figuring out which brushes i like right now was really helpful, and i ended up using my personal emote palette like...a lot. that pink in Etho's eye, the purple used for shading, most of the browns are all used in my own emotes. it's wild how much having colours already picked out streamlines things!

Etho is the one i started with, of course, and ended up being one that i went back to re-draw after i'd done...three? or four? more, because the sizing wasn't right and i wasn't happy with the posing. i still wish i could have conveyed him dipping his chin into his coat fluff a little better, but oh well. i thought of the little detail of him looking at Martyn's drawing at the last second (#ethtyn4life) and it made me laugh so i did it. points to you if you caught that!

Joel was the second - life!Joel has always been fey in my head, especially after that season when he just went batshit insane the second he turned red. can't explain it, that's just how it be. i tried to give him an air of subtle menace about him but i think he just looks sleepy 💀 i'd like to do these as individual, larger pieces at some point, so maybe i can work on that more then.

Grian was the third - he reminds me of a Lost Boy here and that wasn't intentional but the Lost Boys always kind of freaked me out and life!Grian's kinda freaky so i think it fits. his little smirk is so creepy and i love him.

i don't remember who i did next after this so we'll just go in order pfft

Bdubs is SO CUTE look at him. one of the few where i couldn't make a menacing expression work, and honestly with how good his profile turned out i barely mind. i did that side profile with no reference, y'all, idk what kind of crack i was on last night. what the hell. this was about the point where i started wanting to do little lore doodles for everybody so i added the clock face - i think it clashes with the red background but what can you do.

CLEOOOOOO CLEO CLEO. i LOVED drawing them, i think their design is one of my favourites of the bunch. her hair has always been snakes in my head and AGAIN i drew those with no reference, can you fucking believe that. i loved the little detail of some of the snakes poking at the people next to her, they're so cute hehe. also Cleo has freckles now, i'm so sorry but i don't make the rules. someone complimented the teeth in the reblogs and THANK YOU!! they're not quite anatomically correct but fuck it we ball and they look cool as hell anyway.

Martyn is so smug, i love him. points if you caught that he's looking at Cleo bc Double Life, i wanted to do something a lil different with him than just another straight up symmetry tool drawing and i think it fits. he is so eye-searing tho sir please tone it down.

Lizzie is fey just like her husband, and also she is smol. i don't think it's conveyed as well as i'd like here but i also didn't want her to look like a straight-up child so i did what i could. she is So Scary with those vacant blue eyes oh my god. and drawing her hair was sooooo fun i love long hair ahh

with Gem i basically smoothed out a rough design sketch i posted awhile back and i'm so proud of the little head cock she's got going on, she looks so cool. also her hair?? idk how i did that. i love her swoopy bangs so much.

Pearl is moth. Pearl will always be Moth. so she got lil antennae and big buggy eyes. drawing that hood was so satisfying, i used to try and draw Raven Teen Titans in high school and could never get the hood to look right so seeing this one come out perfectly was sooooo good. and of course had to include a teensy moon.

that's all i've got, i think - i feel myself crashing LMFAO. maybe at some point i'll come back and say more but here's this for now!

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

I need y'all to know that I'm writing part 18 rn and it's getting GOOD I can't wait this fic is so fun to write and I'm so happy you guys are loving it as much as I'm loving writing it!!! 🤭💞

Warnings: once again they're...getting along? never fear they still argue though, things are...about to get crazy, (i hope we are picking up on the subtle moments of attraction bc they're only going to get worse xoxo)

After three days of straight paperwork — and one annoying HR meeting because someone from a different department must’ve heard you and Hotch arguing and decided to tattle — you’re going insane. You need something else to do besides sit in a chair staring at files all day, listening to Morgan and Reid bicker, and glaring at Hotch every time you catch him looking at you through his office window.

You’ve heard nothing new from the case in Alabama. Radio silence from the unsub. Radio silence from the police. Nothing new from the sketch Lila helped with, too. Nothing at all, with anything.

You’re going stir crazy. 

You need a new case to come in. Given what Strauss told you in that meeting, you expect a new case to come in any minute.

What you do not expect is to come back from lunch on the fourth day to find Strauss in Hotch’s office, or for them to be arguing. With the door open, for god’s sake, so everyone in departments three floors down can hear.

You don’t think before you haul ass up the stairs, especially not after you hear your own name in the midst of their poor attempts to not shout, turning everyone’s heads. Your mind immediately conjures up the worst case scenario: that they’re arguing about your father, about how Strauss let you seal that part of your file, and somehow Hotch found out that she let you, and now it’s all getting blown out of proportion.

You can’t make out the source of their arguing, though, because they’re just shouting nonsense at one another, bordering on insults. 

Jesus, is this what it sounds like to everyone else when you and Hotch argue?

Strauss and Hotch both stop bickering as soon as they spot you hovering in the doorway. You raise your eyebrows at them like a parent catching two siblings in the middle of an unnecessary fight — which isn’t that far off the mark.

“Ma’am,” you nod to Strauss. “Hotch,” you look over at him. “I heard my name. What’s going on?”

Strauss answers, turning toward you, “Richard Monroe has stopped cooperating with the authorities. He’s said he’ll cooperate again, but he wants to speak with you first.”

“No,” Hotch says firmly, one hand planted on his hip, his other hand pointing an accusatory finger in Strauss’s direction, then at you. “There is no reason for Richard to speak with her.”

“Why not?” you ask, trying to keep your tone on the calmer side, at least while Strauss is present. “If it’ll make him cooperate, I’ll talk with him.”

“Thank you,” Strauss says, relieved, before turning to give Hotch a lethal glare. “See? I told you you’re getting worked up over nothing, Aaron.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, whether to assure yourself or Hotch, you have no idea. “It’s one conversation. It’s not like I haven’t spoken to him bef—”

“It’s not just one conversation,” Hotch fumes.

“Stop acting like I can’t handle this job,” you argue.

Hotch almost looks offended. “That’s not what I’m—” 

“I don’t care what it is,” Strauss shouts over the both of you. “Agent, you’ll speak with Richard tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled it, and I’ll forward you the details. Hotch, I’ll let them know you’ll be attending as well.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch says.

“What?” you blurt at the same time. “I don’t need him to come with me.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to go alone, and frankly, Aaron, if it bothers you so badly, you should go with her, as Unit Chief,” Strauss says, her phone ringing in her pocket halfway through her sentence. “I’m late for a meeting. This is settled. Understood?”

Hotch looks like he’d rather put his own foot up his ass until he tastes the sole of his shoe. “Understood.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nod, stepping aside to let Strauss leave. “Thank you.”

You don’t bother waiting for Hotch to speak before inviting yourself into his office all the way. It takes everything in you not to slam the door behind Strauss. He yanks the blinds closed with just as much anger, chest practically heaving. You’re surprised he didn’t rip them off the wall with the force.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss. These walls, no matter how much you wish they were, aren’t soundproof, and by now you’ve probably attracted the attention of the entire goddamn floor, let alone your nosy teammates who are returning from lunch.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Hotch fires back, rounding his desk. You know what he’s doing, trying to tower over you and intimidate you. It won’t work, not with you. He should know that by now. “Did you know about this?”

“About Richard Monroe being a manipulative piece of shit? Of course I’ve known— I’m not a fucking idiot, Hotch.”

“I never said you were! Stop putting words in my—” he curses, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his hand on his hip. “I don’t want you speaking to him.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened in that interrogation room?” Hotch says, voice surprisingly calm for how angry you remember him being that day. “He recognized you and you won’t tell me why—”

“Because I don’t know why,” you shoot back. It’s the honest truth, even if there’s pieces of information you could share. But you don’t want to; you’re not ready. “And I don’t know why you don’t trust me, but it’s grating on my nerves, Hotch. You say I’m a valuable asset to this team, yet you’re acting like I’m not capable of speaking to an unsub that I've spoken to before — for an hour.”

His chest is heaving, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He just keeps standing there, looking down at you, clenching his jaw.

“I’m going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow,” you say, standing nearly toe-to-toe with Hotch. “Whether or not you join me is entirely up to you. But if you’re just going to act like this, then,” you gesture between the two of you, shaking your head. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll get someone else to go with me. You can call out sick for all I fucking care.”

You storm out of his office then, slamming the door behind you so hard you’d be surprised if the window didn’t rattle.

You jump when you realize Rossi is standing in his office doorway, watching you.

“What?” you snap. You don’t mean to take the frustration out on him too, but it’s hard not to when he’s lurking like that. 

Rossi raises his eyebrows, backing into his office without another word. 

You can’t deal with this right now.

Hotch’s door opens behind you and you spin around, freezing when you’re face to face with him. His expression is as unreadable as it always is, but you know he’s pissed at you.

“I’m going home to rest up before tomorrow,” you say, making sure your tone conveys it not as a request but a statement of fact. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hotch nods once and that’s good enough for you, so you turn and head for your desk, gathering your things.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you say, flashing a tight smile to the rest of the team. “Bye.”

“Um…bye…?” Reid looks around to be sure everyone is as confused as he is. They are, but they all shrug, letting you leave.

Up the stairs, Hotch watches you go, knuckles white from where he’s gripping the railing. He shouldn’t have let you go so easily, but you both need to cool down, and if you’re really going to do this tomorrow, you need your rest. 

From beside him, Rossi pointedly clears his throat.

Hotch turns his head, following Rossi’s silent request to follow him into his office. He pushes the door closed behind him.

Hotch starts to pace, then stops in the middle of the room, lifting his arm and dropping it in a what the hell gesture. “She’s going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Dave smirks. “And you’re going with her?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Aaron replies, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll have to tell her tomorrow. If he says anything else about recognizing her—”

“Are you sure he wasn’t saying that just to get a rise out of her? She’s a new agent, she’s attractive—” Rossi cuts himself off when he sees Hotch’s glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Hotch says. “I know.”

“She doesn’t know him, Aaron,” Dave says. “How would she? He’s a serial killer who’s been on the run—”

“He knows things about her childhood, Dave,” Hotch cries. “If he knows about the kidnapping, and her father, then who knows what else he’s heard— who knows what he’ll do—”

“Aaron,” Rossi shakes his head. “I know you want to help her, but you can’t protect her, and she can take care of herself.”

“I know she can,” Hotch says, dropping his hand in defeat. “I know.” You’ve been taking care of everything ever since he first met you. He knows you’re more than capable.

He just doesn’t want to find out what happens when you face something you can’t handle alone — and if he’s the one who lets you go at this alone, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He can’t shake the gut feeling that you’re in way over your head and you don’t realize it. Because you don’t even know what you’re dealing with.

+++

You hardly sleep at all, so you’re in a piss poor mood the next morning, and you blame Hotch for it. Naturally.

So, of course, it also irritates the fuck out of you when you arrive at the office and there’s a coffee waiting on your desk. And an apologetic looking Unit Chief standing next to it, identical coffee cup in hand.

You toss your purse down in your chair, glaring at Hotch. “Are you in a better mood today?”

“Peace offering?” he says instead, gesturing to the coffee on your desk.

“Did you poison it?”

He stares at you tiredly.

You pick it up, keeping your eyes on him as you inhale the steam still rising from the hole in the lid. “What is it?”

“Your favorite,” he replies. “Thought it might make the drive easier.”

“Oh?” You smirk. “Am I driving?”

“No,” he scoffs — which oddly almost sounds like a laugh.

You snicker, bringing the cup to your lips. You don’t miss the way Hotch’s eyes follow the motion, or the way they get stuck on your lips before he averts them, like he senses he’s been caught.

It takes everything in you not to call him out on it. You settle for tasting your coffee and letting out a noise of surprise.

“What?” Hotch asks. “Is it wrong?”

“No, it’s good,” you reply quickly. “It’s right. Thanks.”

He nods once. “Good. Um, I’ll be in my office. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” you nod, raising your cup in cheers. “See you in a bit.”

Hotch heads up to his office without another word, leaving you with a whole world of confusion. 

He’s buying you coffee now? Seriously?

Thank god no one else was here to witness that. You’d never live that one down if Morgan heard all of it.

You shove your purse aside and sit down, putting your head in your hands. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, continuing the long process of mentally preparing for speaking with Richard Monroe today.

“Long night?” 

You raise your head to glare at Morgan, but it holds no real heat. You’re too tired and you’re not even mad at him. “Don’t even get me started.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ as inhales sharply. “That bad, huh?” He drops his bag next to his desk, instead coming over to prop himself on the edge of yours. “Talk to me.”

“Morgan,” you sigh, dropping your head back into your hands. “Not today, seriously.”

“What’s happening today?” he asks. “You never did say why you left so suddenly yesterday.”

You lift your head and glance toward Hotch’s office, slightly relieved to find his door closed and his head turned down toward paperwork on his desk. When you look back at Derek, he does the most not-subtle look over his shoulder at Hotch before looking back at you.

“No.”

You lean back, eyebrows furrowed. “No what?”

Morgan starts to grin. “You two finally get your shit together?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I see how it is,” Morgan chuckles, lightly tapping your shoulder. “Come on, tell me. Who made the first move?”

“Get off of my desk,” you say through gritted teeth, shoving his leg. “Nothing happened. I have to go speak to Richard Monroe today and Hotch is coming with—”

“What?” Morgan asks, incredulous. “Richard Monroe? Why him?”

“Because he’s not cooperating with the investigation anymore but says he will if he speaks to me first,” you explain like it’s nothing — because it is. “Strauss told me about it a couple weeks ago.”

“No,” Morgan shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of this.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your coffee. “Now you sound just like Hotch.”

“Good,” Morgan slides off your desk, shrugging. “‘Cause this doesn’t sound like a good idea. You had a panic attack after talking to him.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“I know what those look like,” Morgan argues. “Whether or not that’s what you call them, that’s what they are.”

“Leave it alone,” you warn.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Just— You know the drill. Call me if you need me. And try not to kill him,” he adds with a quick glance up to Hotch’s office.

“No promises,” you reply, tipping your coffee back.

+++

When Hotch comes down to the bullpen an hour later, you notice everyone’s eyes zeroing in on his coffee, then yours, taking note of the matching cups. Prentiss is first to raise her eyebrows at you. You give her a look that just says don’t. She says nothing, but her smirk tells you she’ll be messaging the group chat about it later.

“Ready?” Hotch asks.

“Yep,” you nod, grabbing your purse and standing. You offer a mock salute to the rest of your team. “See you on the other side.”

Morgan laughs, shaking his head at you. “Try not to kill each other. Please.”

You and Hotch roll your eyes at the same time, freezing when you catch the other doing it.

It takes a surprising amount of effort on your part to not smile.

You swipe your coffee off your desk, downing the last remaining drops as the two of you walk toward the exit. “Thanks for this again, by the way,” you say quietly, tossing your empty cup in the trash can in the hall. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, tossing his as well while you hit the down arrow on the elevator.

The silence blankets you both inside the elevator as you stand as far apart as possible. Like you both know you need to cherish your personal space before you’re stuck in a car together for three straight hours — one way.

Since Hotch is driving, you head toward where you know his car will be in the parking deck. The spaces aren’t even assigned; he’s just a creature of habit. You, on the other hand, hardly ever park in the same spot. Hotch has always wondered why.

“If this radio turns on and starts playing some classical music bullshit, I’m going to be so disappointed in you, Hotchner,” you tease as you buckle yourself in.

Hotch says nothing as he turns the key in the ignition. A second later, The Beatles’s white album fills the car. Namely, the song “I Will”.

“Seriously?” you grin. “The white album?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing,” you hum, looking out the window. “I’m partial to Abbey Road.”

“Of course you would be.”

Your head whips toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smiling. 

You narrow your eyes before turning your head, biting back your own smile for the second time this morning.

Maybe you are warming up to each other — slightly — or maybe it means nothing. 

Whatever it is, you don’t have time to think about it today. You have a serial killer who wants to speak with you, who somehow knows who you are despite you having never met him before, and the only explanation must have something to do with your father — who Hotch still knows nothing about.

[er1nne]

unraveling threads

Pairing – coriolanus snow x female!reader Word Count? 1.4k Summary – Modeling for Tigris leads to an unexpectedly tense encounter with her cousin, Coriolanus, that leaves him questioning his composure. Tags: some cute fluff, some indecent exposure, flustered coriolanus AN: Something I wrote in-between classes, something cute & sweet & not too long. lol hope y'all enjoy. again, do not plagarize or copy my work, if you do you're going to hell.

The workshop buzzed with the creative chaos that was Tigris’s signature. Bolts of fabric spilled from their shelves, pooling in soft heaps on the floor. Pinned sketches of daring designs adorned the walls, each one a whisper of ambition and artistry. You stood in the center of it all, perched on the raised wooden platform framed by three mirrors. Today’s project—a delicate long-sleeve blouse with sheer detailing and an intricate open neckline—felt like something out of a dream, shimmering faintly under the warm afternoon light. The soft fabric hugged your frame like a secret meant only for you. You had been friends with Tigris since before she started attending fashion school, and when she asked if you would help her with her projects, it felt natural to say yes. She needed someone to model her work—her doll, her muse—and you couldn’t resist the idea. You’d stepped in to be her muse and “living mannequin,” thrilled to help a friend bring her visions to life. “What girl doesn’t like playing dress-up?” It was fun to see her artistic vision come to life on your body, and even more so to support her as she poured her heart into every stitch. Sometimes, you wondered if she realized how much you truly enjoyed being part of her creative world.

Tigris circled you, her sharp eyes taking in every angle of the unfinished design. “Stay still,” she instructed, her tone clipped but not unkind. Her fingers deftly adjusted the fabric near your collarbone. “The neckline is tricky. If you move too much, the stitching might—” Her words were cut off by a faint but unmistakable rip.

The silence that followed was heavy. You froze, glancing down at the blouse in the mirror. A seam along the neckline had given way, causing the fabric to slip lower on one side, baring more of your chest than you intended. Your breath caught, heat rushing to your cheeks as you instinctively clutched at the torn material to keep it in place.

“Well,” Tigris sighed, straightening and pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I warned you, didn’t I? It’s not a disaster, though. I can fix it.” She stepped back, scanning the damage with a critical eye. “Just stay here. Don’t move, or it’ll get worse. I’ll grab my sewing kit.”

“I didn’t move,” you protested softly, your tone tinged with indignation and humor. Your reflection in the mirror betrayed your flustered amusement, caught somewhere between embarrassment and mischief.

Tigris waved you off with an exasperated flick of her hand, already walking toward the adjoining room. “Of course you didn’t,” she muttered absently as she disappeared.

Left alone, you sighed, holding the torn blouse carefully in place as you studied yourself in the mirror. The design, even in its incomplete state, was stunning. The sheer sleeves were embroidered with delicate golden threads, catching the light like tiny strands of spun sunlight. But now, with the neckline slipping dangerously low, the blouse seemed to transform from ethereal elegance to something daringly seductive. A small smile tugged at your lips. Perhaps the rip wasn’t such a disaster after all.

The sound of the door creaking open behind you pulled you from your thoughts. Assuming it was Tigris, you didn’t bother turning around. “Did you find the—” The words died on your lips as you glanced over your shoulder.

Coriolanus Snow stood in the doorway, his tall frame framed by the soft glow of the hallway light. His usually composed expression was frozen in surprise, his pale blue eyes locked on you. His gaze flickered to the torn neckline of the blouse, lingering for a fraction too long before darting away.

“Coriolanus,” you said, your voice calm despite the sudden tension thickening the air. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. For someone who always seemed to have a sharp reply or calculated observation, he looked completely undone. “I—I thought Tigris was here,” he stammered at last, his usual smoothness replaced by a rare awkwardness. His hand tightened on the doorknob, his knuckles pale against the polished brass.

“She stepped out,” you explained, adjusting the fabric with deliberate slowness. “The blouse ripped. She went to get her sewing kit.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his pale skin as if he were physically willing himself not to look at you again. “I shouldn’t interrupt,” he said stiffly, already stepping back toward the door. His movements were abrupt, almost frantic, as though the very air in the room burned him.

“You’re not interrupting,” you said, tilting your head slightly. A teasing smile danced on your lips, the sight of his flustered expression too tempting to ignore. “Unless you’re afraid of a little torn fabric.”

His eyes flicked to the torn neckline, and for a moment, he forgot himself. The fabric had slipped just enough to bare the soft curve of your chest, still modest but undeniably daring in its exposure. The delicate embroidery and sheer material only added to the effect, catching the warm light and creating a shimmering contrast between what was hidden and what wasn’t. He could he should look away—should step back and give you space—but his gaze lingered a fraction too long, drawn to the elegance of the moment. It wasn’t just the exposure that held his attention; it was the way you stood there, unbothered, one hand carefully holding the fabric in place while the other rested at your side, as if you hadn’t noticed how the blouse now seemed to toe the line between sophistication and seduction. The faint smile on your lips, almost amused, only made the image more arresting. He blinked, realizing too late that his hesitation betrayed him, and he forced his gaze upward, his expression carefully blank.

His cheeks flushed a faint pink, the first crack in his stoic façade. “I’ll come back later,” he muttered, his voice strained. Before you could say anything else, he turned and fled, the door clicking shut behind him.

Later That Day

When Tigris returned minutes later, she found you still standing on the platform, the torn blouse carefully held in place. “This design,” she muttered as she worked to repair the seam, her skilled fingers moving with practiced ease, “is going to be the death of me. But it’ll be worth it when it’s finished.”

You hummed in agreement, though your thoughts were elsewhere. Coriolanus’s reaction played on a loop in your mind, each detail more amusing than the last—the widening of his eyes, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way he couldn’t seem to get out of the room fast enough. For someone so composed, so calculated, it had been thrilling to see him unravel so completely.

“I didn’t move,” you murmured again, a quiet chuckle escaping your lips. Tigris glanced up briefly, raising an eyebrow at your cryptic remark, but said nothing.

Later, you found Coriolanus in the sitting area near the back of the workshop. He was hunched over a teacup, the porcelain dwarfed by his long fingers. His back was to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his posture. Tigris was already there, leaning casually against the table with an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Something wrong, cousin?” she asked lightly, her tone laced with faux innocence. Coriolanus didn’t look up, his gaze fixed intently on the steaming tea as though it held the answers to all of life’s problems. “No,” he said curtly, his voice clipped and controlled.

Before Tigris could respond, a soft laugh escaped your lips, drawing both their attention. You leaned casually against the doorway, still dressed in the repaired blouse, the shimmer of the fabric catching the light just so. “Thanks for today, Tigris,” you said with a smile, your voice warm and genuine. Then, turning your gaze to Coriolanus, your tone shifted into something softer, lower. “Goodbye, Coriolanus,” you said, the faintest hint of teasing lacing your words.

His breath hitched, his posture stiffening as your words lingered in the air. You slipped out of the room with a playful sway in your step, not bothering to look back. But you didn’t need to. You could feel his gaze burning into your retreating figure.

Once the door shut behind you, Coriolanus let out a heavy sigh, his head falling into his hands. “She’s impossible,” he muttered, his voice muffled but laced with something that sounded suspiciously like defeat.

For the first time, he admitted to himself the truth he’d been avoiding all afternoon: he had a crush on you. And worse, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Tigris smirked, watching him over the rim of her teacup. “You’ve got it bad,” she teased, but he ignored her, groaning softly as he leaned back in his chair. The memory of you—half

© ER1NNE est. 2024 belonging to @er1nne, do not plagarize or copy

[snowballseal]

okay halloween request... PUMPKIN CARVING WITH THE BOYS ? for some of them I feel like it'd be their first time, and for others I think it could get so chaotic and messy 😭 it's always something I've personally enjoyed and look forward to every year, so I'd super interested to see your take on it !

Carving pumpkins with them (LaDS)

Note: LOVED this! This is what I was hoping for this season. I honestly just went with the first idea I had for each, and I hope it suits what you wanted!

Also, there might be a few mistakes because I just really want to post it. I'll go through and edit it later.

Hope y'all enjoy!!!

---

Rafayel

“Rafayel! Hey, wait- No-!”

“Inspiration can’t wait,” the artist declares, twirling his scoop theatrically before diving into his pumpkin. “Sometimes you have to make a mess for the sake of creativity.”

“You can’t just wait ten seconds for me to put the tarp down?” You can’t help but laugh, desperately trying to spread the plastic out before pumpkin guts end up everywhere. And failing, you might add. 

“It’s my studio, it’s used to my mess already.” Rafayel shrugs his shoulders with one of those stupidly charming smiles. “Now hurry! This lighting is perfect for carving.”

“Okay, okay, don’t leave me behind,” you chirp, all but abandoning the stupid tarp. If he doesn’t care about the mess, why should you? “Scoot over, fishie!”

Rafayel easily makes room for you to jump onto the couch next to him. Besides the tarp, everything is already set out. Your pumpkins, the tools, even a few sketched designs you both worked on. While yours are all pretty simple, or classic as you would so vehemently insist, Rafayel’s are intricate and full of life, much like the rest of his art. Much like him.

A warm mix of nostalgia and giddiness swirl in your chest as the smell of pumpkin slowly fills the air. There’s something so satisfying about hollowing out your pumpkin, sticky, orange insides falling to the floor around you. It’s a mess. A huge mess. But that makes it all the more fun. It feels exactly like when you were a kid.

You glance to the side, biting down on a smile when you take in the equally excited look on Rafayel’s face. He looks so carefree in the golden light of the evening, completely focused on the task in front of him, tongue poked out between his lips ever so slightly. So adorable. 

“How are you going to finish if you stare at me the whole time, cutie?”

Rafayel casts you an amused look, having completely caught you in your moment of admiration. Heat creeps up your neck, tinging your skin an adorable shade of pink in his eyes. He loves the rare moment he catches you off guard, leaving you a sputtering, flustered mess. Like now.

“I wasn’t staring,” you try to defend yourself, though your voice pitches up, a telltale sign of your lie.

“Mhm.” The artist’s lips quirk into a smirk and he leans his chin against his hand, eyes never leaving yours. And that only flusters you more.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Heart racing, you give Rafayel’s cheek a playful push, just to break away from the warmth in his eyes, the warmth you could drown in if you look for too long. Though the low chuckle he breathes out against your palm only makes you blush darker. “I was just- I was just thinking. That’s all. And I just happened to be looking at you when I spaced out. That’s all.”

“Hmm, and what were you thinking about?” He presses, leaning into your touch with that infuriating smile, trying to find your gaze, though you keep it stubbornly locked on your pumpkin. 

“Well, I was uh- I was thinking about um- How we could put a wager on who’s pumpkin will look better?” Oh, that’s a stupid idea. A really stupid idea.

And Rafayel knows it, too. He perks a brow, smile turning almost wolfish, “Oh yah? Alright. What would you like to wager?”

Time to backpedal. “Ummm, maybe the winner gets to pick the movie for our next movie night?”

“That’s not very interesting,” he hums, that all too familiar mischievous glint sparking in his eyes, the one that makes your pulse flutter. You’re totally done for. “How about the winner gets one wish from the loser? And they have to fulfill it, no matter what.”

Yup. Definitely done for.

But you can’t back down, right?

“Deal.”

“Alright then, you better try your best, because I don’t plan on losing, cutie.”

“You’re on, fishie.”

What begins as an excuse quickly fans into a real competition. You dive into your pumpkin with a new enthusiasm, as does Rafayel. Even if you have no shot at winning, you’re not just going to give up and let him swipe victory out from under you. You may not have an artistic bone in your body, but surely your determination can make up for some of that.

Or not.

You bite back a laugh when you finally draw back to survey your sad carving. It’s definitely a step up from the ones you carved as a child, in no small part to the skills you’ve developed in handling sharp objects, but it’s nothing jaw dropping. Still, you’re proud of your little pumpkin pal. You do your best to hide him from Rafayel’s curious eyes, determined to have your big reveal.

“Done, yet?” You ask, unable to hide your building anticipation. You’re practically vibrating on the couch.

“Just one mooore…aaaand…” Rafayel pulls back to appraise his work, the look on his face brimming with satisfaction. “Finished.”

“Okay, okay, let me see!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he clicks his tongue, turning his pumpkin away. “We have to do it at the same time?”

“Fine.” You pout, but oblige. “Three. Two. One-”

You both reveal your masterpieces.

And your jaw drops when you see his.

Sure, you expected Rafayel to go all out. The man isn’t just a painter after all. While he doesn’t sculpt often, you’ve seen his work from school and the few commissions he’s accepted, and each one blows you away.

So of course carving a pumpkin is a piece of cake for him.

He’s designed a full underwater scene, the main focus being a somewhat spooky looking angular fish. He’s carved layers upon layers into the flesh of the pumpkin, so with the light inside, it gives the piece a depth, the shadows practically moving with the flickering flames.

It’s stunning.

“I think we have a winner,” you admit with a low whistle, “Yours puts mine to shame.”

“You did better than I was expecting,” Rafayel hums, inspecting yours with pensive expression, as if it were some deep work and not just a silly, little face.

Your eyes narrow, “That doesn’t sound like a compliment, Raffie.”

“It is,” he insists, though you can see the teasing glint still in his eyes when they meet yours. “Your line work is clean and you used a lot of details. I’m impressed, really.”

“Mkay.” You shake your head, amusement curling in your chest. Even if he’s making it up, you’re still proud of your work. “So, what’s your wish, winner?”

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” Rafayel says, giving you an all too mischievous wink that tells you that whatever he has planned, it certainly won’t be good. “I can’t let this opportunity go to waste, now can I, cutie?”

---

Zayne

“I’m really okay,” you grumble under your breath.

“I’d prefer to check myself, if that’s alright,” Zayne murmurs, hand held out expectantly.

A blush spreads across your cheeks. There’s really no point arguing with him, you know that, but you can’t help but feel a touch embarrassed.

It was just meant to be a fun night. Both of you finally had the time off, so you spent weeks planning the perfect fall night. You would carve pumpkins and watch the classic seasonal movies, just like you did when you were kids. You’d gotten everything ready before he even came over, hot cocoa, a fall scented candle, everything. It was going to be perfect.

Until you go to actually carve your pumpkin, and end up cutting your finger. You, one of Linkon’s best hunters, fumbling with a simple carving knife. How could you not be embarrassed?

And, of course, Zayne immediately switched into ‘doctor’ mode, dashing whatever hopes you had of breezing by the incident.

“Your hand,” he insists again, slipping into his usual professional tone. It’s only when you give him a sharp frown that he softens a bit, voice taking on a soothing warmth, coaxing you to listen, “Please, my love.”

With a defeated sigh, you give up your injured hand, “Okay. I really am fine, though.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, as your doctor.”

You almost shiver when his fingers circle your wrist, his touch overwhelmingly gentle, his skin cool against yours. It almost feels like a chilly autumn breeze brushing your skin. You watch, heart fluttering uneasily, as he examines your finger. It’s nothing too bad, you weren’t lying. You’ve definitely experienced worse as a hunter, but you also know Zayne to be overly cautious with you. He would put you on bedrest for the most minor fever if he could. And some days, you’ll let him, since it means he’ll spend the day taking care of you, but you’d rather tonight not be like that. Tonight you just want to have fun and enjoy the season with him.

“It’s nothing concerning,” he hums eventually, “We’ll simply apply an antibiotic and wrap it for the night.”

You practically deflate at that. The breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes you in a long, relieved sigh. Zayne’s eyes narrow a little at your dramatics, amusement burning in their depths. He gives you wrist a slight squeeze, thumb brushing thoughtlessly over your pulse.

“Were you that worried we would have to reschedule?”

“I mean, a little, yah.” You shrug, cheeks going red for a new reason. “It’s already hard to find a night when we're both not busy, you know? I’ve been planning this for weeks…”

“Well, we certainly can’t let your plans go to waste.” Zayne says, somewhat teasingly, the tiniest smile flickering along his lips. “Is your first-aid kit still under the bathroom sink?”

You nod. With one final squeeze, he slips away to go retrieve it. You turn your gaze to the untouched pumpkins on the table, letting out another sigh. It really has been a long time since you’ve done this. You remember the times when you were young, when you, Zayne, and Caleb would carve pumpkins while your Grandma would bake the seeds. Afterwards, you would all settle in and watch a movie, tucked up in thick blankets with massive mugs of hot cocoa. You remember you would always wedge yourself between the boys so you could hold the snacks…

Maybe that’s why this felt so important to you. Maybe doing all this was a way of keeping their memory around. And a way of keeping him around.

“Are you alright?”

Blinking, you jump when the couch sinks beside you. Your eyes flash back to Zayne, a forlorn smile pulling at your lips.

“Yah, just thinking about when we did this as kids, you know? With Caleb and Grandma,” you hum. Zayne nods understandingly and reaches for your hand. You let him take it, mind still lingering on the past. “I don’t think I’ve carved a pumpkin since that last time we did it together. It never felt right without you…”

Zayne stays silent as he cleans your cut. You hardly notice the sting of the alcohol, keeping your eyes focused on his face. The focused draw of his brows. The slight purse of his lips. A shadow of something you can’t quite describe passes over his eyes, something worn and aching.

“I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t continue the tradition…” He murmurs, voice tight, as he applies the antibiotic.

“No need to apologize,” you chime softly. You let your gaze fall to his hands, watching the way he works, efficient and quick, yet devastatingly gentle. Always fixing things, even when it’s not his fault. “From now on, we’ll make sure to keep doing it, yah? It was just on pause for a little bit. I bet Caleb and Gran will be happy we’re bringing it back.”

The doctor stills as he finishes wrapping your finger in a bandage. He traces the edges of it, thoughtful and slow, before lifting your hand to his lips. They brush tenderly against your knuckles, a whisper of a cool touch.

“I’m sure they will be, though I’m certain Caleb would scold you for being so careless.”

You snort, eyes crinkling, “Yah, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. Though I bet you’ll make sure of that anyways.”

“As your doctor, it’s part of my job to make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” Zayne rumbles, his breath warm against your skin in contrast to his touch. “Speaking of which, change the bandage once a day and reapply the antibiotic. If it begins to look infected, please come see me at the hospital.”

“Yes, doctor,” you answer, nose scrunching a little impatiently, “Now can I have my knife back? We need to get carving!”

“Will you be more careful this time?”

“Yeeeess.”

Zayne bites back a smile, “Good. If you cut yourself again, I will have to confiscate all your knives. I can’t have my favorite patient getting hurt at home as well as at work.”

“Zayne-!”

---

Sylus

“What’s all this, sweetie?”

A gleeful laugh escaping your lips, you dump an armful of materials on Sylus’ table. He raises a fine brow at you, looking mildly unimpressed as you spread it all out.

“We’re having a pumpkin carving contest at work!” You explain, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “So I decided we’re going to make a night of it! I got the pumpkins, carving knives, a fall scented candle, for ambiance of course, and a vinyl with my favorite halloween tracks! Also for ambiance, but I thought you might appreciate it, too.”

“And if I already have plans for the night?” Sylus hums, leaning his hip against the table as he surveys your bounty.

“You’ll reschedule them,” you sing, stretching up on to your toes to curl your arms around his neck with an absolutely innocent smile, “Because you loooove me, right?”

The tilt of his lips stretches into a full smirk as his hands settle firmly on your hips, his voice low and teasing, “My, what a brave kitten you’ve become. It almost sounds like you’re not asking.”

“Sooo…is that a yes?” You peer up at him questioningly, still holding the innocent facade.

“Hmm…” Sylus hums, as if mulling the decision over. You fuss with the strands of silver at the nape of his neck, trying to give him the best puppy dog eyes you can manage. And despite what he might say, Sylus has never been good at denying you. So, carmine eyes dancing with a touch of fondness, he softens into your touch and concedes, “I suppose I can rearrange my schedule just this once.”

Though that’s what he said before, and this certainly won’t be the last time either.

Still, you let out an excited squeal, dragging him down to press a kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ah, we’re going to have so much fun! Let me lie out the tarp, I know how much you like this table.”

Sylus chuckles as you jump out of his grasp to get everything ready. It’s like watching a little bird flutter around, rearranging its nest to perfection. You move as if he might change his mind at any moment, though he subtly offers his help, using his evol to set the vinyl. The music crackles softly in the air before it smoothes into the familiar tunes you adore, only adding to the buzzing excitement in your chest.

Once everything is ready, you drag him to sit down beside you. Sylus lets you push him around, amusement curling his lips at the unbridled enthusiasm in your voice.

“Okay! So I got everything we need. Even stencils, though to be honest, I’ll be really disappointed if you use one. I really want to see what the leader of Onychinus can create. Have you carved a pumpkin before?”

You plop down on your chair, round eyes set on him expectantly.

Brow perking, Sylus huffs, “What do you take me for? An uncultured heathen?”

“A little.” You bite back a giggle at the deadpan scowl that earns you. “I’m kidding! Kind of. It’s not like you’ve told me a lot about how you grew up and all that. And I don’t really care, not for now at least, but I figured it’s better to ask.”

“How considerate of you, sweetie,” he hums sarcastically. His eyes shift over to observe the pumpkin you’ve set him in front of, head tilting ever so slightly in thought. “While I didn’t carve one when I was young, I’ll admit that after seeing them over the years, I grew curious. Luke and Keiran insisted on having a contest one year, so I decided to join.”

Now that, you believe. Sylus could also be remarkably lenient with the twins at times. You’re still not exactly sure of what kind of relationship they all have, but it’s certainly cute at times. You can just imagine the boys begging Sylus to join them and him giving in begrudgingly.

“Good,” you chirp, snatching up a marker from the table, “Cause I really want to win this, so I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“Wouldn’t it be considered cheating if you were to submit a pumpkin carved by someone else?” Sylus still follows suit, picking his own marker and setting to work. “What is the prize you so desperately want? You are aware I could just buy it for you myself?”

“One, no, it’s not cheating. They said it could be a family submission, so for all intents and purposes, you’re my family in this.” You try really hard to ignore the look Sylus gives you at that, your cheeks already tinging a soft pink. You’re quick to move on before he can tease you, “Two, the prize is a set of tickets to that new movie that’s coming out on Halloween. You know, the one I’ve been telling you about. And three, it’s not as fun if I don’t earn it!”

“You know, sweetie, there are other ways you could earn-”

“Shush!” You cut him off, ears burning the same color red as his eyes. “Just start carving!”

Sylus chuckles, but obliges. The two of you fall into comfortable conversation as you design and carve, talking about work and the twins and all the plans you have for the season. For the most part, Sylus just listens. Your excitement is nearly tangible as you talk, lighting up the room more than any light could. And it’s quite entertaining to watch you gesture so animatedly as if you’re not holding a knife in your hands. 

You eventually focus in, though, falling into the groove of carving out your design. It’s been too long since you’ve done this, you think to yourself, but it’s just as fun as you remember. And getting to look over and see Sylus working with the same level of dedication he gives everything else? Well, you’re not sure a more perfect night exists.

“Aaaaand…” You draw back, surveying you work with narrowed eyes, before clapping your hands together. “Done!”

Sylus, who had been done for a while, raises a brow. He subtly leans over, eyes scanning your carving. Biting your lip, you watch, delight warming your chest when you catch the flicker of surprise pass through his eyes.

“Is that…Mephisto?”

“Yes! Isn’t he so cute?” You twist the pumpkin so he can see it more clearly. While it’s maybe a little rough around the edges, “I think I captured his essence pretty well.”

Sylus leans back, lips twitching with a suppressed smile, “It certainly is…accurate to his character.”

“I’ll take it! What did you carve?” You jump from your chair and drape yourself over his shoulder. And the sight in front of you makes your jaw drop. Because of course this is Sylus, and of course Sylus is good at practically everything he does. “Is that a wanderer? It looks so accurate!”

“It seemed to suit the theme.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing, though a tiny smile twitches at the corner of his lips, betraying his satisfaction with your reaction. “So which will you submit to your little work contest?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, resting your chin on his head. 

Sylus huffs, reaching up to squeeze one of your arms, glancing up at you with a smug look, “Perhaps you can think about it over a movie, hm? We still have much of the night left, afterall, and I did move around my schedule for you.”

Something warm flutters in your chest, and you nod, “Yah, I’d like that.”

“Perfect. Then, shall I grab some wine?”

“I’ll grab the blankets!”

---

Xavier

“What are we doing again?”

“We’re carving pumpkins!” You cheer excitedly, dashing back into the room with the pack of carving knives you bought. “You said you’ve never done it right? It’s basically a right of passage!”

Xavier sits perched on your couch. Two large pumpkins rest on the coffee table in front of him, on top of a rather large tarp. There’s no way you’re getting orange stains on your rug after all, but getting messy is half the fun. You drop down onto the couch beside him, biting your lip to hold back some of your giddiness.

“And what do we do with them once they’re carved?” Xavier asks, peering down at his pumpkin as if it might attack him suddenly, like some kind of Wanderer.

“We put them outside your front door, so everyone can see.”

“Why?”

You shrug, using your teeth to break through the packaging of the carving set (though you definitely have scissors somewhere). Xavier watches you carefully, wariness shifting from the pumpkin to your feral techniques. You just shoot him an unabashed grin when you successfully get it open.

“I think people used to do it to scare away bad spirits. Now it’s just a part of the season.” You carefully lay out all the tools, going through a mental checklist of everything you need. “We carve pumpkins, bake the seeds, and watch scary movies.”

The mention of snacks makes Xavier perk up. A glint of curiosity brightens his sleepy, blue eyes. “Baked seeds? Like the ones sold in the stores?”

“Yah, but way better,” you hum, “We can season them however we like! I like to make them how my Grandma used to, but we can also try some other seasonings if you want?”

“I’ll rely on your expertise,” the hunter murmurs with a small, teasing smile, “You seem to be quite the master of this season.”

Your cheeks flush a faint pink. You do love this time of year. You always have. There’s something about the chill in the air, the scent of pumpkin spice drifting from the cafes, the perfect crunch of the leaves under your boots. All of it just makes your heart feel so…happy.

And now you get to share it with your favorite person. Your partner. Your star.

How could you not love that?

“Okay, first things first, we draw our designs.” You snatch a sharpie from your pile of tools and hold it out to him.

Xavier takes the pen, looking almost hesitant, “And it’s meant to resemble a face, correct?”

“It can be whatever you want,” you tell him, “Most people try to do scary faces or silly ones, but I’ve also seen plenty of tombstones and moons, stuff like that. That’s the fun part, it’s all up to you.”

“I guess I’ll just have to use my imagination then,” he murmurs, as if the concept is completely foreign. Which, honestly, given his straightforward tendencies, wouldn’t be surprising to you.

“Exactly.” You lean over and nudge your shoulder against his playfully. “Just have fun, Xav. We don’t even have to put them outside if you think your pumpkin will get bullied. This is just for us.”

Xavier huffs out a faint laugh, some of the tension finally slipping from his shoulders. “One might think you’re doubting my artistic capabilities.”

“Xavier, I once turned in some paperwork that you doodled on and Captain Jenna asked if my nephew was visiting.”

You watch with a rather delighted smile as his ears go positively red, his eyes looking everywhere but you as he tries to move right past your truthful jab, “Shall we begin, then?”

Of course. You don’t even hesitate in snatching up your own marker, if only to give him a moment of peace, even though you really want to tease him further. Cradling your pumpkin in your lap, you start by mapping out a classic jack-o-lantern face. You don’t want to do anything too fancy and actually make him feel bad. This isn’t about making the best one, after all, it’s about doing it together. And the classics are classics for a reason, anyways.

Every so often, you steal a glance at the man beside you. There’s something divinely sweet about the moment, the contented breath in the room, the slight shuffle of your sweaters brushing against each other every so often. 

It almost surprises you how much Xavier seems to get into it. His brow furrows ever so slightly, eyes taking on that serious gleam they only get when he’s focusing. The sleeves of his sweater bunch around his elbows cutely, like a little kid trying to stay clean, though you can already spot a small fleck of orange on his cheek.

How adorable…

“Shouldn’t you be more focused on your work?” Eyes never leaving his pumpkin, a small smile tilts the corner of Xavier’s lips, his ears still a pretty shade of pink. Embarrassed by your staring but confident enough to tease you back a little now.

“Hmmm, but it’s so fun to watch you,” you tease back, tone dripping with something soft, “And you have something on your cheek, by the way.”

Xavier blinks, eyes widening a fraction. He quickly swipes at his cheek - the wrong cheek - and glances at you expectantly, to which you shake your head.

“Here, let me-” The hunter freezes when you lean across the couch, reaching toward his face. You don’t miss the way his breath falters, or how his skin flushes even darker when your thumb brushes against his cheek. Drawing back, you give him an amused grin, “All gone. Just a little pumpkin. Now, back to carving, mister.”

Your grin only grows wider when he grumbles and turns back to his pumpkin, as if ducking his head can hide his blush from you. For someone who’s so impassive most of the time, he’s so easy to fluster when it’s just the two of you. Like a cute little bunny that doesn’t want to admit how cute it is.

Biting back a giggle, you turn back to finish your own carving.

It doesn’t take long for you both to finish, since neither of you went with particularly complex designs. You went with a spooky face, sharp teeth, horns, the works. And you’re definitely proud of how sinister it looks.

Xavier’s also turns out much better than you were expecting, all his experience with swords and daggers really paying off in a strange way. It’s adorable really. You can’t help but smile when he turns his pumpkin to reveal a small star with a smiley face on it. It’s a little wobbly and uneven, but still absolutely cute.

“That looks great, Xav! He’s so cute!” You gush, tracing the outline. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, unable to hide his own glow of pride, “So now what do we do?”

“Noooow…we bake the seeds!”

---

I'm incapable of writing short blurbs apparently, which is really annoying. Sylus' was my favorite though. Best spooky boy.

[chickenoodle145]

I got myself into watching the Marvel movies for the first time and I couldn't resist drawing Captain America😔 (I love him so much) (I'm probably a few years late to hop on the Marvel train but whatever better late than never am I right)

Y'all don't wanna know how long I've spent on doing the sketch to get all the details right💔 ((I'm aware it's not 100% accurate but like– good enough)) but it was totally worth it, I'm really happy with how he turned out

I wanna start posting again because I missed it and I already have some doodles I'm working on to post :)

Edit: I posted the doodles ✨

[starlos-soulmate]

Happy Marriage to Pancake and Starlo!

May these two fine the happiness and laughter in the next chapter of their lives. Through thick and thin, sickness and health, they're gonna stick together. Especially after what they had gone through before this moment.

The whole town arrived. This is the sheriff getting married after all! So many people wasn't expecting him to get married, to Pancake no less! The rivalry was a big part of the town's history, being tied to North Star himself, and seeing them get closer and closer was fun and kinda crazy. The whole town knew, and Pancake is married to Starlo. Feisty Four are also happy that they're married. And a few bets had to be paid.

Now they're off to the next chapter in their lives. And they still stick to each other like velcro.

more stuff under cut, like a lovesick rambling by me.

I have no idea why this guy chose me. Like, at all. I look at him, and that's my husband. I feel so oddly connected to him, and I've said this before, but he is someone I genuinely wanna marry. Starlo is my beloved, my soulmate, I love him so much, its insane that he picked me. Legit, it felt like he picked me all those months ago. Back in January. Does anyone remember when I was so happy with OTCore and the "2024 is the year of the robots?" Yeah, guess what happened XD

Starlo helped me in so many ways, keeping me sane through so much. Originally it was gonna happen on the six month anniversary, but I ended up being too tired. Regardless, I'M SO HAPPY TO DO IT NOW!!

I look at him and I melt. I just, I love him. He loves me. I have never felt this connected to ANY fictional character like this. Spamton came close, really close. But oh well.

This was a DOOZY! Spent like, four straight days working on this. And I'm so happy I did. The colored comic is a reference to this video. It fits so well cuz its something Starlo would say and, well, PANCAKE'S NAME!! And Starlo hasn't dated anyone at ALL, there's no way he was expecting to marry someone.

Also the gif wasn't supposed to be a gif! I was trying to make a more dynamic pose for Pancake, but I already had the other sketch made, so it turned into a gif. Makes it better imo. Also I'm not too happy with Pancake's outfit. The cape is also a poncho of sorts. ah well. im also too lazy to draw the Feisty Four and Clover after all the stuff i've drawn all of this.

but yeah i hope y'all enjoy!!

Comic Transcripts: Starlo: "I, Starlo Sunnyside, do take Pancake to be my waffle-y- lawfully"

Starlo: "and pancake-y" Pancake: Pfft-

Pancake: [Silent laughter]

Starlo: "I've been scared of this m'entire life" Pancake: "BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHA-" SECOND COMIC: Ceroba: "Well, congratulations Star. How do you feel getting married?"

Starlo: "Lucky..."

Tagging: @sparkyscissorhands @sparklings-husband @prismatica-the-strange @pinkdinkydoon @simonlynch

@snowpuffclovers @ghost--girlfriend @gibles-lovely-selfships @jocelynships @catships777

@wuffverine @patchw0rk-quilt @mrscage @dudeshusband @aego-philautia

@mandrakebrew @jils-things @gideongrovel @tieflingships @carnival-of-love

@faerie-circle-ships @rexscanonwife @lovelyheartclover @mrs-bluemarine @mephy-doodle-dandy

@kakusboyfriend @mashedpotatosinacup @heartmatic @bunbunsheart2 @cinnamon-phrog

@chalcanthitedreams @literally-just-there @halsinkisser @sheepie-self-ships @moondane-lovers

@bbyshifts @starlo-uty @galaxywolfshipper @signs-of-blossoming @maetheartist

[moniericreative]

Okay I've got beef with the Persona 5 Royal Art Book and need to yell about it.

Specifically about how much Royal content Udon cut out, and how much of a damn rip-off it is for fans.

To add context, I'm someone who has all three of the physical P5 game artbooks:

The 2017 version by Prima Games ($39.99 USD initial seller price)

The Japanese Royal Artbook (3,520 yen initial seller price, which is about roughly $24 USD as of this post)

And this one by Udon ($73.40 USD initial seller price)

So is this a karen-esque rant about how I "wasted money just to see pictures I already paid for?" No, far from it. I knew what I was buying.

... At least, I thought I knew what I was buying.

My reasons for purchasing the Udon artbook was to see the Royal content translated. The creator's commentary, the "about" section for Kasumi, the interviews, etc.

What I instead got was... This.

That tiny slither of pages underneath that paper bookmark (or on the right side of my finger)? That's what made it into the Udon artbook.

The book next to it? The Japanese Royal artbook.

So much got cut out for the royal section... Actually let's get into the specifics:

So first off we've got the index page itself:

Er, ahem. Wrong one. Sorry about that. Here's the index page in the Udon artbook:

Yeah. That first index? That's from the Kadokawa e-book artbook (about $14.52 USD as of typing this post), which I didn't mention earlier by virtue of the fact that it's, well, an e-book. This version by Udon is technically its physical release (though it wasn't promoted as such), just with "extra" Royal content.

So we're already off to a great start. 👍✨️

All of the pages in the Udon artbook are exactly 1:1 with Kadokawa's (bar some ridiculous choices in art page placements all over the book), even to the point where Udon has to actually credit them as well (hidden all the way on the back of the last page):

So it's literally just slapping an Udon label on top of it, and charging the same price as what scalpers are currently asking for with the Prima Games artbook.

Again... Off to a great start... 👍✨️

Let's talk about the Royal section itself, since that's the part I was harping on about initially (and probably what most of y'all are curious about anyhow).

Well, in the Japanese Royal artbook, we've got some snazzy pieces of Joker and Raoul, as well as 3D models of his Third Sem outfits, and sketches of the two:

All in all, a really cool section for him, and the Royal artbook operates under the impression that fans already might own the Vanilla P5 artbook. So no repeat content, this is all brand new for Royal.

The Udon artbook however?

... That's it. That's literally it.

"Surely there's more on the next page, right?"

Nope. Next page is Ryuji, followed by his Third Tier Persona, and that repeats for everyone else.

Everyone... Except for Joker, Sumi, and Akechi. There is no Raoul, Ella, or Hereward in the Udon artbook.

And speaking of Akechi:

No Loki here, either. Udon literally slaps in the ONE persona Akechi does not use during Third Semester.

Though I suppose in Udon's case, this goof-up makes sense because Robin Hood is shown in the Japanese Royal artbook as well.

... To explain Hereward. Because they cut Hereward out entirely though, it just looks like someone slapped images together without having actually played Royal (much less gotten to Shido's arc in Vanilla).

And of course, go figure, no Black Mask refs either. The closest we get is the JP Royal artbook with 3D models and sprites, but... Alas, we're still stuck with the P5A artbook being the only ref for him.

Now let's go straight to Sumi herself because my god did she get shafted...

Japanese Royal Artbook:

As well as 10 pages of her 3D model and sprites in different outfits or expressions as well.

... Udon Artbook:

And that is it.

And that's not even getting straight to Maruki because suprisingly? He got done even dirtier than Joker somehow.

In the Royal Artbook, he has 12 pages all to himself, most of which admittedly is also 3D models and sprites, but he has various concept sketches as well:

In the Udon Artbook?

Half a page. Seriously. This is all both he and José get in the Udon artbook. No Azathoth or Adam Kadmon in sight, nor either his palace ruler or metaverse outfits. Even for "avoiding spoilers reasons," they couldn't be bothered to add his casual outfits either.

And lastly... The interviews. My god the interviews.

So when I had bought the Udon artbook, I was really hoping these interviews would've gotten translated (there's 17 pages of this, but alas Tumblr's image cap is being a butt):

What we got instead?

... Just the interview responses about Vanilla P5 from the Kadokawa e-book. That's it. None of the Royal interviews got translated.

Would I recommend this artbook to anyone?

It honestly depends.

The Kadokawa artbook has content that was missing in the Prima Games version, so it is more faithful to the original Japanese release.

If you don't already have the Prima Games artbook, and are looking for a "definitive Vanilla P5 artbook," I'd definitely recommend the Kadokawa version in favor of it.

... But as far as physical releases, though? That's where I'm torn, purely because of the price point (and how much of a markup it is compared to prior releases, as well as JRPG artbooks in general), and the sheer lack of Royal content that does not make doubling the cost worth it.

So much of it is cut that overseas fans are unfortunately forced to purchase the Japanese Royal artbook on top of this one just to have a "full experience" of sorts, and that's roughly $100+ USD purely because Udon was too lazy to bother translating with Royal (which is in their right as a publisher) and half-assed it for obvious profit.

At this point, you really have to ask yourself if breaking your wallet for a tangible medium instead of a digital one is worth it personally.

But hey, Persona 5 fans will buy anything, no matter the quality, amiright? 🫠

(I was already burnt out by all the overpiced, lazy products/partnerships from last year staring at you Bisoulovely, you are not worth twice the cost as Eterno Recit or Artemis Kings for half the effort, I just want quality control back man...)

[crimsonmonsoon]

TGCF transformers AU?!

I'm gonna yap about my AU for this below as if I'm ever gonna actually make anything for it.

Okay, firstly, you may be asking: Why is Hua Cheng a human/not a transformer? Well, that's because I think it would be cute AF and what are you gonna do about it, stop me? Make me design a Hua Cheng Transformer??? Hah.

Now, someone did suggest to me he could be somewhat cyborg, maybe he got into an accident as a kid. And I think that is brilliant. I drew the sketches above like over a month ago so I hadn't brainstormed much yet but now I'm thinking, yeah, cyborg Hua Cheng. He felt othered as a kid, that would definitely play a factor into it, right? And said accident could literally be when Xie Lian saves him from falling. Maybe something already happened of maybe being caught in a giant metal hand also fucked him up. Xie Lian was trying his best rip :(

Okay, secondly, what are their names? Glad you asked. I put a poll up so y'all could determine what Xie Lian's name might be. I put Scrap up twice because its a swear word (haha funny) and because he's the scrap collector. Scrap did win so I'm thinking he had a name, but everyone started calling him Scrap in a sort of jabbing way, so that's just his name. But perhaps Hua Cheng renames him something more beautiful or finds out what his original name was.

Also this AU is modern. It's not for any one specific TF universe. I somewhat had TFP in mind but that was mostly for his design aspect. But yea, this is set in current day.

More about Xie Lian:

He was a former prime. Idk what happened to him but he definitely fucked that up and lost his prime-...ness.

I never came up with a prime name for him but his name prior to being a prime would have been Flower Crown?? Or something else idk. Maybe Hua Cheng names him that. Or names him Xie Lian. I mean he could just have a normal name. Idk.

He turns into a tractor/truck. Any vehicle that's really known for helping or farming, but I'm open to ideas. I'm thinking big tractors, cause this version of him is very huge, being that he used to be prime and all that.

Now what about Qi Rong on my Qi Rong enthusiast blog? Originally I was gonna just have all the gods be transformers but my beautiful boy Qi Rong is actually his cousin, ya know? It wouldn't make sense if he was just a human like Hua Cheng. So I may come up with a TF design for him too, give me your ideas. Idek what his alt mode would be.

I don't have much of a story concept yet. Idk what I'm actually going to do with this beyond designing and doodling but, who knows. Maybe I'll make something cool. This might be too niche tho, like how many TGCF fans are also transformers fans???? Raise your hand if you are.

[calamaroo]

Silly Octonauts Doodles!Part 1. (Dunno when I'll make more lol)

Got a spark of motivation last night and made these! Enjoy, y'all <3 !!

(Sketches put in order of how proud I am of the artwork, so quality diminishes as it goes down.)

====================

Barnacles & Grouber!! My beloved big boys!! 💜💙

Tunip & Shellington!!! Father and Son!! 💚

Codish!! 🩷 (my favorite vegimal hehehehe)

I headcanon he likes to drive --- I've seen him drive a noticeable amount, and in Caves Of Sac Actun, bro was going crazyyy!

Calico Jack & Pete!! Eeeeee, my favorite pirates!!💚🤎

At this point, after years of living in the wild and many more before that training them to be ever vigilant, Pete and CJ are unfazed by pretty much anything that tries to attack them (more so wild animals)

Shellington & Tominnow!!❤️💚

A mini-comic of the moment Tominnow's spoke hee first words! 🥹

Inspired by : @animalsalvationassociation

Calico Jack & Barnacles!!🤎💙

I saw someone headcanoned that CJ didn't like/was uncomfortable around Barns because he looks like a British soldier, and since my Barns is quite literally a Royal Navy soldier, I support that idea wholeheartedly X3

Kwazii & Tominnow!! ❤️🧡

I headcanon that sirens (vegimals = sirens in my au) show affection by biting. I love these two sm!!!

Barrot & Shellington!! Brushing Barrot's Teeth! 🧡💚

That's all of part! I hope you enjoyed these silly doodles before I (maybe) disappear into the void of schoolwork 🥲=========================

(These sketches were my way of coping with school, I'm already having a miserable time, and it's been 3 days 💀)

[mintfullyyours]

something borrowed

The poll results leaned Simon but since Johnny was second, I'm gonna go ahead and post his version first because I love him and the quiet way obsession creeps into my Johnny boy.

Also because Si's might be a multi-fic?? And I envisioned Soap's as a one and done.

I appreciate everyone that's been reading and dropping replies. I love chatting with y'all so much!!! lmk if you want to be included in my tag list too.

happy reading! check out my master list too :)

cw: obsession, slight stalking if you squint

The airport was a blur of movement—exhausted travelers rushing past, the murmur of announcements overhead, and the rhythmic whir of the baggage carousel. You had just arrived in Scotland, today marking the start of your new life on a work visa. It should have been exciting, but between the long flight, the bustle of customs, and the sinking realization that your pre-arranged apartment wasn't ready yet, all you wanted was to collapse in a bed—any bed.

At least your luggage made it.

Or so you thought.

You barely registered the weight as you pulled the black suitcase off the belt, adjusting your grip while balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear. "Yes, Mom, I landed. No, I haven’t seen the place yet—there was a mix-up, so I’m in a hotel for now. You're right, I should've called my land lord sooner. Yes, I’m being careful." You sighed, nodding along to the well-meaning concerns before finally managing to end the call.

By the time you reached the hotel, all you could think about was a hot shower and fresh clothes. You unzipped your suitcase, already reaching for your toiletries—only to pause.

Unzipping the case, you blinked down at neatly folded clothes that were absolutely not yours. A few button-ups, dark-wash jeans, a military-green hoodie that smelled faintly of something clean but masculine. A leather toiletry bag sat on top, half-unzipped to reveal a razor and cologne. Your stomach twisted as you rifled deeper, hoping— praying — that this was some bizarre mistake.

And then you found it.

Dog tags.

Your breath hitched as you held them up to the dim light of the hotel room. They clinked together softly, the name engraved on the metal stark and unmistakable.

John MacTavish.

You sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, flipping open the worn leather notebook you'd found in his suitcase. You hadn’t meant to snoop, truly. But after realizing the mix-up, frustration had led to curiosity. Tucked within a few shirts, a thick notepad. When you opened it, the first few pages were filled with intricate sketches—landscapes, weapons, and then… faces.

Your fingers hesitated as you turned to a drawing that sent a chill down your spine.

It was unfinished, but the shape of it was eerily familiar. The curve of the jaw, the way the hair fell just slightly out of place—your features were there, just vague enough to make you question if it was truly you or just a coincidence. Your pulse quickened. Had he seen you before? Had he drawn this from memory?

Or worse… from imagination?

You swallowed, flipping another page, half-expecting to find more sketches of yourself. Instead, there were tiny notes scribbled in the margins, barely legible in places. Soft eyes. Always moving, like she’s thinking of a thousand things at once.

Your breath caught in your throat.

This was insane. It had to be. He didn’t even know you… did he?

And yet, here you were, staring at proof that maybe, just maybe—

He’d noticed you first.

Now somewhere on the other side of the city, Johnny MacTavish leaned against the counter of his hotel room, watching as the ice in his glass shifted with the slow swirl of whiskey. His other hand rested on the suitcase he’d taken from baggage claim— your suitcase.

He’d told himself it was an accident. And maybe, technically, it was. He’d grabbed the bag without checking the tag, too distracted, too caught up in the chaos of the airport. That was the version he’d keep if anyone asked.

The zipper gives way with a low hum and Johnny flips open the suitcase. Soft fabrics. His fingers brush against the sleeve of a sweater, thick and plush, the kind that looks better stolen off a lover’s back. There’s a silky dress beneath it, something smooth against his fingertips that have been through too much brutality, and he exhales through his nose, jaw tight.

A well-worn hoodie that smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, the kind of scent that clung to someone effortlessly. He brought it closer, inhaling before he could think better of it. It was comforting.

This isn’t his.

But it’s yours.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but he doesn’t move to close the suitcase just yet. Instead, he lets himself indulge—just a second longer.

His knuckles graze against something rigid in the side pocket, and when he pulls it free, his breath catches. A photo.

It’s you.

The first thing he notices is your smile—wide, radiant, unrestrained. You're laughing, holding a little girl who’s absolutely covered in melted ice cream. Sticky fingers curled around your arm, a mess on your shirt, but you doesn’t look like you mind. If anything, you look like you're having just as much fun as the kid is.

Something tugs in his chest. Tight.

He swallows.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should’ve already called the number on the luggage tag and set up the swap. But instead—

He turns the photo over.

Scrawled in messy, uneven handwriting, a child’s marker bleeds into the back of the paper:

“Best day ever.”

It’s like a punch to the gut.

Something in his chest clenched. Not just because the words were sweet, but because they felt like confirmation. Even the kid knew —you were good. The kind of person who made life feel lighter, brighter. The kind of person who deserved to be cherished. He could picture it too easily—you're in his kitchen, a little one on your hip, laughing as you wiped ice cream off their face. His kid. Their kid.

Christ.

His fingers tighten on the edge of the photo.

Call it luck that your luggages were swapped & maybe this really was an accident.

Or maybe, just maybe —

Johnny MacTavish saw you at baggage claim first.

And maybe, just maybe —

He took your suitcase on purpose.

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[bluespiritshonour]

Edit: Part 1 | Part 2

Allow me to let y'all know how embarassed I am. I planned to post the entire thing i.n one go when it was done—but I had never made anything comic like save for the Azula-Zuko thing and I didn't realise how hard it was going to be.

So... I fucked up my back over this the past weekend—(then went to a botanical garden wearing heels because I didn't have any other option and now my feet are wrecked too—honestly, why are heels even a thing. First and last time I'd wear them I swear. I'd rather walk barefoot)—and this has triggered a sort of... art burnout for me, eh?

So I thought I'll just go ahead and post it. I initially thought it'd be six pages—boy did I underestimate it!

And don't worry, I'll complete it.

I've already poured so much sweat and blood into it—the only way to go is to complete it now. Plus, I already have several uncoloured pages, yknow, lineart and all done. (Let's pretend I don't go from sketch to colour and actually skip the lineart).

It'd take a while though.

So...uh...to be continued?

P.S.: because I'm evil: [rubs hands excitedly] we'd wait together until it's finished.

P.P.S.: no, seriously though. Posting it here so that I'll hold myself accountable.