#I've only been drawing ocs lately it's been a second

[lemonsiskull]

He's such a goober

[poolsparks]

I don't know why, but lately I've been interested on exploring my OCs more, and of course this would include Vi as well. And a good way to do this is showing more of their relationship with Gideon (excuse to draw Gideon more).

It may be only me, but I always had the impression that comic Gideon is aromantic - even if this never stops him for wanting to be in a romantic relationship.

Meanwhile, Vi is almost sure she's unable to be in a relationship at all. She thought she was interested on Ramona, but everything just felt... Wrong. Like someone was still missing.

This all results in the two having a very weird relationship. They're dating but they're not. Gideon would gladly say that things between them aren't serious if this makes Vi better. There is 50% of chance it would work.

The context of the second slide is that they are all in a party and Matthew is the only one who is fully honest about Gideon. Feel free to imagine any dialogue they can have.

[alwaysonf1]

family bonding?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff; A tad angsty

Word Count: 457

Warning: N/A

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long, I've been very off-kilter lately. Also please read that one IG post for the joke it is.

The bounce of Charles' knee makes the nerves he claims he doesn’t have blatantly obvious to Iman. Though she can’t imagine why he’s so nervous. He’d met her parents multiple times before and they like him. She understands, to a degree, that it’s their first meeting since telling them that they were together, but it’s been an hour since they’re arrival and they have treated him just the same.

She turns to look at him, brow raised. 

“Definitely not nervous, right?”

“Nope,” he says, but there is a mild stutter.

Iman gives him a look.

“Why are you so nervous? They know you, they clearly still like you. And they’ve meshed well with your family. What’s the problem, my love?” As she asks the question her hand caresses his cheek.

Charles looks tense, but he relaxes a little under her touch.

“I… What if they change their minds?”

“It’s been an hour and there has been no change of mind. I promise, they know that Lewis does enough of the protective nonsense for the both of them and they trust my choices.”

There’s a deep sigh and his head tilts back. Several seconds go by and he takes a breath and nods. The rest of the stressful body language leaves him. Then the smallest workings of a smile starts.

“Are you saying Lewis doesn’t trust you?”

Thoughts of denying that are the first to pop into her head, but she sees the lightness in him and prefers to keep it going. The man can be too hard on himself at times and she’s on a mission to try and curve that. 

Without much hesitation Iman rolls her eyes. “You make his favorite vegan food wrong two times and you never live it down.”

Once more Charles’ head goes back, but this time accompanied by laughter. It brings the same out of Iman.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asks, hands-on his hips and looking put out by not being let in on the joke.

“Lewis not trusting me with his favorite food.”

Brow raised Arthur takes a seat. So, Iman launches into the story that is funny from start to finish. All three are laughing and it draws some of the others in. First being Logan, because he always needs to be in the loop if something is funny.

By the end of the story everyone is over and listening to how everything went down with barely concealed laughter of their own, well except for Logan he’s very blatant about his. Lewis is the odd one out though, looking grouchy and interjecting when he believes that Iman is lying or has gotten something wrong in the story. Especially the parts where he swears that she did it on purpose.

lewishamilton: Family time 

user1: So cute

user2: Family time? Ok Lewis

user3: Not him considering Charles family already

user4: Charles family is there. Even Logan is there. All their adopted white boys.

immyhamilton: Very light skin of you to make the picture of you the only one not in black and white. Hmm.

hateruser: Oh…

‎ ‎↳ user4: Girl go touch some grass

logansargeant: Don’t let this picture fool you, he had me in a headlock seconds before this was taken.

‎ ‎↳ lewishamilton: Snitch

‎ ‎↳ ‎immyhamilton: He did what? Lewis when I catch you!

‎ ‎↳ lewishamilton: @/charlesleclerc

‎ ‎↳ charlesleclerc: Good luck

user5: now why is enzo on logan's shoulders???

[theperfectawful]

Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool. 

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds. 

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is  your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you’d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly. 

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously. 

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface. 

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera. 

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party. 

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around. 

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat. 

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass. 

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass. 

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left. 

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention. 

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone. 

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight. 

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed. 

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes. 

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again. 

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment. 

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning. 

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you. 

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off. 

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off.  The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own. 

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

[melverie]

Aaahhh, thank you so much for the tag @king-a-queen!! 💚💚

15 Questions Tag Game

01 - Are you named after anyone?

First name: nope Second name: yep, after my grandma

02 - When was the last time you cried?

About a week ago bc I was laughing too hard Also techinically this morning. My eyes just started tearing up a bit while I was still in bed & staring against the wall. I guess that white wall was just tugging at my heartstrings

03 - Do you have kids?

The only children I have are my OCs <3 My current beloved OCs are Aym, Marchosias (💖💖💖💖💖), and Baal; all for Obey Me

04 - What sports do you play/have you played?

So as a kid, I took MSE (self-defense) classes, I did ballet for a short while, and I played badminton. But now I'm not really doing much sports anymore. I'm occasionally working out in a sad attempt to stay healthy but that's...not working out all that well because I keep forgetting about it lol. That being said, I walk anywhere as long as it's a walkable distance away (to me, that's around 90min max), idc it's the European mindset. Der Fußbus hält überall :)

05 - Do you use sarcasm?

As if I would ever smh what are these accusations

06 - What is the first thing you notice about people?

When I pass strangers on the street, I try to look for little moments that bring them joy. That being said, 90% of the time I'm just lost in my own thoughts & have completely tunnel vision, so imagine noticing anything 😭 When I first meet people tho, it's usually the way they look at you, which tbh is a little ironic because I sometimes just cannot look people in the eyes NFDHSKGJHKSDLGS

07 - What's your eye color?

They used to be blue, but now they're more of a greyish green with a few brown spots in them

08 - Scary movies or happy endings?

Okay endings, actually! Where characters don't get the happy ending they were hoping for, and some things are still a little messy, but all in all things are okay and they finally get to breath again. Though I guess that's kind of a happy ending? lol

09 - Any talents?

My newest talent is being able to imitate the cry of an owl. My sister explained it to me earlier & once I got it to work I've been doing it non-stop until I got lightheaded 😭 Worth it tho Other than that, being able to teach myself the basics of a lot of things within a day (one of the upsides of ADHD), as well as abandoning a lot of my projects after a while because I suddenly decided to start a completely different one (one of the downsides of ADHD) I also have a real talent for writing angst. Ask any of my closer mutuals, I keep terrorizing them with my ideas (love you guys 💖) And finally: telling myself that I'll go to sleep early & then it's 5am

10 - Where were you born?

in Germanyyy fun fact: I was born more or less close to a town that has a store called 'Mephisto' lol

11 - What are your hobbies?

being insane, obviously 💚 some of my mutuals can surely attest to that lol No, but in general I enjoy writing & drawing, as well as, uhm. Randomly deciding to take up multiple really time-consuming projects, such as the OM card rec thing I did that I still need to update ahhhh, my Obey Me OC & MC ask game that originally had 200+ questions before I cut it in half out of fear of it being too long, half of my side blogs, and SOOOO many other things. <- or in short, being insane 💚 I also really love cooking & baking! Side note, if anyone wants an easy chocolate lava cake recipe, you just need to ask... 👀 Also lately it's just been romancing Thanatos in Hades because I randomly remembered that I hadn't done that yet

12 - Do you have any pets?

I used to have clownfish and a starfish, but other than that I've never had any myself. I love the dogs I dogsit with all my heart tho, and there is this cat that I sometimes meet on my way to work. She always runs up to me when she sees me and won't stop meowing until I start petting her, and last time she climbed onto my lap (I sat down in the middle of the sidewalk, I did not care lmao), she's literally the sweetest 😭😭 I also ring the doorbell for her whenever it rains so she doesn't have to stay outside lol

13 - How tall are you?

1,68m or 5'6 if I got the conversion correct lol

14 - Favourite subject in school?

Heavily depended on the teacher, but generally art class because we usually got to work on whatever we wanted with and listen to music. Also English in 9th grade, math in 10th and German in 11th because the teachers were great

15 - Dream job?

I've been thinking of translations in general/software localizition for a while now. I just love dissecting all the small differences between languages (D.D.D.s being called 'D3' my beloved), + there are so many invisble choices made when translating. You'll always lose something because every language has its little quirks and a different mindset that can't be translated directly, but you'll also gain something that the original version didn't have. It's an art form in itself, and I really love that <3 The other job that keeps popping into my mind is event mangement. I already get to organize a ton of things for my uni since I'm part of the student council for one of my two majors. It's exhausting, but also really rewarding when you have people come up to you afterwards to tell you how much fun they had!

No pressure tags for a bunch of people, hehe >:) @alpine-forget-me-nots @healersadjust @misc-magic @sweetbrier2908 @reblogs-are-the-love @shootingstarrfish @mjoria @too-much-gacha @layphie @katboykirby @ghostlyyraccoon @lost-in-lamentation @bagofwetmice @glamphantasm @wizardthesai @mellonyheart @arlatthan as well as anyone else that wants to join!

[welldonekhushi]

Womp womp. “Positive place” “no hate” my ass. If we looked into your past we’d see a different story. 

You likely don’t care to address it but you gravely hurt one of my dearest friends. I doubt you realise anything you did, before or after they broke it off. And with reason. You took so much interest in everyone’s characters and stories but theirs, instead devaluing their opinions, spamming their inbox with shit they didn’t ask for without bothering to send them even one question or prompt in return. 

I want to laugh that only after he cut you off did you start asking others even a bit more about their projects. Only after it was too late did you bother to make a change. It’s pathetic, really, that you must have been trying so hard to cover up your true habits, that falling into your blatant disinterest in him. He’s better off without you. 

Speaking of your covering shit up, don’t think your queerphobia has been forgotten. Don’t think he and I didn’t see you delete a reply saying your OC “wouldn’t really get along” with his, when meanwhile your stoic, guarded military man is out there making friends with literally everyone else. The difference being everyone else who isn’t openly gay. Don’t think we’ve forgotten when your muse cried and tried to guilt-trip my friend’s when the latter came out to her. 

You prop up Scarlet as a friendly-to-all but Strong™ Female Character but I know she’s not. She’s a homophobic, insensitive, spineless little bitch - sounds like someone, doesn’t it? 

Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that there’s a third party who knows the truth. You’re fucking horrible. You might have other friends now but I hope one day all this comes to light, no matter how much you might have tried to change. Whether or not this letter ends up posted, I want you to read it once, twice, three times over. They say to forgive and forget but some of us never forgive and always remember. There is someone out there haunted by what you did to them and you can’t keep running from it.

Okay, anon. After reading your message, I would first like to mention that I don't know who you are, or the friend that you're talking about. So let's put the points together of what you said that you and the "he" you're mentioning feel.

First, you said that I'm queerphobic because I said that my OC wouldn't get along with your friend's OC because their character was "openly gay". It's the same meaning as saying "You hate me because I belong here." by directly coming to a conclusion, instead of not understanding the mindset they belong to or their indulgence in something that could be disagreeable to others. I don’t know who or which OC you’re mentioning, but If I said my OC would not get along with them, it doesn't mean I directly hate their OC (whoever they are). This doesn't make sense when I never disrespected or showed hatred towards anyone who presents their OC as queer. I have friends here who have queer ships with their OCs and canon characters and I support them fully by heart. I even had their OCs interact with them.

Second, you proceeded by saying that I never bothered to send your friend an ask, a question or a prompt. Can I be honest, anon? I have a life. I've always been busy with my uni and now I have finals on my head. I can’t even find time to draw, academic pressure is already stressing me out, and I don't even have inspo at times to be here and publish stuff here. If I happened to miss out on your friend (whoever they are), then I'll say sorry. Because it feels that they were only relying on ME to send them the prompts and asks, and not “the shit which they asked for” as you nicely mentioned. It seemed to me that they (whoever they are) don't really see the rest but me and me only, right? I'm sorry, I think their 'friend' got so busy that they tend to forget that the friend they have has a life out there, too.

Third, you proceeded to call my OC Scarlet a “spineless little bitch, homophobic, and insensitive". Huh. Seems like while proving your point, you thought to add some more spice to your heartfelt thoughts by shitting on my OC as well. You thought you cooked anon, but turns out your dish got rejected. Sorry, you are eliminated from the MasterChef Competition. (Talking about ‘spineless’ while hiding behind anon. The irony.)

Fourth, you thought I guilt-tripped your friend when they came out. Huh. I don't remember a day when I insulted or ridiculed someone for coming out when originally I'd be happy that they finally had the courage to represent themselves for who they are. If you're saying I guilt-tripped them, be a good anon, reveal yourself in the public to me and give me proof. If you're confident enough, then do it. I'll have no hesitation. I'll admit it was my fault. But show yourself first. It "doesn't matter who I am" but it does, because even if you're a person typing that, you're just an anon with no personality to me. No appearance. Nothing. Just blank. I explained who you are. Hope you're happy with that.

Fifth, you said that some forgive and forget, but some don't forgive and remember. Honestly, I understand how disturbed and angry you feel inside because of me, anon. Well, even if you say that I acted like that with your friend (whoever they are), so, here's the third time I'm saying this. If it makes you feel better. I am sorry. Instead, I feel pity that you might be feeling so frustrated because of my presence. If you don't want to forgive me, I'm okay with it. You have a right to do so.

In the end, sorry for you and for your friend. But I hope one day, you'll learn too that to 'forgive and forget', means to move on, letting go of the people who hurt you so you'd be happy as well. If I hurt you and your friend, you can block me, and move on. Be happy without me. I understand I wasn't a good friend to them, I don't refute you at all. Besides, you have every right to be angry. I'll not even say that you're all at fault here. I made a mistake? I'd fully admit it. But you accusing me for what I did while hiding behind anon is… unsettling for me. I don't know what else to say.

You thought you were making me scared and afraid by saying “Read it once, twice, three times over”, but no, you’re completely dismissed out of my mind when you come at me out of nowhere, attacking me with baseless accusations, and insults me and my OC. You’re just another hate anon to me. “You’re a horrible person.” Look in the mirror. I’m not the one sending someone a whole essay of a hate anon.

Have a good day anyway, anon.

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - New Beginnings - Chapter 1

Fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

steve harrington masterlist

warnings | 18+ angst, descriptions of PTSD-like symptoms, smut

a/n | thank you all so much for your patience as i plotted this next period for steve and his girl. i've had a few folks ask if i'd do a taglist for this series, so if enough people express interest i will absolutely start one! thank you as always for reading <3

.......................

“Hey, golden girl! Wait up!” Shit. She has nearly made it out of the lab building when Thomas catches her, his voice resounding down the hall. She had been doing a decent job of avoiding him ever since their failed date, a month’s worth of dipping into empty classrooms and staying late to keep from seeing him. But today, she has finally slipped up, turning around and nervously fidgeting with the strap of her bag as he walks toward her. 

“You’re a hard girl to find. I’ve been looking for you, but you seemed to disappear on me.” She hums, trying to seem casual.

“Oh? I’ve just been really busy. Wrapping up senior year and all.” His dimple pops as he tilts his head at her.

“Busy, huh? Where are you headed right now? Can I walk with you?” Her stomach drops at his question.

“Um, I was actually just leaving for the day. I’m meeting some–”

“Let me walk you out. I’ve been wanting to talk to you again.” She huffs, realizing it’s going to be easier to give in than to keep making excuses for him to somehow ignore. She nods with a sigh, and he falls into step alongside her as they make their way toward the main exit.

“I heard you’ve already started working with Professor Graham. That’s awesome. How’s your thesis work going?” 

“Good, yeah. It’s all still preliminary stuff, but I’ve been–” For the second time, he cuts her off, and she has to fight against rolling her eyes.

“You’ll have to tell me more some time soon. This might be presumptuous, but are you doing anything tonight? It is Valentine’s Day after all.” Oh no, not presumptuous at all. She shoulders out of the front door, Thomas close on her heels before she finally turns around to look at him in the fading afternoon light.

“I have plans actually.” That doesn’t seem to deter him judging from the grin he’s still shooting her way.

“What? Movie night with your girlfriends?” She goes to answer him, but is promptly cut off by the low rumbling of an engine coming closer, both of their heads turning to see a motorcyclist pulling up to the curb. As the person on the motorcycle removes their helmet, it’s her turn to grin as Thomas’ face falls, his eyes darting between her and the bike.

“Bye, Thomas. Happy Valentine’s Day.” With that, she all but skips away from him and towards the low-thrumming bike.

“Hey, pretty. He giving you trouble?” She presses a few quick kisses to his lips, effectively drawing his attention away from Thomas as she brushes her thumb along his cheek.

“Hi, Stevie. No trouble, just annoying.” Steve huffs, eyes darting over her shoulder one more time to look at Thomas, but she’s quick to tug his chin back toward her.

“Steve, it’s fine. He’s just a total asshat.” He snorts at that, shaking his head as he looks at her through his lashes.

“Always with that mouth, huh? Alright, baby, let’s go before doctor asshat burns a hole through me with his eyes.” She laughs, glancing over her shoulder. Sure enough, Thomas is still watching them with a very furrowed look on his face, and it just makes her laugh harder as she turns back around to her man. She brushes his flopped-over waves out of his eyes as he grins at her.

“Helmet?” He nods, reaching back to pull out another helmet from the saddlebag and hand it to her. It was the only way she agreed to ever get on the thing with him, a project he had taken up after reading some book about zen and motorcycles that his therapist had recommended. So long as he always wore his helmet – the helmet that she specifically picked out for him because it was certified by the Brain Injury Association of America – she was just happy to see him so excited about something. 

She clicks her own helmet on before stumbling to throw her leg over the humming bike, hands quick to find purchase around Steve’s waist. She’d never admit it to him, but it’s always a bit thrilling, getting on the back of Steve Harrington’s motorcycle.

…

“Oh my god.”

“Do you like it?”

“This is like– the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” Steve has to hide his proud smile at her words behind a bite of pasta. He had wanted to do something really nice for his girl for Valentine’s, and had even begrudgingly called his mom to get the recipe for her famous spaghetti. Gina Harrington had been surprised to hear from her son, but had also chewed him out pretty quickly.

“Is this for a girl, Steven?” He was glad she couldn’t pick up on the way he was blushing over a landline.

“Well, she must be special if she’s got you cooking for her. When am I gonna meet this girl, huh? You should visit soon. I miss my baby boy.” 

He had barely made it out of the phone call alive, his mother somehow twisting a visit out of him for her birthday in March, with the hesitant promise that he’d bring his girl along to meet “la familia.” On his mother’s side, Steve came from pure Italian roots, and an extended family big enough to start its own circus. But, watching his girl smile around another bite of pasta was making the prospective trip home seem worth it.

As she finishes chewing, she quirks her eyebrow, pointing her fork at him.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Harrington.” He laughs, shaking his head, because truthfully, Steve’s never done anything like this for anyone. The closest he had come to something like this was heating up Campbell's chicken and stars for Robin when she had the stomach flu last year. And Thanksgiving, but he had really only helped with that. This one was all him, with a little assist from mama Harrington.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m just glad you like it, baby.” With that, she leans across the table and presses a smacking kiss to his lips, leaving him with what feels like a really dopey grin as she sits back in her chair.

“I love it. Thank you, Stevie.” During his “King Steve” days, Valentine’s had been an easy ticket to getting laid, nothing more. A well-timed box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers and his night was made. He didn’t care for the holiday then, and he doesn’t really care for it now. But he cares for her, and because of that, for the first time ever, Steve tried really hard this Valentine’s Day. 

They both sit back with content sighs, warmed by the good food and the smiles they pass back and forth.

“Did I tell you I saw Eddie on campus the other day?” He groans at that. Eddie Munson is the last thing he wants on his mind right now. She giggles.

“I saw him walking across the quad. He didn’t seem to recognize me at first when I called out his name, but it clicked pretty fast I think. He asked me if I’ve been keeping you in line.” Steve lets out a huff, raising his eyebrows at her.

“And? What’d you tell him?” 

“Told him you’ve been keeping yourself in line these days, that you’ve been working really hard. And I may have invited him over for dinner this weekend.” Steve groans, opening his mouth to protest, but she’s having none of it.

“Steve, he’s your friend. And he just moved to a new city and started college for the first time. He could use all the help he can get, alright? Poor guy was looking a little lost.” She’s got that smug look on her face like she knows he isn’t going to say no to her. 

The dynamic in their relationship has certainly shifted, and while she has insisted this is a fresh start for them, Steve fears he may never make it up to her, for what he did and how he treated her. He’s trying “painfully hard,” words his therapist had used. Diligently doing his homework assignments, keeping all of his appointments with Dr. Staub, finding odds and ends projects to keep his mind busy, Steve has been walking the walk without a doubt. But he’s finding that the further along in therapy he gets, the harder it becomes, long dormant memories getting upturned that sting just as fresh as they did when they were made. 

Staub assures him it’s all a part of the process. That it will get worse before it gets better. But there are some things he can’t even talk about with Staub. What’s the therapy protocol for processing an interdimensional war that almost destroyed the world as they know it? The memories come in brilliant, painful flashes that leave him tired and muted. When she finds him like that, he chalks it up to a hard shift at the station or a touchy therapy session. She’s always soft with him during those times, and it in turn has softened him even more. He’s still rough around the edges, and snaps at her more often than he’d like to, but it’s clear to even him how much he’s changed, and he is at least proud of that. He just hopes it’s enough to make her stay.

…

“Just leave those, baby. Can get ‘em in the morning.” Steve tugs on her wrist, pulling her away from the sink full of dishes to guide them over to the couch. They settle down into each other easily, her head resting on his chest and his arm slung over her. It’s a position they have both gotten comfortable in, many nights ending in some sort of similar tangle. While it’s sweet, she can’t help being a little frustrated that it never turns into more.

She knows she had said she wanted to take things slow this time, but compared to how they used to be, this is practically glacial. It’s been a little over a month now, and the sweet kisses and closeness have been lovely, but she’d like the pace to pick up, even just a little bit.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“I have a present for you too.” She lifts her head from his chest to see the furrowed look on his face. She can’t help the nervous laugh she lets out as she slowly stands from the couch. Steve’s grumbles of protest die in his throat when she starts to unbutton her jeans and shimmy them down her legs.

“Baby, what are you–”

“Just let me show you, Steve, please?” She can see the bob of his throat as he sits back, his eyes darting everywhere as she steps out of her jeans and quickly lifts her shirt over her head. It had been an impulse buy. She and her girlfriends had been doing some window shopping on her day off. The set had caught her eye in the display of a store she’d normally never enter, but with Valentine’s Day coming up, she decided to try something new. Something dark purple and satiny.

She swears Steve stops breathing for a moment, his eyes wide as he takes her in. It’s a bit overwhelming, the complete silence coupled with his unblinking gaze, and she starts to worry she just made a huge fool of herself, nervously wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“I-I’m sorry– this was silly– I should just–” He’s quick to cut off her mumbling, standing up and drawing her arms away, his fingers twining with hers.

“No! No, fuck– m’sorry, I just– are you trying to kill me right now?” She splutters out a laugh at his breathless question, heat rising in her cheeks. He lets go of her hands, his fingers ghosting over the tops of her breasts, the silky fabric pushing them up just slightly. When his gaze meets hers again, his eyes are blown out, dark and hazy.

“So beautiful, honey. Is this all for me?” She smiles, pressing her hands over his until his fingers are flexing into the swell of her breasts.

“It is, Steve. Do you like it?” He swallows hard as he bobs his head.

“Yes– it’s um– it’s– I like it– I like it a lot, fuck– could you– could you turn around for me? Let me see all of you?” She turns in his arms, grinning at the low curse he lets out as his fingers graze along the string waistband of her panties, before turning back around and wrapping her arms around his neck. She leans in to let her lips graze along his ear, his hands squeezing her waist as he lets out a harsh exhale.

“Happy Valentine’s, Stevie.” When he kisses her, it’s different, a little more of an edge, a little more hunger in the way he swipes his tongue along her lips and she opens up to him without hesitation. His broad palms are roaming her back, leaving light squeezes to the curve of her ass before trailing up her spine as she walks them back toward the couch. She lightly shoves him to flop back onto the couch as she kneels down between his spread legs. But as soon as she starts work at his belt buckle, Steve stops her, holding her wrists aloft between them.

“Hey, wait– you don’t have to do that, honey.” She rests her cheek on his thigh, trying to ignore the nerves that have settled back under her skin at his seeming rejection.

“I want to, Steve. Wanna make you feel good.” He sighs at that, his head hanging low as she tries to catch his downturned gaze. Now she’s starting to get worried.

“Steve?” 

“I just– I don’t deserve it– don’t deserve you– looking so pretty for me and everything.” Oh. She feels her heart sink, finally realizing what’s going on. He’s been doing so well, but she knows that Steve still beats himself up for what happened, how he had treated her. To an outsider, she thinks she probably looks like an idiot for taking him back, but she knows that how he was with her before was a reflection of calcified layers of his past. Cliche as it may be, those layers are crumbling, and she’s excited to stick around to see the Steve Harrington that survived underneath them, already catching glimmering glimpses.

She slips her hands out of his hold, both her palms resting on his thighs as she sits back on her knees. 

“Will you look at me, please?” He does, just barely, eyes meeting hers through his downturned lashes.

“I don’t know what exactly is going through your head, Steve. But I’m telling you that you do deserve to feel good. This is our fresh start, right?” That coaxes a small nod from him. She smiles, squeezing his thighs.

“Can I make you feel good now, baby?” He lets out a ragged sigh, sitting back into the couch as he fully looks at her.

“Whatever you want– I’m all yours, you know that.” It’s all she needs to hear, giving him one more smile as her hands slide from his thighs up to his belt. With a low murmured “hips up, Stevie,” his already hard cock bounces free from his shrugged down boxers and pants to rest against his tummy, smearing pre-cum over the bottom of his shirt. As she noses up the vein that trails the thick underside of him, he scrunches his eyes shut, hands clenching in his hair. She missed that look. 

She laps at his swollen tip, enjoying the way the muscles of his thighs tense and jump under her palms, before finally taking him into the heat of her mouth. Steve has always been a stretch, in more ways than one, and as she starts to work him over that familiar ache settles in the hinge of her jaw, her one hand coming to stroke what her mouth just can’t reach. 

“Oh fuck– s’really good– so good to me– fucking perfect, honey–” She missed that too, his broken praises and breathy moans encouraging her on, licking a hot stripe up his throbbing length that has him throwing his head back into the couch. 

“Wait– shit, you gotta stop.” She freezes immediately, pulling back with concern washed over her face. Steve just huffs.

“I want– I wanna feel you, please.” Suddenly, the dull ache that had settled in her core thrums brighter at his words as he’s already helping her up to straddle his thighs. He pulls her into a hard kiss, confidence clearly growing in his movements as his hands squeeze at the swell of her ass, rocking her against him.

“Can I touch you, honey? Get you ready for me, huh?” His words are a strange mixture of the old and new Steve, still a twinge of his cocky certainty laced with his new sweetness. It makes her thighs clench around him. She nods around a breathy “please,” and he finally gives her that dirty grin she remembers so well. 

His hand toys with the satin front of her panties, his palm dipping down to cup her heat through the fabric as she bucks into his grip. He lets out a harsh breath through his nose when he finally dips his hand underneath the fabric, fingers swiping through her folds as she mewls into his neck.

“Fuck, baby– so wet, huh? S’all for me?” She huffs out a pitchy “uh-huh” as he swipes over her clit before dipping a finger down to pump inside of her.

“Steve, more– please, baby.” He shushes her with a kiss to her sternum, adding a second finger to his steady rhythm as she grinds down onto his hand. 

“Always gotta spread you open first, huh, pretty? Get your perfect little pussy ready for me.” His words have her already teetering on the edge of release, her cunt fluttering around his deep stroking fingers as she digs her nails into his shoulders.

“Will you come for me, honey? Wanna see you so bad. Please, baby.” That’s new, and evidently all it takes to snap the snared pleasure pulled taut along her spine as she comes with a stuttered gasp of his name, her hips jerking as he works her through it.

“That’s it, honey. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.” She sighs when he finally takes his fingers away, her eyes widening when he sucks them into his mouth with a low groan.

“Missed that taste. Missed you– shit, I need you so bad.” She whimpers at his words. It’s a tangled mess, he tugs his shirt off over his head and she slips her panties to the side as he fists himself, lining his tip up with her clenching entrance. Ragged sighs run through both their throats as she starts to sink down onto him, the sweet burn of it making her dizzy as she seats herself fully on his thighs. She swears she can feel him twitch inside her.

“Shit– nothing feels like this– s’too good– too fucking good– can you move, honey, please?” She gives her hips a weak swirl, both of them gasping as he grazes even deeper inside her. She’s all but collapsed into him, hiding her face in his neck, her arms clinging around his neck as she tries to bounce on his cock.

“Steve, please– I need– need you to–” He shushes her, pressing a kiss to her temple as his hands firm up on the curve of her ass. 

“I got you, honey– gonna give my girl what she needs, huh?” His hips tilt, thrusting up inside her as he holds her steady against him. His name is a breathless chant on her lips as he finds a pace, her hips grinding down into his with each thrust.

They’ve both needed this for a while now, and it’s clear in the sloppy tempo and how close they both seem to that cliff of pleasure already. She pulls away from him to smear her lips against his in what could only barely be called a kiss with the way they’re both panting into each other.

“So fucking close, honey– wanna feel you– c’mon, I know you can– come for me, pretty.” One of his hands comes around to splay over her hip, his fingers dipping down to circle her clit and it’s enough to have her falling into pleasure for a second time, spasming hard around him. Steve is quick to follow, holding her hard against his chest, as his warmth spreads through her, a low curse fizzling out on his lips as he buries his face in her chest. 

They stay like that for a while, trying to steady their heaving breath in each other’s arms. She rakes her fingers through his mussed hair and he tilts his chin up to look at her with blown-out eyes.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Stevie.” 

As they get cleaned up, gentle touches in the shower and smiles through the warm steam, she can’t help but think about how different that had been. She knows sex isn’t all about control, but it had certainly felt like she had more of it, that Steve was the one waiting for her to call the shots. It was different, but after all, they are different.

Different is good, right?

[multimuseticles]

You know... I've been drawing ever since I was like 5 years old. It's something I've spent pretty much my entire life doing. The longest I'd ever really go without drawing is like a couple of months maybe, and lately I've been drawing on an almost near daily basis. But if I'm being honest, I'm fairly close to actually quitting.

I still love to draw and I don't really want to stop, but it's getting to a point where AI slop is just entirely taking over the internet. Finding even reference images these days is so difficult because google is filled with AI crap and a lot of actual art sites allow AI art(looking at you Pixiv and DeviantArt).

I used to get a couple of commissions a month just a few years ago. Then covid hit and I got a little less work because people didn't exactly have the same amount of money to spend, which makes perfect sense. But getting closer to the end of covid when people could actually go back to work etc, AI decided to creep its head up and now I'm lucky to get one commission every few months. Originally, AI art was laughable and it was only able to make really stupid shit that was basically illegible. Like that Dall-e thing.

Putting the rest under a read more because it's somewhat long.

But nowadays, a lot of people prefer to use AI than give actual artists attention. Especially now that a lot of big companies are pushing their own AI crap(looking at you Adobe and Meta). Instagram used to be a great place for artists, now its filled with AI crap that Instagram seems to fucking love and is basically training their AI on your own posts. They say you can opt out, but if you live in the USA? You seemingly can't. In the EU you can because of laws, so I was able to opt out. However. I don't trust Meta not to train off my shit anyway.

Then you've got Adobe, which y'know, was a thing for artists to create stuff, be that through Photoshop, Illustrator or even their video editors. But now they're just pushing their lame AI crap to do everything for you, and still charge a ridiculous amount for their service.

Now I'm not just complaining because I'm getting less work. It's just depressing that creativity is dying. Generative AI is being used in video games, movies, tv shows, music, youtube videos, voiceovers and pretty much EVERYTHING else. It's impossible to avoid these days. Sites that allow AI but ask you to tag it so people can hide it doesn't work either, because people just don't tag that shit.

Due to all this AI crap, artists are being accused of using AI to create their art, regardless of if they show proof or not. It hasn't happened to me yet, but I feel it's inevitable simply because I absolutely suck at drawing hands and I can just barely get the hang of them most of the time. A ton of actual artists have been essentially bullied to the point where they don't post their art online anymore, or are forced to change their art style.

It's so much harder for artists to get their work out there anymore because AI is taking over all of these sites so the majority of the stuff you see is generated bullshit. It has led to people being like "Why would I pay someone to do this when I can just write a prompt and get what I want in seconds?" and no matter what you say to people with this line of thought, they just do not give a single shit.

I'm fine with AI to an extent. I think it's fine to just use it for dumb shit between friends, or helping to get a design idea for an OC or something. But the moment you start making money from AI or posting it online and claiming it as your own(and saying that people should credit you if you used it???) is the moment I think it's not okay. Have you seen Facebook or Twitter lately? Filled with really messed up AI images and AI responses. Facebook is rampant with weird and disturbing looking AI generated images and Twitter is 90% bots these days.

This whole post was spurred on by a conversation I saw between two of my friends. One of my friends wanted to get into graphic design, and being the artist of the group and having experience in graphic design, he came to me for advice. He got some very basic stuff done and he was really proud of it. He was showing some of the stuff he made to our other friend who simply responded with an AI generation of the same thing saying "Just use AI man, it's quicker and looks better." It was super depressing to see, especially since I've had conversations about how much I hate generative AI with these same friends.

So at this point I'm on the edge of just stopping. I probably won't, but I'm starting to lose motivation because I feel like there is no safe place to upload my art anymore. Will I stop? Probably not, but the temptation is there. I dunno, fuck generative AI man.

Sorry for the long ass rant, but I'm just getting so fed up with this crap.

[cupcakeshakesnake]

You have m o r e ?!?!? Omg they're amazing, I love them already and it's only been like 90 seconds (I've just been staring at them because. Wow.)

Wait but are you actually getting rid of them/ discontinuing their story? I mean, I saw that post about Sisyphus, but I would love it if we got to see more of these guys. I mean, no pressure if you weren't but I just wanted to let you know that I'm a really big fan of your work. I appreciate that, for your nonhuman characters, while their designs are very visually appealing in the artistic sense, you can tell that they're not at all supposed to be attractive in any modern human idealized sort of way (and what does it mean to Objectively Attractive anyway? Popular opinion is so hypocritcally subjective) but instead that each individual drawing, whether it's a character of your own creation or your take on a preexisting one, is crafted to serve their exact purpose on the page (whether it's Humor of Incongruity, expressing frustration, evoking the beauty in the imperfect, etc.), because you can see both the soul of that being and the way the Otherness of their design sets them apart as new and interesting yet accentuates the uniquely human part of their character (however buried and twisted that part may be, in some cases. Looking at you, Valek.)

. . . I was going somewhere further with this but I lost where I was. I'm sorry, it's late and I'm tired, but I just saw this and felt I had to say something (other than "cool monsters go brrr"). I know we're just strangers on the internet, and I'm not any sort of people person. We don't know anything substantial about each other, and we'll probably never meet. But I hope you know that, for whatever it's worth, there are people out there who see what you're doing. And that it's beautiful in all of it's imperfection, and beautiful *because* of it. And that, miniscule though my knowledge of you may be (because who can truly know anyone?), I can *see* the beauty of your soul shining through the crack of your art. And that I get a little bit of joy and inspiration every time I come across your work, so I hope this clumsily, hasty little message can give at least some of that joy back to you.

(P.S. I wrote this as a AtNC reblog, but by the time I finished writing this I figured it'd probably be better to send as an ask, so that you can decide what to do with it. You are in no way obligated to make any sort of response to this. From what I understand, you don't believe in a benevolent higher power, and that's okay, I'm still on the fence about whether I do or not, but I just... felt oddly compelled to write this. Like something was telling me I had to try to convey this to you, because you needed it. It's fine if you don't understand what I'm saying, I'm not sure even I do, but just hope that wherever you are, whatever you are doing, whatever you are going through, you know there's someone out there who cares for you, and that your existence is w o r t h something immeasurable.)

I hope you're okay. You are stronger than you know.

First of all, thank you. It took me a while to reply because I've been very busy with schoolwork, but I've reread this message at least several times a day and it has brought me such joy each time.

To answer your question, no, I'm not discontinuing or getting rid of anything - I assume this has to do with my monster OCs, and there are two major stories of them so far.

One is Walter, which I simply decided not to use for schoolwork after being told its plot is too boring. That's all. I will do what I want with it in my own time. The other is that one with the mutated office workers, which fortunately got the OK from the professor. Both are still very rough works in progress.

I'm very glad that you like the way I draw... er, things, for lack of a better wording. Things I draw for myself may turn out far from "conventionally attractive", but I like it that way. You made me think about an aspect of my art that I never really considered before, but you have a point; in a way, I could be trying to humanize characters not by giving them a more human face but by giving them their own ways to express humanity.

That being said, I don't know what an "AtNC" reblog is supposed to be, but I wouldn't have minded either way. Your kind words are appreciated all the same.

[dimonds456]

Howdy!

I'm Dimonds456, and welcome to my garbage pile. I'm a bat who stays up way too late and cannot decide whether or not to be productive. I draw, write, animate, play/write music, and I'm also insane so watch out for that.

I'm neurodivergent, disabled, queer, white, a singlet, fictionkin, and a proud cat papa. I am a cartoon character who is way too bouncy for their own good lol.

They / he / xe!

This is my main blog, but my ADHD ass also has a bunch more.

@dimonds456-art - my art blog! Almost all art gets rbed there!

@dimonds456-but-only-hlvrai - my HLVRAI sideblog! Because yeah why not. This is one of me current hyperfixations lol it's bad

@rubberhose-roy is my sideblog used to gush about 1920's-40's aesthetics, music, culture, ect., as well as an animation blog! All my animations specifically will be reblogged there, as well as any animation rambles or gushes I do.

I have more but those are the main three.

My fandom-specific blogs are:

@dimonds456-but-only-hlvrai (again)

@hlvrai-stuck-together - HLVRAI AU I run!

@halfnautica - Half Life / Subnautica AU!

@a-second-chance-su-au - Old SU AU that has been discontinued, but the blog is still there!

@batim-rewritten - a Bendy and the Ink Machine rewrite I'm working on

@cuphead-contract-au - A Cuphead AU where Mugman makes a deal (discontinued)

And, I have my own OC story, Follychromatic! I reblog all that stuff here, but its main blog is here!

@follychromatic

To see pictures of my cats, check the #Checkers and Chess tag! :D

Okay great. Now, DNI, trigger warnings, disabilities, special interests, and more below the cut. Make sure you read at least once, k? Thanks.

Welcome to my cave!

DNI

Do not FUCKING interact if you are:

- Someone who ships pedophilic, incestuous, or abusive ships while portraying them as positive and a good thing

- A bigot

- An LGBTphobe / transmed / ect

- Trump supporter

- Nazi / fascist / conservative

- Weird about furries or furry art

- Weird about fandom headcanons (specifically trans woman headcanons)

Trigger Warnings

I will tag as much as I can, and if you want me to tag something specific, let me know! But as a general blog cover, things that appear on this blog often are:

- Current events

- Talk of / discussion of sexuality (sometimes boardering on NSFW but not usually)

- Blood

- Guns

- Flashing

- Talk of proshippers (I try to be respectful but also I don't stand for them and I don't support them. I block and move on, and try to explain why proship is bad, but eh. I've only been listened to like once lol)

- Swearing / swear words

- All caps

- Bugs

- Suggestive content / NSFW (RARE DONT WORRY)

I will add more if anyone wants me to, or we can come up with a custom tag, like what I do for one of my friends! (#dimond don't look)

DISABILITIES

Hiiii I'm disabled! Both mentally and physically. I talk about being disabled a lot and try to generate positive talk about it. I also vent about it. I've had quite a few of these, and I also try to reblog as much about others I don't have as I can to increase awareness and understanding. So yeah! These are just the ones I have, but they are not the only ones that appear on my blog!

Hyperthyroidism

Graves Disease

Graves Eye Disease

Astigmatism

Athsma

Audio processing disorder

ADHD

Autism

Trauma / PTSD

Brain fog / disassociation / memory loss

Anxiety

Depression

Cane user

Weak / trembling limbs / trouble walking / trouble holding onto things sometimes

More to be added lol.

This is also a meds/treatment positive blog, a self-diagnosis positive blog, and my general attitude is just "if you think something is wrong you're probably right, you know yourself the best, even if you don't know what exactly is wrong." This attitude has saved my life and other people I know. You don't need a diagnosis or medication to be disabled.

THIS IS A SAFE SPACE.

If you are Jewish, black, brown, Muslim, indigenous, any religion, any race, any sexuality, any weird gender, anything at all- I love and support you. I'm still learning, and I try to learn as much as I can, but I'm not perfect. If I say something offensive or something adjacent, it was NOT on purpose. PLEASE, PLEASE tell me what I said wrong. I will make an effort to improve in the future.

I directly support:

- All races

- All religions*

- All sexualities (except pedos, y'all aren't LGBT, I'm sorry. You're actively hurting children. I've seen it again and again. Stop.)

- All genders and pronouns

- All "weird" identities outside of that as well (I'm fictionkin myself)

- Protests and protesters

- Neurodivergent people of all types (and yes, this means NPD, schizo, and all those other types that are often seen as bad or evil. I love you, I see you, and I support you.)

- DID & OSDD systems

I DO NOT support:

- Antisemitism

- Genocide

- Cults (*stuff like Jehova's Witnesses. I support the members, as they are victims, but I actively dislike the people on top who perpetuate the cycle. Not just JWs, but those are the big ones who come to mind. Hearts out to all the victims, I hope everyone gets to a better place soon)

- Racism in any way, shape, or form

- Religious discrimination of any way, shape, or form

- Israel specifically

- Trump, conservatives, Nazis, ect.

- Endo systems

If I have reblogged or said anything that aligns with the bottom list, that was a mistake. PLEASE let me know and I will fix it as fast as I can. You reading this right now, I love you. I hope my blog can help you feel welcomed and like you have somewhere to go if you need it. /gen

MY FANDOMS / INTERESTS

I HAVE ADHD AND AUTISM AND I'M MAKING THAT EVERYONE ELSE'S PROBLEM /silly

The current special interests are HLVRAI and Half Life, current hyperfixations are Half Life and Poppy Playtime.

SPECIAL INTERESTS:

- Minecraft

- HTTYD

- FNaF

- Undertale / Deltarune

- BATIM / BATDR (unfortunately)

- Subnautica

- Biology

- Steven Universe

- Cuphead

- 2D Animation

- Writing

- HLVRAI

- Half Life

HYPERFIXATIONS (interests but not the special ones):

- Little Nightmares

- Hello, Neighbor (unfortunately)

- Petscop

- Portal

- Freemanverse (HELP ME)

- The Amazing Digital Circus

- The Owl House

- Gravity Falls

- Monster High (very first from what I can remember! I remember nothing though! But it's there!)

- Poppy Playtime

- Half Life

- Wild Kratts (I didn't even know there WAS a fandom until very recently, hi guys)

theres more but my brain is an egg :/

When it comes to ✨me,✨ I have a couple of original works as well! Specifically, Follychromatic! I won't get too into it here (bc shy) but it's 2D animation, rubberhose animation, magic, character-driven, action/adventure, mystery- yeah!

Outside of fandom, though, my special interests are biology, 2D animation, and writing. I am an animator and I suffer for fun.

YOU MADE IT! Have some Checkers and Chess pictures for your time! :)

[maochira]

Working at Blue Lock/father figure!Ego introduction

Tags: gn!reader, overworker and overachiever!reader, reader is a graphic designer, artist and assistant at Blue Lock

A/N: I want to make this a series so feel free to request more for father figure!Ego!! A part two to this will come soon as well! Also, this originally goes for one of my Blue Lock OCs, but I want to write it as an x reader for you guys to enjoy and because I prefer writing reader inserts💟

Working at Blue Lock is your first job ever, so ever since the beginning you swore to yourself that you'll put all of your power and passion into this. Especially because of how passionate Ego is about Blue Lock, you want to do your best to help him

Ego tends to give you very tight deadlines almost all the time. It's to be expected that at least once a day he'll tell you something like "You need to do this until tomorrow", or "I have this speech planned later, you need to do this until then", but nothing about that ever bothered you. It's on the opposite side, you've always been happy about getting tasks from him and feel good about being helpful to the project.

Most of your work consists of designing and drawing player icons and all the graphics Ego shows on his screens during his speeches. Every time he holds his speeches, you're in the back of the room to watch. To you, it's like seeing your work come to life, and that's always been your dream.

Ego often criticizes your work when you show him your ideas or sketches. But that's part of working as a graphic designer and artist. Even though his criticism tends to come off as harsh and cold, you're always happy to follow his wishes. And hey, in the end, it's always worth it because you get at least a little bit of praise. It's never much, usually just a simple "Good work, (Y/N)-chan" but for you, it's enough.

But due to your hard work, you pull at least one all-nighter a week. You'd still be able to finish all your tasks on time even if you got a healthy amount of sleep, but you always get so lost in your work that it keeps you awake all night. A part of that is passion, but another part is your overworking nature.

You rarely tell Ego and Anri about your all-nighters, you either act as if you got up extra early or just briefly mention something like "I couldn't fall asleep" and laugh it off. Ego never showed any concern over it, but Anri certainly did.

And for the first months, sleep deprivation didn't have that many effects on you. Surprisingly. Your passion kept you going. Well, until you pulled an all-nighter after a night with only 3 hours of sleep. Even caffeine couldn't save you anymore. You really try to keep your eyes open, but they get so heavy that they just close on their own and you end up falling asleep at your desk.

In the meantime, Ego is rewatching recordings of Blue Lock matches, until he sees you asleep at your desk. His first instinct is to wake you up and yell at you to continue your work, but he's so hesitant about it, he changes his mind after second thought. He remembers how you've been working extra hard lately and knows your current task isn't that urgent, so he simply lets you sleep.

But when you wake up, a rush of panic runs through your body. You immediately look up at your computer which has gone into sleep mode by now. You turn around to see Ego, still sitting on his chair.

"You finally woke up, huh?" His voice doesn't give off any particular emotion, but you automatically think he's mad at you for falling asleep during your work hours.

You open your mouth to apologize, but your mind is still a bit fuzzy and not properly awake yet. Before any words actually get out, Ego continues: "It was about time you got some proper sleep."

"Sorry, I've been-"

"No need to apologize," Ego interrupts you, "Just don't let this happen again."

"I won't, I promise." You answer before turning your computer back on, ready to finish whatever you were working on before you fell asleep.

"You really need to take better care of yourself." Ego tells you in a stern voice. "Get more sleep and pay attention to your health. I don't want you to get sick."

"Oh?" You turn around to face his direction. What he said makes you laugh a little. "Aren't you the one with eyebags who only eats instant noodles?"

Ego is slightly taken aback by your response and for a moment he struggles to find an answer. "Are you talking back to me?" Is the only thing he manages to come up with.

"I wouldn't call it talking back," you answer as you turn your head back to your computer, "I'm just surprised why you'd care more about me than taking care of yourself."

And with this, you've got yourself your own personal Ego speech.

"Listen, (Y/N)-chan. I 'care' for you in a way an employer cares for one of his workers. Because that's what you and I are. I can't have you getting sick or breaking down because you exhaust yourself too much. That would mean I would have to look for a temporary replacement which would cost time and money. Plus, your work is great even under these conditions and I doubt I'd find anyone else who's as passionate about this as you are. But even with that, I don't want you to exhaust yourself this much again. It's true that I appreciate your hard work, but with your hard work comes the need of taking care of yourself. Understood?"

Halfway through his speech, you turned back to look at him again. His expression and tone are not much different from how he usually is, but what he says still surprises you in some way. You and Ego never had a deeper conversation on anything, but this is starting to pick up your curiosity, so you decide to continue.

"That still doesn't explain why you'd tell me to take better care of myself when you uhm, you know."

"Leading Blue Lock comes with its sacrifices." Ego responds, "If I'll lose sleep over it, I'm willing to sacrifice that. But I'm not willing to let you sacrifice your health."

"So you're worried about me?"

Ego lets out a short frustrated sigh. "As I already said, I care for you in a way an employer cares for their worker. You're not much more than a tool to help my dream come alive."

You only nod in response and return to your work. You want to continue this conversation, but Ego's frustrated sigh is a sign to stop.

Even though what Ego said could definitely hurt someone's feelings, especially because of his stern tone, just him mentioning he cares about you in some way makes you happy. Sure, to him you're not much more than a tool to achieve his dream, but that still means you have some sort of important role for him. Be it in an employer-worker way, you're just happy to be useful.

As you continue your given task, Ego finds himself unable to concentrate on his own work. He thinks of his own words he just said to you moments ago and they keep repeating in his head until he wonders if he even spoke the truth.

Sure, in theory, you're not much more than an employee to him. But something about seeing how you overworked yourself and even sacrificed a lot of sleep just for the tasks he's given you made him truly realize how hard you've been working ever since the beginning of Blue Lock. It awakened some sort of protectiveness over you inside of him.

And even when he's back to focusing on his work every now and then his gaze wanders over to you with slight concern. He can't help but ask himself: Is this the kind of protectiveness a father feels about their child?

[vincord]

3, 19, 22 for the artist asks!!!

Ask game yippeeee yippeee hii Rose hiiii ___ 3. your favorite piece(s)?

In fact, it is quite difficult to single out my favorite works, because in incredibly rare cases I am satisfied with what I have drawn. It very rarely happens that after a month, two, three, a whole year I look at any of my works and confidently say, "Yes, I like it." I can probably highlight these artworks.

I really like this chaos of a couple of colors on a white background. There's something to it, you know.

I've been working with perspective quite rarely lately, unlike in 2020, and that's why I really like the way the first art turned out. I tried to make references from free 3d models, changed the sizes of Kazui and Amane several times in sketches, but in general this art was drawn as easily and without any hitches as it happens.. And it also turned out to be dynamic in my opinion. Considering that most of my art is static, wooden and without movement..

The second art is a redraw of one Ashbury Heights album, so I don't really have much to say about this art. I just like it. A tired Kazui. Hinako smiling from the mirror. That is all.

This art, too, probably. It's hard for me to work with camera angles, so I've redrawn Kazui several times. I also tried to add cold shades to the shadows, and not do everything only through warm tones. That's probably why I like it.

+ this. It was very difficult for me to draw this art. The atmosphere, working with lighting, three levels of depth at once, perspective, colors that I rarely work with. It was an experiment that, surprisingly, turned out well to my expectations.

And a few small things. Matt and Tord from Eddsworld and Kafur's oc. I have nothing to say. I just like these arts. ____

19. where do you find inspiration?

Vents. My inner resentments, worries and emotions. Most of my art is drawn under their influence (I thought it was especially noticeable in the case of Kazui and/or Kotoko)

I can't say that I'm crazy about something that inspires me and pushes me to be creative. I mean, if I say that I like the 60s-70s, the Beatles, psychological horror and some music that usually gets into the "gothic playlist", it won't tell you anything, because it doesn't even show through in my work. I don't have anything clear and definite. It's too messy, too vague.

I would like to know what inspires me, considering that there is an eternal emptiness in my head. ___

22. do you have a favorite color palette to work with?

Yes!! Definitely yes!! I ADORE muted yellows. If you make a collage of my art, you will see that most of them consist mainly of muted yellow shades and close to them. Muted cyan, muted red, muted blue for effects and details. But the main one is always yellow.

Occasionally you can see that I take red and black as the main colors, and even less often light-blue. Red scares me, but light-blue is just hard for me to work with.

[rogueshadeaux]

Slllliiiiiides over here. Hi hello. I don't think I'll do a bad karma run (IM SORRY. IM SORRY!!) cause a) I'm a wimp and b) I need to get off videogames as soon as I'm done cause I've spent too much time playing lately lmao BUT I will be watching playthrougs cause I gotta know how fucked up he gets.... I gotta know...

To clarify i have a pre existing oc from a story that could be very easily flung into a vat of "au juice" because she's already halfway there in her own cannon LMAO we shall see, for now I have a huge list of things I want to draw for this game so I gotta finish 2 before I explode then I can unleash myself on art again. Gotta feed the discord now. I'm cooking for a crowd.

hi i've been dead for 8 days and recuperating for two lol I understand life stuff (and saw some references to it on your timeline, like the warhammer stuff and the tarot card thing??? bro that shit looks so good!!) as someone that literally shared your stuff and then got ripped away for my own life happenings lmfao. But if you get the chance in the future? Seriously, try an evil karma inF2 run. There's something about how they balanced the story that puts its predecessor AND sequel to shame. They're the same story, but different tales. They have the same goal, but different goalposts. SPP gives you a well-thought-out storyline that both is cohesive, but feels like your choices actually matter. It has none of the "I can help this old lady...or kick her fucking dog lol" of inFAMOUS 1, or the "I will fight for the tribe but literally do everything wrong. everywhere. because I'm a Bad Boy™" of inFAMOUS: Second Son. The choices feel real. They feel sound. They feel like the choices a man wronged by the world would make, if he decided to turn to his harbored resentment instead of his morality. And let's be honest, Cole also feels more morally gray in inF2 than 1 anyways, so seeing the path he takes is great because it genuinely feels like he's done with the accumulation of every shitty situation that has happened to him. And I'm sure you know how the story ends now, so...don't you wanna see what happens if he chose the other option? (pls tell me you haven't watched the playthrough yet lmfao)

Anyways yeah no I totally get life shit, it loves to pull you away from stuff, and also as someone only just now trying to do the bad options in Detroit: Become Human despite getting the game at launch because I need 6 years of preparation to be the bad guy, I understand the wimp bit too. It's hard to be mean sometimes. But with Cole's inF2 story, it doesn't feel mean. It feels like a desperate man, trying to fight for a future he's not convinced cares about him.

And yes oh my god please keep creating lmfao we all love your art so goddamn much. Don't leave this fandom you're now a very important asset. And it's always a good thing, throwing old friends into new situations! I love an OC in a wardrobe change. That's usually the best translation. Think a bit harder about forcing that OC into a new role. Shove her ass onto the stage. We'd all love her.

[gwydionsart]

I feel like I've barely drawn at all the past few years. My sketchbook reflects this, having started drawing in it Jan 2018 with about a third of it still blank as of last summer. So I have been making genuine attempts to sit down and draw more. Feeling out of practice, a lot of the time I would copy images instead of freehanding (collages 1 and 3), but I tried not to rely solely on that (collage 2), and lately I've been feeling more confident. So I'm just gonna post my progress here. Because that's kinda what this sideblog is for, lol.

I used to be able to say "if you wanna know what I'm into at the moment, just open my sketchbook". For the past year, that's been true for the first time in quite a long time. It feels nice.

Thorfinn showed up first, working on him while on vacation last year. Meant to draw him more, but it took me quite a while just to finish the one (gosh I'd drawn, like, one, small picture in the two years prior?).

But then my One Piece phase hit, and I realized that I had only ever attempted to draw Sanji maaaaaybe once about 15 years ago? lol So I practiced until I felt comfortable enough to try it without copying. Not all the final results made it into this post, and I'm still not super satisfied, but all the random headshots really helped get me back into the groove.

The random guy in the middle of the second one is an old OC named Xander that I was never fully happy with his design (the drawing was an attempt to update it, though I'm not sure I was successful, lol). And we've got a couple very boring Zukos - I hadn't drawn him in like a decade so I went as simple as possible.

Characters I haven't had a lot of practice with, though, are superheroes in general - I drew Spider-Man a fair amount, like, 30 years ago, and I'd attempted some version or other of Robin a couple times, but I tend to find all the details a bit intimidating. So I finally sat down and practiced drawing some of my favorite comic heroes. X-Men '97 got me to finally draw Gambit for the first time and that lead to me rereading some of my Batman/Robin/Nightwing comics and drawing Dick and Damian as well. Pretty far outside my comfort zone, but I quite enjoyed it.

Lately I've been filling the pages with some King's Quest, but I'll save that for a future post (maybe lol). I've got maybe only a fifth of my sketchbook left, which is especially great seeing as how it is completely falling apart and being held together by duct tape and a prayer. XD It'll be nice to finally be able to move on to the new one I've had sitting around for a couple years now, waiting to finally be opened. If you for some reason decided to read all my ramblings, kudos to you! lol It's just nice having somewhere I can get this kind of stuff out on occasion.

(References taken from the Vinland Saga anime, One Piece anime/manga, X-Men: The Animated Series, Batman and Robin comics, and Nightwing comics.)

[cherryberg]

Also. This is your sign to introduce an OC. Here and now

hi ardate :] this is a bit late but, since i did it, i might as well introduce her now in this post

for my april fool's day joke, i did a little trick on the find everything discord server where i made a handful of screenshots showing a new (fake) character:

this is Myla Warper, a Whatsit Woods NPC

i don't have much on her at the moment, and i suspect a lot about her lore will become obsolete when 0.3 comes around, but essentially, she's an engineer and the inventor of the Warp, the in-game fast travel system. she spends a lot of time at home, but is getting out a little more, using the Warp and a range of mobility aids

she managed to trick a few folks (which, looking at how the first find everything hoax, wouldn't've been a hard thing to pull off) but, shortly after - though, in retrospect, it could've been left revealed until the end of the day, i revealed the prank with:

anyway, i'll put the fake screenshots under the cut and maybe post Myla concepts in a reblog :] + notes. there'll be notes. i've got notes

i don't remember when exactly i conceptualised Myla, but it might've been between when 0.2 was released and when the developers streamed their 0.2 launch stream a few days later. this is because i had this thought of Myla living in that old abandoned house, working away at her tech (in the early stages, Myla's outfit in my mind would be a the classic tanktop and half-worn jumpsuit where the top half was tied around her waist, you know the look), but obviously had to be just a fun scrapped idea when it was discussed on the stream that Old Man Majig lives there

still, Myla being hidden away in this corner of Whatsit Woods is reminiscent of that idea i guess. it is also just a very good spot for something you could've missed, especially since the community had been combing through save files looking for the second fun value, but it does sort of make her following dialogue a little strange as she's not near any Warp pads

this bit is meant to, like, mirror dialogue from "tutorial NPCs" who casually introduce new concepts to the player. having worked hard on drawing Illie last year for Halloween, i had her a lot in mind, with Illie also being a tutorial NPC. looked over her 5 lines of dialogue a lot to try and get the vibe down right (of course, she wasn't the only one, but she was the main one) .. i can wrap my head around the Find Everything art style, but writing stuff that matches the FE vibe got me stumped so i hope it didnt stand out all that much

originally, those first two lines where different and. stiffer for a long while ("I actually make a few Warp Drives myself!"/"Er… Let's not be humble, maybe more than a few. Maybe all of 'em."), but i think it worked out in the end. the very first bit of dialogue was also changed ("Hey there, blockling! Just on a walk.") to just be combined with the next line but i just really wanted to preserve that "blockling" here. i know it's just the species name of like. the Roblox character, but it also reads as a little endearing term to me

ahh, the reason why i sort of thought up Myla in the first place. see, a big contention in the find everything community is Whatsit Woods being the only major area in the game without a Warp Drive, despite there already being Warp pads by its entrances in two neighbouring areas. the lack of a Whatsit Woods Warp is very likely to be changed with the 0.3 map rework, but i always thought this (and the Construction Zone Warp.. ) discourse was stupid. Myla going "No. Why? I live here." is like. cathartic to me.(??)

but regardless, she and Watcher Macallit are kind of ocs born from asking "why is this the way it is?" why is there no Whatsit Warp Drive? what makes a Thing a Thing? just ocs to play with and sort of expand worldbuilding, and i love doing this

[totally-not-deacon]

Friday Kiss Tag!!

Tagged by @throughtrialbyfire! Dragging @molliehaswords, @rogueshadeaux, @adventuresofmeghatron, and @just-another-wasteland-merc if you wanna go.

Rules: post a smooch between your OCs for Friday. It can be as light as a peck or as intense as a makeout. It can be romantic or platonic or familial. As long as a smooch takes place it’s free reign!

I've never done this tag before, and I have no clue why I'm feeling shy over posting it considering it'll be on AO3 in a few weeks anyway lmao. Most'll be under the tag, enjoy!

He bought them each a bottle, on her tab, of course. Maybe she didn’t exactly need it, but no one said he was a good influence. The quietest corners of the Mare had turned all but silent in the late hour, the closest they could get to being truly alone within the city walls. Neither spoke at first, not needing to. As he said, he’d been there.

“You look good out of your armor.” She rested heavy against his shoulder, looking up at him with a mischievous lilt to her voice. “…even with the helm.”

“Well, of course I do. It’s those pure, Altmer genes at work.” he said with obviously put-on arrogance, holding his head high.

“Sure thing, farm boy.”

He sighed, “I never should have told you that.”

“Really though, it’s nice to be able to feel you for once.” “Feel me?” he teased, keeping his tone light despite the twinge in his gut. Gods help him. “I mean – I,” Her cheeks darkened, shoving his shoulder and laughing. Her drink sloshed, leaving droplets on the tabletop. “You know what I mean.” “Hm, can’t say that I do.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “You’re a bad liar.” Her eyes glittered in challenge, as well as something else. Something deeper. Something dangerous. “And you have a terrible gambling face.”

“Says the mer that gets to hide his.” She leaned in close – too close – tapping a finger at the center of his helmet sight, right between his eyes. Unbeknownst to her, they flicked from her lips and back to her own. He felt his throat tighten, getting hard to breathe.

Oh, no. The wine must be hitting him extra hard tonight. There was no way he was this drunk already. He should have eaten Xelzaz’s cooking, he really should have. Oh, no, no, no. His mouth opened of its own accord. “Close your eyes.”

Bad idea. Terrible idea. What was he doing?She grinned, eyes fluttering shut and waiting patiently. Oh, if he’d misread all this, let Auriel smite him right here and now. If he didn’t, she would. A quick glance around the inn – still as empty as it was the last time he checked all of thirty seconds ago. He lifted his helmet sight to just above his nose. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Her breath hitched, feeling his own against her.

Too late now. His lips met hers, plush and eager, just waiting for this moment. A hand curled along her jaw, drawing her in further. She leaned into the touch with a pleased, surprised hum, a hand resting on his chest.

Nebarra pulled back, eyes lingering on the blush creeping up her cheeks and the soft smile she gave him, eyes still dutifully closed for him. He resisted the urge to lean back in, to capture her mouth once again. He wanted her fingers in his hair, his name – his real name – on her lips. He wanted, he wanted –

He slid the guard back down on his helm. Feeling her relax against his side with a content, if tired sigh, he finally released the breath he’d been holding. They were still blissfully alone, he hadn’t been shouted to pieces, and the world hadn’t ended… yet. Now if only he could get his damned heart rate under control before he dropped dead on the spot.