#reply roundup

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

@solar-cr0ss has added an image description to [soup], and @scarlet-bee has added an image description to [vameltimes]! thank you both!

also the [collector club] carries on (US residents can sign up through [patreon]), and the youtube captions I spent all of february on are now on the [brbavrai] video :)

on [squish] @nexus-nebulae left some lovely tags that for sure make me feel understood, thanks y'all! I'm glad you're also headed in the right direction for you.

@icannotgetoverbirds asked: oh my GOD this blog is EXCELLENT. hell yes. also by any pronouns do you mean any as in he she or they are all equally fine or does that include neopronouns and does it include objectself pronouns?

so like most people have pronouns that "fit" right, and I've just never found any that are quite right for me. so I might as well open it up to a free-for-all, whatever you feel like! while I don't feel like I fully Get neopronouns and stuff, I have zero objections to them being used for me. (or, obviously, for people who personally identify with them!) (also thank you lol)

on [string cheese] @ceylonsilvergirl said: even Kirby strings his cheese. dude could just vacuum it up, And he still strings it

well yeah dude if you don't string it it's not string cheese. it's just cheese.

on [comfytown] @kingdedede8 said: can i come

hell yeah dude anyone can be a resident of comfytown, you just gotta get so comfy cozy with your blankets and suchlike.

on a [reblob] @artsy-dreamer helpfully explained that it's likely a reference to the end of spring breeze from super star! thanks for the clarification :)

on [frog] @demifiendcruithne said: this. is the war cry. of a very. angry. gorb.

yes that is exactly the video I was thinking of! there are others available these days ofc but my wife always puts that particular one on when I'm upset cuz it cheers me up -u-

on [frog] @joekingv1 said: *gently pets the tiny frog while wondering if they both have read Cat Cafe Comics*

they have not, but the art style looks pretty cute!

on [supernatural] @joekingv1 said: *hands baby a note about Osaka officially becoming a teacher in Yotsuba*

aww, that's neat! I've only read a little bit of both azumanga daioh and yotsuba, but I bet that made a lot of people happy :)

on [rare disease day 2024] @3am-cheerios said: i didnt know theres an awareness day. and that its tomorrow! also jfc that sounds exactly like what my sister is going thru right now, her primary doctor literally LAUGHED at her last time over her concerns

oh man that really sucks :( I hope she has better luck in future, I've often done well with like, medical residents as primary care? because I know what I'm talking about by this point and they're new enough to want to defer to someone else anyway. that does also mean I need a new pcp every couple years tho since they finish their programs and move away -n-

anonymous asked: Poyo ^_^

not technically kirby related but there's a cute little slice of life series called poyo poyo kansatsu nikki that I stumbled upon browsing crunchyroll years and years ago, about a very round cat. who also says poyo. I think I've drawn him once. tbh I think of him first when I hear poyo, but I think of kirby first when I hear hi.

@goldendragonleaf asked: *gives him uncoffee*

thanks he's normal now

on [coffee] @otatma said: has anyone ever drawn Barista Kirby?

I vaguely remember a kirby drawing someone else did of him behind the counter at a coffee shop, but I thoroughly checked all my archives and didn't see it :(

@thatonepointbraincell asked: Fish 🐟

(we're gonna go to the aquarium while my wife is in town next week, they opened a new building but she wanted us to wait until she got home to go see it for the first time)

[ardentpoop]

I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! 🥰

[gday-from-tasmaloa]

okay rotomblr completely unrelated question

anyone here able to take in a buneary at some point??

[cesium-sheep]

got a ton of computer work done including stuff I've been putting off for months for the kirblog and for the va, and taran's coming over and they made me cookies because they are a very kind and thoughtful friend TnT and matt's gonna make lasagna soup for dinner.

[huntershowl-moving]

(fromsoft splash screen) Sins Committed

[svssscqazine]

📜✨ The scrolls are open — and so is our Q&A! ✨📜

While the Hallmasters work on finalizing the specs for Cāng Qióng Archives, we’re opening the floor for your questions!

Curious about contributor roles? Wondering what kind of merch might appear? Not sure if your idea fits the Disciple Era theme? 👀

🗣️ Send your questions our way through replies, DMs, or anonymously via Neospring: https://neospring.org/@thediscipleerazine

We'll be answering them all in an upcoming Q&A roundup! 🌿

[elodieunderglass]

FAQ May 2025

(wtf is #eggs for killie, etc)

Killie / Throw Your Heart Over

okay, so I apologise, because KILLIE is A LOT OF THIS TUMBLR at the moment. but also I don't.

Killie is an original character. he's an angry little racehorse jockey with an unfortunate psychic connection to his rancid racehorse frenemy (O Holy Thunder), a redemption-arc relationship with his nice nerdy boyfriend (Derek), an elusive twin brother (Charlie) and a messy, rambling family of horse-obsessed weirdos who are overly-invested in the fascinating, complex, dirty, problematic and unhinged world of horse racing. he is a short athletic ginger jock like an angry little wet cat, who is always getting injured, and we love him for this. at some point his book (Throw Your Heart Over) will get written (probably). but as I wasn't actually expecting to do this in real life, at the moment, we write comics and AUs and fanfiction about him. yes I know this is backwards, shut up, WE ARE HAVING FUN, and maybe it's actually FORWARDS. (by the way - does anyone know how to write a book?)

@aqueenvictorious kindly and brilliantly did this roundup.

Eggs for Killie

I will have to be UNPRECEDENTLY brave and work VERY hard to write a book about Killie. so I said that if everyone else was very brave with me, and attacked a similarly scary creative project by the end of March, Killie could have an egg (eggs are a treat for him). The intention was to leverage each other's courage and momentum to all make progress together, with accountability and a deadline. to add urgency, Killie was trying to stay fit to (metaphorically) ride in the Grand National, a large UK steeplechase, on April 5th.

I thought we’d have 5 eggs to chase up. There were over 150 eggs for Killie by the time I had to close the inbox. It was an incredible outpouring of vitality that I’m still astonished and impressed by.

With incredible kindness and intelligence and bravery and truth, @patheticprogrammingperson took on the task of making the Eggs for Killie tumblr, where you can submit your intention of finishing a creative project/WIP in 30 days. The blog will accept your ask and assign you a 30-day check in, to which you can reply with your progress and receive one egg 🥚 to throw at Killie’s head. Go ahead and try it!

The Leucism Channel (open to other colour morphs)

I have had this tag for over 10 years! I collect leucistic animals, but I am also interested in other colour morphs. Rather than trying to run separate channels, I am now putting non-leucistic animals in this tag.

Horrible things with legs

Apparently this tag is only 8 years old, but I genuinely think that's a mistake on tumblr's part. I think I've been running it since the Palaeozoic era.

what do you like, do?

this is such a good question. here's how I tried to answer it.

Works In Progress

His Delicious Materials - chapters 10/12, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/his%20delicious%20materials

A Weasel Heart in Defiance - chapters 12/20, IN PROGRESS

Dungeon Meshi x His Dark Materials fusion. Tumblr tag https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/tagged/weasel%20heart%20in%20defiance

Swan Comics for the Palestine Children's Relief Fund.

general swan comics.

I am sousverre on AO3 and I have a bluesky.

Sorry, I don't do fundraisers as asks. my fundraiser policy for the past 10 years has been that I'll signal boost for mutuals.

thanks for your time and attention. goodbye.

[anti-terf-posts]

a while ago some terf deactivated and i stole their url and turned it into a woody's roundup blog and today one of their fucking terf friends mentioned it and started ranting all this weird shit at me thinking i was the same person without even checking lmao

i’m sitting here in silence trying to figure out how to reply to this. Did you, anon, know that you’re possibly the funniest person out there??

[realityjoey]

SEASON 1, EPISODE 5, “THE ROUNDUP.”

The morning buzz of the precinct was sharper than usual — something unspoken rippling through the bullpen like static. Officers were smirking at one another, coffee cups raised in quiet challenge, subtle jabs being traded across desks.

Roll call was minutes away, and the tension was less about briefing updates and more about bragging rights. Because everyone had heard the rumour. Something was going down today. And it had Team Bradford’s fingerprints all over it.

The roll call room filled quickly. Officers took their seats, murmuring, while a few rookies double-checked their notepads and tried to look more alert than exhausted. Angela Lopez and Talia Bishop slipped in side by side, followed by Dylan Jenkins, who carried her usual air of sarcastic calm, coffee in hand. But what made her pause — what made everyone pause — was the sight of Tim Bradford already standing at the front of the room. In Grey’s spot. Arms folded. Expression smug.

“Morning, officers,” he said in a mock-authoritative tone. “Before we get started, I just wanted to say — I’m proud of all of you for showing up today, knowing full well that Team Bradford is going to crush every single one of you.”

Lopez groaned, slumping into her chair. “Oh God, here we go.”

Dylan strolled past, whispering, looking at him, “You’re aware this is delusion, right?”

“Confidence,” Tim corrected, like he was about to announce a world tour. “Team Bradford doesn’t do second place.”

“Team Jenkins doesn’t do participation trophies,” she muttered back.

Before he could respond, the door opened. Sergeant Grey walked in, coffee in hand, stopping mid-step when he saw Tim standing front and center like he owned the place. The room stilled. Grey raised an eyebrow.

Tim gave him a slow, cheeky nod. “Just warming up the crowd.”

Grey stepped forward, deadpan. “Thank you, Officer Bradford, for that deeply unnecessary performance.”

Tim retreated to his usual seat — which happened to be directly next to Dylan, Lopez, and Bishop — still grinning like a schoolboy who just got caught trying to lead assembly.

Grey exhaled and turned to the room. “Alright. Since he’s already spoiled the surprise — yes. We’re doing a challenge today. Friendly competition. T.O and rookie or partner pairings. The team with the most arrests by end of shift wins.” He paused. “Felony arrests are worth seven points. Misdemeanours, three.” The room came alive with quiet excitement. “But let me be clear,” Grey continued, narrowing his gaze. “This is not officially sanctioned. It’s not in any manual. It’s not what policing is about. This is not about padding numbers or racing to throw people in cuffs. This is about proactive, smart, ethical policing.” He looked directly at Tim.

Tim raised both hands in mock innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of anything less.”

Grey wasn’t buying it. “Remember: do the job. Don’t game the system. And don’t make me regret this.” With that, Grey dismissed them, and officers began filtering out to their units.

As Dylan and Tim made their way toward the parking lot, she gave him a sideways glance. “You heard the man. No playing dirty.”

Tim nodded solemnly. “Of course.” Then added, under his breath: “We’re still winning. No matter what.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re competitive,” he shot back. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel the itch the second Grey said ‘challenge.’”

She didn’t reply right away. Then: “Seven points for a felony, right?”

Tim smirked. “Thought so.”

The morning air was still crisp when they stepped out into the lot, walking toward their cruiser. The buzz of Grey’s challenge still danced between them, unspoken but electric. Tim Bradford had that trademark gleam in his eye — the kind that only came out when he was in full “game mode.”

But just as Dylan reached for the passenger side door, Tim stopped short. “Wait.”

She turned, brows raising. “What?”

Instead of answering, Tim knelt down, unzipped one of the war bags in the trunk, and pulled out something she absolutely did not expect: a small, carefully wrapped present. It even had a neat little red bow on top.

Dylan blinked. “What… the hell is that?”

Tim didn’t answer. He just straightened, adjusted the present in his hands like it was a bomb he was proud of, and started walking with purpose across the lot — straight toward the dispatch centre.

Dylan stood there for a beat, watching him with that deep, British mix of suspicion and dry amusement. “This should be good…” She followed — slowly.

Inside the dispatch centre, the atmosphere was worlds apart from the precinct — dim lighting, hushed voices, glowing screens, and headsets. Operators worked like quiet gods, dispatching chaos across the city with calm, rapid precision. And sitting at the far end, headset off for now, sipping from a baby-pink thermos covered in cartoon fox stickers, was Nell. She was small, red-haired, and clearly not used to Tim Bradford entering her world — because as soon as he stepped in, her eyes went wide and she nearly dropped her cup.

“Nell,” Tim greeted smoothly, the kind of charm in his voice Dylan had never once heard directed at her.

“Officer Bradford—hi! Um, wow, hi.” Nell blushed instantly, nearly knocking over her keyboard. “Uh. What brings you—?”

“You,” Tim said simply, holding out the present. “Saw this in the bookstore yesterday. Thought of you.”

Nell blinked. “Me?”

“Mm-hm,” Tim nodded. “I remembered you said you loved graphic novels, and this one looked like something you’d adore.”

Behind him, Dylan watched like someone watching a live car crash. Equal parts amused, horrified, and deeply fascinated. Who the hell was this version of Tim Bradford?

Nell turned so red, Dylan thought she might combust on the spot. “That’s… really sweet. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Tim said, smooth as ever. “But I wanted to.”

Nell cradled the gift like it was holy. “Thank you! Really. That’s—wow.”

Tim leaned a little closer, voice dipping into something just slightly lower, just slightly more suggestive. “So, listen… I was wondering if you could do me a tiny little favour.”

Nell tilted her head, nervous. “Um. Sure?”

“You know the T.O challenge today, right?” Tim asked, casual.

“Yeah, I heard,” she nodded, clutching the book like it might fly away.

“Well,” Tim said, flashing his most disarming grin, “it’d really help if you sent me and Jenkins any felony calls you get first. You know. So we can stay on top.”

Nell’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um. I don’t know. That might count as, like… dispatch favouritism.”

Tim smirked. Leaned in a little closer. “But I am your favourite,” he said in that dangerously soft voice. “Right?”

Dylan audibly scoffed behind him.

Nell turned bright red, grinning helplessly. “I—I guess I could forward a few priority calls your way…”

Tim winked. “Knew I could count on you.” As he turned, he gently placed a hand on Nell’s shoulder, then strolled out like he’d just picked up a dry cleaning order. Dylan was still standing there, arms folded, staring at him like he’d just sprouted devil horns.

Outside, she followed him toward their cruiser, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tim tossed the empty war bag into the trunk. “Worked, didn’t it?”

“I thought you didn’t ‘do’ charm,” she said. “Now I know it’s a tactical weapon.”

He shrugged. “Only when the mission demands it.”

Dylan scoffed again. “Poor girl looked like she was about to combust. Do you use that voice on everyone who stands in your way?”

He smirked, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Just the redheads.”

Dylan slid in beside him, laughing despite herself. “Remind me never to let you near dispatch unsupervised.”

“Oh, we’re supervised,” Tim said, flicking on the ignition. “By fate. And now, by every felony call in the city.”

Dylan leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Alright, Romeo. Let’s go win this stupid challenge.”

And with a spin of the wheel, the shop rolled out into the streets — the game on, the score zero-zero, but the odds? Firmly stacked in Team Bradford’s favour.

The inside of the shop was warm, quiet, and filled with the rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt as Tim Bradford and Dylan Jenkins cruised through their sector. The morning had been productive — a few low-level stops, some citations, and a clean misdemeanor arrest that got them three points. But it wasn’t enough. Not with the group chat blowing up.

Dylan’s phone buzzed again in her vest pocket. She sighed, pulled it out, and read aloud with a deadpan tone: “‘Team Lopez & Chen — 13 points, thank you very much.’” She scrolled. “Nolan and Yates are on 10. And Jackson? Somehow just hit 17. How the hell did West pull that off?”

Tim scoffed. “Fluke.”

She raised a brow. “Sounds like we’re falling behind, Captain.”

Tim kept his eyes on the road but smirked. “Right. Time to deploy our secret weapon.”

Dylan blinked. “Secret weapon?”

“Call Nell.”

Dylan gave him a look. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely,” Tim replied, already pulling his personal phone from the dash mount and handing it to her. “You’re driving the charm offensive this time.”

“I’d rather stick my hand in traffic,” she muttered, but dialled anyway, pressing the phone to her ear with a grimace. A beat. Then— “Hey, Nell!” Dylan said, all awkward cheer.

Tim leaned closer. “Put it on speaker.”

She did.

Nell’s voice came through, a little flustered. “Oh! Hey. Officer Jenkins, right?”

Tim leaned in again, pitch dropping into that voice — the smooth, teasing one Dylan was rapidly learning to recognise. “Nell,” he drawled. “I’m hurt. Have you… forgotten about me?”

Dylan immediately pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh God.”

Nell stammered through the line. “No! I mean — of course not! It’s just been quiet over here, I swear.”

“Mm,” Tim said, resting one hand lazily on the wheel, his tone low, velvety. “I was starting to think you were favouring Jackson’s team. And here I thought we had something special.”

Dylan visibly recoiled in her seat. “I’m going to throw myself out of the car.”

But before Nell could reply, her voice changed. Sharper now. “Hold on — call coming through. Possible armed robbery at a liquor store, suspect fleeing on foot. Third and Glendale.”

Tim straightened, tone immediately professional. “We’ll take it. Send us the call.”

“Copy that,” Nell replied, already dispatching the call across the board.

Tim hit the lights. Dylan was already buckling her seatbelt tighter. “That’s seven points if it sticks.”

Tim grinned. “Told you she’d come through.”

As they sped through the streets, weaving between cars with sirens wailing, Dylan stared out the window, jaw tight. She wasn’t sure what was more annoying — the fact that Tim’s stupid flirtation worked… Or the fact that watching him do it stirred something unexpected inside her. That stupid voice. That casual confidence. The way he leaned in, the flash of charm in his eyes — it was practiced, sure. But it wasn’t fake. And she hated that a small, irritating flutter had started somewhere low in her stomach. Butterflies. Nope. Absolutely not. She turned her head away, trying to shake it off. This was just a game. Tim Bradford was an excellent cop, a shameless flirt, and absolutely the wrong person to be getting flustered over. She’d seen men like him before. Except… she hadn’t. Not quite like this.

“Jenkins,” Tim said, glancing at her. “You okay?”

She blinked once. Then replied with a smirk. “Let’s just win this thing so I can go home and wash the sleaze off.”

Tim laughed — a real, deep laugh that curled around her spine in ways it shouldn’t. And as the shop rounded the corner toward the scene, sirens still blaring, Dylan squared her jaw and told herself to get her head in the game. It’s just adrenaline. Just adrenaline. Wasn’t it?

The cruiser carved through late morning traffic, lights flashing, sirens wailing in the distance as they approached the location Nell had given them. Tim Bradford was focused, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly near the siren controls. Dylan Jenkins sat in the passenger seat, her eyes scanning every corner they turned, the adrenaline building — but not just from the call. Something else was simmering too.

Dylan tapped her fingers once against her thigh before speaking. “Nell seems nice.”

Tim didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What’s your point?”

Dylan smirked faintly. “You really gonna play that card?”

“I’m driving,” he said flatly. “Not in the mood for riddles.”

“She likes you,” Dylan said simply. “It’s obvious.”

Tim exhaled through his nose. “She’s just doing me a favour.”

Dylan turned toward him slightly, brow arched. “Come on, Bradford. You gave her a present. Complimented her like she was on a runway. Dropped the voice.”

“What voice?” he asked, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

She gave him a look. “That voice. The one that makes people forget their own name,” she said. “You turned the full charm offensive on a dispatch officer to rig a friendly competition. That’s… pretty cold, even for you.”

Tim’s grip on the wheel tightened ever so slightly. “It’s just part of the game, Jenkins. She knows that.”

Dylan shook her head. “No, I don’t think she does. She’s sweet. Shy. She clearly thinks it means something.”

Tim finally glanced at her, annoyed. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop using people’s feelings just because you’re good at manipulating them,” she said, sharp but not cruel. “You’re better than that.”

That landed. Tim didn’t respond right away. His jaw was tight now. Eyes flicked back to the road. But before the silence could turn into something heated, Dylan’s gaze snapped forward. “Suspect. Two o’clock.” And just like that, the conversation died. The world narrowed into a singular focus. A man in a black hoodie, jeans, and gloves sprinted across an intersection two blocks ahead, weaving through cars, a crumpled brown duffel bag bouncing at his side.

Tim swerved hard, tires screeching as the cruiser jerked toward the sidewalk. Both officers burst from the vehicle before it had even come to a full stop. “LAPD! Stop!” Tim shouted, hand already on his weapon as he chased after him. Dylan sprinted beside him, boots pounding against pavement. Whatever awkward tension had existed in the car? It was gone now — burned away by the heat of pursuit. But even as they ran, adrenaline pumping and the call consuming their attention… Dylan’s words still echoed in the back of Tim’s mind. “You’re better than that.” And for some reason — that mattered.

The alley reeked of piss, old oil, and the faint sting of copper — the scent of blood from the suspect’s grazed elbow where he’d fallen trying to scale a fence. He hadn’t made it far. Tim Bradford had flanked left through the open loading dock, while Dylan Jenkins took the alley head-on, cutting the man off as he stumbled over discarded crates behind the liquor store he’d tried to rob. By the time he pulled the gun again — clumsy and desperate — Dylan already had hers aimed center-mass, calm and unflinching.

“Drop it. Now.”

He blinked. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Then the pistol slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. Dylan moved fast. She kicked the weapon away and shoved him against the brick wall, wrenching his hands behind his back with practiced force. Click. Click. Cuffs on.

Tim jogged up beside her a second later, breathing steady, eyes sharp. “Nice work.”

But Dylan didn’t answer. Because the suspect — mid-thirties, bloated face, eyes bloodshot, reeking of whiskey — had started mumbling to her. “You know what the problem is with the world?” he slurred, lips close to her ear as she kept him pinned. “Everyone thinks love’s supposed to fix you. Nah. Nothing fixes you like a bottle. Nothing. Not even the people who say they love you.” Dylan’s jaw twitched. “I had a wife. She begged me to get clean. Said she’d leave if I didn’t. So I let her.” He chuckled, bitter and warped. “Didn’t even hesitate. Booze stays. Booze don’t ask questions. Booze don’t care who you are.”

Tim saw something change in Dylan’s face. He saw it in the way her eyes hardened. Saw it in the sudden set of her shoulders, the shift in her grip. Like something snapped behind her calm.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was low and cold. “Shut your mouth.”

The man laughed again, still leaning his weight on her like they were sharing a secret. “You get it, don’t you? That’s why you look so damn angry.”

She shoved him forward, not hard enough to hurt — just enough to make him stumble. He didn’t speak again.

Tim stepped closer, subtly placing a hand on her forearm, grounding her. “You okay?”

Dylan nodded once — too fast. “Fine.”

But Tim had seen that expression before. Not on suspects. On her. And though she didn’t say anything more, the look in her eyes said enough: the man’s words hadn’t just touched a nerve — they’d struck something buried deep. Something old. Something rotten. Something that sounded too much like her father. The words echoed in her mind, old and new overlapping like a bruise being pressed again: “It’s not me, Dylan, it’s the drink. The drink’s the only thing that gets me through.” “Don’t act like love’s enough. Love doesn’t pour into a glass, does it?” She looked away sharply.

Tim didn’t push. But his hand remained there, light and steady. “We’ve got him,” he said. Calm. Professional. “Let’s get him processed.”

She nodded again, slower this time. The suspect stumbled toward the cruiser, eyes glazed, still muttering — but Dylan didn’t hear the words anymore. She heard echoes. Heard ghosts. Tim opened the back door of the cruiser, and she helped guide the man inside. He didn’t resist. When the door slammed shut, Dylan stood still for a second longer than necessary, her breath shallow, hands flexing at her sides.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tim asked again, voice quieter now. Not a demand. Just an offer.

Dylan looked at him. Eyes colder than usual. But inside them, something hurt. “Let’s just win this damn challenge,” she muttered.

He didn’t press her again. But as they drove off, Tim kept glancing sideways — not at her hands, or her posture. He watched her eyes. Because something had shifted. And even if she wouldn’t say it… He’d felt it.

The burger van sat parked in its usual spot — the paint peeling from its sides, the smell of sizzling onions and cheap beef floating through the lot like a beacon. Officers gathered around the picnic benches and folding tables, radios clipped to vests and half-buttoned uniforms swaying in the breeze. The mid-shift energy was a blend of exhaustion and friendly competition. Today, it buzzed with more than just rivalry. Because Team Bradford & Jenkins had just pulled up. And something was… off.

Tim parked the cruiser and stepped out, stretching his shoulders. Dylan followed suit, but the moment her boots hit the pavement, she immediately pulled away — not toward him, not toward the usual gathering spot with their fellow training officers, but toward the farther table, where Jackson, Lucy, and Nolan were already mid-lunch, joking over sodas and comparing scores. Her silence spoke volumes. The air between her and Tim crackled — not with their usual playful tension, but something colder. Unresolved. Bitter.

Tim clocked it instantly. So did Angela Lopez, who approached with a drink in each hand and a furrow in her brow. “Hey,” she said, offering one to Dylan. “You okay?”

Dylan didn’t stop walking. “Not thirsty.”

Angela watched her go, concern deepening, before turning to Tim, who was now casually leaning against the side of the van like nothing had happened. Angela raised an eyebrow. “You two fight?”

“No,” Tim said coolly. “She just has a headache.”

Talia Bishop joined them, unimpressed. “She seemed fine at the last call.”

Tim shrugged, keeping his face unreadable. “Sun’s brutal today. Doesn’t take much.”

Angela narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it, but decided not to press. Instead, she flopped down on the nearest bench with a dramatic sigh and held her hands out like she was accepting an award. “Well,” she declared, “Team Lopez & Chen have officially hit twenty-eight points.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, sitting beside her. “That so?”

“Twelve felony points. Two misdemeanors. And a guy who tried to run from us with a boot full of meth. Which I personally chased down, thank you very much.”

Talia groaned. “I told you, I’m not playing.”

Angela grinned. “And yet you’re still losing. That’s tough.”

Tim took a sip of his drink, watching Dylan from across the lot as she leaned into conversation with the rookies, head low, voice too quiet.

“Long shift left,” he muttered. “Plenty of time to turn it around.”

Angela smirked. “You sitting at seven, aren’t you?”

“Seven with a bullet,” he shot back. “And I’ve got Jenkins.”

Talia glanced sideways. “Who currently won’t look at you.”

“She’s just pacing herself,” Tim said flatly. “Like any good competitor.”

Lopez raised an eyebrow. “She’s pissed about something. And if it’s about the challenge, you better hope it doesn’t affect your chances, Romeo.”

Tim didn’t respond — not directly. But his jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked toward Dylan again. She was laughing now — or pretending to — at something Jackson said. But her fingers were tapping restlessly on the table. Her eyes never quite matched her smile. Tim knew that look. He’d seen it when suspects pressed buttons they didn’t understand. He’d seen it when her past bled through the cracks. And now? Now it was directed at him.

Angela leaned back, arms stretched across the back of the bench. “Face it, Bradford. You might have the best partner. But if she’s not talking to you?” She smirked. “You’re not winning anything today.”

The buzz of lunch at the burger van carried on like any other day — laughter, teasing, bites of greasy burgers between radio calls and scoreboard updates. But Lucy Chen sat quietly, barely touching her food, her dark eyes flicking across the table every so often to where Dylan Jenkins sat stiffly, surrounded by conversation but not in it. Dylan’s usual sharp wit had dulled to half-hearted sarcasm. Her posture was defensive — arms crossed, shoulders tight. Her foot tapped against the gravel, a subtle rhythm that belied the chaos under the surface. Lucy noticed everything. Always had. It was a curse and a gift of being raised by two psychologists. You learned to read tone, timing, body language — and Dylan was screaming without saying a word.

So, Lucy reached casually for her drink, bumped Dylan’s arm gently, and said, “Hey, want to walk with me to the van? I need more napkins.”

Dylan blinked, caught off guard. “You’ve got five right in front of you.”

“Yeah, well…” Lucy gave a weak smile. “They’re emotionally contaminated.”

Dylan gave a half-laugh — but she followed her anyway. They walked a short distance toward the van, then veered off to the far side, where the shade was deeper and the voices faded behind them. Lucy leaned against the brick wall of the adjacent building, napkins forgotten, and turned to face her. Dylan didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

Lucy tilted her head, voice soft. “You’re spiraling.”

Dylan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re doing that thing. Tapping your foot, checking your phone like it’s going to rescue you, clenching your jaw like you’re fighting with a ghost. Something’s off.”

Dylan looked away. “I’m fine.”

“My mum says when people say ‘I’m fine’ but their body’s tense, it usually means they’re in emotional quicksand.”

Dylan smirked faintly. “Your mum’s very insightful.”

“My dad says it too.”

Dylan sighed, scrubbing a hand down her face. “You corner all your colleagues like this, or am I just lucky?”

“Only the ones pretending they’re fine when they’re not.” Lucy’s voice didn’t waver. “You don’t have to tell me. But I’m here if you want to.”

Dylan looked at her for a long moment. And something shifted — her posture softened, the deflective energy beginning to crack. And then, almost reluctantly: “We had a call this morning. Armed robbery. Guy was drunk, rambling. We cuffed him pretty quickly, but he just kept talking. Slurring stuff in my ear.” Lucy waited. “He kept going on about how alcohol’s better than love. That it doesn’t leave you. Doesn’t ask anything of you. That he let his wife walk out because she expected him to quit drinking, and he didn’t even care.” Her voice was low now. Brittle.

Lucy’s chest tightened. “That hit a nerve.”

Dylan gave a tight, humourless smile. “My dad was a drunk. Still is, I think. We don’t talk. Not since I left. He used to say stuff like that all the time — that we were the problem, not the bottle. That alcohol never disappointed him.” Lucy didn’t interrupt. She just let her speak. “And hearing it come out of that guy’s mouth today? It just… I don’t know. Punched a hole through me. Like time rewound.” Dylan shifted her weight, glancing away. “And then I got sharp with Bradford. Cold. Because I didn’t want to explain it, and he just kept being—him. All stoic and unreadable and stubborn.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Lucy said gently, “It doesn’t make you weak to want someone to see you.” Dylan blinked at her, thrown by the softness. “You’re human,” Lucy added. “And Tim? He may not always know what to say. But he pays attention. I’ve seen it. He’s probably still trying to figure out what the hell he did wrong.”

Dylan ran a hand through her hair, exhaling. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I just… projected. And now I’m acting like a brat because I don’t know how to be mad at a ghost, so I’m mad at the closest person instead.”

Lucy smiled faintly. “My mum says that too.”

Dylan huffed. “Your mum’s got all the answers.”

“She thinks she does. But I think you’ve got more than you realise.”

Dylan looked at her — really looked — and something softened. “Thanks, Chen.”

“Anytime.”

They stood in silence a moment longer, side by side in the shade.

Then Dylan said, dryly, “Alright. Let’s go pretend these napkins were an emergency.”

Lucy laughed, bumping her shoulder. “If anyone asks, I emotionally contaminated at least three.”

They walked back together, a little lighter, a little steadier. And for the first time that day, Dylan didn’t feel quite so alone.

The air inside the shop was cooler now, the A/C humming softly as the cruiser rolled back onto the main road. Post-lunch lull had settled over the city, the sun sitting heavy above the skyline, and for once — for the first time all day — Tim Bradford and Dylan Jenkins were silent. Not their usual silence. This one was loaded. Tim tapped the wheel lightly with his thumb, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t scrolling her phone. Wasn’t giving one of her dry one-liners. She just sat there, arms folded loosely, eyes on the window, but not seeing it. And for Tim, that was more disconcerting than any raised voice or sarcastic jab.

He cleared his throat. “So…” She didn’t look over. “I need to know if I should be worried.”

That got her attention. Her brow furrowed. “Worried?”

“About your mood,” Tim said, not unkindly. “Because if we’re going to win this competition — and, you know, continue functioning as partners — I need to know if the storm cloud over your head is going to keep raining.”

Dylan blinked. “Seriously?”

Tim shrugged. “I’m not asking for a full therapy session. Just a weather forecast.”

Dylan gave a soft exhale, somewhere between amusement and surrender. “I’m fine.”

Tim let that sit for a beat. He stared ahead, then slowly pulled them into a quieter street, easing off the gas. Then, he said, “I don’t know what your past looks like. And I’m not asking. But what that guy said? All that crap about alcohol being more reliable than people?” He paused, jaw tight. “That’s not true. You need to know that.” She stared at him. No sarcasm. No retort. Just… quiet. The kind of quiet Tim had never seen on her. And maybe it was because she’d already broken earlier with Lucy, or maybe it was the way Tim said it — like it wasn’t a performance, like he wasn’t trying to fix her, just reach her — but Dylan nodded. Once. It was small. But it meant everything.

Tim didn’t push further. Didn’t need to. The moment hung there, delicate, as the cruiser slowly rolled past a row of faded storefronts. Then Dylan’s phone buzzed on the dash. She grabbed it, blinking out of whatever haze had held her.

“Yeah?”

A familiar voice crackled through the speaker. Nell. “Jenkins? Got something for you and Officer Bradford — possible B&E in progress, residential property near Atwater. Neighbour says they saw two men breaking through the back window.”

Dylan glanced over at Tim, who was already flipping on the lights. She smirked faintly. “Copy that, Nell. We’re en route.”

The sirens kicked up again, the hum of the engine rising with purpose. And just like that — they were back in motion. But this time, there was something different in the air between them. Not gone. Not fixed. But lighter. Understood. Stronger.

The street in Atwater Village was eerily still. A quiet block of suburban homes with neatly trimmed hedges and silent driveways. The sun cast long shadows across the pavement as Tim Bradford and Dylan Jenkins rolled up slowly, eyes scanning every corner. But the moment they turned into the cul-de-sac— Gunfire erupted. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

“Gun! Gun! Gun!” Dylan shouted, just as the windshield exploded into a spiderweb of shattered glass, bullets tearing through it in violent succession.

Tim didn’t hesitate — he reached across the centre console and shoved Dylan down, shielding her with his body as they ducked behind the dash. The whine of ricocheting rounds and screaming tires filled the air, hot brass clinking against the pavement. More bullets. More chaos.

“Stay down,” Tim growled, voice low and protective, even as his eyes never stopped tracking movement through the fractured glass.

Dylan, heart pounding against her ribcage, felt the weight of Tim over her — his arms braced to keep her protected, his breath steady, calculated, like this was just another day. “Windshield’s done,” she muttered, voice tight.

“Then we move.” As the gunfire slowed — a break, a reload, a hesitation — Tim reached for the door. “Go!”

Both officers threw open their doors at the same time, ducking low and using the ballistic panels as cover. Their weapons came up like clockwork. Two shooters were standing beside a black getaway van parked across the street — both armed, both firing recklessly. But after a few exchanged rounds from Tim and Dylan, the suspects turned and bolted behind the van.

“They’re falling back,” Dylan said, eyes narrowing. And then they disappeared — slamming into the back of the van and locking themselves inside.

“Bulletproof box,” Tim muttered, watching the glint of reinforced metal around the van’s rear.

Dylan swore. “We’re gonna have to wait for SWAT.”

Tim was already shaking his head. “No. No, this is our window.”

She glanced at him. “Bradford—”

“They think they’re safe,” he said, grabbing something from the tactical kit in the back of the shop. “Which means their guard is down.”

She followed his eyes as he pulled out a small canister of pepper spray — industrial grade. Dylan blinked. “You’re gonna gas them?”

Tim’s mouth curved into a grin. “I’m gonna smoke ‘em out.”

Moments later, the two were crouched low on either side of the van, quiet and invisible behind parked cars. Tim pointed to a small airflow slit just above the wheel well — likely overlooked during the van’s reinforcement.

Dylan nodded. “Let’s make it fast.”

Tim slithered forward, keeping his body low, and without a sound, he aimed the canister into the vent and sprayed — a long, powerful stream that hissed like a serpent. Nothing happened at first. Then— coughing. Loud, guttural. Panicked. Inside the van, chaos erupted — choking, gagging, one suspect yelling about not being able to see. Tim bolted back into position, gun raised, eyes sharp. Then— bam! The rear doors flew open, and both suspects stumbled out, blinded and coughing violently.

They didn’t make it two steps. Dylan was waiting. “LAPD! Hands where I can see ‘em! Down on the ground!” One dropped immediately, hacking and swiping at his eyes. The other hesitated—then tried to run. Too late. Dylan stepped forward and slammed him against the van, weapon still raised. “Try me.” He dropped.

Tim swept in beside her, cuffing both as backup arrived, lights flashing around them. Seventeen points. Felony arrests. Weapons recovered. Suspects in custody. Team Bradford was back in the lead.

Back inside the cruiser, adrenaline still coursing, Dylan slid into the passenger seat, catching her breath. Her face was flushed, eyes wide — and though she didn’t say it, she was impressed.

She turned to Tim. “That was reckless. Borderline illegal.”

Tim shrugged, smug as ever. “Creative problem-solving.”

She stared at him for a beat longer. Then, finally, she cracked a grin. “You’re such a menace.”

He smirked. “Seventeen points worth of menace.”

And as they pulled away from the scene, lights fading in their rearview mirror, Dylan leaned her head back and let out a long breath. The day wasn’t over. But something told her Team Bradford & Jenkins wasn’t done surprising people yet. Especially each other.

The street was dark, quiet — just past 10 p.m. The warm glow of porch lights cast shadows across the trimmed lawns of the upscale neighbourhood, and if not for the radio chatter still echoing in their ears, it could have passed for any peaceful night in the suburbs. Two cruisers pulled up in tandem, headlights dimmed, emergency lights off to avoid alerting the suspects. John Nolan and Talia Bishop stepped out of their unit first, already on high alert. Moments later, Tim Bradford and Dylan Jenkins exited theirs, expressions sharp, steps silent as they approached the house. They didn’t need words. One look at the front window told them everything. Blood. A long smear of it painted the inside of the glass like a warning. And just beyond it — through sheer curtains and fractured blinds — was hell.

A woman was tied to a chair in the living room, blood dripping from her mouth, her eyes swollen and wild with terror. A man beside her was already slumped sideways, bruises blooming across his face. And three masked intruders moved around them — one pacing, one yelling, and another punching the male victim again, vicious and unrelenting. And on the front step? The cleaner — face-down in a pool of blood. Throat slit. A mop bucket tipped over beside her, pink-stained water leaking down the brick.

Dylan crouched low, scanning every angle. “We’ve got hostages.”

Tim gave a short nod. “We interfere now, or these people don’t make it.”

Bishop stepped forward, voice quiet but clear. “We’ll breach the front and go low. You two get upstairs, clear top-down.”

Nolan, already gripping his weapon tighter than usual, gave a shaky nod. “Let’s do it.”

Tim and Dylan peeled off toward the side gate, moving quickly and silently. The wooden fence was tall, almost eight feet — enough to make it tricky. Tim knelt, cupping his hands.

“Up,” he whispered.

Dylan hesitated — only for a second — but he noticed. Still, she stepped in, bracing one hand on his shoulder. As he lifted, his hands naturally moved to her hips, guiding her up with practiced precision. What he didn’t see — couldn’t see in the dark — was how tense she went. Her jaw locked. Her breath hitched. She made it over and dropped lightly on the other side. Tim followed seconds later, landing beside her. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

“Alright?” he murmured.

“Fine,” she said tightly. Then softer, “Let’s move.”

They entered through a second-floor balcony — unlocked. Sloppy. The invaders weren’t pros, just desperate and violent. Inside, the hallway was dimly lit by a hallway nightlight. Every sound was magnified — the floorboards creaking beneath their steps, the muffled screams from downstairs, the static tension pressing in on them like a vice. Tim took point, gun raised, sweeping each room with military precision. Dylan followed close behind, eyes sharp, breath controlled. Then — movement. One of the suspects, young, lanky, armed with a kitchen knife, stepped out of a bedroom just ahead. He didn’t even see them. CRACK! Dylan struck fast, elbow to the back of his head before he could scream, taking him down with surgical precision. She cuffed him silently.

They moved forward — another room, another threat. A second man, clearly the leader, was on the phone, pacing the upstairs hallway. Tim lunged first, tackling him from behind. The suspect slammed against the wall with a grunt, the phone clattering to the ground. Before he could reach for the pistol tucked into his belt, Dylan kicked it away and shoved him into the wall, cuffing him with one hand. They met eyes for a split second. No words — just breath, movement, adrenaline.

Downstairs, a loud crash echoed.

Then: “Clear!” Bishop’s voice rang out.

Dylan exhaled.

Tim touched his radio. “Upstairs secure. Two in custody.”

Moments later, officers began flooding in through the front — lights sweeping the house, backup arriving in waves. Dylan leaned against the hallway wall, rolling her shoulder out. Her heart still thundered in her chest, but her hands? Steady. Her aim? Unshaken. Tim stood across from her, face lit by the strobing lights outside, breathing hard. They looked at each other for a beat longer than necessary.

Then he gave a nod — quiet, acknowledging, respectful. And for the first time since lunch, she nodded back.

The sun had dipped below the skyline, casting a golden-pink haze across the precinct lot. The heat of the day was finally easing, replaced by a cooler breeze that ruffled the edges of uniforms now replaced by jeans, hoodies, and well-worn t-shirts. The burger van glowed under its string of fairy lights, a gathering place that had become unofficial tradition. The scent of grilled onions and ketchup wafted lazily through the air, mingling with the low hum of laughter and banter as officers leaned against cruisers, picnic tables, and one another.

It had been a long day. A brutal one. But there was still one last order of business.

Angela Lopez, dressed in joggers and a denim jacket, climbed on top of one of the folding benches like a queen taking her throne. A half-eaten burger in one hand, her phone in the other, she cleared her throat dramatically.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and competitive maniacs,” she called out, “it is time.” The chatter hushed, heads turning. “I am here,” she continued, “to announce the results of today’s most ridiculous, questionably ethical, and completely unsanctioned competition.” Cheers and mock groans rippled through the group. Angela smirked, scrolling through her notes. “In last place — with a grand total of zero points, due to total lack of participation — Team Bishop.”

Talia raised her drink. “Proudly uninterested.”

“In third place,” Angela went on, “Team Nolan and Yates — with 22 points and at least one slightly illegal donut bribe.”

“Hey!” Nolan called. “That was strategy.”

Angela ignored him. “In second, Team Lopez and Chen — 28 points, three foot chases, one badly parked patrol car—”

Lucy raised her hand. “Not me.”

“Which means,” Angela announced, voice rising, “the winners, with a whopping 31 points, two felony busts, one hostage rescue, and some highly questionable flirtation with dispatch…” She grinned. “Team Bradford and Jenkins.”

A mix of applause, whistles, and good-natured groans filled the air. Jackson fake-bowed in their direction. Nolan started slow-clapping sarcastically. But Dylan barely heard it. Because beside her, Tim Bradford smiled. Not the usual smirk. Not the cocky, I-told-you-so grin. A real smile. Unfiltered. Honest. Just for a second. And it caught her completely off guard.

“Nice work, Jenkins,” he said, holding his hand up.

Dylan blinked, then returned the high five — sharp and solid. But as their hands dropped, his arm stayed up, and for just a brief moment, he slung it around her shoulders in a loose, casual way. Friendly. Harmless. Except it wasn’t. Because something fluttered in her stomach. Subtle — barely there. But real. And she hated it. Because this was Tim Bradford, for god’s sake. The moody, grumpy, bossy cop who yelled too much during foot chases, pushed too hard in training scenarios, and somehow pissed her off at least once every single day. And yet… Here he was. Arm around her shoulder, laughter in his chest, warmth radiating off him like it had any right to touch her so easily. And there she was. Standing still. Feeling it.

She forced a smirk. “You’re going to be unbearable about this tomorrow.”

Tim’s arm dropped, but his eyes didn’t lose their brightness. “You say that like I wasn’t already.”

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the van. “I need a drink. A cold one.” As she walked off, she didn’t look back. Didn’t have to. Because she could still feel the ghost of his arm over her shoulder. And those butterflies? Still fluttering. Still refusing to be ignored.

The chatter around the burger van slowly dwindled as the night deepened. Most of the squad had started peeling off — heading home, grabbing takeout, or lingering just long enough to brag one last time before calling it a day.

Dylan stood off to the side now, a soda in hand, the condensation dripping lazily down the side of the cup. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and she was staring out across the dimly lit parking lot like it was saying something only she could hear. She wasn’t even sure why she was still here. But she hadn’t left. And neither had Tim.

He appeared beside her like he always did — quiet, present, infuriatingly observant. One hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a burger he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there. With her.

Dylan finally glanced sideways. “You waiting to say ‘I told you so’ again?”

Tim shrugged. “Thought you were going to beat me to it.”

She smirked faintly, but didn’t hold it. “You’re lucky I like winning more than I like proving you wrong.”

“I’m not lucky,” he said. “I’m strategic.”

She let out a short laugh and shook her head. Silence settled between them again — but it wasn’t awkward. It was just… quieter. After the rush. After the shouting. After the guns and cuffs and the adrenaline. Now there was only this. Stillness. And maybe… something else.

“You did good today,” Tim said eventually, voice low.

“So did you.”

“I mean it,” he added, eyes on her now. “That call earlier? The hostage situation? You were locked in. You didn’t flinch. I trust you out there.”

Dylan’s chest tightened in a way she didn’t expect. She looked down at her soda.

“That means more than you think,” she said quietly.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Another beat of quiet. She could feel him looking at her. She didn’t know what she expected to see — maybe smugness, maybe that usual Bradford ego — but when she looked up, his expression had shifted. He looked… almost soft. Unarmoured. Like maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling something strange in the pit of her stomach.

“About earlier,” she said suddenly, breaking eye contact. “When I was cold with you. That was me. Not you.”

Tim frowned slightly. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I know.” She met his eyes again. “But I’m giving you one anyway.”

He gave a slight nod — accepting, not dismissive. “Thanks.”

She nodded too, then looked away again, taking a slow sip from her drink.

A moment passed.

Then Tim leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice quieter now. “You sure you’re good?”

Dylan hesitated.

Then: “Yeah. Just… still figuring a few things out.”

“Anything I can do?”

She looked at him then — really looked — and for just a moment, the tension cracked.

“You already are,” she said.

And suddenly, the air between them changed.

Tim looked at her a moment longer. Then — gently, quietly — he nudged her shoulder with his.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Let’s.”

They walked back to their cars in silence. But something followed them. Something new. Something real. And neither of them dared say it yet. But both of them felt it. Louder than any siren.

DYLAN JENKINS X TIM BRADFORD SERIES

next episode

[thankyoudanielfest]

Thank you, Daniel! Fest – Second wave roundup post.

Here is the first wave roundup post.

With this, we'd like to wrap up Thank you, Daniel! Fest. As promised, a roundup of more incredible works made by even more incredible people!

Fics:

Google Translate What Does This Mean? by @ararararo

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 1,5k words (chapter 1/2)

Google Translate couldn't possibly be lying to him but Max couldn't possibly be lying to him either. There's no way his younger teammate has been teaching him to how to say 'Impregnate Me' and 'Cum in Me' in Dutch, made him repeat it every time they were together under false pretence that they were confidence boosting sentences. It must be Google Translate that's lying to him, because his Maxy could never... right?

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The Final Part in the Unlimited Kiss Coupon Universe by @saapphicx

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 1.7k words (complete)

The season is over and Daniel is home for Christmas. But he’s not alone. Max has made good on the offer Daniel gave him, and has packed himself up to the farm for the winter break. Maybe it’s time for Daniel to finally get what he’s wanted since the first day he received that coupon. Maybe it’s time for him to be brave.

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Feeling like I'm on a Hook by @naanima

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 12k words (complete)

He knew he should talk this out with Blake, contact his lawyers, and make sure the rest of his team wasn't asking questions they shouldn't. But he couldn't, because the first thing you learned as a rookie on a F1 team was that you don't fucking ever talk about the free use clause with anyone that wasn't your team principal, the head of HR of your team, and the two FIA representatives - the medical specialist and the monitor who inspected both drivers after each “incident” on FIA premise. And of course the other party involved in the free use clause. Agents were viewed with disdain. (The free use clause is activated in Daniel's contract post Singapore).

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Ain’t That Kind of Movie by @annebd

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 2k words (chapter 1/2)

Daniel is the two-time World Drivers' Champion, and at the FIA Awards ceremony, he meets Max, who is charming and funny and gorgeous. And an escort.

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surrender my heart by @f1thememp3

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 1.9k words (chapter 1/4)

There weren’t any subs in formula 1. not for a long time, and at least not publicly. Statistically speaking there were likely quite a few somewhere along the line, but the general perception that subs were far too fragile to handle the demands of the sport kept them fully in the dark. You either fit the mold or got out of the car.

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Last by @flawlessassholes

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 3.8k words (complete)

Ten years after Max's first time is Daniel's last.

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Love Blind by @mvlionheart

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 3,2k words (chapter 1/12)

“What are we going to do?” Danny ventures asking, voice a thinly veiled attempt at composure. This was their moment, it was all coming together. The years of hard work, the pay-out just around the corner. He couldn’t stomach thinking about letting everything slip through their fingers. “Open auditions?” Noah replies. OR When Danny's band Enchanté loses their drummer right before a big show, they have to find a last-minute replacement. It's a good thing the bass player's sister knows a guy. It's a bad thing, for Danny at least, that the guy is a hot, young, drum prodigy who really knows how to work his sticks.

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Stranded by @mvpanda1

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 5,8k words (complete)

Daniel is having the time of his life. Shining sun, clear calm waters, a yacht full of the best friends a guy could ask for, and the love of his life. Max. It’s hard to believe they are here together now. Out in the open. No longer sneaking into empty rooms or dark corners. They have been inseparable the entire trip—two becoming one in every way possible. His friends don’t care, they’re just happy Daniel finally feels comfortable enough to be himself. OR Daniel is having the time of his life until he isn't.

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Edits and creations:

enjoy the butterflies by @thebirdsareafterme

Daniel and butterflies piece by @avida-heidia-5

Cute Daniel edit by @mango-yoyo

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Please show some love to everyone who participated! All of the people above have done an incredible job. This wouldn't be possible without each and every one of you who participated and we cannot thank you enough for dedicating time to show some love towards Daniel.

Right now, we're giving you all a big, warm hug... but do keep an eye out for something perhaps coming in January ;)

with love, mods <3

[polyamships]

[ID: Text in the center says Polyam Shipping Day, 14th of every month, Feb 2025 - Epistolary. Below Polyam Shipping, and to the left of Day, is a red infinity sign that finishes in a heart on top. Surrounding the text are rows of stylized hearts in the colors of both versions of the polyam pride flag (black, red, bright blue, light green, dark green, light blue, navy). Either side of the prompt are emojis, notebook on the left and projector on the right. /end ID]

February 14th 2025 is our 46th Polyam Shipping Day.

The optional theme for it is: 📒Epistolary📽️

A classic take is long distance letter writing, or postcards when apart, or love notes just because. The letters could instead be with others talking about their love(s) rather than with them. Other choices are diary entries, travel/ships logs or other types of logs. Modern takes are email exchanges, DMs, voice memos, chatfic, blogs and social media AUs. This could also be document comments or replies on a ticket system if your characters work together. If in the public eye, newspaper and magazine articles or online speculation about the ship/polycule. For something more unusual you could tell a story with other types of documents, such as receipts or invoices.

This is also a great opportunity for a collab with another writer(s) or artist(s) where each of you writes for a character or illustrates the letters the characters send to each other. Think outside the box!

…

We’ll be tracking #PolyamShippingDay, and keeping an eye out for any @polyamships mentions too. We will reblog any polyam-positive fanworks featuring polyamorous ships of any configuration/type from any fandom. All ratings are welcome but anything nsfw/triggery should be warned for and behind a read more, as should very long tumblr fic.

You can also submit works directly to the blog or send us asks to let us know to check your blog for a post. If you’re posting on AO3, our collection name is ‘PolyamShippingDay‘ and you can post to the collection here. Only fanworks submitted/@ us on tumblr or in the official AO3 collection, or fanworks posted to our Dreamwidth community, are guaranteed to be included in our roundup. Please also let us know what prompt you created for, if any - people are always welcome to create for past prompts instead.

We have a Discord - invite here - if you want a place to chat about your ships or what you’re creating for them.

We look forward to seeing what people create for it. If you’re enthused about the day, we’d be especially appreciative of any reblogs to help spread the word about the event.

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

@creaturepower added an image description to [eggman], thank you!

man I keep procrastinating on these for ages huh

on [dance] @secondbeatsongs said: oh this reminds me of a song - https://www.scoutsongs.com/lyrics/waltzing-with-bears.html

I don't think I've ever heard this song, it's very cute :') I was probably kinda thinking along the same lines when I drew it anyway, one bear in that picture I strongly associate with teddy bears' picnic

on [coffin] @emerald-oceans said: this hole was made for me! now i want to see kirby in junji ito stories

he pops out the other side completely fine, a little perplexed why everyone else is so upset but ready to fistfight a mountain if it comes to that lol

on [coffin] @mostgeniusone said: An odd shaped tire swing, perhaps? Or maybe the window of a treehouse!

aww, he's playing pretend up in the treehouse! he is feeling the imaginary sea breeze. what a cute idea.

on [float] @ceylonsilvergirl said: we need to start stapling him to the floor, the way he just drifts off like that. or at least put an airtag on him so we know where he is

naaaah it's fine, he never goes far anyway. usually. (we could tie a string to him like a balloon perhaps)

on [album] @pinetreeparadoxx said: Re: your tags, that's awesome op! I hope the album is fantastic when it releases!

thanks! the preview they posted definitely already sounds Real Good to me so I'm sure the full songs won't disappoint :> we're actually gonna be on the road anyway the day it releases so it'll be a perfect time to listen!

on [cat] @ceylonsilvergirl said: my family isn’t allowed to go to the cat cafe near us without me, I’m the only person who knows how to say no to adopting any more cats

honestly same every few months they're both like "hey but what if we had another cat though" and every time I'm like "no because I'm the one who has to take care of them all day and it took long enough for these two to get along as is". my wife in particular is so weak to cats, when we were in the process of adopting the older one she fell in love with the first cat she saw every time lol

on [cocoon] @vs-stardream said: have you ever drawn kirby as the eraserhead baby? i kinda get those vibes from this (sorry.)

hey, no need to apologize! I haven't, I don't think I've ever even seen eraserhead for that matter, but I do see what you mean!

@icannotgetoverbirds asked: are you on bluesky?

I am not, I do still crosspost on twitter but tbh I was never a big fan of twitter even before the new ownership so I just don't really feel up to migrating to any of the twitter clones.

anonymous asked: *sends you hugs* I hope you have a good day, and thank you for the kirbs

aww, thanks! I have no recollection of what I was doing that day lol, buying yarn it looks like. so that was probably a good day!

anonymous asked: Can I just say that I absolutely love your art? It makes me really happy when I see it on my dash and it's always so cute :D

thanks! I'm glad it can bring joy to others as well as me :>

@definitely-not-a-voidlord asked: Hey, I just want to say that your drawings bring a lot of joy to me every day because it means you're still here and it means you're still doing things you love. I'm just some random guy on the Internet, I know, but I hope the sentiment is still a good one!

thank you! doin my best to keep on truckin lol (I do love how there are just like, familiar faces around the internet sometimes where it's just like, you don't know each other but it's still nice to see them posting. the equivalent of someone who rides the same bus as you every week or whatever)

[chaifootsteps]

another critical vid! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SqaJLljdBFg

it's MangaKamen talking about Striker

I haven't watched it but I suspect he's talking about how dumb Striker became after ep5. honestly one of my least favorite strawmans I've seen HB fans deploy is 'you're just salty Striker wasn't this mastermind genius type'

and it's like no, I'm salty because he was introduced as suave, smart and a legitimate threat for IMP and he became less and less of that with every subsequent appearance. like can someone still in the standom explain how a character who carefully plans out an assassination and does it from a bedroom window some distance away with a sniper rifle turned into one who attacks a prince in broad daylight in front of multiple witnesses and only managed to capture him because the writers also nerfed Stolas into a powerless idiot? (old Stolas would have turned him to stone on the spot)

anyway, some roundup replies from the yt comments section because there's some gold in there:

They dumbed Striker down because he was right, and Vivziepop will forbid anyone from making Stolas look bad. It's crazy that they flanderized their OWN character Striker went from an intimidating and competent villain with his own agenda to just a "dumb goon" in the trial Make an intimidating villain. Make intimidating villains a joke villain. Rinse and Repeat. Vivzie's problem is that she seemingly has this pathological need to turn all of her villains into punchlines. None of them can be straight up evil in the sense there's nothing funny about them. Even Valentino.

Oh, that precious sanity. Love to see it. That first roundup reply in particular feels like a hand massage.

[gday-from-tasmaloa]

we are getting desperate

is there ANYONE, preferably in either Galar or Sinnoh, who can take any number of Buneary off our hands???

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for February 2025! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ Dreaming of You by @louislittletomlintum [E, 30k, Louis/Harry]

“Do you like cigarettes after sex?”

Harry blanched, wondering why on earth Louis would ask him a question like that.

“Oh, well, I - well I have asthma, and ehm, I’m actually a virgin, so,” Harry managed to stutter out, answering purely on instinct as he fiddled with the edge of the vinyl case he was holding and looked at Louis nervously.

He met Louis’ eye after a few seconds and saw an amused glint, one of his curved eyebrows raised in question as he nodded down at the vinyl in Harry’s hands. Harry looked down and was met with three words in white, serif typeface against a misty black background:

Cigarettes After Sex

or the one where harry's in his mid-20's so it's probably about time louis took his virginity

＊ I Can Feel It Take A Hold by @louislittletomlintum [E, 16k+, wip, Harry/Louis]

“Do you always swim in the nude?” Louis broke the silence, his smile growing when Harry felt his blush deepen.

“Sometimes,” Harry answered wearily, pushing his hair back in the hopes that it would maybe not look quite as dishevelled as it felt.

“Mm,” Louis hummed, cocking his head to the side like he didn’t quite believe him. Harry felt properly studied under his gaze. “And what was your plan?”

“My plan?” Harry countered. The water licked at Louis’ legs, darkening his hair and wetting the back of his shorts where he was sitting.

“Well. You were obviously wanting to get my attention,” Louis mused, Harry blushing further. “So what are you going to do with it now that you’ve got it?”

or the one where it’s call me by your name but with; developed frontal lobes, oranges instead of peaches, golden by harry styles, and a happy ending

＊ laid bare by @disgruntledkittenface [NR, 3k, Harry/Haymitch Abernathy]

It's not the first time that Haymitch and Harry meet.

But it is the first time that Haymitch really sees Harry.

＊ Caturday Night by @disgruntledkittenface [M, 6k, Harry/Sutton Stracke]

“You know it’s Caturday,” Sutton continues, lifting her eyebrows. “Now that’s non negotiable. Please tell me you like cats.”

“I do actually,” Harry says, pleased to find that she doesn’t mind keeping up with the twists and turns of the conversation. “I like how independent they are. Everything on their terms.”

“Amen,” Sutton replies. “I have three. Just call me crazy cat lady. Or kitty cat. Those can be good nicknames.”

Harry chokes on a sip of her lager. Given the right circumstances, she'd be more than happy to call Sutton “kitty cat.”

Sutton is intimidating and charming and maybe a little mercurial. But also she’s kind of weird.

And Harry fucking digs it.

＊ baking me crazy by @disgruntledkittenface [NR, 2k, Harry/Seth Meyers]

Harry bakes when he’s had a bad day. He finds out that his roommate Zayn has been texting their neighbor Seth to let him know on those days that free baked goods are available. But he doesn’t mind.

Seth does a better job of cheering him up than baking ever could.

＊ Isn't She Lovely? by @enchantedlandcoffee [G, 312 words, Louis/Harry]

"Lou, our jobs revolve around being up at night." Harry chuckled, his voice getting closer signalling to Louis that he'd entered the room. "Yeah, well apparently I've got dad brain. How could I misplace a football uniform of all things?" Louis groaned before leaning to look through the drawers again.

Or, Louis and Harry as first time parents.

＊ You Can't Go To Bed Without A Cup Of Tea by @enchantedlandcoffee [G, 333 words, Harry/Louis]

"Hazza?" Louis whispered, tiptoeing further into the kitchen and around the island. The sight infront of him broke his heart. Harry's face was red and blotchy from crying, his duvet wrapped tightly around him. "Oh Hazza, love. What's wrong?"

Or, Louis can't sleep and stumbles across a sad Harry on his way to make a cup of tea.

＊ We Made It by Blue_Green28 / @bluegreen28fics [M, 10k, Louis/Harry]

5 times Harry hints that he wants a baby and 1 time Louis finally gets it.

or, the one with Harry having a bad case of baby fever

＊ I’ve been thinking about you by nevermind_991 / @nevermind991 [M, 50k, Harry/Louis]

“It’s not that I don’t trust her, but you know how she is, Lou. Taylor’s so…”

“Perfect?”

“Exactly! She intimidates me a bit. I wouldn’t be this worked up if it were someone else. I’d probably be less nervous if it was a total stranger or, I don’t know… someone I knew wouldn’t judge me if I’m terrible at it.”

Louis knew he shouldn’t laugh, but he couldn’t help a small chuckle from slipping out. “Sorry, sorry… but, H, aren’t you overthinking this a bit?”

“I don’t know… I just want everything to be perfect…” Harry seemed to drift off, thinking, then turned back to Louis. “Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t… No, forget it.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “No, Harry, come on. What’s going on in that curly head of yours?”

Harry flicked his cigarette to the ground, taking one last drag. “Would you… help me?”

Oh.

Or- Harry and Louis were best friends, but after a rather unusual request for help, their relationship—and their friendship—fell apart. They cross paths again five years later, with Louis now in the same band as Harry’s ex, Taylor, and a past to confront and a future to decide.

＊ Blue eyes look my way (Make today my lucky day) by magpielivingforglitter / @builtyouahousefromabrokenhome [E, 98k, Louis/Harry]

November 1968. Harry has to quit the Liverpool College of Art and go back home to Sheffield to work in the steel mill, after his step-dad died and left his family with debts and too many mouths to feed. But that also means Harry gets to catch his local ice hockey team’s games again. And the Sheffield Steelers have two new players who could turn the season around - maybe even Harry’s whole life …

＊ The Stranger the Better by @haztobegood [G, 2k, Harry/Hozier]

Sometimes a painful break-up can lead to an unexpected new beginning. The note with a famous singer’s phone number in Harry’s hand is proof of that. Thankfully it wasn’t Harry’s heartbreak that led to this, but his best friend Niall’s.

＊ History's pullin' me back by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down [M, 1k, Zayn & Louis]

A plan years in the making comes to fruition.

Or the story of the 2025 reunion in LA

＊ Flowers for You by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down [E, 3k, Harry/Louis]

Louis might be exhausted from writing his next album and travel but he'll be damned if he doesn't find a way to make his baby's birthday special.

Or what they got up to on Harry's 31st.

＊ If We Were Living In Utopia by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down [E, 3k, Zayn/Niall]

The tour reaches San Francisco and they have a conversation they've been putting off for a while.

＊ Hearts All Whole by @justanothershadeofblue [M, 33k, Louis/Harry]

Father Louis Tomlinson hasn't seen or talked to his high school boyfriend in over a decade, not since they went to different universities and slowly grew apart. This means it's a bit of a surprise when he looks out from the pulpit on the first Sunday of Advent and sees Harry Styles' unmistakeable head poking up from a pew halfway back and on the left. How's a priest supposed to make it through the madness of the holiday season with his very friendly, very attractive ex distracting him at every turn?

＊ Pink Guinea Club by @haztobegood [NR, 837 words, Harry/Chappell Roan]

Harry's one night stand was interrupted by four adorable guinea pigs.

＊ (un)stuck by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright [T, 3k, Harry/Zayn]

Coworkers Zayn and Harry find themselves stuck in their office elevator together one evening after work. In such a small space, there may not be enough room for Zayn's crush on Harry to stay hidden.

＊ The Nestuary by @homosociallyyours [T, 5k, Harry/Louis]

Louis has never gotten the hang of nesting, so when she gets an Instagram ad for a nest building service, she worries it's too good to be true. It's not, fortunately. She's hooked.

Harry is too, for entirely different yet not unrelated reasons.

＊ Be With Me by @allwaswell16 [T, 100 words, Louis/Zayn]

Zayn wants Louis to know she deserves the best. And well, Zayn is the best.

＊ You Keep Pulling Me In by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry [T, 5k, Louis/Harry]

Being invited to a high school reunion was pretty much the last thing Harry wanted, so of course it had to happen.

What happens when her friend and co-worker, Louis, offers to be her fake girlfriend for the evening?

＊ The Best Gift Is One You Can Share With Someone You Love by @loulousmiles [M, 2k, Harry/Louis]

“Wow, Harry,” Louis said. She sounded hesitant—maybe confused?—as she turned the box over in her hands and looked at the packaging. Louis’s brow furrowed before she seemed to remember her manners. “Thank you,” she said, looking back up at Harry. She cleared her throat. “I really wasn’t expecting this.”

“What do you mean, Lou?” Harry asked. “Isn’t this what you told me you wanted?"

Harry may have misunderstood what Louis said she wanted for her birthday slash Christmas present. It may be just the thing for them to finally share how they feel about one another.

- Fic Fests -

＊ 4th Annual Femslash Festuary / @girldirectionfest / masterpost

A short and sweet fest in honor of Femslash February for Girl Direction lovers of any stripe.

[monbons]

Stitches and Sentences

Thanks for the tags @roomwithanopenfire and @leithillustration and good morning all. This is less an in-progress post than a roundup because there has been so much great content out there between CO AU Fest, EGF, and Baz's birthday that you may have missed one or all of my posts. So, helpfully, I am here to share again!

STITCHES I stumbled upon the perfect fabric for floral suit Baz six months ago, but I finally made him a reality just this past week! Here is a bonus video (in case you don't currently follow me on Instagram) that really zooms in on his amazing details.

As an aside: I am returning to my fanart for fanfic roots for the foreseeable future and have already started working on my next doll for an in-progress WIP. This doll is going to be a VISION of pink and *sparkle*. I cannot wait!

SENTENCES I posted my EGF collaboration with @rimeswithpurple on Baz's birthday. It was such a labor of love for the both of us, and like it's title, the art and fic really are very beautiful. To entice you to read Beautiful Things, here are some comments readers have already left:

"This was exquisite!"

"Arianna!! The art for this is STUNNING!"

"I know you said healing, but I wasn’t anticipating such beautiful tenderness. The way you both make them is simply stunning and as a fandom we thank you for it."

"This is my favorite kind of smut!!"

I also just posted a gift fic yesterday, Better Than This, for @thewholelemon. Is it her birthday? No. But it is our friendship's birthday, so I plan to celebrate all week by posting a new chapter every other day until I can hug her in person this Friday. Here are a few lines from chapter 1 of the fluffiest thing I have ever written.

Simon scrunched his brows and picked up the recipe, eyes scanning the paper suspiciously. This was not the reaction for which Baz had hoped. He had planned on an enthusiastic hug. Perhaps a kiss on the cheek. At the very least a thank you for all the time and effort he’d spent.  Instead, Simon scratched his head and said, “I assumed these were made with magick.” Baz sighed. They were. (That was step 9, conveniently left out.) “The magick is love,” Baz replied, and then cringed internally at his own sentimentality.

GO READ MY FICS. They are so good. Seriously. Go. If you are still here, you are missing out.

Until next time.

@alexalexinii, @argumentativeantitheticalg, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @artsyunderstudy

@best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @bookish-bogwitch,

@confused-bi-queer, @cutestkilla, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @facewithoutheart

@harrie-leithillustration, @hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3que3n, @ileadacharmedlife

@katatsumuli, @larkral, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @messofthejess

@mooncello, @noblecorgi, @orange-peony, @prettygoododds, @raenestee

@rbkzz, @rimeswithpurple, @roomwithanopenfire, @run-for-chamo-miles, @shrekgogurt

@skeedelvee, @stitchyqueer, @supercutedinosaurs, @talentpiper11, @technetiumai

@the-beard-of-edward-teach, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @theimpossibledemon, @thewholelemon, @valeffelees

@whatevertheweather, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold