#New years exchange

[dread-red-queen]

My Gift to @danyaselmar for the @cp77nyexchange CYBERPUNK NYEx Exchange

I hope you like it, Merry Christmas & Happy New Year :)

[hinamie]

cursed kids v2 ⚠️👹

i've been a jjk first years stan since day one and have been wanting to redraw the first art i did featuring the three of them

[kitnita]

jake oettinger postgame   —   DAL vs VGK;   game 4   —   04.29.24

[ah, you know ty very well. how hard is it to stay focused throughout everything he’s been through?] yeah, it’s … you know, there’s no one in here that deserves that more than him, and, you know — i live with him, so, i get to see … i’ve been through, you know, everything that he’s gone through this year, and, just, the way that he carries himself, and — you know, there’s no one that puts the team more in first than him and he works his butt off and never has a bad attitude and has just stayed ready for when he got his name called, and played great tonight and, you know, showed that he can step in and, and be a great piece to this team. so, you know, there’s not a lot of people that are gonna be happier for him than me, that’s for sure. 

[i was gonna say, the body language that he shows, just when he’s out there – first one on the ice – i mean, he does all the little things you’re supposed to do to show that you’re a big member of the team, even when he goes, whatever, six, eight games without playing.] exactly. and you’d never know … you know, some guys, you know, carry the way that they’re playing on the ice on their face and you’d never know with him. he’s just, you know — puts the team first, wants what’s best for the team, and, you know, he knows when his number’s called he’s gonna step up. and he’s done that. and, uh, like i said, just so happy for him. and there’s tons of guys in our organization who’re like that, you know, just — everyone wants to win, and you know, not everyone’s going to have the exact role that they want but, you know, if you win the championship at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. 

[just for color, here — you and ty share a house, a condo?] he lives at my house. me and my fiancée’s house, yeah. yep. [does he pay rent?]  uh, we’re still working through that (laughs) yeah. he’s, uh, he’s been on dish duty, so, that’s kinda how he’s paying for his rent right now. [let’s say, maybe give him a little break off — get a goal, you know, goal’s count.] yeah, for sure. for sure, yeah, exactly.  [and, just for color, what type of jersey does your brother wear?] he wears delly’s jersey. yeah, i know — second favorite player, yeah.

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier

"The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy." - Jack Kerouac

Summary In July of 2023, Evie looked at a list of cities in North America and rolled a die. Just like that, she packed up her life and moved to Chicago, a fresh start. The 2023-24 NHL season started well for Tito; he did not expect the call on November 28th telling him that he was being traded. To the worst team in the league. And just like that. 10 months after being ripped from his home, he had to pack up and move again. To an unfamiliar city, and to unfamiliar faces. Which is why, when Tito and Evie ran into each other, quite literally, on Christmas morning, they both latched on to a familiar face. Over the next few months, they became close friends. They didn’t talk about the nights shared in Chicago clubs.  They didn’t need to. Because they're just friends.  Right?

This is a completed fic split into episodes for easier reading. It was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston.

Episode 1. Blue Christmas (4.9k) Episode 2. I. Winter (4.4k) Episode 3. Pal-entine's Day (4.8k) Episode 4. Four-leaf Clover (5.5k) Episode 5. Evie's Birthday 🌶️ (5.6k) Episode 6. II. Spring (4.8k) Episode 7. Not Goodbye 🌶️🌶️ (5.4k) Episode 8. III. Summer (4.8k) Episode 9. Tito's Birthday (4.2k)

Read it in full (44.5k)

🎵 Series Playlist 🎶

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Under the cut: author's notes, tropes, warnings & disclaimer, fun tidbits, chapter summaries

Author's Notes: This fic was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston. It got so out of control long so quickly. I genuinely had so much fun writing this, it's basically my magnum opus; if you look closely, I think you can probably see my soul in there somewhere. I would like to thank @devilssacrament, @wyattjohnston, and @forgottenflowers for being my editors, holding my hand and keeping me sane in this. Also, thanks to @swissboyhisch, and @imperatorrrrr for being a sounding board for ideas . All of your help and support has meant so much to me. You are all just the fucking best, I am sorry this has been my entire personality for the past month, I will probably return to normal soon. Probably...

Tropes: a gut-wrenching mix of angst and fluff with a happy ending, slow burn friends to lover (tbh, idiots to lovers let's be real), alternating POVs

Warnings: alcohol (one instance of alcohol poisoning by side character), mature content bordering on smut (mostly occurring in clubs/public), references to a toxic past relationship. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team based there. Only other Chicago players mentioned by name are: Nick Foligno, Jason Dickinson and Connor Bedard. Other notes: NHL players featured Mat Barzal (a heavily featured supporting character/bestie) and brief mentions of Zach Hyman and Matt Martin. Assume that Tito and Evie are always speaking in French with each other.

Face claim for Evie (if you want one, but you can imagine whoever you like): Adeline Rudolph

Fun Tidbits: Original Character (she/her) called Genevieve Gignac or Evie (pronounced eh-vee) is the oldest sibling of Tito's juniors teammate and friend Brandon Gignac. Along with their other sibling Wiliam, they grew up in Montreal. Evie had been living in Toronto for six years, before moving to Chicago in the summer before the fic starts. I did way too much research so a lot of the little facts are true. Nicknames: (ma) chouette (shoo-wet): owl (mon) chou/chouchou (shoo): in practice, honey, sugar, baby, sweetheart // by definition, my cabbage or my profiterole/cream puff (depends who you ask) Solours (soul-oars): the Québécois name for the yellow Care Bear with the smiling sun on its belly Solou’ (soul-oo): a diminutive Evie decides to use

Cook, Cook, drink your tea, But save some in the pot for me. We'll watch the tea leaves in our cup When our drink is all sipped up. Happiness or fortune great, What will our future be? -- "Afternoon Tea at Pittock Mansion" by R.Z. Berry

Episode Synopses:

Blue Christmas Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together. Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling smoke from this fire.

I. Winter Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

Pal-entine’s Day Tito returns her kindness by being a shoulder Evie can lean on when she is having a hard time after all-star break. She tells him it’s anxiety about work. He brings her a box of pastries and they cuddle on the couch all day; he doesn’t realize it’s Valentine’s Day. Later, a hook-up goes very wrong.

Four-leaf Clover Tito’s been playing again, and during his first stretch of away games begins to miss home. Well, Evie’s home anyway. When he sees her in the bar, he can’t help but show it. Barzy calls him out on his lies.

Evie’s Birthday Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldn’t do. Fuck it, it’s your birthday. That’s what Evie tells herself anyway. There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept. 

II. Spring Tito tries to tell her— he does— It’s just he needs to find the right time, and something keeps coming up. Evie’s honest with herself. But does that even matter? Mat decides maybe it is his time to intervene.

Not Goodbye Evie realizes that her time is running out. To do what? She doesn’t know. But she has one last night to find out. That is until— Well. It’s too late now. Tito flies home and wonders if that will be the worst mistake of his life.

III. Summer They try to get on with their summers as if nothing is wrong, convincing no one. How long will it take them to realize they can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine? And who will finally take the leap of faith?

Tito’s Birthday Tito receives the best birthday present he has ever gotten: the girl he loves standing at his parent’s front door. It was never destiny or fate; it can only be by choice. And they’ll choose each other every time. Eventually, anyway.

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

[hallous]

my shisaku lunar new year exchange gift for @acidreamscape!

i had SO much fun with the angsty and tender aspects of this 💕💕💕

[naegleria-nfowleri]

My new year gift for Bazzpop from GOMM server 💙

Let's start 2024 with some hurt/comfort, shall we?

[kirby-the-gorb]

[muffinlance]

Prompt: Azula joins Zuko on his Avatar hunt instead of Iroh. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I'm certain to be entertained by whatever follows.

Ozai and Ursa were already dead by the time Iroh arrived home. He stepped from his ship into the palanquin, and rode past the places of their execution, holding the urn of his son’s ashes. 

He had no time to entrust them to the Fire Sages before his father summoned him. He brought them along, because this was an easier thing than setting them down. And perhaps Lu Ten’s grandfather would like to see him once more, outside of the family shrine. Iroh would have given anything—

He placed the urn on the floor next to him. It did not kneel when he did. Fire Lord Azulon surveyed him from behind the flames.

“Rise, my son. It is good to have you home.”

They did not speak of Lu Ten. His father had always been a man to look to the flames of the future, rather than the ashes of the past.

* * *

They hanged Ursa, as befitted her attempted crime, and her past station.

They burned Ozai, as befitted his. A child of Agni should always return to the flames.

The children of the traitors had been stricken from the family line. Had been placed in the capital prison; bait for the trap. Azulon was keeping close eye on those who expressed concern for the offspring of regicides. Ozai had expected support for his position; it would be Iroh’s second task to sift through the court, and discard the chaff. 

His first task was a more practical resowing. Azulon had already selected a handful of candidates: women of suitable birth and known loyalties. The wedding date had been set, pending selection of the bride.

“Thank you, father,” Iroh said. 

Lu Ten held his silence.

* * * 

Azula had never liked the servants who’d fussed at her hair and clothes, who’d pulled and tugged until she was perfect, like perfect was a thing outside of her for others to bestow. She only had to look at Zuko to know how far tailored robes and well-oiled hair could take one.

She couldn’t see Zuzu from her cell. Her robes were too cold against the stone and every tug to wrap them tighter just made them worse, she could see it in the guards’ faces, the way they’d stared when she’d first arrived and looked a few days after and now they barely even saw. No one would talk to her, no matter her demands. They didn’t even stop their own conversations anymore; just slid in her food and kept walking and batted away her fires and it was cold here.

There were things crawling in her hair that her nails couldn’t dig out. Sometimes she thought she heard Zuzu yelling, but she couldn’t be sure. And it would have been undignified to yell back. She was a princess. She was fifth in line for the dragon throne. 

Fourth, now that Lu Ten was dead.

Third, because father was, too. 

He’d yelled and then he’d screamed and it hadn’t done anything but make the crowd jeer. Fire Lord Azulon had been silent. Poised. In control. She was his namesake and she would be too. 

She was nine.

* * *

Zuko yelled until his throat burned. The guards didn’t care, they didn’t listen to him, which was nothing new. He shouted and shouted and his own ears hurt. Maybe that’s why he never heard Azula calling back.

Grandfather had made them watch when he’d killed father and, and—

If grandfather had Azula killed, he would have made Zuko watch that, too. Azula was probably just better at being a prisoner than he was. Maybe the guards even talked to her.

He was eleven.

* * *

Iroh’s new wife was a third his age. A flower just coming to bloom. She looked like his first wife; Azulon knew his preferences. She was young enough to be Lu Ten’s sister. She smiled and laughed each day with the other court wives, and came to his room with lists of possible dissenters to discuss in their marital bed. It was not the pillow talk he was used to, but it was charming, in its way. She liked to lay on her stomach and kick her feet above her as they traced the web of treachery with his dead brother at its center. She was here to have his children—a task at which she worked with admirable diligence—and to be the acting Fire Lady. She had not had to struggle and flaunt herself for his affections; she had been picked from a line-up, her expectations realistic, her motives aligned with his. It was the least romantic relationship Iroh had ever been part of. It was… refreshing.

On the day the palace doctor confirmed their newly budded line of succession, the Fire Lord called them both in for congratulations. And for pruning.

* * *

Zuko had turned twelve, but had not realized it. Azula had turned ten. She’d counted the days.

Iroh had not been able to visit them in prison; only to inquire as to their treatment. Individual cells, regular meals of reasonable quality, no abuses. He’d moved his own people into position to ensure the last. 

Azulon had moved them back, after a delay for his soft-hearted son’s conscience. They could not waste loyal men on cuckoo-vipers. And Iroh could not waste his father’s good will. Not when it would be needed in the future, for the most important request.

* * * 

“And your wife agrees to this?” asked the Fire Lord, behind his flames. 

Iroh’s wife had not been directly addressed, and so did not reply. She sat in polite and perfect seiza, her head raised, as befitted the woman currently running her half of the court. Azulon had never seen fit to replace his own wife, after all.

“She does,” Iroh spoke for her. “We have spoken on the issue at length, and believe it best. Our family is small, and cannot afford to be smaller. The children are young; too young to have been in their parents’ confidences. With proper guidance—”

“And how would they place in the line of succession?” Azulon asked. “How would they chafe, how would they plot, with a decade’s experience over your eldest?”

Lu Ten’s own connections at court had been built while his cousins were still in diapers. But he was no longer Iroh’s eldest.

“We believe—”

“No,” his father interrupted again. “I will not allow their adoption. Not by you, where they could smother your own babe in the cradle, and certainly not by someone I trust less.”

Which was everyone, since the night his daughter-in-law had served him tea sent by his son.

“Father,” Iroh began, and his wife shifted her elbow just so, the only indication that she wished to dig it into his ribcage. “They are young, and innocent. They are my beloved nephew and niece. Your grandchildren. We cannot in good conscience—”

‘Good conscience’ had never factored into his father’s policies. Iroh had… begun to realize that, of late. His wife let out a small sigh, deliberately audible only to the man next to her. She had cautioned very strongly against a—how had she put it?—a feelings-based approach to this situation. Feelings rarely factored into her own decisions. She had been hand-selected by his father, after all. 

His wife went into a half-bow, her head lowered. “May I speak, my lord?” 

The flames crackled. The shadow of his father inclined its head, just slightly. 

“To kill the children is wise, and I admit, would set my mind at ease for my own child’s sake. But my husband feels strongly on this matter, and so I support him, for his happiness is my own. May I suggest a compromise? To place them outside the court, where they cannot build influence, nor harm your son’s heirs. A position from which you can judge their characters and value to the nation as they grow.”

“You suggest banishment,” the Fire Lord said.

“Not unstructured, of course. To leave them roaming freely would invite those that would take them in. Perhaps a military commission? As they are commoners, they should begin from a rank befitting their station, of course. Let them prove their worth on their own merit.”

Iroh could not see through the flames, but he knew his wife’s small smile was reflected on his father’s face. 

“A naval position,” the Fire Lord said. “On a ship that does not frequently make port. The frontlines would be the best place for them to prove themselves, wouldn’t you agree?”

Iroh closed his eyes.

“Father,” he said. “Please,” and he could feel his wife willing him to stop talking. The Fire Lord had already agreed to spare their lives. A banishment could be undone, so long as he and the children both outlived the man before them. “I… thank you for your wisdom in this ruling. But perhaps, if they complete some feat worthy of our line, they could be allowed to return?”

The flames were hot against his face. His new wife was still and silent against his side. His father… his father laughed, a low exhalation, the wheeze of a humorless old man.

“Let them bring me the Avatar,” Fire Lord Azulon said, “and I will welcome them home with honor.”

* * *

Zuko didn’t know why they’d pulled him from his cell or scrubbed him down or taken his old clothes. They’d been dirty but they could have been cleaned. His new clothes were scratchy, and too big, and they looked like a common soldier’s, and… and—

And they’d shaved his hair. 

* * * 

It had gotten rid of the bugs, Azula admitted, in the privacy of her own mind. Still. She memorized the faces of the woman who’d held her down and the man who’d shorn her. For future reference.

They hadn’t bothered sizing her new outfit for a child. Azula noted the quartermaster’s face, as well.

* * *

They were put on a ship. It was the first time they’d seen each other in nearly a year.

Zuzu looked at her head, and wisely said nothing.

She raised an eyebrow at his, and graciously granted him the same.

It was hard to tell them apart. They had their mother’s face. And their father’s.

* * *

Their captain’s name was Zhao. He invited them to dinner in his private quarters, once the Fire Nation was behind them. Zuko fidgeted. Azula didn’t.

The captain spoke on how much potential he saw in them, under a commander who saw their true value. 

Together, they could go far. Very far, indeed.

Azula smiled and said all the things she thought father would have said. Zuko scowled. 

Zhao brushed over their arms with his own while reaching for things. He served them more when they said they were already full. He squeezed their shoulders when he brought them back to their rooms, which were next to his, even though the rest of the lower crewmen slept together in the same big cabin. Zuko scowled harder. 

Azula was invited back. Zuko wasn’t.

* * *

Zhao was… Zhao wasn’t a good person.

“I know that, dum-dum. But do you want to stay banished forever?” 

“Uncle said—”

“Uncle’s going to change his mind, when he has his own heir and a spare. We’re threats, Zuzu. And Zhao knows father’s old friends. He’s one of the smart ones.”

The dumb ones had already been executed. 

“I… I think he wants to—to tie himself to the royal line.”

“Eww,” she said. “I’m ten. If he wants to get engaged, I’ll just break it when we’ve got the throne. It will be too late for him to retract his support, then.”

They’d barely left port before Zhao had made his first move. He didn’t seem like a man who waited. 

Azula was ten, but Zuko was twelve. Being twelve was almost thirteen, which was almost a teenager, which was almost an adult, and adults understood things that ten year olds didn’t.

They had to get off this ship. They had to go home.

Zuko had to find the Avatar.

* * *

(This ficlet is now posted on AO3.)

[bolithesenate]

the Guard (temple) and the Guard (coruscant) sometimes switch uniforms as an enrichment activity

[databent]

please look at these texts i got from my dad the day after i had my top surgery. thank you

[foldingfittedsheets]

Sorry if you already addressed this in earlier bed talk, but do you have any thoughts on Ikea mattresses? Do they fall into the "bed in a box" bin?

IKEA and Costco fall into a category above bed in a box. They’re typically made of better components than box beds but less overall material than a nice bed.

Because there’s less to them they don’t last as long as a nicer bed but they’re okay for a few years typically.

[cosmic-pindrops]

A Murderbot Noir AU as a gift to @vulcan-highblood for the 2023 MBD New Year Gift Exchange! 

More notes on the AU below:

This is an AU where members of ART's crew have been kidnapped by corporates, and due to the high profile of the corp the University can't act fast enough to save them (or else risk exposing the nature of their operation), so ART must take matters into its own hands. It takes a "detour" on a cargo run to find an elusive anti-corporate agent who might be its only chance at finding its crew.

Meanwhile, after MB decided to go with Mensah at the end of ASR, it found that life on Preservation was unbearable. The only time it truly felt like itself was when it was helping station security solve crimes. So it leaves, wandering into the outer reaches of the Corporate Rim, where it keeps coming across people who need its help (mysterious disappearances, people being sold to mining facilities where they'll never be found, etc). And if helping them hurts a Corp at the same time, then all the better. Unbeknownst to MB, it’s attracted the attention of more then corporates, and will be taking on its largest case yet - whether it wants to or not...!

Essentially MB and ART spend the whole adventure playing hot potato with the femme fatale role while fighting over who gets to be detective lol

[alex-van-gore]

I made a Murderbot Animatic for @grammarpedant ! Happy New Year, enjoy the Fugitive Telemetry pain!

[noodle-doodle0]

Made this for @cringetownusa !!

This year I participated on @animaniacssecretsanta (this is also my very first secret santa ever)

It was pretty fun honestly!! I hope to do it again next year!!!

Oh and a happy new year to you all!!

[water-lemon-alex]

Season’s Greetings!

- The Rocket Corporation

@avagiftexchange

Happy New Year, everyone! Sorry this one was pretty late since I was on vacation for half of the week, but here it is!

This is my gift for @running2reanimation ! A Mercenaries Christmas Party!

Extra doodles + Alt versions below!

Faceless Version:

Textless Versions:

I also have the background in case you need it

Once again, happy new year!

Extra Doodles! Had fun making these ones:

[ivillpunchyouinthethroat]

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Simon "Ghost" Riley, Omega John "Soap" MacTavish, Alpha/Omega, Heats, Knotting, Bonding, Rough Sex, Biting, Lots of biting, Knife Play, Blood Play, Omegaverse courtship, but make it insane and bloody because it's these two, game typical blood and violence, fist fighting as foreplay, Soap's panties for Soapspanties, Panty Sniffing, Ghost is kombucha girl, Soap is a menace, Alcohol, 20k of Ghost's literal descent into Soap hole madness, Call of Duty New Year New Dead Doves Exchange, Mild Breeding Kink, no actual pregnancy Summary:

“Left you a gift, Johnny,” Ghost answers.

“Aye?” Soap says and Ghost can about hear his grin. “I’m quakin’ in excitement, Lt.”

Soap leaves his mic on and Ghost can hear the creaking of the door open and the soft rustle of Soap's tac gear as he walks over to the body.

A sharp intake of breath and then a low whistle.

“Careful, Lt,” Soap rumbles, accent noticeably thicker, “bloody gifts like these, might think yer courtin’ me proper. The old way at least.”

And that's how it starts.