#and changing jobs is not an option because there are flat out no jobs that pay enough to support 2 people

[dragongirlbunny]

all of these psa's and shit about self care and knowing your limits and all that ring real fuckin' hollow when working your required hours and not a second more is already pushing yourself past your limits

[captainreecejames]

Pick Me Up?

Charles Leclerc imagine

summary : the four times Charles picks you up and the one time you pick him up.

pairing : Charles leclerc x fem!reader

I believe there is no mention of YN, but I'm not 100% sure.

word count : 3.5 k

warnings : none that I can think of

note : I only read over this once so if there's spelling errors or other mistakes that's what happened. Next up should either be Logan Sargeant my ex is a footballer or the social media accompanying fic. Anyways, enjoy and me if you like it!!

1. Charles picks you up from a bad date

The date had started fine.

Actually more than fine. He showed up on time, was pleasant to the waitress, and had good manners. Really, he would have even gotten a second date, if he hadn’t brought up Formula 1.

It’s a topic you tend to avoid when meeting new people, as they either tend to know a lot already and want to use you to get to Charles or they don’t know anything and assume that you are using Charles, when they know nothing about your relationship. It was a hassle you learned to shut down before it even began.

But back at the date with Vince, he had brought it up and that’s when things started to go down hill. 

Despite your best efforts, when people brought up Formula 1, you grew taller and more focused on the conversation, it’s like a switch flipped. While Charles driving for the best known team certainly helped your interest, everything about the sport was fascinating for you and you couldn’t help but geek out when the topic came up. 

Vince noticed your reaction and his casual demeanor turned critical. “You only know about it because you think the drivers are hot.” That had made your smile drop instantly, brows furrowing as you tried to respond. “Probably can’t even name all the teams.” He thinks that stumps you, but you’ve dealt with enough shitty men in this sport, you’re not taking anything more from this wanna-be investor.

“I don’t have to prove my knowledge of F1 to you,” you state, deciding that this dinner is now over.

“Oh, now I know you can’t even name five drivers.” Your frown deepens, picking up your napkin and placing it on the table next to your plate. It had gone down hill so fast, how disappointing.

“Your attempt at insulting me into submission is falling flat.” His eyes are wide at your comment, and he must not have expected you realize his move. You flag the waitress over and she walks quickly back to your table, noticing how you’re not smiling anymore. Seems like this date is a bust, so another twenty note must be added to the jar of bets amongst the staff of this restaurant.

(You and Charles visit the place often as it was the sight of your first job, but also the food and people were lovely, and bringing a first date here was the safest option.)

(So they all knew you and were betting on when the dam breaks and you two admit your feelings for each other.)

You hand Lucille enough money to cover both yours and Vince’s meals, not bothering with the change. Your goal now is to get as far away from Vince as soon as possible. He  opens his mouth to say something again, but you are already out of your seat and walking towards the front door, phone calling Charles to pick you up.

He answers on the first ring, always on alert when you go on dates.

(Not because he’s jealous or anything, but because he’s worried about you and needs to make sure that you stay safe. He’s been tempted to bribe the staff of your little restaurant for information during dates after a particularly bad one, but his mom talked him out of it.)

“Ma cherie, is everything alright?” You roll your eyes at his question, just knowing that there’s a smirk on his face right now. He didn’t have a great feeling about Vince, but he wouldn’t say I told you so.

“Can you pick me up please?” You barely need to finish your question before he answers with an ‘of course, I’m already on my way.’

“Need me to stay on the phone?” You glance back at the restaurant, looking in the window to find Vince scrolling away on his phone, oblivious to the movement around him.

“No, focus on the streets. I’ll be fine.” Charles hums his answer and hangs up, leaving you to look busy on the streets of Monte Carlo.

He pulls up not even two minutes later, stopping the car haphazardly in a tow-away zone. You rush to the side, opening the door and shimmying in as fast as you can because even though this is Charles Leclerc’s very recognizable Pista, you don’t want to risk any tickets. While he pulls away you realize how fast he showed up and a question forms on your lips, but he speaks before you have the chance to ask.

“I was only down the road at the marina.” He seems sheepish, like the answer is rehearsed, but you don’t push it because you’re still grateful that he showed up. What would you do without him to pick up after a bad date?

2. Charles picks you cause your car breaks down

This time when you call him should feel less embarrassing than other times, but really it only feels worse. How are you going to admit to him that the car you’ve been saving up for and desperately wanting since you were 7 just crapped out on you before you could even get out of the parking garage? Especially when he advised you against such car. It would be humiliating. 

Alas, you made the call, practicing in your mind what you would say to him. 

Again, he picks up on the first ring, though this time you’re not sure as to why he answered so fast.

“Is everything alright, ma cherie?” You blush, grateful he can’t see your face.

“I’m stuck,” you exhale, ready to face what ever he has in store for you.

“Stuck?”

“My car won’t start and I’m still at work, everyone else has left and I’m in need of a ride.”

“Okay,” he answers, relief filling you. “I’m leaving the gym with Andrea, I should be there in 15 minutes. Don’t talk to any strangers.”

“Love you too, Charles.” You roll your eyes, hanging up on him and sitting in the drivers seat of your beloved, but broken, car. That’s some good money about to go down the drain for the tow and mechanic fees. As you debate calling your dad to help you out with diagnosing what’s wrong with the car, a familiar rumble enters the garage, and you see the ever famous Pista pulling up next to you, a smirking Charles in the driver’s seat.

“Someone call for a pick up?” You want to roll your eyes at him, but the smile on his face makes the irritation melt away. After a long day at work, made even longer because your stupid car that you really wanted wouldn’t start, all you feel is relief and affection for the man in front of you, and it’s a little too overwhelming.

Tears pool in your eyes and Charles frowns, cutting the engine and climbing out so he can hug you. He only admits it to his mother, but holding you is just as good a driving when he’s driving on the track with a car that responds to his every command.

(And what he won’t admit to anyone is that if holding you feels like that, then kissing you must feel like he’s just won a world championship.)

“Ma cherie,” he whispers, pulling your body into his own and stroking your hair to soothe you. He doesn’t ask any questions, which you’re grateful for, you don’t actually know what’s wrong other than everything is just too much and him showing up makes you feel safe enough to let it all out.

When you’ve finally slowed your breathing and made yourself relax he pulls away, looking at you with so much love in his eyes that you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. “Now you know what it felt like to drive under Binnotto.”

The comment is a shock and it makes you snort, which is what Charles was going for. Your laugh that he thinks could make him smile even in the darkest moods. “You can’t say that Mr. Ferrari.” You smack his chest while shaking your head, but the rueful smile on your face tells him that you still haven’t gotten over the team principle screwing him over.

Then the smile eases into something much more natural, and he knows the tense moment has passed. “Takeout?” he suggests, ushering you to the passenger side of his car. You nod at him and he’s pretty sure that he would do anything to make you smile.

3. Charles picks you up for a spontaneous lunch date

The next day it’s he who calls you, but you still an answer on the first ring.

(You’ve dedicated a Måneskin song as his ringtone so you always know when he’s calling)

(He made your ringtone a Mika song after you dragged him to a concert)

“Charles,” you answer, confusion in your tone.

“Ma cherie!” he sounds excited and you can’t help but want to follow him anywhere he goes when he sounds like that.

“Is everything alright?” You ask it this time, because shouldn’t he be packing for a race now?

“I’m outside, we’re going to spend the day on the water.” After leaving your home last night, Charles decided that you needed a pick me up, and what better way but to spend a few hours lounging around on his yacht, soaking up the sun and enjoying each other’s company.

(No one else would be there, but this wasn’t a date.)

(Seriously Arthur, it wasn’t a date.)

You spare a glance around your room, laundry begging to be done and dishes waiting to be washed. Yeah, you could use a day away from chores.

“Let me grab a bag,” you tell him, already throwing more clothes around the room in search of your favorite bathing suit. He hums through the speaker and you put your phone down to keep searching for the bathing suit. It was your favorite red crossover one piece and you be damned if you didn’t wear it today, anything to manifest a Ferrari win.

When you finally manage to find it, in the pile of clean but not put away laundry, you pick your phone back up and tell Charles you’ll be right down.

In two minutes you’re out the door of apartment, eyes landing on Charles leaning against his car. He looks so handsome with the windswept hair and Ray-bans on, you really have to wonder why he’s spending the afternoon with you and not some model he met in a garage.

(He’d say it’s because it’s the weekend before a race and this is a tradition, spending the afternoon with you before he leaves is the only way to ward off bad luck.)

(Seriously, before the Netherlands race last year you'd been unable to make it because of a bad cold and he had to retire the car that race, so safe to say you were forced to the boat, or his apartment, or he came over before the plane every time after that.)

Maybe the question is what would he do without you?

4. Charles picks you up from a girl’s night

This time Charles doesn’t pick up on the first ring, in fact, he barely makes it to the phone in time to answer. That’s because it’s not you who is calling, but rather a friend.

You and few girl friends had decided on a girls night out for one of them going through a bad break up, but after a few pregame shots and then drinks at this club, you were pretty intoxicated.

Looking for your group after coming back from the bathroom and the bar, you had spotted Lando and Max across the room, which made you think about Charles.

(Not that he ever really left your mind.)

And when you think about Charles, you wonder where he is, so you went to your friends. Both their faces lit up when they saw you, indicating that they were also not sober. After a quick hug for both of them you turn to survey the rest of the bar, looking for your Monagasque. 

“He’s not here!” shouts Max, trying to be heard over the noise. Your shoulders drop, turning back to the two racers with a pout on your lips.

“Where is he?” you ask, trying to seem nonchalant, but drunk you can’t hide her feelings as easily as sober you.

(Many would argue that sober you can’t hide her feelings easily either, but all that matters is that Charles doesn’t find out. And since he’s too occupied in hiding his also obvious feelings, you’re both oblivious to the other’s pining.)

Lando says that Charles stayed at home, something about playing the piano and having an early night was more tempting than drinks. The real reason being that if Charles went out he would not have been able to stop thinking about you and your potential suitors, which would lead to him drinking to forget. He was not up for another heartbreak hangover.

Your eyes light up at the mention of Charles playing the piano, sitting down in the booth with them. “Oh! I bet it’s going to sound wonderful!” Both drivers roll their eyes, and to their disappointment, you’re not drunk enough to miss it. “You don’t like his music?” The accusation in your tone makes them readjust their face. It’s not that they don’t like his compositions, it’s just that when Charles explains them, it’s almost always about how you looked on a certain day and he just was so inspired he had to put something down. They’re really tired of the back and forth between you too.

You begin your speech on how talented Charles is at the piano, which then morphs into how talented he is as a driver, and then as a person. It all turns into a ramble about how proud you are of him, something they’ve all heard before.

When you’ve somehow made it to Leo and how Charles chose the perfect puppy, the man himself shows up.

“Ma cherie,” he interjects, placing a hand on your shoulder to get your attention. You turn towards him, and Max swears that there should be cartoon hearts in your eyes.

“Charles!” you yell, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. “What are you doing here?” You’re slightly too loud for being in his arms, but he doesn’t care if you yell his ear off, it’s still you.

“Max said you were ready to come home.” Your brows furrow at that, because you don’t remember ever saying that, or even Max disappearing to call Charles, but you can’t be mad at him showing up.

“One more drink?” you ask, eyes pleading with him. Charles shakes his head, he can feel how much he’s supporting your weight even while sitting and knows that any more alcohol will likely end with you tripping over yourself.

“Water,” he answers and you’ve agreed to the words coming out of his mouth because it’s Charles, and he’ll never steer you wrong.

Charles heads to the bar to grab a water, running into your group of friends there. He tells them your status and that’ll he’ll be taking you home after this drink. They all nod along, most of them predicting that the night would end like this: Charles showing up and driving you home.

When it’s finally time to leave and Charles has ushered you out of the packed club into his Pista, you remember that you came here with a completely different group. “The girls!”

“Don’t worry, ma cherie, I saw them before we left and told them I’d take you home.” The gentle smile on his face is enough to put one on yours. Where would you be without him, indeed.

+ 1. You pick Charles up from the airport

You’ve got a new car now, thanks to Charles, and since he needs to be picked up from the airport, you’ve decided to take it for a nice spin. The roads are relatively clear for the drive, and you’re there in the usual 30 minutes. That makes you early for Charles, but you take the time to work out what you’re going to say to him.

Before you get out of the car you text him your location, so that he can head right out and find you, rather than you going into the terminal to look for him. He always was better at finding you.

The last night out had not only ended with Charles taking you home, but with a revelation. You couldn’t keep living like this. Loving him so much and not telling him was suffocating. It made you feel like you were on the edge of a cliff with nothing to keep you safe, and you were tired of it. So the question was, how did you tell him.

“Charles, I’ve been in love with you for ages,” you said, but shook your head. That didn’t sound right.

“Charles, I have to tell you something really important. I think I’m in love with you.” No, you shook your head again and groaned. “I don’t think I’m in love with him, I know I am.”

“Charles, you’re the most important person in my life, I don’t know what I’d do with out you.” Okay, solid start, you might have something with that.

“Charles light of my life.” No. “That’s too cheesy.”

“God, I wish I could put into words how much you mean to me. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself most of the time. It’s like I need to feel you to be able to breathe properly. All I really ever need is for you to look and smile at me and I’ll know that everything will be alright. I can get through anything with you there. If you love someone else it would break my heart, but knowing that you’re happy is all I need to be okay. I’d live with the thought of you loving someone else, because if they made you as happy and good as I feel, then there’s nothing more I could ask for.” Yeah, that sounded-

“Well it’s a good thing I love you too.”

You screamed, turning around to see Charles behind you in all his glory. Black sweatshirt and baggy jeans, hair messy like he ran his hand through it multiple times.

“How long have you been there?” you asked, face turning red enough to rival Ferrari.

“At Charles, light of my life.” He shrugged, like you hadn’t just bared your soul out to him. “Though, I disagree, it’s not too cheesy.” Could you get any redder? Feels like this is as red as a human being could get before self-combusting.

He’s just standing there, with a dopey smile on his face that you want to kiss, but you can’t. Something is holding you to the spot. You force yourself to say something. “Can you say something else?”

“Like what?”

“Anything else, I feel like I’m going to explode if you don’t say something.”

“Thanks for coming to pick me up.” He adds a shrug to the end and you narrow your eyes.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, you want me to say that I love you too.”

“I don’t want you to say it if you don’t mean it.” If you were a kid you’d add a stomp to the end, as if you were throwing a temper tantrum. He furrows his brow like he’s confused and still you want to kiss him senseless.

“Well, I mean it.”

Now you’re the one confused. “What?”

“I love you too, and I don’t think I’d be okay if you loved someone else as much as I love you. Because I’m selfish and a terrible man and I want you all to myself.” He shakes his head. “I need you all to myself,” he corrects. “You’re the love of my life and if I wasn’t yours then I don’t think I could go on. But you said you do love me, so everything is so much easier now.” Each sentence is punctuated with a step closer, until he’s just a few inches from you, like he needs you to take the last step. You do, without hesitation, because you really would do anything for him.

Eyes glancing at his lips and back, you catch him doing the same thing. “I love you more than anything in this world. I’d give up racing if you asked, I do anything for you.”

Another glance at his lips. “I’d never ask that of you, Charles. But, I love you too, and I’d do anything for you.” His smile at those words would normally catch you off guard, like you’d stop breathing at it, but somehow it just makes everything easier right now. So you kiss him.

Leaning forward those last few inches to grab his shoulders and pull him down so you can kiss him with as much love as you can muster. If words can’t explain how much you love him then maybe kissing him will convey it. That you love him more than words, actions and thoughts can combine. You love him.

(And he loves you.)

[luveline]

Hi lovely!

Can you please do one where Hotch and Reader are in a fight and it gets heated and he maybe raises his hand just because he’s shouting and she flinches?

He would be prepared to FIGHT whoever made his honey feel that way 🗣️🗣️

💘

for you my sweetheart. fem, 1k

cw implied past domestic violence 

“It was right,” you're saying, on the defensive, your voice molten, “it was the thing to do!” 

“It wasn't.” Hotch closes the door. “It wasn't the right thing to do, it wasn't even close.” 

You realise, under everything, that he's right, but you couldn't help yourself, you had to try and save the day, had to swerve the SUV. Plus, he's done it himself, and you both know that. “If Monikie got out of that exit we never would've seen her again.” 

“There were roadblocks on the I–46, and I don't think I have to tell you that you could've gotten a lot of people seriously hurt–” 

“You've done worse,” you deny.

His expression, broadly furious, narrows into something sharper, “And that is my decision to make, but you report to me.” 

“You can't seriously want to act like a boss now,” you say. 

The room isn't overly large, and so you stand close to one another with no need for shouting, but your voices begin to overlap. Hotch is so angry. It isn't like him to yell at you, his voice strained. 

“You can't truly think that the decision you made today was the right one. You need to calm down, and you need to listen to me when I tell you that this was the wrong move. We'll talk about it more tomorrow.” 

“You're shrugging me off?” You could laugh. “You can't be serious. Every member of this team has done the same, or worse–” 

“But they're not you!” His voice peeks, his hand jolting out in front of his chest, flat-palmed in incredulity. 

You're really quite close to each other. 

It's not his fault. 

You step back, desperate to be away from the movement, the hand, because it doesn't register as his hand, only there's a chair behind you and a table behind that and you bump into the plastic with a creak and screech. You're righting yourself as quickly as you're tripping but Hotch is already moving away. Three steps that feel like a gorge. 

Your heartbeat soars. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. 

“Of course.” You breathe out funny. It's not his fault, but there's something wired in your brain now, and it knows that the first strike isn't the last. Your hand shakes as you brush at an itch under your eyes. 

“I'm not mad,” he says. 

“You sounded pretty mad."

“I've changed my mind.” He gives you a long hard look, and then he moves to the office door to open it before returning to his initial position. He's given you an exit route. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he says. 

You put your hands on your hips and bend at the waist, breathing out hard. “Fuck, I know that."

“You thought I might.” 

“So profile me,” you say, panicking still, face hot and itchy all over. “Tell me why.” 

“Someone's hit you before. Enough to anticipate the second blow.” 

“But you knew that already, didn't you?” 

Your ears get cloudy like there's water in them and you can't stand the feeling of Hotch's gaze on the back of your head. You force yourself into a standing position and try to ignore what happened. 

“You're unfairly angry with me,” you say. 

Hotch just shakes his head at you. 

“It's… It's not a big deal,” you say, quieter. He already knew because of course he did, every member of the team gets checked. You have records, and he's in a position of power unlike most, he could've read them like the morning paper. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“I can still do my job.” 

“I wasn't going to suggest you couldn't.” 

Then why… why is he looking at you like that? You're humiliated enough, and his gaze is so… so soft. So sorry. Tears gather warm behind your eyes and your chest aches like you've been holding your breath. You frown, eyebrows lifting at the starts, not knowing if you should beg him to forget the whole thing or finally give in. 

“Come here,” he says gently. Completely optional, his fingertips twitching but stationery at his side. 

You stare resolutely at your shoes. 

“I'm sorry I scared you, it wasn't my intention. I can imagine how it feels. I'm not mad, honey,” he says. His voice drops to a murmur, “Come here,” he pleads. 

You take a clumsy handful of steps and he meets you in the middle, arms going carefully over your shoulders. You'd feel condescended by it if it weren't shockingly nice to be considered in such a way, or if the solid mass of his arms around you didn't soothe. You feel protected rather than boxed in, held, and not restrained. 

His hand slides open down the length of your back.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” he repeats, for your ears alone. 

“It's not like it was really you that scared me.” 

The memory scared you. The flinch was instinctive, less to do with Hotch and more to do with the connection between a moving hand and stinging pain. 

He hangs his head by your ear until his nose touches your shoulder, and for a few seconds, it's just you and him together, no fighting, and no fast-approaching hands. 

“You didn't scare me,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shoulder instead, forcing him to stand tall. 

Incoming footsteps cut your embrace short, but he doesn't pull away too swiftly. His hands grave the lengths of your arms, and he gives you a long, loaded look. Before you can calibrate the action to the man, he's chucking you under the chin, a stroke of his index knuckle, a promise of more to say. 

He catches Morgan before he can enter the room and directs him back out. “Take a minute,” he advises you. 

You sit in a chair and do as he's offered. Memory is a tricky thing. 

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt | John Price x Reader

Summary: Your good-for-nothing boyfriend won’t help you change out your flat tire in the cold, soaking rain, but luckily someone else comes along to assist, and teaches your boyfriend a lesson while he’s at it.

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Warnings: annoying boyfriend, toxic relationship, platonic!gaz being a cutiepie, price being the greenest flag known to mankind, fem!reader, I’ve never changed a tire before in my life and it’s glaringly obvious…

A/N: been in a major writing slump lately+school kicking my butt+I think I’m getting sick, but full credit to @ceilidho for this idea, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Masterlist | Next

Your day hadn’t been the shittiest so far, but it certainly hadn’t been great.

You’d been off that day, but your boyfriend had called, needing you to pick him up early from his job for whatever reason. He only worked at some little restaurant in town with a decent salary, enough to get food and rent paid for combined with your money anyway. Something about his shifts being moved or the schedule being off, but whatever it had been had been enough for you to hop into his truck, drive over to him, and pick him up.

“Did you cook for dinner tonight?”

He asked from the passenger seat, the seatbelt not even on, despite it already being dark because of the early winter months, and the rain coming down against the windshield. Your lights were on, but still.

“No, wasn’t thinkin’ about it.”

You replied with a small mumble, and he sighed. You were the one who cooked and kept the housework up, and he earned most of the money. It would be balanced, except for the fact that you earned almost the same amount of money as him, and also worked full-time. It barely left any time for meals, most just being pre-prepped on weekends, or thrown together.

“Guess we can just get takeout then.”

He said, tone holding a bit of disappointment. You sighed inwardly, turning your turn signal on as you went down the road to one of the nearest places there. It was a run-down chicken joint that you were pretty sure was a front for some sort of illegal activities, but they had delicious chicken at cheap prices, so you weren’t complaining.

Your mind began to wander when you thought about the restaurant, and what you’d order. You hoped your boyfriend had brought his card because you’d left your wallet at home, ID and license long forgotten. Well, I guess you were just hoping to not get pulled over tonight, or come in contact with any cops.

As if whatever gods there were had heard your thought process, a small ‘thump’ caught your attention, and then a light squeaking sound as the air pressure in your front right tire began rapidly decreasing. With a sigh, you pulled over onto the side of the not-too-busy road. Your boyfriend gave an exasperated exhale.

“We’re gonna have to change the tire.”

You said, and he gave you a withering glance, jerking his chin towards the back of the truck.

“Spare’s in the back. Got a few tools back there to get ‘er done.”

A small pause for a moment as your hand reached for the handle of the door, and he didn’t move at all. You just stared in pure shock.

“You aren’t going to help?”

He gave you a look as if to say you were being ridiculous and illogical right now. You hated that look.

“I just got off work. I’m tired and hungry, and your poor driving skills aren’t my problem.”

He said with a shrug like it was obvious. Your mind still reeling, you searched for the little umbrella you kept near the console, only to find it missing. Great, just great, you thought.

With no other option, you stepped outside, immediately being pelted by the cold raindrops, and skin being lashed at by the harsh wind. You walked around to the trunk, opening the back, and finding the spare tire there, and a toolbox as well. Your shivering hands sorted through the cold metal tools, eventually finding a lug wrench, and a screwdriver, and behind the toolbox you found a jack.

You advanced towards the flat tire, rolling the spare behind you, and you knelt, skirt already soaking wet, your white shirt soaked through and not leaving much to the imagination as it was practically see-through and sticking to your form. The lug nuts didn’t come off easily, but somehow, your fingers got them.

Right when you began using the screwdriver to try and get the hubcap off, something else caught your attention.

Another car, beat up, but well-loved on and taken care of pulled up behind you on the side of the road. It stopped, and two men stepped out. One was taller, with a beard, a thick cigar in his mouth, and a hat on. He might’ve been one of the owners of that chicken restaurant. Whatever it was, he looked familiar. The other man had pretty brown skin, was less tall but still had some muscle in him like the other man, and wore his hat.

The taller one strode up to you just as you managed to pry the hubcap off. His brows furrowed as he looked at your boyfriend sitting in the car, and you, drenched in rain, changing the flat tire of the truck he assumed probably wasn’t even yours.

“Gaz, come help ‘er out wit’ this.”

He said, his voice brusque but also warm at the same time. Realizing he hadn’t introduced himself yet, he gave a nod of his head to you.

“John Price, that there is Kyle, but we call ‘im Gaz.”

You blinked, and Kyle walked over, crouching down next to you and offering a polite smile. One that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but it wasn’t rude. Price must’ve noticed your shivering form or the sheer white shirt that was clear because of the rain because he took his brown jacket off and put it around your shoulders. The insides were fuzzy and warm, and it was oversized, but enough to keep the heat insulated and the wet cold out. A bit surprised, you simply said your name.

“Oh..thanks. Y/N.”

You offered, for some reason trusting these strangers enough to give them your real name. Something about them felt right. Price nodded, then raised a brow at your boyfriend in the car, who still hadn’t noticed them, too preoccupied with his phone.

“What’s a pretty birdie like you doin’ changin’ wheels out here?”

John asked, and you weren’t sure what overcame you, but you cast a glance up at the boy in the car.

“He wasn’t going to help.”

Gaz and Price both looked slightly taken aback by that, exchanging glances, as Price opened up the door where your boyfriend was (avoiding hitting you or his sergeant's heads with it, of course) and pulled him out by the collar.

“Hey—what-“

Price shut him up real quick, then moved to hold him by the scruff of his neck.

“Now you listen here, why’ve you got your girl ou’ here doing all this work in the soakin’ rain, when you should be the one doing this, yeah?”

He asked, and your boyfriend turned a light shade of pink that wasn’t fully visible in the dark of the night.

“Well, I..”

“I’ll show you how a real man provides for his partner. Garrick, move over.”

He shoved your boyfriend back into the grass, and Gaz scooted more to the right, letting Price take the left side. Price carefully grabbed you by the hips and moved you back, out of the way, but to where you could still watch and hear him talk.

“Can’t believe it, ‘at’s ridiculous.”

He muttered, and Kyle shook his head.

“Can’t help but agree, sir.”

They used the jack to jack the car up, strong arms easily placing the spare tire in place, Gaz holding it up while Price screwed the lugnuts back on. While putting the hubcap back on, John began talking to you.

“You oughta find you a man, someone that would provide for you, that lil’ boy you got isn’t it. We’d never treat a woman like that, now would we, Gaz?”

“Never, sir.”

“Look at ‘im, two complete strangers are here, changing out his tire, and he ain’t offered a lick o’ help.”

He said, shaking his head, not even glancing back at your boyfriend who still was sitting in the grass behind you all. The hubcap was put back into place, and they both stood, lowering the jack before removing it. Price offered you a hand up, and you took it, surprisingly enjoying how his burly callouses felt against your soft skin. Kyle put the tools and jack back in the trunk, before again being at Price’s side.

His eyes met Kyle’s, and Kyle took out a small notepad and pen, scribbling something down, before passing it to John who did the same. They tore the paper off, handing it to you. It was their numbers, Gas’s having a little smiley face next to it, and Price’s having a simple ‘Call me’.

“If you’re ever in trouble, give us a ring.”

Price said, and Gaz nodded as if to confirm this. You took the piece of paper and folded it in half, putting it in your pocket to protect it from the rain. Price gave you a little pat on the back, and Gaz brushed his hand ever so slightly against yours, before they both walked back to their car, getting in, and driving off with nothing more than a wave.

With a judgemental look down at your boyfriend, you got into the car, throwing his things that were still inside out at him where he was still sitting in the grass.

“We’re done.”

And with that, you drove off before his angry cussing started.

It was only when you got home that night (to the shared apartment, which you would very soon be leaving) that you noticed something. Price hadn’t ever taken his jacket back.

[murielsbottombitch]

I fucking hate being a disabled 20 year old. everyone thinks I should be doing so much more but I literally can't. just existing zaps me of all my energy, I can't live the way I want no matter how bad I want to. I wanted to be a rock climber. I wanted to learn to kickbox. I wanted to be in a rollar derby. I wanted to be a dancer. I can't have what I want. I can't have what other people want for me either. working a normal job is just flat out not an option for me. people think it's because I don't want to but I WANT TO WORK. I want to work so god damn badly. I want to feel useful. I want to get out of the house. I want to do literally anything but stay in bed all day. I hate it so much. I have to live in the confines of my disability. no amount of old people shaming me is going to change that.

[offseason-if]

You've been ice skating as long as you can remember.

Your mother is well known in the community as one of the most talented skaters in her generation, and you and your brother had quickly followed in her footsteps.

The two of you are called 'prodigies', something that inflates your brother's ego more than needed, and you're both due to preform in the qualifying competitions and make your way to nationals.

Everything has been going perfect for you your whole career, nothing will go wrong now, right?

Wrong, apparently. Because two months before the first competition is set to take place your brother suffers a nasty fall and acquires an injury that prevents him from ever skating again.

You swear off of competitive ice skating and the following competition out of solidarity, but it appears quitting something you've done your whole life isn't easy, especially if someone is trying to prevent you from doing so in the first place.

A customizable main character, including gender, pronouns, personality, physical appearance, family relationships, college major, part time job, and more.

Decide how you acted inside the rink, were you cocky and arrogant? Shy and modest? Stoic and competitive?

Choose between four romantic options - decide if your best friend's loyalty to you goes deeper than friendship, try to figure out your self proclaimed rival's mixed signals, indulge or ignore the newbie ice skater who seems determined to get to know you, or rekindle an old relationship* with your coach's son.

Deal with your families reaction to you choosing to give up ice skating. Will you focus on your sister's and mom's support or how the decision negatively impacts your brother and mother?

Demo TBA, Character introduction post

Noel Watanabe [RO, they/them]: Since your first meeting when you were both 12, where the judges scored you one point higher than them, Noel has claimed themselves as your 'rival'. They certainly play the part— well sometimes. Between bringing you food after practice and completely ignoring you, their hot-and-cold personality practically gives you whiplash. When they heard you were quitting the sport, they were enraged. Will you dig deeper into your relationship with your so called rival?

Hallie/Harlow Mitchell [RO, gender selectable]: After deciding to take a gap year against their parents wishes, H finds themselves spending their (would be) fall semester in Illinois. You first run into them, quite literally. A blur of bright orange knocking you flat on your back isn't he way you were looking to get your mind off of your problems but it worked. And if it hadn't the sound of H profusely apologizing certainly did. They seem to follow you everywhere you allow them to after that. Will their attempts to motivate you to skate again lead to something more?

Sadie/Spencer Williams [RO, gender selectable]: Your best friend since your first year in middle school. They've seen all the parts of you that you keep hidden from others, for better or for worse. While never picking up ice skating themselves S has never missed one of your games as long as they've known you. S has always been loyal and supportive of you, almost to a fault, but that all changes when you tell them you're giving up skating. Will you find out why your normally laid back best friend is passionate about getting you to skate again?

Valerio 'Val' Diaz [RO, he/him]: Coach Diaz had introduced the two of you after your third lesson, convinced you would become quick friends. He was right, of course, at least for a while. Valerio was obliviously quite a bright kid; helping you with homework during breaks at practice, studying with you before lunch, spending your sleepovers going over multiplication tables rather than telling secrets. It was something you'd always admired about him until— well, you'd rather not get into it. Your old friend seems to think otherwise, if the speed he comes back into your life after hearing about your plans to quit skating is anything to go by. Will you be able to forgive and let your old friend (or more) back into your life?

Meet a wide cast of characters, including other competitive ice skaters, coworkers, your siblings' friends, and more!*

* Valerio has both an exes to lovers and friends to lovers route available depending on player choices

*Some of these things are subject to change!

[sixofcrowdaydreams]

Six of Crows Russian Edition

Today I found this gorgeous gem at the bookstore!

So a few years ago I moved overseas to live in a Russian speaking country. I am not in Russia, for the record. The national language here is not Russian, but it is commonly spoken in my city.

Today at the bookstore I looked for a copy of Crooked Kingdom for the cast of Shadow and Bone to sign this May when I go to A Storm of Shadows and Crows convention in Paris. I don't own a copy of SOC or KC in English and there's no chance of finding one where I live. The next best option was getting a book in the local language and calling it a souvenir of my time abroad. To my delight I found this lovely Russian edition of Six of Crows!

More stunning artwork below.

There were multiple versions of the books to choose from. The original art and the Netflix artwork were available too. The most impressive part was finding copies of the original covers WITHOUT the Netflix sticker. (Haha, suck it Netflix.) To the right, not pictured were King of Scars and Rule of Wolves.

I've never seen this cover variation before. It was an exciting find!

The Russian version I bought is illustrated by (I assume Russian?) artist Eva Eller.

I didn't see a copy of Crooked Kingdom with illustrations by the same artist at this bookstore, but it must exist. Mine was the last copy of SOC with the Russian artwork. Maybe it was sold out?

Google Translate titles the book Six of Ravens, lol. But that's just a translation error because a little google-foo showed that ворона (pronounced vorona) means crow. Interestingly, while typing the title, I learned that вор (pronounced vor) means thief. Interesting how similar the words crow and thief are in Russian. Checks out.

Above is the art printed on the side of the pages. Love how it still includes the side of the pages colored, just like the original books.

The hardcover underneath the jacket is a crow. It's not the same as pictured on the original CK cover, but it is similar. Love the messy, broken, bent feathers, yet the crow is still able to fly. Metaphor for our six characters? Absolutely!

The book was wrapped in cellophane so I didn't realize there was even more art inside! Here is the inner cover. IT'S BEAUTIFUL! The back is the same. It captures the foggy haze of Ketterdam so well.

The flaps of the book jacket are images from the inner cover. But there's a cracked texture over them that gives it a gorgeous grittiness.

The candle is the left side of the inner book jacket. Sorry the image isn't flat, I didn't want to damage the jacket by straightening it out.

The right side of the book jacket shows all the Crows!

Let's appreciate how Matthias looks snow pale and serious. Inej is taller than Nina -- she must be standing on a step stool. No clue why both of their eyes are closed, especially when Nina is the one pointing to the paper. They are lovely. Kaz has on his scheming face. Jesper is as handsome as every version of him should be. And Wylan looks bored AF because A.) he's already memorized the map he drew or B.) he can't read whatever document Kaz has in front of them. Wait, no, Wylan is making heart eyes at Jesper. All of the above can be true.

Inside is a small illustration at the beginning of each chapter, which changes with each section.

You can also see the Crow's names written in Cyrillic. Inej, Kaz, Nina, and Matthias translate easily. Jesper uses the д (letter D) and ж (pronounced like zhe) letter combination that makes his name sound like Zhesper since there is no J in Cyrillic. It's worth pointing out (again) that Wylan's name does not translate perfectly. There is no W in the Cyrillic alphabet. (As someone who also has a W in their name, I sympathize with Wylan here.) I'm no expert in Russian, but I'm pretty sure -- with the help of google translate -- that Wylan is pronounced as Oo-ai-len. Poor boy can't catch a break.

Each of the five section of the book use different chapter art. They all do an excellent job capturing the atmosphere.

The paper is so thin that you can easily see the printing on the opposite side. Not ideal for an edition that's otherwise this lovely. Oh well.

Given that Ravka is fantasy Russia, it's not a surprise to find the Grisha Verse books in Russian.

I am so excited to bring this book to Paris for the cast to sign!

[inkformyblood]

speak truth into reality (Codywan Week24)

Day 01 Truth Serum/Spell - Obi-Wan doesn’t lie @codywanweek

Canon Compliant, optional Post-O66 section at end. Heavy pining with a palm kiss~

“Smells weird,” one of the newer cadets remarks — newer than Cody himself which isn’t by much all things factored in — and Cody gives him the good grace of ignoring him. Second thing he’d learnt in the Command track, compartmentalisation, and he’s gunning for gold, full marks, maybe even prizing a good job out of Alpha-17’s grasp on his way past.

Won’t make up for the fact he’s failing at step one.

“We ran into a spot of trouble on our last mission,” Kenobi answers, a smile as wide as a sunrise plastered on his face and just as fake as a politician’s promise. It’s for the benefit of the camera crew reluctantly tucked into one corner, the expression beginning to twitch into something closer to bared teeth, something violent, before Kenobi composes himself and continues. “Due to the rapid escalation of the war, quick repairs were necessary, hence the smell. I find the cheaper material does tend to linger.”

He turns his gaze towards the camera operator, and the camera by benefit of association. Cody tracks the movement, his bucket firmly in place, the perfect picture of professionalism at Kenobi’s side, and he dips into the holonet with a blink. There is a dizzying moment of confusion, the reverberation that the person dressed in his armour standing at Kenobi’s side isn’t him, couldn’t be him, carving a fresh bloody swathe through Cody’s thoughts, and it passes before it can squirm, weak-limbed and wet from the tube, into something more. He can see what the camera sees, what the holonet is bearing witness to right at this exact moment, and he knows the universe is twisting itself into a fresh shape because of it. It has to be. He can’t look at Kenobi as he is now and not come away changed.

Cody knows his General is beautiful. He’d been warned about it, in fact, three stacks of flimsiwork to sign in confirmation of receipt even before Alpha-17 attempted to scrub it into his head, the disjointed flat of his knuckles grinding against Cody’s skull as he repeated the first rule of Command again and again and again. He must have had an inkling, some latent Force-sensitive DNA spasming into life for that moment and that moment only, because he knew that Kenobi would be the ruin of Cody.

He loves him. With everything he has and everything he is and everything that he will be.

Kenobi smiles, his eyes flat and his teeth bared just within the confines of manners. “I just find it to be such a shame that the Senate doesn’t seem to prioritise the men fighting to keep them safe. That is why this was agreed on.”

The host looks to be barely out of her vat with how fragile she seems, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of blue as she stares at Kenobi. Her throat bobs silently for a moment, the sharp pale edge of her teeth visible behind the swell of her lower lip. It is only when Kenobi straightens, his grin smoothing into something gentler, that she relaxes, her shoulders rising and falling noticeably as she composes herself. It’s a good show, enough to compel a few of the troopers into sharp professionalism as their fingers dance over the controls of the ships without looking down, conducting the engines into a low thrum of promised violence that would propel them into atmo with barely a ripple in the General’s tea. Beautiful in it’s own way and tragically unappreciated.

Behind the camera, the young man coughs once, a pale violet blush lying heavily over the soft swell of his nose and the host steps forward just enough to break the camera’s view of Cody. He doesn’t relax, not with a noose he’s tied himself around his neck, his choice to love Obi-Wan and to continue to do so, his choice to mark his understanding on Alpha-17’s piles of flimsiwork and proceed forward with his decision all the same. The camera is a regrettable necessary evil, a way of carving some understanding into the holonet’s collective conscious and they have chosen as their instrument of destruction, General Kenobi, his robe long since discarded on the back of a chair when the discussion of life on a ship had first been brought up, and his teeth safely tucked away as the conversation teeters on a knife edge once more.

“Yes, General Kenobi,” the host begins once more. Her voice is musical, pleasant enough to listen to, although Cody thinks it would begin to crack under a barrage, not enough pieces to be glued back together when there’s blood in the lines of her palms. “Thank you for mentioning that point as it brings us rather neatly into our next talking point. In the Senate, and the holonet at large, there is a rather interesting rumour circulating about you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile turns brittle and Cody’s hand doesn’t twitch towards his blaster. He has too much self-control to do anything quite as obvious and he is a Clone Commander. There’s several troopers with their hands on their blasters under his command, his authority, and at least one trooper with a wickedly sharp knife that Cody officially knows nothing about, no flimiswork filed and no denials holstered.

He’ll take just as much glory from this host’s death from another’s hand as he will his own. If it’s necessary. If it is needed.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan reaches back for his tea and Cody is already holding it out for him to take. The heat from the mug bleeds through his gloves, worn thin and stitched back together twice with thread whose colour didn’t matter. It would darken with ash and grime quickly enough and they didn’t have the resources available to be selective. Obi-Wan takes the mug, the tips of his fingers skimming against Cody’s in a gesture that would bleed professionalism if it could and yet meant so much more than that. He takes a sip, his next breath fogging in the air before he speaks. “Do enlighten me as to what that could be.”

Another blink for the holonet and Cody skims over the most recent comments, careful to keep his gaze averted from the devastation of Obi-Wan’s grin, the fragile porcelain of his countenance. His own name appears more times than he had expected, a handful of little pictures of fire and water droplets in some sort of code that had respondents queuing up in agreement, but that isn’t important. There are more commenters on Obi-Wan’s side than against from his brief surveillance, but the majority are locked onto what the rumour could be.

The minority insisting that they are about to get confirmation on the theory that Obi-Wan is dating Senator Amidala from Naboo are being resoundly shot down. Cody snaps a picture and flicks it through the coms channels to Fox before the host clears her throat once more.

Cody knows the thought flickering across Obi-Wan’s mind before it has even breached the surface, lining up the orders to make sure it would be a precision strike if needed.

“Yes, we and our viewers on the holonet would love to know—” She leans forward like she is sharing some conspiracy, her face tilted towards the camera to wink one glittering eye before she continues. “—is it true that you don’t lie?”

“That?” Obi-Wan sips at his tea once more, another puff of visible breath rolling across the surface before it vanishes. The faintest hint of florals works through the filters in Cody’s helmet, cut with enough sugar to send a shiny to medical. Apparently, it was a necessity for that blend. Obi-Wan places the cup back onto the table, his mouth drawn into a thin line in the brief moment of respite from his starving watchers, and he smiles as he turns back around. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he straightens up to his full height, tipping his head to one side. “I wouldn’t have thought it would be a hotly discussed topic in the Senate of all places.”

One of the troopers dissolves into a coughing fit that sounds suspiciously like the clone’s bastardised Mando’a words for ‘because it is a rarity there’. Obi-Wan glances over, worry etched into the crease of his brow, the downturned corners of his mouth, and Cody leans back the inch or so he needs to get an eyeline on the coughing trooper.

It is a truly miraculous recovery.

“Your name is mentioned more often than you would think, General!” This is safer ground for the host, her shoulders relaxing by noticeable degrees, her stance widening as she tips into her hip.

One of the troopers misses his seat, a fine example of several thousand credits worth of training, not to mention the millions that went into the exact sequencing of his DNA, and he catches himself on the edge of the console before making a second attempt. His batchmate standing next to him helps, his shoulders held tight to contain his laughter. Cody is going to murder them both and mount their helmets on the wall.

The host doesn’t even notice. She continues, her hands splayed wide, open, inviting. “So, could you confirm for us?”

She bats her eyes, long lashes dark against the paler hue of her cheek, the smudge of colour on her lids. Cody wasn’t decanted yesterday, he sat through every module he needed to and the again for the supplemental material tacked onto the end after a handful of cycles with the Jedi. He’s not unfamiliar with people flirting with General Kenobi, already bloodied in that particular conflict in the moments after meeting the man, but this tastes different, feels different.

It’s almost a reflex, the final death throes of an insect after it threw itself into the candle flame. A dance that she has moved through the positions enough times that her body moves on instinct, sending her step by step closer to an abyss she doesn’t wish to stare into. This particular outreach team had been assigned to them, the orders skidding across Cody’s desk and marked with Fox’s heavy-handed subtlety, and he’s plotting something. Always is.

Never forgiven Cody for being lifted out of their tube three minutes before him.

Cody doesn’t jolt back into the present moment, he is simply there, like he always is. At Obi-Wan’s side.

“I don’t lie, my dear.” Obi-Wan croons the endearment like he wields his saber, all flash with one hand to hide the blade he holds in the other. He slips his hands from his sleeves once more, a few scattered marks across his fingers from the leather bands he wears, and inclines his head towards the door. “I believe, along with this full expose, you were promised a tour of the ship. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t uphold my side of things.”

There’s a twittering of pleasantries Cody doesn’t bother to remember, letting the noise wash over him, waiting for his orders. He picks up Obi-Wan’s tea, one hand flat beneath the base, the other cupping the side, and follows them. He’s a few steps behind, just outside of the gaze of the camera, so there is a moment of respite.

He doesn’t take it.

It wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right, for Cody to be off duty when Obi-Wan is still having to play the part made for him. When the Kaminoans threaded his DNA together, some pieces must have been lost, drifting off into the filters of his tube or burrowing into Fox next to him, because Cody cannot stop. He just is, fiercely and entirely.

“The ship is a self-contained living and combat space.” Obi-Wan speaks easily, each word clearly defined and Cody is reminded of the mechanical voices on the training modules. “Comfortably, we can house nearly one thousand two hundred men on board. Currently, we are housing two thousand.”

The host’s steps slow, not enough that she would crash into the waiting eye of the camera held just behind her, but, in comparison to Obi-Wan’s easy stride, her shock is a scream. Cody doesn’t pause with her, maintaining his distance from Obi-Wan, and he draws level with her. Through the film of his visor, Cody can make out the tight press of her mouth, the sheen of her eyes as they dart up his helmet and then lower to the cup Cody still holds carefully tucked into his chest. Her expression shifts into something Cody can’t name but is wary of all the same, a blade pressing against the line of his ribs and he isn’t sure if it’s meant as a boon or a threat.

Cody looks to Obi-Wan.

A single nod and Cody settles back into familiar lines, head raised, back straight.

“Does that not prove a problem for resources?” The host asks. She colours a pale shade of blue, straying from her given list of questions, and Cody knows why Fox chose her to match with Obi-Wan and himself. Curiosity is a drug that devours itself, driving them onwards ever further, and he sees the bite of it layered over her shoulders.

Obi-Wan inclines his head to one side in acknowledgement. “Somewhat. We try to mitigate it as best we can but some situations are unavoidable. If you would follow me down here?”

The corridor isn’t one of the better ones on the ship, it noticeably buckles on one side, forcing them into single file about halfway down. It hadn’t been a secret Separtist weapon like the scrolling feed in the corner of Cody’s vision speculates, or the scar from some space battle, just flimsy materials buckling beneath a little bit of wear and tear. It’s a chilling thought, one Cody doesn’t care to linger on for longer than absolutely necessary, the idea that the ship he is forced to entrust his existence to, the lives of his men to, could come apart in an instant for no other reason than to make a politician’s bottom line fatter.

They wouldn’t be saved if that happened.

No. Cody adjusts the thought in the same instant. Obi-Wan would save them, no orders needed. He would hold together the decaying carcass of their supposed salvation for as long as he could for the sake of just one more life saved.

Cody falls back behind the camera on Obi-Wan’s silent instructions, letting the pair move ahead behind his General. Like this, he can see through the camera’s lens, the General’s back clear above the slighter frame of the host, their shadows stretching out ahead them, stark in the artificial light. There is a slight haze around Obi-Wan, not dissimilar to the way the horizon trembles beneath heat, a window into the impulses of the universe for a moment, and Cody’s breath catches in his throat, faintly floral with the tang of ozone.

“If you could pause a moment?” Obi-Wan asks in a tone that expects to be obeyed instantly, still mild and pleasant but steel running beneath it. Cody halts instantly, the sudden absence of his bootsteps echoing loudly, and he can make out the hurried sounds of movement in the room beyond through the vent above his head before Obi-Wan knocks on the door.

It opens to a trooper still in his blacks like Cody had instructed him to be. There should be two others behind him, similarly deliberately dressed down, a couple hands on cards scattered on the table in front of them. It might just be set dressing, a scream through gritted teeth for the humanity the leash is slowly choking from them, but it could be an opening. Obi-Wan may have played this game longer than Cody has, but he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve at least.

“Ah, Remy. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“Not at all, General.”

There’s another volley of comments filtering through Cody’s bucket, some of them entirely little pictures of fire. He doesn’t know what that means.

“I was hoping to show our guests around a standard bunk-room,” Obi-Wan continues. His hands are folded in front of him, his thumbs resting against the delicate network of veins in his wrist and Cody knows, from furiously guarded experience, that his heartbeat will be as even as his voice, each pulse measured and exact, working towards the same goal.

Remy nods once, burnished professionalism instead of the deep-rooted network woven through Cody’s veins, but it’s a start. He’d polish up to be a fine trooper, not quite Command track but Squad Leader maybe. If he survives long enough. “Of course, sir.”

“If you’d follow me?” Obi-Wan sweeps into the room without waiting for an answer and the pair, boxed in unknowingly by a Jedi and his Commander, do as he instructs.

The camera swings wide first, devouring the regulation unpainted walls in the same grey shade as the rest of the ship, nothing to distinguish this as a room intended for sleeping except the rows of bunks spaced out from one wall to another, repeating across the room. Two of the bunks are occupied, the troopers doing a passable job of faking sleep. Their eyes gleam from behind mostly closed lids, a matched set of predators observing prey scurrying by. One trooper has even stripped to the waist, the blanket bunched around his hip, and his chest rises and falls in a mimicry of the rolling breath of dreams. Another volley of flames springs across Cody’s vision, but it isn’t enough to distract him from the slight tint to Obi-Wan’s cheeks as he turns to face them once more.

In the centre of the room, two of the bunks had been removed, shoved into the aisles instead to allow space for a couple of storage crates fastened together and then bolted to the floor. Remy has returned to his careful perch on the floor, resting high on his knees as he surveys the hand of discarded cards on the table, picking them back up one by one. Stacked neatly, two other hands sit waiting at his left, and the surface is cluttered with coordinated sets of a sabbac game in full-throttle, spent blaster refills serving the place of chips.

“If I may,” the host begins, glancing first at Obi-Wan who inclines his head towards the trooper. “What is this you’re doing?”

“Playing sabbac, ma’am.”

Cody, unseen by the camera, raises his hand to his bucket, first and second finger splayed wide and the rest curled into his palm. He taps his fingers against his temple before moving them outwards, the same battle sign they would use for an advance. It might not be the battlefield he’s used to but he trusts his men. He trusts Obi-Wan.

“I’m playing three hands at a time, using the blaster refills for tokens, and trying to refine my play style.” Remy grins up at her, wide enough that the ring pierced through his tongue could be seen for an instant as he continues. “Got to stop my batch mates gloating somehow.”

The host nods. She clasps her hands in front of her chest for an instant, squeezing tight enough that her skin discolours before she drops her hold, returning to the selfsame splay of her palms. It feels like a warning, something in the base of Cody’s skull twitching in alarm, a snake rattling its tail just to display there’s no mace involved, failing to declare the fangs it carries. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan’s grin sharpens to a fine point, the blue of his eyes shining in the glow of the lights overhead.

Remy’s gaze darts to Cody, then to Obi-Wan.

He doesn’t drop the grin. The ring in his tongue taps against his teeth, not loud enough for anyone who isn’t a clone to hear but the sound echoes in Cody’s bucket like bootsteps, refill, reload, aim.

Lying another set down, Remy plucks a blaster refill from one pile, adding it to his current selection.

“Why not use credits?” The host asks. Her thumb runs along the edge of the opposing nail, the habit of a lifetime banked but not yet extinguished. She orbits the camera’s gaze as she steps closer to the table, tipping her head to peer down at the cards laid before her, but she never crosses the unknowable line that would put her between the trooper and Obi-Wan.

Remy shrugs. “We don’t make any that we can get. Get a stipend from the Temple—”

“We try to give as much as we can,” Obi-Wan murmurs, loud enough to be picked up the camera but gentle enough that the host doesn’t startle too overtly when he speaks.

“Better spent on the refugees, sir.” Remy selects his next hand, fanning the cards out with a snap. “Our ‘wages’ are tied up in the renewal fund held by the Senate for our benefit. So, we make do with what we’ve got for things like this.”

There is a moment, Cody knows, when an audience is gathered in front of the altar of an empty space and a covering when everything stops as the covering is drawn back. He is used to the empty space being a patch of barren earth and the covering being a salvaged piece of cloth held up instead of what he is witnessing now; the slowly dawning expression of the host, curiosity with its teeth bared. Obi-Wan catches Cody’s gaze above it all, the revelation of his plan, the culmination of everything he had worked for over the past few weeks, and he looks to Cody first.

It’s humbling, feeling like the universe has knelt at his feet, palms upturned for something Cody cannot name. He holds Obi-Wan’s gaze as best as he can, his breath catching on every broken spur in his chest.

The host has a datapad in her hands when Cody takes stock of her once more; angled away from the gaze of the camera, a stylus scrawling across the surface of it. Her tongue is caught between her blunt teeth, her thumb jutting out to press against the broken edge of her nail. Focus has settled over her features like an exoskeleton, everything else blunted in its passage.

“This has been most enlightening, General Kenobi. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan bows, slighter lower than regulations required. His hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back into place with one hand.

There’s another burst of comments across the scrolling feed in Cody’s bucket, numerous enough that one barely flashes onto his visor before it’s replaced by another. Water droplets, this time.

“We’ll do an establishing shot of the entire ship as we leave and I have your comm code, yes?”

“That is correct. I may not reply straight away, but I will answer in whatever capacity I can.” Obi-Wan tips his head towards Cody, a signal to begin leading them out paired with a grin that is smaller than the previous, but no less beautiful because of it.

The host nods. Momentarily outside of the gaze of the camera, the operator turning to point the watchful gaze of half the universe at Remy once more, she flexes her fingers, the jut of her knuckles pale as claws move beneath the stretched skin. The corner of her mouth twitches, the expression gone before it could be fully registered, but Cody knows rage when he sees it, bone deep fury that, finally, blessedly, had some weight behind it. The camera returns to her and she is gentle perfection personified, dainty as porcelain once more. Begrudgingly, Cody considers the possibility that Fox may have been right and dismisses it in the same instance. Fox would never let him live it down if he did.

The rest of the walk back towards the ramp is carried out in near-silence, the feed cut for a handful of moments of privacy. Obi-Wan doesn’t lower his guard. Cody can sense the tension in him, the pressure behind his eyes like an oncoming storm brewing on the horizon. It doesn’t abate until the camera operator and host have stepped off the end of the ramp, allowing Obi-Wan to press his thumb and forefinger into his eyes with a groan. He turns away from the entrance, orbiting Cody without needing to look and speaks without removing the blunt press of his hand. “This singularity of mine is often more trouble than it’s worth, but it seems to have helped in this occasion. People don’t expect a man who doesn’t lie to be dishonest.”

“No, sir. Do you think it will work?”

“I hope so. It’ll be worth it even if all that happens is a handful of seconds on a newsreel and some dedicated fans in the archives. It’ll be something more than what we — what you — had. And I want you to have everything, Cody.”

Cody swallows, the sound loud in the sudden silence of his thoughts. “Everything, sir?”

“Everything.” Obi-Wan drops his hand, his gaze landing fully on Cody, unobstructed by interlopers on their ship, and Cody tracks the movement of his eyes. First, to his helmet, catching the exact placement of his eyes beneath his visor, then lower, to his hands. Obi-Wan’s mouth parts in surprise, his cheeks flushing a rich shade, a near enough match to the red of his hair, and it shouldn’t be as beautiful as it is. “Cody?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, you wonderful man.” Obi-Wan steps closer, already reaching for the mug Cody offers him once more. He scoops up the mug with one hand, replacing the weight of it with his other hand, curling his fingers around Cody’s as best as he could.

“It won’t be warm, not now, but I can—“

“It’s perfect, Cody. Thank you.” Obi-Wan squeezes Cody’s hands tight, the leather indenting with the motion, and Cody is used the the bluntness his gloves bring, but he feels Obi-Wan’s touch clearly. Warm skin against warm skin. He curls his own fingers around Obi-Wan’s as best as he can, clumsy from inexperience but steady as he had been trained to be.

Obi-Wan sips at his tea, his gaze drifting to the wandering motions of the departing pair. “They should be out there for a moment longer and then we will be on our way once more.”

Cody’s heart clenches, an old familiar bitterness coating the back of his teeth. They should have been able to exist longer in this in-between moment, the breath taken before leaping to the next objective, the next battle, the place where they could be something other than a General and his Commander.

But, that isn’t meant for them. For others, maybe, but not them. Not yet.

Obi-Wan’s thumb presses against the seam at Cody’s wrist, the rough callus scratching along his skin.

“I would like to kiss you, Cody,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his words undeniably true and Cody wouldn’t think to question them regardless. He is no closer than was before but Cody burns with the rush of heat from his skin, the only point of contact Cody’s outstretched hands, the press of Obi-Wan’s thumb against bare skin. “But if you’re agreeable, I have an idea of what will do for now.”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. Please.”

Cody couldn’t guess at what Obi-Wan is going to do, but he’ll follow where the other man leads gladly. He loves him too much, too fiercely, not to.

Obi-Wan squeezes his hands once more, and kneels in front of him, one leg braced high while the other extends behind him. It puts him on level with Cody’s hands and he leans forward to kiss the space his hand was occupying. His hair falls across the spread of Cody’s wrists, his beard rasping against the tips of Cody’s fingers, and Cody senses the grin better than he can see or feel it through his gloves.

It’s there all the same. He knows it.

Obi-Wan kisses his palms, soft, delicate, once more before he rises. “Shall we return, my dear?”

Cody nods and Obi-Wan walks towards the bridge, Cody a few steps behind. His palms are burning, an ache he hopes will stay as solid. as the memory will.

⁂

There is a holoclip encoded into the receiver at his wrist, transferred into his new bucket so seamlessly that CC-2224 doesn’t think to question it. He doesn’t question orders.

He doesn’t recognise the figure in the forefront, a blueskinned woman baring her teeth in a grin at the camera, but he recognises the set behind her, in the distance. The traitor Kenobi kneels in front of a trooper before pressing his face into the outspread clutch of the trooper’s palms, kissing them.

CC-2224’s palms burn as he watches the clip. He doesn’t remember why.

[saturdaycitrus]

Ven and Vel getting jobs xD

Dancer AU!! (technically Veneer isn't a dancer in this but my explanation will be on the bottom! TLDR it was just cool so yippee [there's lore!!!!!!!])

Also! sorry@imadumdumjewel for the late reply!

If you guys req anything, I'll get to it, just may be a tad late...

Anywho! I ran a lil poll on Twitter to decide on the types of jobs they would have so here we go:

So I actually forgot to put dancer Vel/artist Ven because I kinda thought Ven would kinda fit the thing but after I finished this art I was pretty happy I didn't put it on there lol.

I honestly think that the other job options seemed pretty interesting, but no one really suggested any other jobs, and almost everyone was enthralled with the idea of dancer Ven & Vel.

For Veneer:

At first, my friend and I were planning this, but nothing really felt right to us. I did suggest Ballerino, but it didn't feel like something Veneer would do without Velvet, because they kinda come in pairs. Gymnast was also a suggestion, but after a couple minutes, it was swiftly discarded because I didn't want to draw Veneer's toes.

Anywho, while searching for other options, ice skating appeared, and my friend suggested an interesting idea as to

Lore time:

When Veneer was young, his parents pushed him towards traditionally male hobbies, such as sports and more sports. When his dad saw a flyer for an ice hockey team, he signed him up immediately. However, some mischievous kid had taped a different number to the hockey flyer, so Veneer's father ended up signing him up for figure skating instead.

At first, Veneer thought he was out of place, after all, the ratio of boys to girls was significant and he found himself to be the only one in that class. He didn't enjoy it much and regretted that he didn't join Velvet in her breakdancing course. However, as he unwillingly went to classes, he slowly started gaining a love for the sport and noticed how beautiful it was.

That led him to go down into professional figure skating and join competitions, eventually leading him to go down in history. For Velvet

My friend suggested swapping traditionally male and female dance styles, which led to the eventual conclusion: breakdancing. Velvet is a strong-willed character who would definitely try to get her way (as shown in the trailer of the movie) and take the classes that she liked.

Lore time:

When Veneer got signed up to do ice hockey, Velvet felt like she didn't have to deal with her little brother all day, and felt that she had a lot of time to herself. At first, she found a lot of things to do every day, running to places, going to parties, and just generally having fun.

At this point, Veneer was still unwilling to go to figure skating classes, (turns out Velvet was the mischievous kid who changed the number on the ice hockey flyer into a figure skating course phone number) but since his father had already paid for a year, he had to go anyways. Velvet would purposely use this to upset Veneer when she didn't get what she wanted, but then would accidentally make Veneer cry, resulting in her getting lectured by her parents, and Velvet holding back tears as she apologized to Veneer (she was totes in the fault here tho).

She realized that the more free time she had, the more her parents would lecture her. She decided right then and there that she would sign up for a class. She spent days, scrolling her phone and watching videos of different skills to decide what she wanted to do. However, nothing caught her eye.

Then, one day, she saw a kid do a flip, and slip and fall miserably. First, she took a video and laughed, and then thought to herself, "Hey, I could do that waaaayyyyy better. That kid's a failure!" And so she threw herself into learning it, but unsurprisingly, she fell flat on her face.

She was unhappy with this result, so she immediately went to her parents and asked them to sign her up for a breakdancing course. However, she had a tendency to give up when things got annoying/hard, so her parents turned her away each time. However, both the nonstop pestering and the fact that she no longer was bullying Veneer (because she was too busy following her parents around and throwing tantrums), they finally gave in.

From then on, she started breakdancing classes, and Veneer was upset because now his sister got to do something she liked, but Veneer was stuck in ice skating hell. He was very unhappy for some time, but then decided, "If she's gonna be happy, I gotta be happier. I gotta upstage her". So, he took to ice skating and started focusing all his efforts on it.

Velvet, seeing her twin brother become increasingly devoted to learning the trade she had forced him into while she had just started to get bored of breakdancing, felt a spark of competition and decided to practice harder.

Her parents were really impressed. Periodt. Now they are famous both nationally (Veneer) and on the streets (Velvet, for breakdancing, not giving up). YIPPEE

THE END

[buckychristwrites]

About You | Day 2 | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think! :)

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

When you left your flat that morning, you decided to walk. The building was just close enough, yet far enough from Nelson Road that either car or foot was a reasonable option, and you felt that you could use the extra thinking, and mental preparation, time. 

As you set out, you had one goal in mind for the day: Interview with Tartt. It was by no means going to be an easy thing to accomplish. It would be a miracle if you were able to get him alone, let alone speak to you. 

Pulling out your phone, you opened Twitter. It was a general rule for yourself to not open your mentions at any time, but today, you didn’t have to. The trending list in London already told you everything you needed to know.

Jamie Tartt was trending, along with The Independent, and below that, was none other than you. Your heart picked up the pace in your chest as you went to The Independent’s page and saw an announcement of the profile with Jamie, naming none other than you as the author of it. Heat filled your cheeks. This wasn’t in the discussion you had when you got the assignment. At least, not that you could remember. 

 Without another second, you went to your contacts and pressed your boss’s name, calling him immediately.

He answered on the third ring, greeting you by yelling your name into the receiver.

“Did you see the tweet?” He asked excitedly. “The fans are ecstatic!”

“Why wasn’t that run by me first?” You demanded. “I didn’t want a formal announcement like this, especially when I’ve just started.”

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t run by you because I wanted the announcement,” He said in an uncaring voice. “Frankly, I don’t give an arse what you wanted.” He continued to talk, but you pulled the phone away and stared at the cloudy sky.

He made it so hard to love your job. All you ever wanted to do was write. It was one of the few things you could proudly say you had a talent in. But you also wanted to love your job, and that wasn’t a guarantee with a boss like this.

You brought the phone back up to find he was still talking. 

“-trendin’ on Twitter. Everyone will be sure to read it.”

“Sure.” A car raced past you on the quiet street you had turned down, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out that it was, indeed, the same car that Jamie had taken off in the evening prior. Closing your eyes, you prayed that he didn’t see you. 

“Yeah, I gotta go,” You said, hanging up before he could get another word in. Stuffing your phone in your pocket, you felt more weighed down now than you had when you left the flat. Now the stakes were raised, as everyone expected a grand, profound article from you about your favorite nemesis, and they weren’t going to expect it to be nice or pretty. You wished it were possible to go back to bed. 

When you arrived at the stadium, you entered and showed the security your press pass, less stiffly this time, before proceeding down the hall. Though you were still slightly unsure about where everything was, you reflected back on Keeley’s tour, and that alone was what led you to the changing rooms.

The players were getting ready for practice when you entered (everyone was decent, as you had checked before going in). Leaning against the wall, you pulled out your notebook and wrote some thoughts down. When you looked back up, you saw Jamie with his foot on the bench in front of his locker, tying his laces. With trepidation, you approached him. 

“‘’Morning,” You said, quiet yet friendly, and receiving a grunt in response. Taking the hint, you continued. “I was hoping we could sit down and talk sometime today, whenever you have time.” 

“Right,” He grumbled, not looking at you for a second. 

Well, that’s all you can really ask for.

You turned to creep back to your spot against the wall.

“Have a good walk into work?” You turned back to him, finding that he was looking at you now. There was something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t asking in a genuine way, which left you confused and anxious. 

“It was… alright,” You said, scratching your arm in discomfort at the memory that you did not want to relive.

“Saw you were on the phone,” He said as he threw a headband over his head, pushing his hair back out of his face. “Celebrating with the boss over your li’l announcement this mornin’?” You were surprised how annoyed he sounded, and you began to shake your head.

“Actually I was-“ You stopped mid sentence when he raised his hand, scoffing. 

“I don’t care.” 

You pressed your lips together as he walked out towards the tunnel with Colin and Isaac. The urge to hit something was incredibly intense, so much so that you balled your hands into fists. This whole process started 24 hours ago, and with every minute, you were more and more frustrated.

“He is just surprised,” A voice behind you said, and when you turned, you found Sam Obisayna tying his shoes before looking up at you. “We did not expect an announcement like that.” You raised your hands meekly.

“I didn’t either,” You admitted to him. “I didn't want it.” You laughed weakly, looking down at the floor. “I called my boss to ask him to take it down, but it was already too late.” Sam nodded, seeming to understand.

“Jamie is hard, but he will come around,” He said. “He has a…” Sam looked around thoughtfully, considering his words before saying them. “…healthy distrust of the media. Especially the people who continuously have something to say.” He eyed you knowingly, but not in a way that you perceived as mean. 

“I’m not looking to start problems with him,” You told him, raising your hands up again. “I’m just trying to do my job.” He nodded again.

“As is he, and all of us,” He said, giving you a soft smile before following his teammates. Though you weren’t entirely comforted, your head was held a little higher as you made your way out onto the pitch. 

The air had warmed slightly since you had finished your walk into work. As you took your seat in the stands, you listened to Roy tell the players to start warming up, because they would be working on some plays today, with starters versus the second team. You took pictures of the players as they stretched and warmed up, doing your best to include Tartt, although he was doing the absolute most to make it hard for you. Every time you would raise your phone, he would run or jerk his way out of the shot. It wasn’t until you finally dropped it in defeat that he finally stopped.

It hadn’t occurred to you until then that he was keeping an eye on you from the field.

When the game started, you tried to follow along with the coaches’ words and the players’ actions to learn the plays. It didn’t come easy though. Sports in general had never been your cup of tea, although you did have some, if bare minimum, knowledge of footie. 

It was during this time that you were able to snap some proper pictures. Tartt was too distracted by the game to pay attention to you, although you were able to catch some glares being thrown your way on occasion. While you did your best to not let it bother you, it was incredibly hard. So you opted to not let it show that it bothered you, instead. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that Roy Kent was heading in your direction. He paused in front of the barrier directly across from you. You were in the first row, which meant he towered over you.

“Are you going to make him look like a cunt?” He asked in his forever serious tone. Biting back a laugh, you set your pencil down on your lap. 

“That depends,” You said, pausing before deciding to add, “It’ll be hard not to if he keeps acting like one, though.” Roy grunted in agreement as he glanced at the players behind him. 

“He is a bit of a cunt, isn’t he?” He asked you. Before you could properly respond, he spoke again. “Hard not to love him, though.” You nodded in acknowledgement more than understanding, as you found it incredibly hard to even like Tartt, let alone love him. 

“So everyone keeps telling me,” You said in a low voice. Roy continued to watch his players, but made no moves to leave. Narrowing your eyes at your notepad, a lightbulb went off in your head, making you grab your pencil. “You very famously feuded with Tartt for a long time.” This made Roy turn back to you curiously. “Now the two of you are rumored to be the best of friends.” Your head tilted thoughtfully. “What changed?” 

Roy seemed to consider this question, his eyebrows seeming to furrow together more than they normally were furrowed together. When he looked back at you, the pencil in your hand lowered to the paper instinctively. 

“He stopped being a completely selfish prick,” He admitted. “And started letting people see the real him.” 

“And who is the real Jamie Tartt?” 

At this, he gave you just a quick flicker of the corners of his mouth turning upwards. The vaguest hint of a smile.

“That ain’t up to me to tell you, is it?”

At this, he turned and walked away, not sparing you another glance before rejoining the other coaches. You wrote down the conversation. It would be hard to publish with the obscenities, but it was amusing to you nonetheless. 

Of course, you had seen Tartt play on the screen before, but there was something different about seeing it in person. His command of the field could be felt even in the stands. He was not the captain of the team, and by no means was he hogging the ball like he had been known to do. But it was easy to understand why he was such a fan favorite, even though his playing style had so radically changed. He’d go from one spot to another in the blink of an eye, his focus on the game completely. There was something so biblical about it. 

That was in no way to discredit the rest of the team, however. In the years that you had been watching this same collection of teammates play together, they hadn’t had the same sense of camaraderie that they did now. The ball ran smoothly across the pitch, going from player to player as if they were all too eager to share. They gave praise when good work was done, and constructive criticism was necessary. There didn’t appear to be the same problems with rivalry and anger that there had been just a few years before. Watching them felt more like watching family.

Jamie was a ferocious presence on the field today, however. Every shot he kicked, he made into the goal with ease. There seemed to be outside provocation for this aggression on the field, and that theory was confirmed with every daggered look you received after every goal scored.

When a whistle was blown, you were pulled from a trance, and when you looked down, you found that you had been taking notes the entire time. As Tartt joined the group approaching the dugout, he looked over at you.

“Able to get all that down, yeah?” He called. “Or do I need to do it again?” Your cheeks burned slightly.

“Fell asleep for a moment, sorry,” You called back. “You seemed so sleepy, I figured it was nap time.” It wasn’t true in the slightest, but that didn’t stop his face dropping from cocky amusement to downright irritation. He turned abruptly to face the coaches, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

You thought back to your conversation with Roy, where he asked if you were going to make Tartt look like a cunt. 

It was going to be incredibly hard not to. 

They all left the field for a break and a bite, but you stayed in the stands. If it was their break time, there was no harm in you taking one as well. You pulled the sack lunch out of your bag and opened it up. It wasn’t anything fancy, just to get you until the evening. 

A figure appeared out of the corner of your eye, and when you turned, you were greeted sweetly by Keeley Jones.

“Hi, babes,” She said as she plopped into the seat next to you. “You alright? How’s things coming along with Jamie?” You took a quick bite of your sandwich.

“They’re definitely… coming along,” You said, unsure of how else to put it. She pursed her lips in empathy.

“He’s a hard biscuit to crack,” She said. “And he holds a grudge like no other. But he has to give in sometime, right?” 

You wanted to be more optimistic, but you weren’t so sure.

“I told him I’d like to sit down for a chat today,” You told her. “So hopefully that goes well.” She nodded enthusiastically.

“Make it more of a conversation than an interview, yeah?” She suggested. “Maybe he’ll be more comfortable then?” You mulled this idea over, a little annoyed that you hadn’t considered it before.

“That’s a good idea,” You told her. “Thanks, Keeley.” She smiled brightly at you.

“Anytime,” She said, giving you a supportive pat on the knee before standing. “I have lunch with Roy, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” You waved goodbye to her, and she did the same before turning and walking away, the same bounce in her step as she always had. 

After you finished eating, you went back into the locker room. It was nice to be able to enter the room without the parade of glares that greeted you before. Now, you’d get some passing nods or waves. Not from Tartt, of course, but from the coaches and the rest of the team. Number 9 sat on the bench, his boots off and sitting neatly on the floor in front of him as he sat with his legs crossed. With the same hesitation as this morning, you walked up to him.

“Got a minute for that chat?”

He looked around as if searching for an excuse to say no, but when none came, he sighed. 

“Yeah, fine,” He conceded. You pointed towards the boot room. 

“We can go in there if you want.” He rose off the bench without a word, his shoes left abandoned as he made his way into the boot room. When considering where to hold the chat, you thought back to Keeley mentioning that the boot room was a sanctuary to many of the players. Maybe going somewhere of comfort would make this conversation go much better than you had already expected it to. 

“Right,” Jamie said as he plopped down onto the bench and roughly leaned back into the boot-filled cubbies. “Let’s get this over with.” You sat a distance away from him, pulling your phone out so you could record the conversation and placing it between the two of you. 

“You know, these profiles usually feature multiple interviews,” You informed him. He rolled his eyes.

“Ya really think you’re the first person to do a profile on me?” He asked. “I know how this works.” Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. Internally, you were grateful that you hadn’t pressed the record button on your phone yet. A sharp exhale released from your mouth before you hit it.

“Alright,” You muttered, getting your notebook (different from your notepad, which was smaller and in your pocket) out from your bag and opening it. 

“Do you really have to record this?” 

“I thought you said you’ve done this before.” You stared at him with a hard look. “Most journalists record their interviews.” He lifted his palms up.

“Not all do.”

“I did, in fact, say most and not all.”

“Just don’ want there to be proof I talked to ya.” At this, you wanted to laugh.

“The proof will be the entire profile, don’t you think?” 

He shrugged, before saying, “I can just deny everything.” 

“It would be super great if you didn’t do that.”

“What’s the notebook for then, if you’re recordin’ it?” He asked, pointing at the purple notebook on your lap. You looked down at it, as if you had forgotten it was there.

“These are questions I’ve come up with to ask you,” You explained, remembering back to the night before when you carefully wrote them out. “Obviously not all today, but th-” You were cut off when he suddenly jerked forward and snatched the book off your lap. Not a single chance was given for you to even attempt to stop him. He skimmed the questions before tossing the notebook across the room, letting it hit the floor in the least graceful of ways. You stared at it, lips pressed firmly together.

“Any particular reason why you felt the need to do that?”

“I thought you were a good journalist,” He said. “Can’t a good journalist ask questions from their head without notes?” You felt the blood rushing to your cheeks, but instead of reacting, you folded your hands tightly in your lap.

“Tell me what got you into football,” You started. When he proceeded by laughing and shaking his head, you began to grow frustrated.

“‘Thought you were gonna ask me somethin’ original, not the same shit they ask me in every other interview,” He said in a voice laced with disappointment, but something else as well, maybe strain. You tilted your head. 

“Are you asked that question frequently or do you just not want to answer?”

Something in the way he became visibly annoyed made you feel better. 

“You all ask the same stupid questions,” He ranted. “‘What was your home life like?’ ‘What made you start playing football?’ ‘How has fame changed you?’ Can’t ya ask somethin’ that people care about?” Despite the fact that he didn’t really answer your question, you decided to take a different angle.

“Tell me, Jamie,” You huffed. “What do you think the people care about?” He had his water bottle in his hands, and he began to play with the cap. 

“Y- well… You could ask me what my favorite time of day is,” He suggested, looking quite pleased with himself. “Or what TV shows I’ve been watchin’. Aren’t profiles supposed to help the fans get to know me? They already know I’m a footballer. Tell them something else.” You nodded, surprised at the amount of sense he was making.

“What’s your favorite time of day, then?” You asked, genuinely. He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. Maybe he was surprised you actually took one of his suggestions and ran with it.

“I like the sunrise,” He admitted in a gentle tone. “There’s somethin’... magic about it, I think.” You were astounded by the answer. 

“Do you often watch the sunrise?”

He shrugged. “I get up early with Roy to train a few times a week, catch it then.” You cocked your head.

“Don’t you ever just get up just for the sunrise? Like sitting down on a park bench with a coffee and watching the sunrise?” Jamie considered this, his expression thoughtful.

“No, I don’t think I have.” Your right shoulder rose up in a shrug.

“Maybe you should.” 

You watched as the wheels turned in his head. His expression was a cross between actual consideration of what you had said, and annoyance from what you could only assume was from the actual peasantry from this chat.

“Alright, next one,” He proclaimed. Your eyes fell on the notebook that was still resting on the floor. Part of you wanted to get up to retrieve it, but you didn’t think it would go over well.

“What do you wish more people understood about you?” You asked. His gaze dropped down to his hands, which were still playing with the cap of the water bottle. It was becoming more and more evident that he was doing it out of anxiety. After almost a half minute of silence, he looked  back up at you. 

“I think… I think I’m two different people,” He confessed. “There’s the one everyone sees, where I’m a bit of a prick. But then there’s the one I let my friends and family see.” He appeared to be looking at the floor, but his gaze was far away. “Everyone thinks I’m this giant arsehole, and maybe I am, but there’s more to me as well.” 

“Who gets to see that side of you?” You asked him. “What makes you decide that they deserve to be let in?” 

“When they prove they’re worth showin’” 

You let his words hang over the two of you for a moment. It was the most insightful thing about himself that you had ever heard him say in an interview, as you had read several the night you received the assignment. It only gave you more questions. How does one prove themselves to him? How does he show them? Or initiate them? Before you could ask any of these, however, he lifted a hand.

“Movin’ on.”

You crinkled your eyebrows together. “But-”

“We move on, or the chat is over,” He said, raising his eyebrows at you as if to say, Try me. You exhaled heavily. He went to finally take a sip from the water bottle as you thought of your next question. 

“Have you ever shagged anyone in here?”

Water went everywhere as he spit it out in surprise. Remaining casual, you turned off the recording on your phone. You would never even mildly consider putting this in the profile, so there was no need to record it. He stared at you in disbelief.

“What?” 

“Keeley mentioned that people have used this room for a quick rump,” You told him. “Along with other things. Off the record, obviously.” He continued to stare at you, his expression unreadable. The question was entirely a joke on your part, but it was becoming clear that he wasn’t reading it that way.

“So that’s what you really think of me, yeah?” He said. “A twat and a slag?” You laughed.

“I was just joking,” You told him, raising your hands in innocence. “Honestly.”

He didn’t take your words at face value, however, for he stood up abruptly.

“That’s enough chattin’ for now, I think,” He grumbled before storming out of the room, throwing the door shut so it loudly slammed behind him. You stared through the window at his receding back, stunned. The talk had been going so well, you had forgotten for a brief moment that things were still tense between the two of you. You stood and followed him out, picking up your notebook off the floor on the way, and you found him at his locker. The changing room was deserted, thank goodness, so no one had heard the ruckus that had occurred.

Jamie was furiously tying his shoes when you approached. His jaw was tense again.

“I’m sorry,” You said. He paused, but said nothing. A sigh tumbled from your mouth. “I didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did, but I can see why you would assume I meant the worst. It wasn’t appropriate. I really am sorry.” 

He nodded, but continued to remain silent. Flipping to a blank page, you began to scribble in your notebook.

“I’m going to give you my number,” You told him, ripping the written half of the page out and handing it to him. “You can call or text me anytime. Maybe it’ll be easier if these chats are on your terms.” 

He stared at the half sheet of paper, while you stared at him hopefully, desperate for a response. In a flash, he released the paper so it floated to the floor. Your eyes fell where it landed before closing painfully. He grabbed his bag from his locker and marched out without a sparing glance or word. 

Biting your lip, you kneeled down and picked up the sheet of paper. For a moment, you considered throwing it away and being done with it. Instead, you set it inside Jamie’s locker, giving it one last broken glance before turning and leaving the changing room, all sights on heading home.

[imshymorph]

Slightly angsty soft!price, I promise it has a good ending.

I believe that as much as you’re both used to the rhythm of it all now, you know, the weight his deployment adds to both of your shoulders, the way your stomachs churn when you have to spend months apart. It wasn’t as easy to deal with at the beginning.

I don’t even think you fully knew what his job was in the actual beginning. And the first few months to a year of really knowing was probably the hardest one in your relationship.

- - - - -

It was already hard, having to go weeks or months at a time without seeing him, with barely any contact. It was much harder when you knew that pretty much anything could happen to him and all you’d have as notice was someone delivering his dog tags to your door.

Resentment wasn’t the proper word for how you felt, you didn’t blame John, you never could. You had met him as the man who he was now, you wouldn’t expect him to change because of you. But there definitely was a weird feeling in your gut the more time you spent alone in your shared flat.

Your phone is always close to you, in case he got the chance to give a quick call or a simple text that confirmed his well-being. Your clothes pretty much abandoned to instead use his to at least have the smallest resemblance of what his presence was.

It wasn't resentment, but definitely loneliness, maybe even some hidden grief. The catastrophist side of you taking control, always ready to get a call from the hospital or a knock on your door.

You didn’t say anything in the beginning, he already had enough on his plate. but when a deployment made you both stay apart for over two months you spoke up. It was a civil, a conversation, not an argument. You explained how worried you were, despite his reassurances that you didn’t have to be, how lonely you felt. How big and silent the flat felt without him, how slow time seemed to pass by.

He understood, made the promise to limit the deployment times. He'd still go on missions, but shorter ones, the longest taking two weeks at a time. At least that was for the first few months. Old habits die hard and John has always been someone not only of habits but commitment and dedication. So, without realising, soon enough he was dipping back to old ways, his work as captain keeping him out of the country months at a time.

You tried a couple more times, insisting that you didn’t blame him. You knew what you were getting into before moving in with him, it wasn’t that. You just wanted some level of compromise, you didn’t ask him to avoid long deployments, just do his best to avoid having them back to back.

And the result was always the same. He'd understand and agree, and it would work well for a couple weeks, sometimes months. But then you’d go back to seeing him less and less until you were apart months at a time once more.

it all changed one specific day, though. It was probably the fourth or fifth time you had talked about it with him. Yet here you are again, alone at your shared flat, that had been inhabited only by you for the last six weeks. The feeling of loneliness had only grown stronger each day that passed and you had started to question if you were in fact starting to resent him. Wanting to avoid that train of thought you decided on the best option, you wouldn’t be alone at home if you spent a few days at someone else’s .

Texting one of your friends about your situation, they agreed on letting you stay with them for a few days. To help you get your mind out of John’s deployment and give you a break of the empty flat. You’d have company for a few days and manage to get rid of that pit in your gut that made bile rise every time you heard the doorbell.

You were packing things you’d need from the bathroom, busy with checking you didn’t forget anything important, you hadn’t heard the main door open.

John walked in, taking his muddy boots at the front door before he went looking for you, noticing the bedroom’s light on. He froze on the doorframe, stomach dropping and chest tightening when he saw your suitcase almost filled up on the bed.

You walked out of the bathroom, your whole body freezing when you saw him standing there. You hadn’t expected him to be home yet, not for another week at least. Your eyes ran over his whole body, making sure he was safe and sound. “John…?” you barely got to murmur, not even finishing your sentence before the things you were carrying were taken out of your hands and instead you were pulled into him.

“I'm sorry.” he murmured against the crown of your head. His nose pressed to your hair, with a hand cradling the back of your neck as the other pulled you close by the waist. “I'm sorry, love. Please, don’t leave.”

“I know I've messed up. Broke my word.” His tone was his usual gruff and low one, with that raspiness that comforted and turned you on alike, so familiar and finally there with you. But there was something to it, a light tilt that revealed how worried he really was about you possibly leaving. “I'll make it up to you, I'll really change.”

“John.” You say softly, lightly pulling away, only enough to look him in the eye, one of your hands reaching up, gently cupping his cheek. “I'm not leaving, love. I was just going to see a friend for a couple days.”

As soon as your warm hand makes contact with his skin, his face leans into your touch and his eyes soften. “Don’t, please.” he murmurs, and god does he resemble a sad dog in the rain. “Stay with me.” You give a soft nod and before you can do or say anything else, he pulls you back in his arms with a string of thank you’s and i’m sorry’s.

“I'll make it up to you, I promise.” he murmurs against the top of your head before kissing it. And the way his arms curl tighter around you and pull you closer. The way the mix of his cologne and musk fills your senses and the press of his lips to your head immediately makes that pit in your gut disappear.

“It's okay.” you reassure softly, your arms hooking around his neck in return, holding him close. “I'm not angry, darling. I just missed you.” the second one of you hand drifts up to lightly brush through his hair and against his scalp he feels like he’s melting.

“I missed you too, love. Every single day.” he answers, his face now burying in the crook of your neck instead of your hair. His body unconsciously starts to sway the both of you from side to side. “I'll make it up to you. Take you out on a proper date.”

Your eyes close, your head leaning against his shoulder as you sway along with him. “We can do that tomorrow.” you reassure him softly, “just want to say like this for now.”

“We can stay like this for as long as you want, love.” he murmurs, the hand on your waist moving under your his t-shirt to feel your warm skin. “Just please don’t leave me.”

“I won't.” comes out your soft answer, “I’m not going anywhere, darling.” you reassure softly as you press a light kiss to his shoulder.

The both of you stay like that for a few minutes, a comfortable silence sitting between the both of you as you softly sway in each other's arms. No words needed to notice the relief the other is going through. If he thought he had relaxed when you had started to play with his hair, the moments he heard you whisper a soft i love you he felt like he had ascended to paradise without realising.

He took a second, breathing your scent for a moment longer before he pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “I love you too. you’re my everything, love. I’ll prove it to you, promise.” he whispered back, before leaning in to seal his promise with a kiss.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Playable Monster Popularity Contest

Alright the Kickstarter is launching on April 10th which at the time of writing this is in 2 days. The Kickstarter trailer for Eureka is going to be uploaded tonight or tomorrow, but it is still my job to do as much promotion as possible even though I am worried I might be running out of ideas. I still gotta post.

Let’s just have a Eureka playable monster popularity contest.

The vampire is not exactly your 20th and 21st century Hollywood vampire. They dont have super speed, don’t hypnotise people or make them thralls, and don’t instantly die when exposed to sunlight—though they are significantly weakened by it. The Vampire in Eureka is more of a 19th century and earlier folkloric vampire, with all the powers and weaknesses that come with that, including a compulsion to count things, an inability to enter homes uninvited, turning into a bat or other creatures, walking on sheer walls, etc. The vampire has almost no way of restoring their Composure except by drinking human blood, which means they will need to go on the prowl pretty often. Luckily, they never need to eat or sleep. They are also super strong, super stealthy, and resistant to all forms of physical damage—and they can only be killed permanently by ritual means.

The wolfman shares a lot of features with the vampire, such as super strength and resistance to all physical damage, and this is because they are a Hollywood wolfman. They can regain a little Composure through normal means, but if it ever runs out, they will transform involuntarily and go berserk. This is one of my favorite things about them honestly, and I can’t wait to see it actually happen in play. They’ll also involuntarily transform if they are exposed to the full moon, but that’s a lot more situational.

The witch is up next, and for all intents and purposes, they are pretty much a normal human, except for the ability to command curses and a variety of powerful spells. These curses can render victims violently ill, put them to sleep, turn them to stone, turn them into an animal, or reduce them in size. While witches can restore their Composure just as well as a mundane human, they can also do it by eating people, and the Composure drain of using their supernatural powers is much faster and harsher than any other monster. Oh, and one of my favorite things is that they can ride around on a broomstick or other flying vehicle.

The fairy is shares the ability to cast the same curses as the witch, and, optionally, the same spells, but they are also supernaturally charming, with a few other abilities unique to them. They cannot tell lies, but they can sure steal people’s names and other aspects of their identities, and/or spirit them away to the fairy world. Another interesting thing about them is that their Wealth skill gets a boost from being a fairy, and unlike anyone else, their Wealth skill can actually be capped by Composure just like any other skill.

Then finally the Thing from Beyond, which I will be abbreviating to TFB for the rest of this paragraph. The TFB is the most unique monster in the lineup, a large flat blanket of skin and teeth that can fold up into a human shape to interact with society. They can change the color, shape, and texture of their skin to mimic anyone they’ve studied long enough, right down to the outfit. Unlike other monsters, who get their Composure back one bit and victim at a time, TFBs engulf one person whole and slowly digest them over the course of a week, recovering 1 point of Composure each day. They can even have a body inside their human-shaped disguise and you wouldn’t even notice!

You can find out a lot more about these creatures and their powers by downloading the free Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy demo from our website and going to Chapter 8!

The vampire is really strong in combat and stealth, with a lot of powers to draw from, but is handicapped by far the most weaknesses.

The wolfman is a good combat powerhouse that isn’t quite a strong as the vampire in most cases, but doesn’t have to deal with as many weaknesses. Watch out though, if things get too intense, they could completely lose control of themselves and end up eating someone they weren’t supposed to!

The fairy is more a “face” character, with more tools at their disposal for convincing people to cooperate with them than ability to use force, though curses do definitely fall under “use of force”, I suppose.

The witch is just a good all-rounder, with something for every situation, though it might not always be the *best* something.

The TFB is very good for stealth as well, but a different kind of stealth. The vampire is good for a more Solid Snake or Sam Fisher kind of stealth, while the TFB is more Agent 47’s style of stealth.

There’s also two honorable mentions I’d like to include because they’re Kickstarter stretch goals and thus not really fully fleshed out yet.

The dullahan is a headless specter from Irish folklore that feeds on death. We haven’t really figured out exactly how to make this work mechanically yet, but that’s because we haven’t hit that stretch goal yet.

The gorgon is the last written stretch goal, and maybe the one I’m most excited for. They turn people to stone by looking them in the eye, and this is such an awesome blessing and curse to work around during gameplay that I really really want the excuse to implement it. They also may eat have snakes in their hair up to player choice, and eat people whole with mechanics sorta similar the way the TFB works, we aren’t quite sure because until we hit those stretch goals they just exist as a bunch of scattered notes and ideas. I gotta count on y’all to make sure we hit those stretch goals.

There is also a potential for the option to play a talking dog or a living doll, which will also be stretch goals if we can swing it.

Remember also, all of these will be playable as PCs, so they could be your enemy, or your ally.

Now that aaalllll that is out of the way..

Now, if you really want to support me and my team specifically Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, our debut TTRPG, is going to launch on Kickstarter on April 10th and we need all the help we can get. Set a reminder from the Kickstarter page through this link.

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, there’s plenty of ways to get one!

Subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

Donate to our ko-fi and send us an email with proof that you did, and we’ll email you back with the full Eureka prerelease package with the most updated version at the time of responding! (The email address can be found if you scroll down to the bottom of our website.)

We also have merchanise.

[hoedamn-eron]

sports day

It's your daughter's sports day at school, and Jake decides to take part in the "dad race".

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Dad!Jake Lockley. Fluffy. Proofread. Edited on the phone app so apologies for any layout errors, I will fix when I have a computer. Word count: 1,791 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

This was loosely inspired by my partner's attempt at the dad race at our son's sports day.

When you told the system you were pregnant, it had thrown your worlds off balance. 

You expected it, obviously, since you hadn’t actually planned to get pregnant, but as Steven had said, ‘these things happen, don’t they love?’ 

After talking it through with all of them and going through your options, you had decided that you were ready, that you were stable enough in your job and the bigger flat you’d all moved into that you could extend your family. 

What you hadn’t expected was Marc and Jake to disappear from your life completely afterwards. 

You understood, really, but it still hurt. Steven tried to be there for you as much as he could, being as enthusiastic enough for the four of you, but you couldn’t help but miss Marc and Jake. You didn’t feel whole without all of you together, experiencing the family you were about to make. 

Things changed at your 20-week mark, where at your anomaly scan, about to find out the gender of your baby, you turn to look at Steven excitedly, only to find Marc staring at the screen, his eyes watery as he gripped your hand tightly. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as you find out you were having a baby girl, and you looked over to see him silently crying as he stared at the screen. You didn’t interrupt him, letting him have his moment with his daughter. 

It was on the way home from your appointment, where Marc was still staring at the ultrasound in his hands, where he apologised for disappearing. 

“I didn’t know how to handle it…so I ran,” Marc muttered to you as you climbed into your car. 

“It’s okay, Marc,” you whispered, afraid to be any louder in the comfort of your car. 

He was already shaking your head at you. “No, it wasn’t. I got scared, it wasn’t in our plans – “ 

“Marc, it’s okay,” you say again, cupping his cheek with your hand, your thumb stroking at his cheek gently. “You’re here now, that’s what matters.” 

You talk about it all night with him back at your flat, listening as Marc spilled his feelings and fears to you, barely able to look at you whilst doing so. You held his hands through his talking, grounding him and letting him get his feelings out to you. It was Marc that went to bed with you that night. 

After that, Marc, and Steven both fronted as much as they could equally to help out with the pregnancy. You appreciated it really, but you ended up crying to Marc one night about Jake, who you hadn’t seen in months. He let you cry into his shoulder, spilling your own fears and how empty you feel, and how bad you feel because of that, because him and Steven have been wonderful, and you didn’t want to sound ungrateful. 

“You’re not ungrateful, baby,” said Marc. “Jake’s just…Jake’s just dealing with it. He’ll come around.” 

You were afraid you didn’t believe him, and you were sure Marc didn’t even believe himself either. 

However, you were proven wrong a few months later. You were reaching the end of your pregnancy when you see Jake again. You walk into the kitchen, ready to get your daily craving of those vanilla biscuits (that Steven tries and fails to hide from everyone), and you find Jake staring intently at the ultrasound photos that Steven had lovingly stuck to the fridge. 

You don’t say anything, trying to be as quiet as possible as you move around the kitchen, treating him like a skittish deer. 

“Marc said it was a girl,” Jake said, almost sounding too loud in the quiet kitchen. 

You hesitate before turning to look at him and answering. “Yeah. We’re struggling for a name.” 

Jake was silent for a moment before answering, “I like Sienna.” 

You felt your heart swell in your chest before nodding, tears in your eyes. “That’s a lovely name, Jake.” 

You went into labour late one Winter evening. It was a long and tiring process, but you managed to get through it with the help of your boys; all three of them. Sienna Dalilah Spector was born with a set of lungs on her, weighing a chunky eight pounds and ten ounces, with all three of her fathers immediately wrapped around her finger. 

And it hadn’t changed since in the five and a half years since. 

So much so, that Jake was crazily cheering for Sienna as she ran in her egg and spoon race. She was coming second to last, which was fine, because she probably just wanted the sticker at the end of it, for participation. Her dark curly hair was up in the ponytail you’d placed it in that morning, albeit looking a little more flyaway than it had when she left to go to school with Jake. 

“Well done, Sienna!” you called as she crossed the finishing line, already skipping over to her teacher to get her sticker. 

“She’s getting more confident, huh?” Jake asked you, his eyes watching his daughter like a hawk, his overprotective habits evidently dying hard. 

You nod, smiling as Sienna ran back to the starting line. She’d had a tough start to the year, moving up from nursery into Reception in a different school and not knowing anyone, and she’d had some behavioural issues at the beginning, but she settled in eventually, with some extra support from the school and you, and her dads. Now she had a small group of friends, who she would talk your ear off about whenever she got in from school, about what games they played, what lessons they learned, and what they got up to the night before when they weren’t at school. You were so proud of how far she’d come, as were Steven, Marc, and Jake. 

After a few more races, the teachers announced a break for the children for a drink, before doing the parent’s racing. 

You grinned at you look at Jake. “Gonna do it?” 

Jake scoffed. “Obviously. Gotta make my princesa proud.” 

Not a few seconds later, Jake’s legs were surrounded by an overexcited five-year-old. “Daddy! Are you gonna run?” 

Jake laughed as he picked up Sienna, placing her on his forearm. “Yeah, I am.” 

Sienna didn’t fully understand her fathers’ condition, she just knew that sometimes Jake was Marc, or Marc was Steven, or Steven was sometimes Jake, but sometimes he was also Marc. She didn’t have a favourite; she had a different relationship with each alter, and sometimes she liked having tea parties with Marc, but she also liked visiting the museums with Steven. Her favourite thing to do with Jake was to just drive around in the car and listen to music, singing at the top of their voices. You weren’t privy to their concerts; it was ‘their thing’ Jake had teased you. 

“Are you going to get stickers like me?” Sienna asked, pointing to the collection she had on her too big PE shirt. 

“I’m gonna try,” said Jake. “You gonna cheer for me? The loudest?” 

Sienna nodded. “Yeah!” 

“Gonna beat all the other dads?” 

You give him a swat on the arm as Sienna cheered. “Yeah!” 

“All right, I’ll try my best,” Jake said, before putting Sienna down at her teacher called the children back and asking for the fathers to make their way to the starting line. “I’ll see you later, princesa.” 

Sienna, without another look at her parents, ran away to join her class at the starting line. You look at Jake. “Go easy on the other dads,” you said, grinning. “Not everyone here is super powered avatar for an Egyptian God.” 

Jake snorted, giving you a light shove as you laughed at him. “I’ll try.” 

He wasn’t going to try at all. 

As Jake walked away, joining the other fathers at the starting line, you grab your phone, because you were absolutely not missing this moment (that you would definitely be showing to Marc and Steven later); Jake Lockley, the last to accept your pregnancy, who was scared shitless about becoming a dad, was willingly running a race for his daughter. You can see him grinning at Sienna before giving her a thumbs up before getting in place, preparing to run. 

You giggle as you press record on your phone, filming Jake raring to go, that competitive look on his face, the one he gets when Marc is winding him up and dares him to do something (probably) stupid. You giggle, before cheering, “Go Jake!” before adding, “It’s for the kids!” 

You see him subtly smirking, obviously hearing you, the underlining message of take it easy hanging in the air. 

Sienna’s teacher clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention, before calling, “On your marks…get set…GO!” 

You immediately start cheering with the other parents as the dads run from the starting line. You’re surprised to actually find Jake holding back a bit, giving the other dads a chance. You giggle as you followed him with your phone, seeing that he was aiming for third place. You cheer and whoop along with the other parents, and just when the dads were approaching the finishing line, Jake sped up, making it look effortless, before crossing the finishing line in first place. You’d never seen the boys in action as Moon Knight (it was something they tried hard to hide from you), so seeing Jake running like it was no problem at all took your breath away. 

You didn’t realise how fast they could actually run. 

Trying to hide your shock at Jake’s speed, you roll your eyes as Jake spotted you, before you finish the video on Jake getting his first-place sticker on his chest. He looked for Sienna before pointing to his sticker, Sienna giving him a thumbs up. Jake practically sauntered over to you as you shook your head at him. “You’re a sore winner.” 

“Baby,” said Jake, teasingly. 

“Couldn’t even hold back at a kids event,” you say, mockingly. “Big macho man, just had to win the dad race.” 

“Gotta show ‘em how it’s done,” Jake said, grinning. He was so proud of himself, and you knew he was doing it to annoy you. 

“Burro,” you mutter to him, and he gasps in mock shock, his hand on his chest as if you wounded him. 

“Nena,” he said. “You kiss our daughter with that mouth?” 

You give him a light punch on the arm, chuckling as Sienna’s teacher calls for the mum race to start. 

Jake raises his eyebrows at you with a grin but you’re already shaking your head. “No.” 

“Why?” he asks. “I had to do it.” 

“Because I won’t win,” you say, grinning. 

Jake snorted a laugh. “Sore loser.”

• Burro - jackass • Nena - chick/general term of endearment

[cringefail-clown]

ngl im not like, lineless art specialist, honestly i went lineless fairly recently (like lets say may 2023 when i started drawing art for homestuck), before that i was making art with lineart only, so take my process with a grain of salt lmfao but i hope it clears out some things!

lets dissect the recent dirkkri art ive made:

i start out with sketch, as you usually do. depending on how im feeling or how complex the pose/background is, i make it more or less detailed. for more basic poses i might even stick to a simple gesture drawing and go straight into laying out the colors, it really varies a lot. it might even change in the further process, like how i moved dirks shades from his head to be sticking out slightly from behind his arm, clipped to his shirt, because i didnt like how busy the area around the faces looked

one advice i can give is to not spend too much time on the sketch. its job is to guide the laying out of flat colors and thats it! dont make it too fancy, dont get lost in the details - you can add those later on when youre doing the flats. its fine if the sketch is messy, youll fix it in later stages of the process!

next i do the flat colors! i tackle it one thing at a time - for example with dirks head i started on separate layers with the general shape of his face, then added his facial features, then i drew the hair, then added his neck, the crown, and lastly his piercings. i then merged them all together - you dont need to leave it all separate, best way is to group things together and merge so you dont get lost with all the layers (like how kankris arm on the front is one layer including his sweater sleeve and his hand).

i highly recommend naming your layers - im a little on and off with it myself, but seriously it makes your life easier later on when you spot a mistake and have to shuffle through bazilion layers to find it lmfao, especially when your drawing includes multiple things that overlay on top of each other like in this example. dont be like me and take a second to name them asksks

next to the rendering! i sometimes completely ditch this one, just leaving the flats as they are, but when i want a drawing to have more oomph i have some more steps to the process. its pretty simple - shadow, gradient map and highlight layer on clipping masks connected to the flats. in this one i used light gray for shadows (first layer to generally darken the drawing, second for defining shadows). same with highlights - one color.

the real star of the show is the gradient map, seriously, its a goddamn miracle worker. in krita you can add one by clicking on the plus sign to add a new layer and choose "add filter layer", then in the menu open the "map" category and here should be the option of adding gradient map. you can do it on your flats, but its destructive, and on a separate layer you can always change it if you dont like it later on. mess with the colors and tadah! it now looks fancy as shit and makes people think you know color theory!

last but not least you can add some bleeding light on a separate layer that isnt clipped to the flats to give it more dreamy appearence! i also added an example of how my layers looked in a group at the end of the drawing process.

and thats it! hope it helps, and have fun drawing!

[pupyr0arz]

wip Wednesday treats. Gazreader bc I haven’t finished the soapreader dio 🙏

It’s not a new subject, Kyle’s lack of a partner waiting for him at home. Occasionally he’s teased for it, or Johnny drags some poor woman he’s charmed over to him on a date and it all goes perfectly fine, sure, but he lets them down easily afterwards. Nice gentle conversations, keeps them laughing and leaves with a gentleman’s kiss to their hands. He could have anyone he wanted, Kyle’s sure, but he has a captain to please and a dangerous job. It comes with the tameness, he forgoes the pretense of civilian normalcy when he can get the chance. A soldier doesn’t want to leave a poor widow at home, weeping over their parts in a body bag after all.

But the first time he actually considers it is on an evac flight, when Cap pats him on the thigh and makes a comment that it’d help him adjust to their leave better, that it’d be good for him. Kyle’s always been skeptical of it, he’s a grown man and while he respects his teammates and he acknowledges Price fudges their psych evaluations more often than not. Finding someone isn’t going to fix all of his problems, surely, and he likes sex but he’s loath to actually share his flat, his space, with another person. All of the habits he’d have to change and develop, the conversations he might be dragged into, the strain from his duty, it wrankles something in him. 

But his captain wouldn’t advise him wrong, so Kyle sits and thinks about it on the flight back to base and glares minimally. He thinks about it on the flight home, and in the Uber, and when he sits in his bed, unable to sleep because suddenly his flat is suddenly too big and empty compared to the base, like a hollowed out shell left behind by someone Gaz isn’t familiar with. It’s always like this, coming home and having to leave Gaz behind, all the accustomed bits and bobs of his life, and settle into a sparse existence until the next time he’s called back. The first few days are when he sympathizes with Ghost the most severely, feeling half as hollowed out. 

So, he decides to go window shopping. Kyle’s a reasonable man, so he’ll consider his options and make an informed choice. He’ll download tinder and loiter around coffee shops and maybe pester Johnny for a few of his least sleazy bars. He’s a picky man, he wants someone malleable enough to squeeze and pull into the missing holes of his life. Someone to dote on, maybe use some of the money Kyle has rotting in bank accounts, someone soft and sweet he can come home to and bury his face in until he’s just as kind and lovely. Maybe it’s a large ask, but Kyle has time on his hands to smooth out rough edges, to melt away anything bitter and sharp.

———

[the-starry-seas]

Trans Clone Week 2023 Day 1: Cadets / Gender Affirming Technology / Snuggling

“Something’s bothering you,” Fury says as he sits down next to xei. 

Well, one thing xe can always count on. Xeim brother will find ways to show up when he’s not particularly wanted, and will get right to the middle of things without any concern for whether xe wants to talk about it. 

For some reason, Whisper doesn’t mind as much as xe should. There’s no question that there’s some days where xe wants to punch him just so he shuts up for five kriffing minutes, but he’s not weird about it, at times like this. If xe told him to kark off, then off he would kark. 

It’s maybe the only reason that xe doesn’t actually say that. 

Instead Whisper lays back, flat on the roof of the hangar, watching the clouds above them. One of the rare breaks in Kaminoan rain, and xe wanted to be alone. Or at least that was what xe thought until he showed up. 

Xe raises a hand, and he takes it, his fingers lacing with xeims as he rests his head in his other hand. He won’t stay quiet for long. Xe can wait until he breaks the silence. Should only be a few seconds before– 

“Do you not wanna talk about it?” 

Sometimes his impetuous nature is amusing. Sometimes it helps make conversations happen. 

“I don’t know what to say,” xe admits. 

“Racer just says whatever comes to mind and that’s working out fine for her.” 

“She drives Blue crazy.” 

“We all drive Blue crazy.” 

“That’s true.” 

Whoever was in charge of assigning squads must not have been too good at their job. Blue is constantly begging them to behave for just five minutes and they’re all pretty consistent in ignoring him. 

Whisper doesn’t think xe’s that bad, but there is apparently quite a bit that xe does, that he doesn’t think is particularly appropriate social behaviour. The biting thing has been an argument since they were tubies. Xe wonders if he’s only still trying to rein xei in out of habit. Surely he can’t expect xei to change now. 

People have surprised xei before, though, so xe generally doesn’t say anything to that effect. It seems to be some kind of challenge to them. Say that can’t be what you want and suddenly it’s all they can think about. Ridiculous. 

“Sooo…” Fury prompts. 

Whisper sighs, and looks over at him finally. 

“I’m different. Like Racer. But not.” 

“What, like girl-different?” 

“But not,” xe repeats, and looks back at the clouds. They’re slowly separating from each other, bedraggled wisps scratching across the sky. That’s how xe feels right now. Slowly being torn apart. 

How am I supposed to figure out who I am? 

“That’s cool.” 

But he lets go of xeim hand, which doesn’t seem to be all that ‘cool’. Not until he shuffles down to lay next to xei, their sides pressed together from shoulder to hip. He likes touching people. Doesn’t have to be his batchmates, it’s anyone who can put up with his incessant talking and wiggling around. 

Usually, Whisper finds it annoy. Right now, it’s kind of okay. Xe hadn’t realised, until he came up, that xe didn’t want to be alone. Since the incident with the fight club, xe hasn’t been very good at being around them. Hasn’t been very good at being xeiself. 

Maybe it was just because xe didn’t know what xe was supposed to be. 

“If I’m not like you,” xe says, “and I’m not like Racer. That doesn’t leave a lot of options.” Xe frowns. “Does it?” 

Fury just makes an I-don’t-know sort of noise, which he seems to be rather fond of doing. 

People thinks he’s stupid, but he’s not. Whisper knows that more than anyone. He’s the smartest one of their squad, and probably a bunch of other squads, too. They can be competitive, batchmates. Among themselves, and with other cadets. When it comes to tech, nobody can match him, as far as xe knows. 

The sun breaks through the clouds, and xe grumbles to xeiself and turns over on xeim side to hide xeim face in Fury’s shoulder. 

“You wanna do something about it?” he asks. 

It’s xeim turn to make the I-don’t-know sort of noise. 

Xe grumbles again when he pats vaguely at the side of xeim head. He probably things it’s helpful. It’s mostly just annoying. Not the first time xe’s thought that, but usually he’s better at picking up on when he’s being irritating, and he doesn’t seem to have a clue, right now. 

Whisper sits up abruptly, wrapping xeim arms around xeim knees. 

“Girls get stuff like that. Like Ruusaan. She said they changed her face. Gave her tits. But I don’t want my body to be different. I don’t think.” 

“Do you want your face different?” 

Xe has to think about that. 

“I don’t want to not look like my squad. Maybe newborns are different. But we’ve always been us. We’ve always been the same.” And I’m too different inside, to be that different outside. But I don’t think I’d want it anyway. I don’t care that I look like this. I just– 

“I just don’t want people to think I’m a guy,” xe realises. “Maybe I can put something on my armour. Like jaig eyes, but for – whatever.” 

“Well, I liked you as a brother,” Fury says, “but I like you as a whatever, too.” He knocks a foot against xeims, and grins. Like that’s all it’ll take for things to be okay. 

They manage to be quiet for a good thirty seconds before he speaks again. 

“You know, if you want something to change. We can look into it. After the war. Maybe tattoo something on your forehead.” 

Xe grins, then snorts a laugh, then puts an arm over his waist and snuggles closer. This was the last thing xe expected when he came up here, but that’s all right. He surprises everyone. It’s usually in a good way. 

“Whatever you want,” Fury promises. “I’ll find a way. You’re my favourite, you know.” 

“After Racer?” 

“Nah. Just my favourite. So it is cool. We’ll figure it out and you’ll be whoever you want.” He smiles crookedly. “Whatever, even.” 

“Whatever,” Whisper echoes, and closes xeim eyes. With the sun coming out, it’s warm up here, now. Xe could probably fall asleep. And with Fury here, there’s nothing to worry about. 

Someday. Maybe. Maybe xe’ll figure out what xe wants to look like. But right now, all xe needs to know is that xe can be whatever xe wants. 

“I want to do something different with my hair.” 

“Like what?” 

“Grow it out, maybe. On one side.” That seems… right, in a way xe can’t put xeim finger on. 

“I can cut the short side, if you want it to be buzzed down.” 

For once in xeim life, xe barely even has to think about it. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Someday will probably be very far away. Today, xe closes xeim eyes and falls asleep beside xeim brother.