#PORTFOLIO [threads]

[employee052]

[Road Trip Thread p1]

The whole gang is here!!! >:DDDDDD (my laptop crashed as i tried to render and share this on discord ;-; ksjdfh)

[OG Thread post for context]

[For a non blurred version of this, as well as little snippets of conversation i came up with while drawing, check under the cut!]

Narrator and Oz: "Alright, i got the itinerary ready to send for the 27th." "Hmm... An aquarium? What aquarium are we going to?" "I found the biggest, most coolest one that's on the road map!" "How could we even afford to bring everyone here?" "The swimming pools, duh. Turns out they cost a good thousand dollars so.... why not go all out?"

Stanley and Lynne: "WOOO! ROAD TRIP~" "Lynne, I appreciate your excitement but please can you get off the luggage I can't pull the both of you to the bus."

Timekeeper, just on his own: "Heh. Suns out.... Suns out, the sun sure is out. I don't understand that phrase."

Mariella and Curator: "Hey curator, I got a little surprise for you! I know this is the first event outside of the parable for most of us, so to celebrate I got us some flowers!"

[fiatluxillustration-portfolio]

Mother Koril / The Acolyte

[SHOP]

𝙵𝚒𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚞𝚡 𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

| Visit InPrnt | Visit Etsy | Visit Digital Etsy | Visit Patreon | Visit the Portfolio

[meanderes]

late afternoon, le jardin café

feat. @dcydreamz

her  croissant  sits  on  the  plate  untouched,  still  as  pristine  as  it  was  when  she  bought  it.  the  same  croissant  she  had  every  intention  of  devouring  until  she  catches  sight  of  a  vaguely  familiar  face at the next table.  not  familiar  like  haram  knows  him  as  it  is  she  knows  of  him.  probably.  she  wants  to  figure  it  out  all  the  same,  not  really  fond  of  the  nagging  feeling  regret  brings.  her  attention  is  on  the  instagram  profile  she  pulled  up  minutes  ago,  brows  furrowing.  is  there  no  other  way  of  checking…?  leap  of  faith  it  is, then.  she  turns to him,  chair  creaking  in  kind  as  her  weight  shifts.  “do  you…  take  pictures,  by  any  chance?”

[krayonders]

worst part about going to college and committing yourself to a niche is how angry you get when people are incorrect about it

[drcyan]

Tumblr’s Core Product Strategy

Here at Tumblr, we’ve been working hard on reorganizing how we work in a bid to gain more users. A larger user base means a more sustainable company, and means we get to stick around and do this thing with you all a bit longer. What follows is the strategy we're using to accomplish the goal of user growth. The @labs group has published a bit already, but this is bigger. We’re publishing it publicly for the first time, in an effort to work more transparently with all of you in the Tumblr community. This strategy provides guidance amid limited resources, allowing our teams to focus on specific key areas to ensure Tumblr’s future.

The Diagnosis

In order for Tumblr to grow, we need to fix the core experience that makes Tumblr a useful place for users. The underlying problem is that Tumblr is not easy to use. Historically, we have expected users to curate their feeds and lean into curating their experience. But this expectation introduces friction to the user experience and only serves a small portion of our audience. 

Tumblr’s competitive advantage lies in its unique content and vibrant communities. As the forerunner of internet culture, Tumblr encompasses a wide range of interests, such as entertainment, art, gaming, fandom, fashion, and music. People come to Tumblr to immerse themselves in this culture, making it essential for us to ensure a seamless connection between people and content. 

To guarantee Tumblr’s continued success, we’ve got to prioritize fostering that seamless connection between people and content. This involves attracting and retaining new users and creators, nurturing their growth, and encouraging frequent engagement with the platform.

Our Guiding Principles

To enhance Tumblr’s usability, we must address these core guiding principles.

Expand the ways new users can discover and sign up for Tumblr.

Provide high-quality content with every app launch.

Facilitate easier user participation in conversations.

Retain and grow our creator base.

Create patterns that encourage users to keep returning to Tumblr.

Improve the platform’s performance, stability, and quality.

Below is a deep dive into each of these principles.

Principle 1: Expand the ways new users can discover and sign up for Tumblr.

Tumblr has a “top of the funnel” issue in converting non-users into engaged logged-in users. We also have not invested in industry standard SEO practices to ensure a robust top of the funnel. The referral traffic that we do get from external sources is dispersed across different pages with inconsistent user experiences, which results in a missed opportunity to convert these users into regular Tumblr users. For example, users from search engines often land on pages within the blog network and blog view—where there isn’t much of a reason to sign up. 

We need to experiment with logged-out tumblr.com to ensure we are capturing the highest potential conversion rate for visitors into sign-ups and log-ins. We might want to explore showing the potential future user the full breadth of content that Tumblr has to offer on our logged-out pages. We want people to be able to easily understand the potential behind Tumblr without having to navigate multiple tabs and pages to figure it out. Our current logged-out explore page does very little to help users understand “what is Tumblr.” which is a missed opportunity to get people excited about joining the site.

Actions & Next Steps

Improving Tumblr’s search engine optimization (SEO) practices to be in line with industry standards.

Experiment with logged out tumblr.com to achieve the highest conversion rate for sign-ups and log-ins, explore ways for visitors to “get” Tumblr and entice them to sign up.

Principle 2: Provide high-quality content with every app launch.

We need to ensure the highest quality user experience by presenting fresh and relevant content tailored to the user’s diverse interests during each session. If the user has a bad content experience, the fault lies with the product.

The default position should always be that the user does not know how to navigate the application. Additionally, we need to ensure that when people search for content related to their interests, it is easily accessible without any confusing limitations or unexpected roadblocks in their journey.

Being a 15-year-old brand is tough because the brand carries the baggage of a person’s preconceived impressions of Tumblr. On average, a user only sees 25 posts per session, so the first 25 posts have to convey the value of Tumblr: it is a vibrant community with lots of untapped potential. We never want to leave the user believing that Tumblr is a place that is stale and not relevant. 

Actions & Next Steps

Deliver great content each time the app is opened.

Make it easier for users to understand where the vibrant communities on Tumblr are. 

Improve our algorithmic ranking capabilities across all feeds. 

Principle 3: Facilitate easier user participation in conversations.

Part of Tumblr’s charm lies in its capacity to showcase the evolution of conversations and the clever remarks found within reblog chains and replies. Engaging in these discussions should be enjoyable and effortless.

Unfortunately, the current way that conversations work on Tumblr across replies and reblogs is confusing for new users. The limitations around engaging with individual reblogs, replies only applying to the original post, and the inability to easily follow threaded conversations make it difficult for users to join the conversation.

Actions & Next Steps

Address the confusion within replies and reblogs.

Improve the conversational posting features around replies and reblogs. 

Allow engagements on individual replies and reblogs.

Make it easier for users to follow the various conversation paths within a reblog thread. 

Remove clutter in the conversation by collapsing reblog threads. 

Explore the feasibility of removing duplicate reblogs within a user’s Following feed. 

Principle 4: Retain and grow our creator base.

Creators are essential to the Tumblr community. However, we haven’t always had a consistent and coordinated effort around retaining, nurturing, and growing our creator base.  

Being a new creator on Tumblr can be intimidating, with a high likelihood of leaving or disappointment upon sharing creations without receiving engagement or feedback. We need to ensure that we have the expected creator tools and foster the rewarding feedback loops that keep creators around and enable them to thrive.

The lack of feedback stems from the outdated decision to only show content from followed blogs on the main dashboard feed (“Following”), perpetuating a cycle where popular blogs continue to gain more visibility at the expense of helping new creators. To address this, we need to prioritize supporting and nurturing the growth of new creators on the platform.

It is also imperative that creators, like everyone on Tumblr, feel safe and in control of their experience. Whether it be an ask from the community or engagement on a post, being successful on Tumblr should never feel like a punishing experience.

Actions & Next Steps

Get creators’ new content in front of people who are interested in it. 

Improve the feedback loop for creators, incentivizing them to continue posting.

Build mechanisms to protect creators from being spammed by notifications when they go viral.

Expand ways to co-create content, such as by adding the capability to embed Tumblr links in posts.

Principle 5: Create patterns that encourage users to keep returning to Tumblr.

Push notifications and emails are essential tools to increase user engagement, improve user retention, and facilitate content discovery. Our strategy of reaching out to you, the user, should be well-coordinated across product, commercial, and marketing teams.

Our messaging strategy needs to be personalized and adapt to a user’s shifting interests. Our messages should keep users in the know on the latest activity in their community, as well as keeping Tumblr top of mind as the place to go for witty takes and remixes of the latest shows and real-life events.  

Most importantly, our messages should be thoughtful and should never come across as spammy.  

Actions & Next Steps

Conduct an audit of our messaging strategy.

Address the issue of notifications getting too noisy; throttle, collapse or mute notifications where necessary.  

Identify opportunities for personalization within our email messages. 

Test what the right daily push notification limit is. 

Send emails when a user has push notifications switched off.

Principle 6: Performance, stability and quality.

The stability and performance of our mobile apps have declined. There is a large backlog of production issues, with more bugs created than resolved over the last 300 days. If this continues, roughly one new unresolved production issue will be created every two days. Apps and backend systems that work well and don't crash are the foundation of a great Tumblr experience. Improving performance, stability, and quality will help us achieve sustainable operations for Tumblr.

Improve performance and stability: deliver crash-free, responsive, and fast-loading apps on Android, iOS, and web.

Improve quality: deliver the highest quality Tumblr experience to our users. 

Move faster: provide APIs and services to unblock core product initiatives and launch new features coming out of Labs.

Conclusion

Our mission has always been to empower the world’s creators. We are wholly committed to ensuring Tumblr evolves in a way that supports our current users while improving areas that attract new creators, artists, and users. You deserve a digital home that works for you. You deserve the best tools and features to connect with your communities on a platform that prioritizes the easy discoverability of high-quality content. This is an invigorating time for Tumblr, and we couldn’t be more excited about our current strategy.

[mozukumi]

James Somerton is working as a wedding photographer with a plagiarized portfolio, btw

YoutubeDrama thread where this came out.

He truly seems incapable of not passing off others work as his own.

[footballfan141]

Links

Instagram (travisjones.online)

X (Twitter…) appsbytravis

Threads @ travisjones.online

Facebook Apps By Travis

Github FootballFan141

Portfolio travisjones.online

[despairforme]

"You look better than the last time I saw you. Physically wise, at the very least." She glances at his posture up and down. "Have you actually been listening to doctor's orders and taking your medicine or just 'winging it'?" /@thorneprincess

He arched his thin brows, and an annoyed exhale escaped him. There was almost a hint of humor in his breath. ALMOST. Considering the fact that the last time she'd seen him, he'd been face down in the fucking gutter, he figured that YEAH, he probably looked "better" now, or whatever. With regards to his looks, Nnoitra hated to admit it, but he was more or less losing his identity at this point. He'd lived his entire life thinking he was ugly as fuck, but --- if that had been the case, why the fuck would anyone want to take a picture of him? Working as a model wasn't something he EVER imagined himself doing. Maybe... He wasn't so ugly after all+ Not like he was getting conceited, but... PERHAPS his confidence with regards to his appearance was establishing itself with a more solid foundation.

❝ Ya my mom or somethin'? ❞ He asked, voice calm and clearly - he was mocking her. How typical of him. When someone showed the slightest concern for him, he'd recoil. He rolled his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. ❝ I only got some pain meds, 'n I don't need 'em. ❞ Of course he didn't fucking need pain meds. He wasn't some pussy ass bitch. If he started to medicate himself away from his miserable life, he'd never return to reality. / @thorneprincess .

[ladamedusoif]

This is Javi Gutierrez at Sundance and I will hear no different.

PEDRO PASCAL Freaky Tales premiere at Sundance (January 18th, 2024)

[realprissygirl]

❥ — maramaxxing:

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ becoming prissier and sexier 🍨👛🐈‍⬛˖ ࣪

❤︎ ྀི˖𓍢 my personal pinkprint to aligning with my princess agenda—style, mindset, and routines to embody my future self. as I pivot in life, this will be one of my final blog posts like this. i’m transitioning it off blogging and will now document everything in my video diary… 𐙚

🎀 self prioritization, boundaries, and independence - i come before anyone else. i have no children and my only commitment is to make myself happy.

🍨 shadow work - to reveal what has made me how i am (strengths, traumas, interests, fears), i’ve done so much reflecting on my triggers and responses to specific stimuli. it feels good to know that i’m getting to know myself. that says growth to me.

🎀 studying my birth chart - finding out how my placements, and which houses they’re in has really made my day to day interactions and experiences very insightful and fun to dissect.

🎀 so fab so glam lately - my vibe lately has been just g-l-a-m, glamorous. just oozing sex appeal and hyper femininity with a sophisticated twist. i can’t wait to document this on youtube.

🍨 bougie and sexy - black and satin have been a common theme for me. my aesthetic is naturally going in a very sultry direction along with animal prints, lace and diamanté detailing.

🎀 body mods - back dermal piercings, more ear piercings and super pretty tattoos, nothing too much just small and pretty embellishmentz!

🍨 fab color palette - brown, cream, soft pink, metallic accents (champagne gold, white gold), and leopard print. my everything.

🎀 gold n pink jewelry - this combo is so pretty on everything else so why wouldn’t be just as pretty on my personal adornments? ordered three gold and pink belly rings and i can’t want to mix the metals once my piercings heal.

🍨keeping a physical lookbook in my fashion diary - this year i’m not holding back. the looks are coming. the photos are coming. i want to document my fav looks, accessories, and details in real time. almost like personal portfolio.

🎀 sexy and grownifying my closet - investing in a luxurious, cohesive closet that says grown. gonna be using high heels and casual glamour to achieve this. the fabrics and cuts are extremely crucial too.

🍨 staple designer bags - if you know me you know i love designer purses. especially if they’re neutral colored and essential. i definitely plan on expanding my repertoire of bags.

🎀 customizing my wardrobe - i’m getting a sewing machine and i’m learning how to hotfix rhinestones to personalize and bedazzle anything i want to. i’m so so excited!

🍨 making my own jewelry - i’m so excited to talk about this! i’m making a kit of chains and threads along with beads and charms all in my color palette and i’m going to start popping out with so much custom made shit! body chains, waist beads, charm bracelets, just so exclusive + #prissy.

🎀 new makeup styles - been loving smoky eyes and black waterlines, overlining with a muted brown, lash clusters, rhinestones, and more sultry details.

🍨 interior lingerie - the goal is to have a boudoir that is just a sexy and alluring as my lingerie closet! sweet n sexy kitten! ❤︎︎

🎀 currently healing my gut - psyllium husk supplements, fiber, kombucha/prebiotic soda, chia seeds and an adequate amount of water have all become a part of my routine over the last month or so and i definitely feel different.

🍨 #prettiedup - bleach my hair, signature makeup routines, regular nail appointments (found a tech that i can rely on 🎀), korean skincare + african black soap, and anything else to boost my beauty.

🎀 got a personal trainer to maintain my “skinny bbl” look - i’m a tall girl with long legs and that with a tiny waist and round butt is so my look. currently training for it and i’m pretty happy so far. at this rate, by the end of march i’ll be at my goals.

🍨 building my vitamin and supplement routine - collagen, probiotics + prebiotics, maca, berberine, + some hum essentials.

🎀 my love of teas - cannot live without tea. it’s my favorite form of caffeine. and herbal teas always help me feel as if i’ve boosted my health. my favorite teas right now are green tea, matcha, and double spice chai. also love black, spearmint, and raspberry teas.

🍨 weekly digital detox - one day a week i go out of my way to avoid my phone. i simply rely on other things for entertainment, radio for music and try to interact with those around me.

🎀 hair extension wardrobe - tape ins in natural black and honey blonde, vixen sew ins with 30” bundles (i’m a tall girl so long hair to me is at least 26”)

🍨 cycle syncing - i’ve changed the way i eat depending on where i am in my menstrual cycle. i find my gut responds to the things i eat better. even with the time of day, being intentional with the way i live my life is so important to me now.

🎀 new personalized diet - high protein and low artificial sugar is pretty much what i’ve been following. what i typically eat in a day is berries, rice, oranges, lots of water, almond and peanut butter, etc. my fav sources of protein are grilled chicken, sushi, steak, salmon and eggs. of course i still like sweets they’re for sure few and far between.

🎀 trust in my intuition - it’s taken a while but i’m finally learning to trust myself. if my body is telling me to do something i do it, i don’t try to force what isn’t there, and i respect my mind by honoring the discerning abilities i was blessed with.

🍨 gratitude and thought reframing - so many things in my life changed for the better when i learned to flip my thoughts. in a glass half full fashion. it’s literally the law of assumption. i’m forever grateful for everyone and everything i have. and miss universe has only blessed me with more because i’m now so much more receptive.

🎀 no bull shit + not easily impressed - i literally have the shortest tolerance. i expect a certain standard of behavior from those that wish to be in my presence and this is because i give a certain level of care, consideration, authenticity and respect.

🍨 manifestation journal - my literal best friend. everything i write in my LOA journal comes true. i’m not exaggerating. i read it in the morning and tend to write in it before bed. i keep it right next to my bed along with some stickers and gel pens.

🎀 semipermanent beauty treatments - making appointments for lash lifts and brow microblading as we speak. also super interested in finding a great medspa in my area.

🍨 youtube #vloggingbabe🎀 - i finally made my long awaited comeback and i’ll actually be recording some of the things in this post on video. i love recording and editing. it feels like the best form of self expression to me right now! subscribe!

🎀 glam squad (esthetics, hair, nails) - i’m so anal about things being seamless and easy to remember. i like to go the same place for particular services and i’m determined to find a reliable hairstylist and esthetician that i can stay loyal to (i already have a bomb ass nail tech)

[badgertracksart]

Portfolio advice, from a lead who hires Concept Artists

(This was originally a twitter thread I wrote before the site self imolated, hense it's strange structure.) I wrote this after a weekend of portfolio reviews - 1. Like a maths exam, please please show your working. I want to see thumbs options, mid options and of course a final design.

2. Arrange your portfolio, I don't want to bounce about between subject matter and pipeline. Your portfolio's narrative should be as strong as your work... 3. Please make worlds that excite the viewer, make them want to go in and explore them, explain to them the interesting parts of the town, or the way the character's hat unfolds. How will this draw the viewer in? 4. As I've said before the majority of your project work is explanatory not mood, make sure your portfolio contains explanatory work. Explained here -

5. A lot of beautiful post apocolyptic paintings, , but 80% of realistic games and film, we just give the environment artists photo ref, they are capable artists in their own right. Different work in stylised where you do need to create rules for how things can be translated. 6. Production art contains call out sheets, material references and flat graphics. This doesn't have to be your final image, but it should support it.

7. Design characters on a swatch(es) of the environment they will be viewed in. Not on white. I make swatch backgrounds from screenshots, it avoids assumptions that damage readability. 8. Reverse of this, put people in your environments, show me the scale.

9. It's not a deal breaker for a review, but if you intend to get a job, please show me your work on a screen larger than a smartphone (print outs probably the cheapest option with the best battery life). 10. Please have your contact details clearly visible, and by that I mean email address, I will not pass your social media contact on, I cannot input your form into my tracking system. EMAIL ADDRESS emblazoned and bake it in, sometimes recruiters do funky stuff to pdfs

11. Your portfolio will never feel done, not to you anyway. You will have learnt from your latest pieces and want to apply it to older work. But we know art is a journey. Send your portfolio anyway. I've been in the industry 10+ years and my portfolio is still not 'finished'. 12. If you are applying to an environment centric Concept Art position then please vary your times of day! Golden hour is cool but show me some happy sunny days, looming overcast days, what about at night? Vary your weather too! Sunny snowy day? Rainy Spring day? Stormy night?

13. If you are applying for a character centric Concept Art role then please ensure your portfolio shows a variety of body types and ethnicities. 14. Designing characters for games? Please show back views and feet (!) Many potfolios contain only front views. This is a problem because:

You haven't shown you are considering the design from all angles.

In many games rear view is the main view.

Stop cropping feet.

15. If you are entry / graduating and looking at Portfolios to compare content and standard of yr own work too, look at hired grad/junior artists as opposed to seniors Seniors and leads often have old or personal work in their portfolio which isnt representative of the day job. 16a. Show clearly the intended use case for your Concept Art. Mention the game type in the description. Are these player character designs for a 3rd person adventure game? Then more back views please. Bonus points for diagetic ways of showing health / equipment / role etc.

16b. Are these designs for an FPS? Then really the player view of the gun needs to sell the player style/ choices, in an FPS your weapons are almost your character. Are these world designs? What's the view distance? For an RTS your shapes need to read from above & a distance. 16c. The lack of clarification means I am judging the design in isolation, which both harms the design (you might be considering the backview of a char as the main adventure character.) Or an NPC, their waist up expressions may be important for conveying exposition and mechanics.

16d. Concept art is not separate from gameplay, great concept art serves the game team before it is a good illustration.

17. Play games. A variety of games. Think about them. IMO to be a good concept artist you need to understand the common language & references used by your peers. Also understand the principles and common language your audience are used to. FPS design rules are v.diff from RTS.

18. There are many skills that are needed in concept art, please show them. For example: Graphic design - logos, liveries, typographic use etc. VFX concepts - Abilities, Ambience, motion concepts. Architectural knowledge - How buildings are built! & more but I'm out of space :O

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 3 - baseline drift]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Azzi moves through her carefully composed life, sharing dinners with her boyfriend, getting her expansion team ready for next season, and keeping her emotions in check. But Paige keeps slipping into her thoughts. Intentional or not.

Paige, riding the high of the tournament, keeps looking for a signal that never comes.

When their paths cross again , the tension between them sparks into something real, and neither of them is sure how to handle what comes next.

Warning: Unfortunately, there is a man. We'll try to get rid of him soon.

Word count: 4,416

Acquerello Restaurant, San Francisco. October 2024. 

The wine was expensive, chosen without comment, poured without pause. Azzi barely tasted it. 

She watched it gather against the curve of the glass when she shifted her hand. A small movement. Controlled. The stem cold under her fingertips. 

Jake was halfway through a story he’d already told her in a different shape last week. Something about risk compliance, faulty sandbox triggers, and the head of engineering’s inability to keep deadlines clean. He said it with a tight jaw and a practiced edge in his voice, like frustration had become a second language in his office. 

Azzi nodded where she was supposed to. 

Outside the window, city lights flickered in long, deliberate lines. She followed them for a beat longer than polite. 

Her thoughts didn’t stay with him. They hadn’t in days. 

It hadn’t been planned, seeing her. Not that things ever were. 

She hadn’t stopped thinking about the encounter last week. 

Not the game. Not the score. Not the final buzzer.  

Just that hallway. That one second her gaze had lifted and caught something it hadn’t meant to find. The weight of a stare that had felt too casual to be accidental. 

Paige Bueckers.    She hadn’t said much. Just that grin—half-formed, like she’d caught the start of something entertaining. Voice low, relaxed, like the hallway belonged to her. The kind of presence that didn’t linger to be invited.  

Azzi hadn’t returned it. There hadn’t been a reason to. 

A shift in weight across the table pulled her back. The scrape of Jake’s sleeve brushing the edge of his plate, the way his eyes lingered a second longer than usual. 

“You good?” he asked. “You checked out there for a bit.” 

Azzi’s fingers adjusted the base of her wine glass, thumb gliding along the stem with purpose. She didn’t look up right away. 

“Just a long day,” she said, voice even. “Keep going.” 

Jake smiled, reassured. Picked up the thread of whatever came next—spreads, signals, the next set of inefficiencies he’d already memorized. 

Azzi didn’t follow. Her body remained at the table, still and composed. 

She remembered the first night she met Jake. 

A fundraising dinner back in March. One of her father’s partners had waved him over during a break between speeches, said something about fintech and shared values, then left them standing together near the open bar.  

Jake had been polite, easy to talk to, sharp in that careful way some men in finance had learned to be around her. 

The conversation had stayed light. He asked about her foundation, made a passing joke about portfolio diversification and dating. She didn’t laugh, but she hadn’t walked away either. 

It hadn’t felt like the beginning of anything. Just a moment that filled the space between obligation and exit. She’d welcomed the simplicity of it. The absence of pressure. 

It wasn’t supposed to mean more than that. 

He’d asked her out before they’d finished their drinks. 

Something casual. Measured. The invitation shaped more like a suggestion than a request. Dinner, maybe. Just the two of them next time. No auction paddles, no photo ops, no familiar eyes watching from across a ballroom. 

She’d said yes because there hadn’t been a reason not to. 

One dinner turned into two. 

Then three. Then something that blurred the line between scheduling and routine.  

Jake kept showing up with reservations already made, with small details remembered, with a kind of steady charm that stayed just outside the lines of expectation. 

Azzi let it happen. Let it fill space in a calendar already carved up by foundation meetings and ownership calls and polite conversations with people who wanted too much from her too quickly. 

With Jake, there were no sharp edges. No hunger to decode. Just warmth and ease and someone who didn’t interrupt when she needed a moment longer to answer. 

She couldn’t remember when it shifted—when it became something with momentum instead of shape. 

She only noticed once he asked. 

“So… can I call you my girlfriend now, or do I still need to book another dinner to make that official?” 

He’d said it with a half-smile, like the question had been sitting with him for a while but never quite urgent enough to ask. Like he already thought he knew the answer. 

Azzi hadn’t corrected him. 

She just let the moment settle, then gave the kind of nod that left little room for interpretation. 

Her phone lit up beside the water glass. One short vibration, the soft flash of a notification banner before the screen faded again.  

She didn’t move at first, letting Jake’s voice continue across the table, something about a client hesitating on a mid-quarter shift. Risk tolerance. Board pressure. He’d said the firm had a strategy. They always did. 

Azzi reached for the phone, slow, precise, a glance down with just enough intention to make it pass as automatic. 

Instagram.  

One alert. 

 A new post from a profile she hadn’t allowed herself to search all week. 

 @paigebueckers: grateful for another year, god’s so good. thanks for all the love today 💜 

She tapped it open without hesitation. 

The full post showed Paige with her arms thrown around two teammates, a cake balanced unevenly between them, half-cut and already missing a slice. Her hair was loose, her eyes drawn toward something outside the frame. There was no polish to the shot, just motion. The kind that looked unplanned. Alive. 

Azzi watched the short carousel scroll by with her thumb. Three more images, each a little brighter than the last. Paige in a hoodie. Paige in a gym. Paige crouched beside a child with her jersey bunched at the waist. 

She smiled, faint and involuntary, the kind that arrived like breath. Then pressed the heart icon once. 

Her account she used to follow Paige was private. The username belonged to her childhood dog. Paige wouldn’t know. Neither would anyone else. 

Jake kept talking. Something about strategy shifts and revenue targets.  

Azzi set her phone down again, screen facedown this time. She reached for her glass without lifting it, fingertips brushing condensation. 

The room felt warmer than it had when they first sat down. 

- 

Storrs, Connecticut. October 2024. 

Paige's phone was in her hand before the post even loaded. 

She watched the likes roll in, notifications rising in tight little clusters. Teammates. Fans. A few college coaches.  

Her mom’s comment came through first. 

my baby, 23 looks good on you 🎉 

Someone had already reposted it to a UConn Women’s Basketball fan page with ten exclamation points and a screenshot of her buzzer beater last season from the Final Four game. 

Paige didn’t mind. She’d known what she was doing when she picked the photos. A little personal, a little basketball, enough joy to remind people she still lived for the game even with confetti still in her hair from the championship. 

Still, her thumb hovered too long over the screen. 

She checked the list of likes. Checked again. 

Nothing from her. 

Paige dropped back against the couch, arm thrown across the back cushions, phone tilted up toward the ceiling like it might catch better luck there. 

She didn’t know why she kept expecting it. Paige knew she’s not on her followers list. 

Also, Azzi Fudd wasn’t the type to double-tap something just because the rest of the world did. That much had been clear the second they locked eyes in the suite hallway last week. Pressed slacks, sleeveless button-up top, that kind of gaze that didn’t search—it decided. 

And yet. 

Paige reached for her phone again. She hadn’t even opened the DMs yet.  

A message from Azzi would have shown up at the top, bolded, impossible to miss. She tapped once, refreshed it anyway.  

A few birthday messages sat unread. Brand requests. An invitation from someone trying to throw her a party tonight. None of them were her. 

She slid back to the search tab. 

A-Z-Z-I. 

The verified profile appeared instantly. A bio link that led to a scholarship fund. Recent post from three weeks ago, a view from a high-rise building. A view from her office, perhaps. 

Her Instagram screamed curated, professional, untouchable. 

Paige let out a low breath and dropped the phone beside her. It landed face-up on the couch, screen already dimming. 

She rubbed the edge of her jaw with her thumb, thinking about how Azzi hadn’t said much. Hadn’t needed to. Just that look, sharp and unreadable, like Paige had walked in right where she wasn’t expected but had been seen anyway. 

Maybe she was reaching. Maybe those five minutes meant more to her than it should. 

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, mouth twitching toward a smile she didn’t let settle. 

“Get it together, Bueckers,” she muttered. “You’re acting like an idiot.” 

- 

Crypto Arena, Los Angeles. March 2025. 

She was cooking. 

Sixteen points in the first half. Nine assists. Five boards, all in traffic, palms slick from the fight. A double-double was a formality by now, written into the shape of her rhythm, waiting to be named in the box score by the time the clock hit zero. 

Paige jogged backward down the court, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek, watching the shot fall before it even cleared the arc.  

Net snapped.  

Timeout UCLA. 

She grinned, arm lifting toward her bench, chest still rising like it needed the air to catch up to the pace of her game.  

This one belonged to her. She could feel it in the angles of the floor, the way the defense sagged when she squared up. Like they already knew. 

Winner gets the last ticket to Tampa.  

Final Four.  

The whole season playing itself forward now, game by game. Paige had already written the ending in her head. It looked a lot like her team in confetti again. 

Coach clapped once, hard. “We're halfway there,” he called. “Lock in.” 

Paige bounced once on her toes. She was locked. Whole body tuned like an instrument, humming with the weight of her own momentum. This court had always been her stage. 

The third quarter cracked open with pressure and precision. UCLA’s guards played tight, their star freshman trying to draw a switch on the wing, but Paige read it two steps ahead. She snuck around the screen, arm low, hand out. Stole it clean and was already up the court before the girl turned. 

Fast break, two defenders trailing, and she took the contact anyway, laid it in, added the foul. The crowd cracked open with sound. 

Someone from the stands yelled her name like a chant. 

She didn’t look. She didn’t need to. Eyes on the rim. Eyes on Tampa. 

When she landed at the line, chest rising slow now, she let her fingers spin the ball once. Just once. Kept the rhythm steady. 

This one was hers. Every shot told her so. 

- 

A luxurious sports bar, Los Angeles. March 2025. 

The bar sat above a parking garage off Sunset, half-hidden behind smoked glass and a bouncer who knew Jake by name.  

Leather couches circled low tables, and the walls pulsed with overhead screens locked on the NFL game. There was a hum of money in the air, the kind that came dressed in smartwatches and scuffed designer sneakers, trading weekend laughs over old brokerage stories. Jake thrived in it. 

Azzi curled her fingers around the rim of her drink, ice settled deep in amber. She watched it melt and thought about the week she’d just lived through. 

Los Angeles stretched in smoggy edges beyond the tinted windows. She hadn’t been back in months.  

Her schedule had folded itself into the Valkyries launch — brand decks, photo shoots, internal projections that demanded entire afternoons.  

Long flights and short nights. The months had blurred. 

Jake’s text came two days ago. Just a plane emoji and an invite. She replied with her flight number before she gave herself time to edit. 

Now here she was.  

Miles from home, posture loose on a leather banquette, pretending she cared about the fourth down conversion replaying overhead.  

Jake leaned forward, voice raised as he laughed with two of his friends. Something about crypto volume, maybe. Azzi caught only fragments. She let her gaze settle on the screen behind them. 

This was their first night together in weeks. The logic was sound. She had the time, and Jake had made the effort. It should have felt easy. 

She traced the condensation with her thumb and told herself this counted.  

A night out. Shared space. A gesture toward whatever they were trying to be. 

She barely heard the cheer when the home team scored. 

Jake turned to her then, smiling like he still remembered how to read her face. His hand skimmed her knee. “You good?” 

Azzi tipped her head, lips barely curved. “I’m fine.” 

That seemed to be enough. He leaned back, already rejoining the conversation. 

Azzi followed the way his voice folded into the rest, the way his laugh found its place beside theirs. The kind of belonging that always came naturally to him. 

She looked down at her glass again. This was supposed to feel like something. Maybe it still could. 

A roar from the far end of the bar cracked through her thoughts. 

Azzi blinked, drawn back into the room. The group at the next table had their attention fixed on a different screen. One of them slapped the tabletop, another raised his beer in the direction of the television. 

Her gaze followed. 

It wasn’t the NFL game. 

The women’s NCAA tournament played on the screen above them, the scoreline bold in the corner.  

UConn versus UCLA.  

A timeout had just been called. Players huddled near the bench in warm-toned lighting that always made arenas feel closer than they were. 

The camera cut to Paige. 

She stood at the edge of the court, chin tilted, wrist still flexed from the shot before the whistle. Her jersey clung to her shoulder in that signature way, hair tied back with just enough defiance, like she’d run her hand through it on the way to the huddle. Sweat lined her neck. The look in her eyes said she already knew she’d hit that three. 

Azzi didn’t move. 

Then the broadcast replayed it. A clean step-back from the wing, hand in her face, clock winding down. The release, the arc, the net. All of it slowed, frame by frame, until it landed with the kind of precision that lived in highlight reels for weeks.    She looked good taking that shot. 

Azzi reached for her drink again and missed the glass by a few inches. 

Her fingers adjusted. 

It had been months. Since she let herself think of Paige outside of press runs and draft buzz. Since she allowed that face to occupy more than just the back corner of her thoughts. She'd tucked it away with the rest of the variables she couldn't control. 

But the screen kept playing. Kept focusing on Paige. 

Paige smiled at a teammate, mouth cocked to the side like she’d said something she already found funny. Confident. Light. Magnetic in the way that got under your skin. 

Azzi exhaled once, steady. 

She looked down, then back to Jake, who was still deep in conversation. Her mind forcing to be at present, with her boyfriend. 

-    Hilton Hotel, Los Angeles. March 2025. 

Paige was still buzzing. 

Her legs felt like they could go another quarter, heartbeat steady in her chest, even after the last shot had dropped.  

Final Four.  

One more weekend. The arena’s echo still thrummed in her ears like a second pulse. 

Coach said recovery. Trainers said fluids. Paige said Canes. 

She didn’t even change—just threw a hoodie over her warm-ups, slipped her phone in her pocket, and told the group chat she’d be back before anyone could rat her out.  

No one stopped her. They were probably already knocked out, wiped from the high. 

Paige stepped back into the hotel, fingers curled around the warm takeout bag, the scent of fried chicken trailing behind her. Grease brushed faintly against her knuckles, the paper handle slick from the walk.  

Inside, the lobby sat untouched, fluorescent lights humming above a clerk lost behind the glow of a monitor.  

She moved past without a word, sneakers soft against the tile, the weight of the meal a quiet kind of comfort in her hand. 

She crossed the marble and stepped into the elevator, thumb already searching her phone screen for a new playlist to drown her pulse. 

The doors began to close. 

“Hold that, please.” 

She turned. Her hand darted to the ‘open’ button without thinking. 

And then she looked up. 

Paige’s breath left. 

Or maybe it caught. Maybe it paused somewhere between her ribs and refused to move. Either way, the second she looked up and saw Azzi walking toward the elevator, something shifted beneath her skin. She straightened. Held the button down like her life depended on it. 

Azzi looked expensive even in soft lighting. Dark slacks, pressed coat, hair pulled back with surgical precision. The click of her heels echoed across the marble.  

Paige had barely recovered from the high of the win, and now the adrenaline burned hotter. 

When Azzi stepped inside, she barely registered the elevator's hush until the doors slid together behind her.  

She turned slightly, her attention catching on the figure beside the panel.  

Blonde hair, UConn sweats, a takeout bag in one hand. It clicked. 

Her chest went still. 

Paige Bueckers.  

In the flesh. Not just in her thoughts like where she live rent free since she started this expansion team. 

Azzi didn’t move. Her fingers stayed curled at her side, composed.  

She hadn’t expected another encounter with the basketball superstar—certainly not here, past midnight, in a hotel elevator that smelled faintly of chlorine and someone’s cologne. 

Neither breathed. 

The elevator gave a soft chime, waiting. 

“Which floor?” Paige’s voice finally cut through, rough from the air outside, a little too casual. 

Azzi blinked, turning her head just enough. “Thirty-Five.” 

Paige hit the button, then pressed twenty-nine for herself.  

The doors slid closed, and the elevator hummed as it lifted them upward. 

Paige leaned against the elevator wall, one foot braced behind her like it kept her grounded. The takeout bag swung lazily from her fingers, grease soaking faint through the bottom corner.  

“So, you havin' a decent night?” Paige started, voice dipping into something easy, “Or should I help fix that?” 

It slipped out with a grin, like she meant to tease and maybe mean it too. The edge of her smile wavered, just enough to show the nerves underneath all that charm. 

Azzi turned toward her, unhurried. Her expression gave nothing away.  

She blinked once.  

Then again.  

There was something in her eyes, recognition or something heavier, sitting just beneath the surface. 

The pause stretched longer than the question required. Azzi didn’t rush to answer. Like she was weighing something more than the words.  

The night. The coincidence. The fact that Paige was standing there, in front of her, like this was the most natural thing in the world. 

“It’s been fine,” Azzi said, her voice cool and deliberate. 

“Cool,” Paige gave a small nod.  

The lights above them ticked through each floor with a soft flicker.  

Azzi’s gaze dropped, tracing the logo on the side of the takeout bag. Her eyes lingered where the grease had bled through the paper. 

Paige followed her stare. “Had anything tonight?” 

Azzi looked back up. “Just drinks.” 

Paige tilted her head, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “Just drinks? That’s a crime.” 

Azzi didn’t flinch, didn’t offer more.  

But Paige saw the shift, subtle in the way her stance eased. And she decided to be stupid tonight. Blame the adrenaline.  

Blame Azzi for looking sexy while looking like she can devour everything Paige had ordered. 

And so, she went for it. 

“Okay, so I might’ve ordered for, like, five people. You wanna make me feel less stupid and eat some of it with me?” She lifted the bag, a sheepish grin tugging at her mouth. 

The elevator kept climbing, steady and slow, the hum beneath their feet the only sound between them. 

Azzi's gaze stayed steady, locked on Paige like she was still deciding what she was looking at. Focused. Curious. A little cautious. Guarded in a way that didn’t shut the door entirely. 

Paige held still, giving her space, the offer resting there between them.  

The elevator chimed. They’ve reached the twenty-ninth floor.  

Neither moved.  

Azzi still had not said a word. 

Maybe that was how it worked. The expensive clothes. The curated poise.  

That kind of girl didn’t say Yes.  

“Alright,” Paige said, more to herself than anyone. Her hand caught the door. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” 

One foot already out. 

“Wait.” 

It came soft, shaped like a breath caught between want and intention. 

She turned, halfway, like she hadn’t been hoping for that exact word. 

Azzi stood exactly where she had before, gaze steady, unreadable, too calm to give anything away. 

“Does the offer still stand?” 

Paige blinked. The word caught her off guard, but her smile broke through easy. 

“Yeah. Sure.” 

Azzi gave a small nod, barely there, and motioned her back inside.  

Paige stepped in, the bag still in her hand, heart knocking against her ribs in uneven rhythm. 

Azzi shifted forward, reaching for the panel. Her fingers moved with purpose, pressing the button that sent the doors sliding shut. The elevator hummed as it began its climb.  

Paige's brows shot up. “Damn. You’re taking me all the way up? Didn’t know dinner came with a view.” 

Azzi didn’t look over. Her arms stayed at her sides, posture straight, head angled forward like this was just another elevator ride. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” she said. 

Paige just smiled, stupidly. 

- 

The penthouse stretched wide and clean, all cool marble and shadows softened by the glow under the cabinets. Floor-to-ceiling glass wrapped the skyline, but Paige barely noticed the view. 

She sat at the island, one foot hooked on the chair rung, fingers still greasy from crinkle-cut fries. The takeout bag was ripped down the middle like it had lost a fight, wrappers torn open between them. Half the chicken was gone. She wasn’t sure who ate more. 

Azzi bit into a tender, her head tilting slightly with the first chew. Her lashes dipped. Then— 

A sound left her throat. Low. Barely anything. 

Paige froze. 

It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t loud. Just a breath caught on pleasure, subtle and stupidly pretty. Like the kind of noise someone makes when they forget they aren’t alone. 

Paige gripped the edge of the counter. 

Azzi reached for her water like nothing had happened, mouth closed around the rim, wrist loose, movements elegant in a way that made Paige’s brain short-circuit.  

Paige tried to blink it away. Thought maybe if she focused on the food, the drink, the paper straw half-soggy between her own teeth, she’d remember how to function. 

But the sound replayed anyway. 

Her thigh tensed where it met the stool.  

Thoughts started circling — slow, then faster. She pressed the heel of her palm to the edge of the island like it might ground her. Like she could will herself back into something harmless. 

Azzi licked salt from her thumb. 

Paige stopped breathing again. 

“Good?” she asked, voice a touch too casual. 

Azzi nodded. “Better than expected.” 

“Yeah,” Paige said. “You uh… made a noise.” 

Azzi looked at her, unreadable. 

Paige swallowed. “It was just. You know. You sounded like the tenders changed your life.” 

A long pause. 

“Maybe they did.” 

The air stretched. Thick with something Paige wasn’t sure she should touch, but still wanted to. 

She reached for a napkin, wiped her fingers slow, like that might settle the heat crawling under her skin. But the eyes across from her hadn’t moved. 

Azzi zoned into Paige’s long and delicate fingers. 

Watching the way they moved. The drag of her thumb over her knuckle. The grease clinging to the joints before the napkin pulled it away.  

There was nothing graceful about it, but something about it stuck in Azzi’s throat. 

Her mind went somewhere it shouldn’t. Somewhere low and shameless. 

She wondered what those fingers would feel like pressed into the soft of her hip. At the back of her neck. Between her thighs. 

The thought startled her. Quick and heavy. Her breath caught before she could lock it down. 

She blinked and looked up, just in time to catch the smirk forming across from her. 

- 

The last of the toast was gone. Only crumbs left between them, two half-filled glasses catching the glow of pendant lights above the counter.  

It wasn’t late, but it felt like the world had slowed down somewhere outside the penthouse walls. 

Paige leaned back on her stool, leg stretched out under the marble, close enough to nudge but just shy of crossing. One brow lifted. 

“So we just gonna pretend we don’t know each other’s names?” she asked, the grin already pulling at her lips. “Kinda hot, I won’t lie. Adds mystery. Kinda feels like cheating, though, since I know you.” 

Azzi looked up, fingers tracing slow circles around her glass. “Do you?” 

“Oh, for sure. The People’s Princess. Real estate royalty, icy stares, walks around like she owns the top three floors?” 

Azzi tilted her head, unimpressed but amused. “And you?” 

Paige smirked, leaned in like she was about to tell a secret. “Do I really need to introduce myself? Let’s not play, babe. I think you knew me before the elevator.” 

Azzi’s expression didn’t shift, but the pause between them said enough.  

The word babe hit like heat under her skin, sharp and sudden. She held herself still, like control was something she could force back into place. 

“I’ve got decent court vision,” Paige added, teasing now. “Picked up on it. That little look you gave me?.” 

 “I don’t remember looking.” 

Paige clicked her tongue. “Mm. That’s cold. I like it.”  

She offered a hand across the counter, palm up, lazy and confident. “Paige.” 

Azzi glanced down at it, then met her eyes again, slow like she was measuring something beneath the surface. 

“Azzi.” 

Paige held her hand a second longer than needed, thumb brushing just slightly as their fingers touched. 

“Guess I'm clearly wrong,” she murmured.  

Azzi tilted her head in confusion.  But Paige's grin couldn't be more stupidly sexy.

“Thought your name was Trouble.” 

[deeriegeist]

Hell’s Greatest Dads 🦌🍎

I don’t know how to explain this besides people on threads and my mutuals had a hand to play in this RadioApple shit post 😭. It was an idea of mine but there was some encouragement at play 😈. Gonna drop this bad boy into my portfolio

I hope you think about this ALL day. 😀

[ednaeflowers]

okay. not bad, not bad—but if edna is anything, it would be a spartan. ( at least, for the sake of comedy. )

❛  all right, now give me three more and you better add some zeal to it. this is now edna's comedy camp. i won't tolerate slackers. if you can't dish out puns fast enough without pause, then you still have a long way ahead of you. after you finish your puns, i better see you working on your tongue-twisters. i want five of those too. if that's too hard, then you can practice the normincarena.  ❜

" HOW cruel of you ! " magilou feigned the act of someone who had suffered a grave wound before swiftly picking herself up. she may be falsely accused, but she was still a performer and when told to give adequate puns it was time to act up. " did you know even if a grizzly wore shoes he'd still have bear feet! if towels could tell jokes they would probably have dry humour! i dropped my toothpaste, i'm crestfallen! if a kid won't take a nap is that 'resisting a rest?' Straws are for suckers! "

[yesimwriting]

omg yesss bestie reader origin story

a/n i LOVE creating lore and backstory omg

----

The golden rays of light cutting across the woman's face are so delicate, so hazy Armand can almost convince himself that what's in front of him is more than oil paint staining a canvas but an actual encapsulation of light.

"It's interesting, isn't it?" The art consultant's words are an unwelcome intrusion. Though Armand's gallery visits are dwindling in regularity, she's always content to obey that subconscious instinct that warns her of his otherness. She rarely says much without being prompted to. "One of the first paintings we've sold tonight and it's the artist's first gallery piece."

The painting is defined by contradiction. A partially veiled woman studying her reflection by candlelight. She's as haunted as she is content, as made up of shadows as she is of light.

After a beat of silence, the consultant continues, "...If you'd like something similar, I'm familiar with the artist and her agent. I'm sure she'd be willing to show you her portfolio or to speak to you about commissioning a piece." The consultant turns, clasping her hands in front of her briefly before lifting an arm to gesture to the other side of the room. "She's actually right over there, if you'd like to speak to her."

Armand shifts, his focus finally abandoning the painting. The artist, the stranger, defies his halfhearted expectations. You're too wanted, too distracted by a plethora of artists and consumers to feel the weight of his gaze.

Your easiness presses into him as uncomfortably as the painting's contradictions. Your being is shinier than it should be--a bright spot that nearly dulls all else in comparison.

"I'll take it." The response is jarring in its certainty.

The consultant turns her head, blinking at him sheepishly. "Sir...it's already been sold, but I'm--"

"One-hundred." He straightens, his attention returning to the painting in front of him. "Offer a hundred-thousand more than whatever's being paid for it."

The consultant's mind immediately latches onto refusal. This isn't an auction...there are arrangements, pre-existing agreements--a variety of reasons for his offer to mean nothing. However, there are also one-hundred-thousand reasons that she cannot deny him.

She's quiet for a moment, her eyes briefly narrowing as her thoughts dip away from the financial. Her mind floods with thoughts of the artist, the warmth of their limited reactions. The consultant is not overly familiar with you, and yet, some impulse begs her to find a way to keep him away from you. Armand cannot fault her for it.

After another beat of silence, rationality seems to win her over. She dismisses the precautioning guilt swelling in her chest and nods once. "I'll make the arrangements."

----

The weight of the glass in your hand is familiar enough, and yet something about the way your fingers bend around its stem makes the object feel like a prop.

You take a breath, forcing your spine to straighten as the air settles in your lungs. This isn't a performance. This is reality.

A gentle hand on your shoulder allows you to feel a little more connected to yourself. "I've never seen so many people stop to look at a first time artist's work." Abigail's practically squealing. "You've got something different than talent--you've got a quality." Your lips part, but before you can respond she squeezes your shoulder a little tighter. "And I discovered you."

She grins before bringing her nearly empty champagne flute to her lips. "Okay, now, when anyone asks what you're working on next, I want you to keep it light. We don't want to establish your branding too early. Just say you're excited to be putting together your first collection."

Great--the collection that's only common thread seems to be a vague yet undeniable sense of directionless. You nod once, downing the last of your glass's contents in a single drink. "I'm gonna get another drink."

"Okay," she hums, pulling her hand away from your arm, "Remember--light."

You nod at the instruction before walking into the crowd aimlessly. It'd be an easy thing to get another drink, to give yourself something tangible to focus on when you have nothing worth saying. But you don't feel like drinking...or breaking down everything you say about yourself to other people.

You just--you need some air.

The art gallery isn't overly full, but there's enough movement that it doesn't take much to briefly disappear. You abandon your empty glass on a forgotten table as you walk towards the side door.

There's a sharpness to the evening air that presses itself against your skin. It's strangely grounding.

A few minutes of thought, of planning, and you'll be able to go back in there and project the artist that Abigail wants you to be. She's a tough manager, but her methods work. You'll get used to it.

You sigh, leaning against a blank part of the wall. It's a good thing that Abigail doesn't want you answering any specific questions right now. It gives you--

A soft groan pulls you out of your thoughts. You walk forward, steps measured as you approach the small space between buildings. The alley is a small, dark thing that twists at your stomach.

After a beat, you lay a hand against the wall, leaning towards the alleyway without actually stepping into it. "Hello?" There's no response. Hm. Maybe the champagne's getting to you more than you thought.

You straighten, a little more ready to re-enter the building than you were before being reminded of the very real prospect of murderers that lurk in alleys just like this one.

"You're not supposed to be out here." There's a hint of unease to the voice that isn't enough to undermine its warmth. You step towards it, letting go of the wall and officially entering the alley.

From here, you can see past the piles of cardboard boxes and trash bags. There's a figure so far down the walkway the streetlights don't reach them.

Technically, the stranger is right. Even if the gallery didn't have a strict alleyway loitering policy, you still wouldn't have a right to be out here. You're supposed to be inside, chatting with other artists and critics about your vague yet niche yet artistic yet unpretentious future art plans. But there's little chance the stranger knows that.

You straighten, chin lifting slightly. "You're not either."

The sound that follows is either a scoff or a laugh. Maybe you'd be able to tell if you knew the stranger any better. As if sensing your uncertainty, the stranger steps forward. "Technically."

He's still obscured by shadows, but from here, you can make out the base of his features. You know that appearances aren't an indicator of morality, but the man in front of you doesn't look like a killer. Or at the very least, not a very good one.

A beat of silence passes. The stranger takes another step towards you. "It's cold for you to be out here without a jacket, isn't it?"

You're not sure what to make of his assessment. "Not that cold."

He takes a few steps forward. "Why are you out here?" There's no accusation or expectation in the question, just a cautious curiosity.

"I just..." The rehearsed answer feels small, shallow. This stranger doesn't know you, has no way of knowing anything about you, and yet something leaves you feeling like he can see straight through you. "I needed some air." The prospect of being perceived when you wanted a break from it leaves you uneasy. "What about you?"

He blinks, as if he hadn't exactly considered the possibility of the question coming back to him. "Also needed air."

You nod. "Cool."

"...Cool," he echoes, the word almost uncertain. "Are you sure you're not looking for anything else?"

The bluntness of the question throws you. This guy seems nice enough, but he's still a total stranger. "Yeah, I'm sure, but if I change my mind you--guy I met in alley--will be the first to know."

He's quiet for so long you almost convince yourself that you were a little too mean, but then, he tilts his head just enough for you to notice what might be a smile. "Thank God." When the joke doesn't ease you, he takes another step forward. "You just--you seem a little tense."

You're not sure if you're more unnerved by his familiarity or by how easy it seems to reciprocate. You fold your arms across your chest, fingers pressing into your arms in an attempt to create warmth. "We're strangers. For all you know, I'm always like this."

His smile doesn't falter. "Louis de Pointe de Lac."

You hesitate before reluctantly offering him your name in return. Once you do, he takes another step towards you. The light's catching him a little easier now. The more you see him, the less nervous you feel about him. "Now we're not strangers."

You drag your hands up and down your arms. "Technically." You're quiet for a second, before finally relenting. "Abigail, my manager, is just so obsessed with image, and I get it. That's her job, but mine is to pick what I make. And I just--I don't know, everything about it feels so synthetic." You sigh. "That probably sounds really dumb."

"It doesn't." He pauses, pressing his lips together before approaching the alleyway's end. He's close enough now to seem like a person. "We can talk about it inside, if you want."

The night air is rapidly shifting away from cool and towards frigid. You like the thought of re-entering the building with him more than you probably should. "Why do you want to talk to me at all?"

He studies you for a second before lifting a shoulder in a barely there shrug. You're once again unsettled by how easy you think it'd be to like him. "Beats the cold."

You return his partial shrug before walking forward. "I guess it does."

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Slap Fight of the Century 2

Poe: you know we've been talking an awful lot about elon musk lately Poe: maybe we should get back to horror stuff Poe: after all Poe: that's kinda our reason for being Barker: yeah but maybe Barker: maybe we can do ONE more elon thread Barker: just as a treat

Poe: come on clive i think people are tired of elon Poe: is there really anything we can say that's funnier than what's actually happening? Barker: yeah but Barker: c'mon! just one more! Barker: just one more and we'll stop, i swear!

Barker: i mean, after all Barker: i can't think of a single person who isn't enjoying this slap fight Poe: well, there's Robert Robert Heinlein: [reading stock portfolio] noooo my bitcoins nooooo

[white house] Elon Musk: eyyyy donaldo trump Musk: you thinka you so smart? Musk: i taka you down Musk: you won't be laughing when you see dissa epic meme [Elon reveals picture of "O RLY" owl] Musk: ey? ey?

Musk: maybe i set you u da bomb eh? Trump: maybe i'll end your government contracts Musk: [sweats] uh… maybe i ask iffa you haffa stairs inna yo house Trump: maybe i'll deport you Musk: [sweats harder] uh…. maybe i… uh… long cat issa long? Trump: maybe i'll kill you Musk: [sweating intensifies]

Musk: ok donaldo trump Musk: you forca me to use-a force! Musk: tima for a big guns! Musk: DONALDO TRUMP, HE A PEDOPHILE! eldery dowager: [monocle dropping] a pedddddophiiiiiile??!???!

Musk: donaldo trump, i pay $288 million to make you president anna this how you repay me?!? Musk: whatsa matta fo you, i breaka you face! Musk: i call you out, donaldo trump Trump: so be it Trump: to the death Musk: to the death [they desperately flail at one another, it is not clear what kind of move is being attempted]

Elon Musk: eeeeey dat donaldo trump, him a [slur]! Matty Yglesias: [smashing through wall] ELON MUSK WELCOME TO THE RESISTANCE