#got one more drawing in before october ends

[onebadnoodle]

from reaper to babysitter

[shesnake]

Spider-Verse Artists Say Working on the Sequel Was ‘Death by a Thousand Paper Cuts’

Why don’t more animated movies look this good? According to people who worked on the sequel, Across the Spider-Verse, it’s because the working conditions required to produce such artistry are not sustainable.

Multiple Across the Spider-Verse crew members — ranging from artists to production executives who have worked anywhere from five to a dozen years in the animation business — describe the process of making the the $150 million Sony project as uniquely arduous, involving a relentless kind of revisionism that compelled approximately 100 artists to flee the movie before its completion.

While frequent major overhauls are standard operating procedure in animation (Pixar films can take between four and seven years to plot, animate, and render), those changes typically occur early on during development and storyboarding stages. But these Spider-Verse 2 crew members say they were asked to make alterations to already-approved animated sequences that created a backlog of work across multiple late-stage departments. Across the Spider-Verse was meant to debut in theaters in April of 2022, before it was postponed to October of that year and then June 2023 owing to what Entertainment Weekly reported as “pandemic-related delays.” However, the four crew members say animators who were hired in the spring of 2021 sat idle for anywhere from three to six months that year while Phil Lord tinkered with the movie in the layout stage, when the first 3-D representation of storyboards are created.

As a result, these individuals say, they were pushed to work more than 11 hours a day, seven days a week, for more than a year to make up for time lost and were forced back to the drawing board as many as five times to revise work during the final rendering stage.

"For animated movies, the majority of the trial-and-error process happens during writing and storyboarding. Not with fully completed animation. Phil’s mentality was, This change makes for a better movie, so why aren’t we doing it? It’s obviously been very expensive having to redo the same shot several times over and have every department touch it so many times. The changes in the writing would go through storyboarding. Then it gets to layout, then animation, then final layout, which is adjusting cameras and placements of things in the environment. Then there’s cloth and hair effects, which have to repeatedly be redone anytime there’s an animation change. The effects department also passes over the characters with ink lines and does all the crazy stuff like explosions, smoke, and water. And they work closely with lighting and compositing on all the color and visual treatments in this movie. Every pass is plugged into editing. Smaller changes tend to start with animation, and big story changes can involve more departments like visual development, modeling, rigging, and texture painting. These are a lot of artists affected by one change. Imagine an endless stream of them."

"Over 100 people left the project because they couldn’t take it anymore. But a lot stayed on just so they could make sure their work survived until the end — because if it gets changed, it’s no longer yours. I know people who were on the project for over a year who left, and now they have little to show for it because everything was changed. They went through the hell of the production and then got none of their work coming out the other side."

[flufftober]

🍂 🍃 Hello and welcome to our third annual Flufftober 🍂 🍃

We’re so excited to be back and to once again have you here!

As always, let’s fill the month of October with as much fluff as possible 🥰 and for that to happen, we not only have 31 prompts for you, no; we also have something special this year...

Prompt Extras

Last year's Prompt Substitutes were very well-loved and a lot of you used them to replace some prompts from the original list. You're more than welcome to do this again if there's a prompt that doesn't work for you for whatever reason - no explanation needed.

Once again, we offer you last year's top five fan favorites (as voted in the end survey). In addition to that, we also offer five scenario prompts.

If you don't want to replace any prompt from the original list but still love the additional ones - or you simply want to challenge yourself - you can also mix them all together!

So in whichever way you use these Prompt Extras, have fun with them and go wild 💚

Below the cut you'll find all our rules, posting info, all the prompts in writing, as well as some explanation for prompts we feel might need clarification. If you have any more questions, please feel free to send us an ask 🥰

We hope you like these prompts, and now

Happy Creating 🥳

Standard Blog Rules & FAQ

No inc*st or p*dophilia - we can’t keep you from writing it or creating art for it but it won’t be reblogged. See further down for clarification.

No hate or ship bashing - we’re all different and we all love different things. As long as it doesn’t go against rule #1, it’s allowed.

Tag correctly! Trigger warnings (including cheating!), ships, ratings, (pure) smut, etc - it’s all fine as long as you tag it.

There’s absolutely no word count restriction, write as little or as much as you like.

In regards to art, anything goes: drawings, paintings, collages, mood boards, gifsets, videos, playlists… the sky’s the limit (though not really…)

While we can’t force you to write fluff or create fluffy art, please try to keep in mind that this is a fluff event 😉

You can start writing and/or arting as soon as you see this - but please refrain from posting before the respective day.

You can participate on as many days as you like, even if it’s just one; you can also create multiple entries for the same day.

You can replace prompts from the original list with either or all of our prompt extras; you can also mix them with the original prompts or create for them in addition to the 31 original prompts, that's completely up to you.

It’s okay to write one story/a series for all the prompts as long as it’s separated into chapters and the respective chapter/work is posted on the given day.

You do not have to stick to one ship or even one fandom - switch as often as you like to or even write for multiple ships for one day.

The ship does not have to be a romantic one! Friendship and family feels are more than welcome (but this is not a way to get around rule #1!)

This event can be combined with other events as long as the other event allows it.

Late entries are always welcome, even if it is months later.

All fandoms and ships are welcome - fanon and canon - as long as they’re of age (in case you want to add smut) and not related.

Since this has often been asked in previous years, please let us clarify the no inc*st or p*dophilia rule:

No inc*st: This rule does not apply to distant cousins and such, as you might find in the LotR fandom (or basically in all of European Monarchy). The line we draw is at direct blood relations (siblings, parents, kids) and/or legal guardianship.

No p*dophilia: This rule does not rule out fandoms that feature teenagers such as Harry Potter, Heartstoppers, Hunger Games, etc. It also doesn't mean you can't write about their time together as teenagers! It was mostly aimed at ships in which one is a minor and the other is not - but since even that got complicated over time, the rule is now this: if you keep it SFW, all is good and allowed, we don't care; if it turns NSFW, be mindful of the legalaties of the world/society/times your characters live in.

Posting

Posting to tumblr

Please use the tag #flufftober2023

Since tags are sometimes wonky, make sure to also add @flufftober in your post

We will try to catch them all, but please don't be mad if we miss a post or if it gets reblogged a bit late

If you're absolutely certain a post has slipped past us, feel free to send an ask with the link to your post

To make reblogging easier for us, make sure to add the following tags: #flufftober2023 #day [xy] #[fandom] #[ship and/or main character(s)]

If you're using a prompt extra tag it as #alt [number]

Posting to ao3

You can add your creation to the collection flufftober2023 or flufftober_2023 (yes, we've once again claimed both)

Late entries are always welcome, on tumblr as well as the ao3 collection! Neither will close - but like always, reblogs will become less regular the more months have passed...

Prompts (and explanations)

1. “I’ve got you”

2. Family, Friends, Loved Ones

3. “Wait you love me?” - “I always have”

4. Cinderella Moment (the "ugly duckling" gets their moment to shine)

5. x + 1 (can be a classic "5+1 things" [or any number you want] creation or literally a plus one for an event or really anything else you can think of)

6. Corn Maze

7. Porch Swing

8. Rainy Day

9. (...) at first sight (think "love at first sight", "enemies at first sight"...)

10. Love of my Life (even this does not have to be romantic 😉)

11. Sweet Tooth

12. Fire & Ice

13. Wrong (...) (think "wrong number", "wrong train", "wrong person"...)

14. “I hate it” - “No, you don't”

15. Emergency, Confession, Adventure

16. Singing one another to sleep

17. Encouraging someone to achieve a goal

18. “Did you plan for this to happen?”

19. Keeping someone safe

20. Pumpkin

21. Swoon

22. Picking (think "picking flowers", "picking up someone", "picking out a dress", "picking a song for the wedding"...)

23. Trinket

24. [melting emoji] (does anyone even know what this emoji stands for? No? We neither but we would love for you to get creative with it 😉 but also, think "melting in the heat", "melting from embarrassment"... also, I would've loved to add it here but tumblr doesn't have this emoji yet)

25. Nook

26. Fireplace

27. Outdoor Event (think "hiking tour", "concert", "picnic"...)

28. Soothing Touch

29. “Hey, wake up!”

30. Self-Worth / Self-Love

31. Dreams Do Come True

Prompt Extras

Last Year's Favorites

Alt 1: Hot Chocolate

Alt 2: “You’ve told your parents?”

Alt 3: Wearing Each Other’s Clothes

Alt 4: Candles, Lanterns, Fairy Lights

Alt 5: “Oh no, you’re a Morning Person!”

Scenarios

Alt 6: Reverse all the Roles

Alt 7: Create a Fairytale Retelling

Alt 8: Give your character a new occupation

Alt 9: Create a crossover of two or more fandoms

Alt 10: Have your characters share the last table at a café

[sunboki]

— FOR THE NIGHT. a Christopher Bahng fiction

Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

WORD COUNT. 1.1k words

AUG'S NOTES. this bangchan is from my “Korea’s Most Wanted” universe because i have yet to get over him from october…

“Bin, you said it was shipped friday.” The man, Christopher Bahng, grumbles, massaging the pinch between his brows.

His counterpart, Bin, whom he was now quarreling with on the phone groaned profusely, claiming how shipments were already slow—not to mention with the new investigations on his business underway.

The life of The Gunsman isn’t an easy one. It’s a constant game of tag against the police and the government while wielding a well-planned dictionary of excuses to avoid suspicion. 

So now, as Bahng’s precious system becomes increasingly jeopardized, he finds himself losing more and more sleep to a worrisome degree.

And, having left the party filled with chairman, associates, and colleagues alike, Bahng slips into the safety of his car, once again troubled with the demands this illegal trade calls for.

“Well tell him I’ll have to serve his head on a platter if the ammunition doesn’t arrive by Friday. I’m running a charity event with how many funds I’ve given the idiot.”

Although halfway into Bin’s response, a quiet, though audible sound rustles in his backseat.

Instantly, he’s lurched a pistol from his thigh, aimed directly at the responsible interruption.

“Bahng. Bahng?” Bin echoes, only to be hung up on as Chris takes in the sight before him.

Lying in his backseat, curled up in a miniature ball, is a girl.

Your face is wrinkled in discomfort, hand resting right below your cheek, smushed against his car, a Lamborghini’s, interior.

How you got here without him noticing is beyond him, how long you’ve been here an even larger mystery.

His hand falters with the pistol, gawking with obvious surprise prior to stuffing the weapon back into its leather holster.

Instinctively, he would’ve called an assistant, asked them to take you home, find someone who knew you. Except, by the look of your current state, he has an inkling you wouldn’t be the greatest help navigating.

You’re gone.

Plus, the party’s already drawing to a close, people scattering out in every direction. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself.

Bahng may work illegally, lacking the fear of blood on his hands, but he’s not heartless.

Stifling a sigh, he rakes a hand through his hair, repeatedly clearing his throat in the case you woke up.

Leave it to him to end up with a random girl in his backseat.

Fine. Home it is.

Or, one of his many homes in the area.

Starting the engine, he spares repeated glances at you on the drive back, simply met with your same, woeful expression. Eyes screwed shut, lips pursed, cheeks stained a pink hue.

Pulling in, he stalls in the front seat, debating on all his morals up till now.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this..” Words a mere mutter, he carefully opens your door, gingerly dragging you out from your awkward position.

Knees pulled to your chest, Bahng keeps one, scarred hand on your back and another beneath your thighs while your head hangs, both hands bunched into fists, pressed to your chest.

Scared.

Whatever happened before, however you got here, you were scared—that much was known.

Somehow, the realization had him holding you closer.

Swiping the code to the door, he silently curses the loud beep, confusing himself with his concern for you.

Why did he care? You’d wake up, he’d get your home address and send you off. Why was he now so conscious about your comfort?

Heading up the winding stairs, he pulls his office chair from its place, deciding water as the best option.

“I’m going to put you down for a second, okay?”

Gently idling you into the chair, his movements halt when your arms reach up around his shoulders, a soft, barely divisible whine slipping past your lips, unwilling to let go.

He can barely recognize anything with how loud his heart rams against his rib cage.

Pull yourself together Bahng.

Ensuring you were still asleep, he slips into the kitchen, filling a glass with water before returning to you.

Your head jerks from when he holds the rim to your mouth, unwilling to cooperate.

“Just water sweetness,” He soothed, hating how worried he was, how senseless this behavior was.

Yet, he only continued to ease you into each sip, palm cupping your cheek for support, narrowly masking his astonishment when your eyes slowly opened, barely awake.

“Mm..?” Your vocal cords betray you, leering on the verge of dream and reality as you try acknowledging your surroundings.

No amount of recollection aids your perception in figuring out how you got here, only aware of the blaring ache in your head and a strangers voice in the distance.

One thing’s for certain. You feel awful.

Discerning the splash of water dumped down a sink, you’re once again hoisted into his arms, disappearing back into unconsciousness as Bahng nudges open his bedroom door, settling down on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t mean to man-handle you, but we need to get these shoes off.”

Situating you upright, his arm slips down, propping each of your ankles where he can pull the heels from your feet.

Softly placing you down, he savors your feeble grip grasping at his clothing, gradually loosening in an attempt at holding his face.

“Unfortunately, I can’t stay here all night sweets, you’re gonna have to let go,” Bahng whispers, easing your wrists down to your sides.

Unfortunately? What’s gotten into him?

Although, just as he adjusts the comforter over you, turning to go, he hears a sniffle.

C’mon, ignore it, she’s fine.

Another sniffle.

Screw it.

“If you tell me where you live I can take you home?” He utters, lingering by your bedside like a child waiting to hear if they can go on a play date.

It’s painful admitting the effect your tears have on him, brows creasing so sadly in a way he can’t ignore.

“Are… Are you gonna hurt me?” You whimper, feeling absolutely exhausted the longer your mind races, frantically piecing together any clues of your whereabouts to no avail.

The pad of his thumb wiping free falling tears, he shakes his head, a miniature smile gracing usually serious, unmoving features.

“I can’t say I haven’t hurt someone before, but I’m not gonna hurt you, alright sweetness?”

Nodding fervently, his face contorts, admiring the adorable manner you blink up at him, lashes all clumped from crying.

Look, his ego isn’t too fragile to admit you’re cute.

“..How did I get here?”

Bahng chuckles.

“I don’t know the answer to that myself.”

Freeing your arm from his sheets, you furiously rub your eyes, frown tugging at the corner of your lips, hiccuping as your breathing shallows.

“I know things are scary when you’re this drunk. I promise everything will be a thousand times better in the morning.”

And with that, he pulls the comforter over you, bidding a quiet good night and nearing the door for a second time.

This time, you intervene, latching onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you.”

What did he just get himself into.

He sucks his teeth, surveying the sleepy eyes you’re torturing him with.

“Don’t mention it.”

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[theveryworstthing]

A quick obituary, if y'all don't mind.

In 2018 my cat Lace died. it was sudden and mysterious and she went to one of her favorite spots to do it alone. She was buried just before a big hurricane at the beginning of summer. a little bit later me and my mom took a road trip to Georgia to see family, and I was inspired by the life and death i saw on the side of the roads to draw the 24/7 Haunted Roadside Diner comics.

In 2022 my cat Coup died. it was a long fight through 7 months of cancer that ended with me holding him at the vet as he took one last big jump after months of losing the ability to do so. he was cremated just before a big hurricane at the end of summer. a little bit later me and my mom took a road trip to Georgia to see family, and I was inspired by the life and death i saw on the side of the roads to draw more 24/7 Haunted Roadside Diner comics after not thinking about them for years.

They were total brats to each other most of the time and they could never agree on anything, but they were my friends for almost half of my life and they called truces to sit on my bed together and comfort me during the Bad Health Times or the Bad Emotions Times. I didn't realize that I was repeating history a little bit until I was almost finished redrawing these first 5 pages, but I think it's funny that even though they tried to go out as they lived, as fussy little opposites, that I started really healing from both of their deaths creatively in the same way.  So here's to the prettiest girl in the world and the baby boy. I probably could have gotten weird enough emotionally to write about roadkill ghost stories on my own, but y'all made it way easier to get there.

I redrew the first 5 pages to fit in better with any future 24/7 HRD comics I want to do (and generally flex my improved art/writing skills), so I’ll be posting one of those a day for the next few days. I've got 5 more pages and some illustrations planned for spooky season (October/November) along with some Downtrodden stuff so y'know. Nature is healing.

Hopefully I'll have more to post soon. the future is lookin' lonelier without my small grey guy, but it'll still have bright spots I bet. I hope.  

[genericpuff]

Scamlords is at it again.

A few nights ago, there was a sudden blow-up in the /r/webtoons server showing a new announcement from Snailords -

For anyone unaware, Death : Rescheduled has been on mid-season hiatus since October. And it's now, and only now, that Snailords has suddenly decided the comic is ending after it returns, but readers can get an extra 20 episodes... if they fork over $1k in merch sales.

Now, this could be a lot worse. They could be threatening not to return to the series at all unless their readers hand over money. But considering it's practically just one degree away from that, it's still pretty nasty. Not to mention, the further they divulged in their reasoning around this "idea", the more confusing it got.

They also even revived their @snailordsrant account on IG which, for those of you who were there and can recall, was the same account they used to put one of their own fans on blast over some very mild criticism.

None of this makes any actual sense, for several reasons:

1.) I literally fail to see how getting $1k in less than 24 hours is worth shoving in an extra mini arc of 10 episodes if you don't even have it planned out. Why do that to your audience or to yourself? Why drag things out just to scrounge up an emergency $1k? Why not just be honest with your audience and run a GoFundMe or just say , "Hey everyone, I've run into some financial troubles, I would really appreciate it if you could FastPass my newest episodes or donate to my Patreon or buy some merch so I can cover the costs". It's really telling that this shithead doesn't have enough confidence in themselves or their audience that practically worships them that they have to resort to this kind of underhanded shit to get the money they need. I wanna make it clear that this is NOT like a Kickstarter stretch goal or anything that incentivizes readers to support their work, they're instead holding the length and future of their series over their audiences' head (which they've done before) for money. That's not an incentive, it's an ultimatum.

2.) Maybe I'm misreading / being stupid (someone pls explain if I'm missing something here) but I literally don't see how their comment about working 50 hours a week explains why they're suddenly getting their fans to pay out $1k worth of merch in less than 24 hours. For anyone who doesn't know, $1k per episode is an example Webtoons uses in its post discussing how they pay out creators (this came after the platform got called out 2 years ago for paying creators too little, there are undoubtedly creators getting paid less). And yet for some reason $1k is apparently the difference between 10 episodes and 20? How does that add up? And is the bit about them wanting to buy boba supposed to be a joke? Where's the punchline here?

3.) They say they have writer's block and they want to use the money to "motivate them", but then just a few slides later they say 10-15 episodes is what would make them the "happiest" so which is it? Do they want to write 10 episodes or do they want people to pay them to write 20 episodes so they can draw the fluff scenes that they apparently want to draw? If you have an ending planned out, why rush it or drag it out depending on how this "fundraiser" goes? Why not just write the ending you want to write that will serve your story best? Why shove in an extra mini arc that you don't even have full confidence in writing and then try to compare it to a "super expensive cake"? What are you doing? Speaking as someone who's had trouble getting motivated in the past, suddenly getting a month's rent worth of money to do it doesn't necessarily solve that, it just turns up the pressure, and if you're not someone who deals with pressure well, then you're more likely to wind up just burning out entirely rather than fulfilling that goal.

4.) The fact that they did, in fact, hit their goal just makes it all the shittier to think about because their audience is mostly made up of teenagers who worship the ground that they walk on. It's horrifying that they keep pulling these stunts with their audience, and getting away with it to boot - and Webtoons, as a company, keeps enabling it by allowing it to happen by hosting and promoting people like this.

Anyways, there's already a lot going on here that's sketchy, but then... they went and deleted their posts. At the time of this happening (as I was there to witness it all play out in real time) I assumed this meant that they had hit their $1k goal - especially as they had been showing their progress on their IG and they were already at $900 after just a couple hours - but it gave me a sinking feeling seeing them delete it because they had also been called out by some brave readers telling them that it wasn't exactly a good look to essentially blackmail their audience through their own content into giving them money.

Snailords deleting it gave me a stronger impression of "burying the evidence", especially now that they had the money. By all accounts, they could do whatever they wanted now.

So what did they decide to do?

. . . Huh?

Okay, take a second to actually think about what Snailords has done here. Because I know some of you will go "oh, it was for charity all along! that was nice of them!" but . . . I don't know about the legalities of collecting donation funds under false pretenses, but morally speaking, it's a really shitty thing to do. They stripped away the choices - limiting them to three - of what their readers could donate to, and what I think their readers don't understand - due to being mostly teenagers - is that they're tax-exempt individuals and they just unknowingly gave Snailords an easy $1k tax write-off. You really, really shouldn't collect donation funds like this without being honest, it's just a shitty thing to do, especially after you've already collected the money. It mostly just comes across as damage control on Snailords' part to make it seem like they were always planning to donate to charity, when in reality, if they wanted to donate to charity, they would have been honest about that at the start. Again, even if they wanted to do that from the start, it goes to show how little confidence they have in themselves or their audience that they have to stoop to methods like these instead of just doing it honestly.

And do you really think Snailords will actually do those extra episodes? Or donate that money? This is the same asshole who has manipulated their readers for money not once but twice, and now seems intent on doing it a third time just for the charm. This is the same person who practically sabotaged their own comic, Freaking Romance, because they apparently didn't like the romance genre and may as well have only done it for clout / views / etc.

What was especially odd - and I found this out from folks who actually read Death : Rescheduled (I do not) - was finding out that it wouldn't make sense for D : R to end in as many as 25 episodes, because apparently, the plot has basically just gotten going.

So it does seem like this is foreshadowing that D : R will wind up just like Freaking Romance, rushed into an ending that wasn't expected. And this, of course, has the people who read their work confused because D : R was supposed to be Snailords' passion project, their magnum opus, the project they wanted to do. So them holding the timing of an ending that shouldn't even be happening yet for ransom contradicts that original intention. Really, it just goes to show that Snailords has no passion, they're just in it purely for the money, to a degree that I can't even cheer them on for being a hustler because it's missing the honesty and integrity.

And of course, every single time Snailords finds a way to backpedal and take his audience for a ride, they hop right in without a single thought for themselves.

And no, none of this is to hate on the readers directly, I hold Snailords entirely responsible for this - they have an audience of impressionable, naive, gullible teenagers, and they know it, and take advantage of it every chance they get. It's why they weren't just honest about wanting to collect money for charity from the start. It's why they resorted to basically holding their own comic's progression for ransom during its midseason hiatus. It's why the deadline was 24 hours and why the posts are now gone.

Thankfully the Internet does what it does - any evidence that Snailords was trying to bury is now all over reddit, and hey, just for good measure, here's a post on Tumblr that's been sitting in my drafts for days now, days after people have already seemingly stopped talking about it. Don't let anyone bury or forget about the stunts Snailords is pulling on their audience, with a platform that they've been consistently given by Webtoons, because that's what they want you to do.

[mybuckynotyours]

Printesa Mea

Pairing: sugardaddy!Bucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Reader is in her early twenties and Bucky is in his mid 40s. Mentions of sex, oral sex, mutual pinning, cockwarming if you squint your eyes hard enough.

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary & A/N: I suck at summaries but this is fluffy, cute but also naughty-ish! It's the Christmas season and I've been finally inspired! I'm having a huge daddy kink at the moment too. If this will be received well, I might write more about these two! I have a few more ideas up in my sleeve. Thank you so much for reading! Do not forget to comment and reblog :) <3

You were nearing the end of this semester and that only meant one thing. Christmas was fast approaching. This semester was always the one you dreaded and wanted it to end as quickly as possible. You were a Christmas lover through and through. By mid-October you would be thinking of all the Christmas lights and all the food you’ll get to enjoy with your friends. Your friends would laugh at you during the yearly Halloween party and tell you to slow down. You would just happily grin and shrug it off.

But this year was a little different that usual. This year were with someone, well, not exactly. You weren’t exactly dating him. It was more of an arrangement really that started just before you had gone back to university.

It was truly random how the two of you met. You weren’t really looking for a sugar daddy but it seems that your deepest, dirtiest wish came true without even working for it.

You two met on a Sunday morning when you were on your latte run, about to head home to kickstart your day for the usual meal preps and reading.

Your eyes met and you smiled at each other politely. For some reason, probably how the universe wanted to really bring the two of you closer together, you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. You looked away as you stood next to each other waiting for your coffee orders and laughed lightly.

He was the first to speak as he reached out to take his coffee cup and with a deep voice, thanked the barista. Hearing him speak sent shivers down your spine and the effect is still there to this day. He speaks so calmly yet stern when he needs to be. You were on your knees for him in no time.

But before, going into that, you two got to know each other. He shamelessly asked you before he headed out of the coffee shop and you immediately accepted his invitation. And as they say, the rest was history.

You had told yourself that this was only an arrangement. You had to segregate your feelings. In no way you could ever possibly end up falling for him. He was your sugar daddy and only that. No matter how good it felt when he ate you out all night long just to draw out his name from your whimpering lips. No matter how great it felt to spend a night in watching a movie together and eat together. And especially, no matter how incredible it felt to get all dolled up to some event he would make you attend with him, just to be on his arm, twirling you around on the dance floor, having your princess moment. He truly did treat you like a princess. Indeed, he liked to call you one too.

“Printesa mea.” His warm velvety voice hovering over your skin. He would then place soft gentle kisses on your shoulder blade and then another on your neck.

His beard would tickle you, causing you to giggle like a little girl. “People are watching.”

“Don’t care.” He would shrug you off, then kiss your warm cheek.

Then you would bid your adieu to the party guests and head to his mansion where he would fuck you till the sun would rise. He was insatiable – the way his body moved, like a god really, a tight grip on your hips as his cock would stretch you out. And my goodness he was big. You could feel all of him as your walls would clench around his length, hissing at that first stretch.

He’d always look at you with a tinge of concern at first, breathlessly asking for your approval and for your wellbeing. As soon as you would smile up to him and give him a sign to continue, he would transform into a beast – thrusting in to you to the hilt, groaning and panting in the crook of your neck as he would come inside you. Fuck, that warmth was everything – both your fluids as you’d come together at times, the product of your pleasures to one another. You enjoyed it trickling down your thighs. It was satisfying on so many levels.

Back to the present moment, you had to press your legs together and stop yourself from thinking of all your debaucheries with Bucky.

He was paying your school debts and in return you got to enjoy all that. But that was it. You couldn’t let your mind wander as if you were a girl in love.

“It’s probably the holidays that’s making me feel like this.” You mumbled to yourself.

But really, you knew yourself better. After the million Christmas movies you’d watch every year, your one true wish was to meet the same guy all the women in the movies met. No matter how much you laughed at these cheesy movies, you loved it and you’d wish for one day to live that impossible fairy tale. Nothing was as in the movies and you knew that but damn, Bucky was something else. It was like, he did come straight out that kind of movie and with Christmas coming you, you couldn’t help but wonder whether you’ll have that happily ever after with Bucky.

You two did establish what you both wanted from this arrangement. He was looking for someone like you and well, despite you not exactly looking for someone like him, you really needed the help financially. Bucky was perfect to provide just that. A bit of sex would not hurt right? We’re two consenting adults! That’s what the two of you had agreed upon over a cheese platter and the best wine you had ever tasted. Bucky had a thing for the finer things in life. He certainly maintained high standards and quality. His demeanour oozed with those qualities. Always dressed up in a three piece suit, looking sharp and refined, he was someone you actually started to admire. You only wished you were as confident as he were. He knew that about you as he always tested and pushed your limits which resulted in you becoming much more comfortable in your own skin and you started doing things that you didn’t think you’d actually ever start doing. Bucky was not only an incredible lover but also an incredible mentor.

As your infatuating thoughts ran on, Bucky walked into the cafeteria you were in. It took you by surprise as you spotted him heading your way. You weren’t meant to see each other, not at least till he would call you. You wanted to throw yourself at him, just wrap yourself into his black coat and never leave him. Oh that would be wonderful…if only.

“Printesa mea! How great seeing you here today!” His face broke into a wide smile at you as he extended his arms to wrap them around you.

His musky, strong smell filled up your nostrils and made you tremble with need already. You loved to smell his cologne and you loved having it on you.

He chuckled as he realised that you were sniffing. “Awh, missing too much.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheekiness and withdrew away from his embrace – it was painful but you had to anyway.

“What are you doing here? I wanted to call you later to ask you something. Glad I can do it in person now.” He sat down across you and took your hands into his, his thumb brushing your knuckles gently.

“Oh?” You giggled softly then composed yourself with a sigh. “Well, I’m trying to finish off this last assignment before the holiday season comes up. It’s my favourite month and I want to enjoy it as much as I can with few uni distractions. Thankfully classes are ending soon as well.”

“A Christmas lover, I see…well, I’ve figured I guess.” He squeezed your hand as he chuckled once again.

“How on earth would you know that about me?” You laughed in disbelief with him.

“I just do. And it suits you really. I love the way your eyes light up when you’re excited about something. Your positive energy and your Christmas energy just go hand in hand, I guess? If this makes sense.” He squinted his eyes with a shrug.

“Alright, yeah, I guess I can take that.” You chuckled once again, not forgetting the way he spoke about you in a certain way. He clearly notices you.

“Anyway, I know that this might be farfetched or something but I was wondering whether you wanted to spend Christmas together? I mean, I know you’ve got your friends but you never really spoke about your family and I would understand if you’d want to go visit them...but I don’t know and well…”

…well what?” You teased slightly but your heart was ready to jump out of your sweater, your palms were sweating and Bucky realised that too as he looked down at your hands.

“I mean, I know that this is not…you know, us, conventional and all that but I don’t really have anyone…I…you know, I’m only seeing you so I just thought we could be together you know? For the holidays? I’ll give you more money and I’ll take you Christmas shopping too.”

You had never seen Bucky the way he were right now in front of you. He was rambling, fidgeting his long legs and you were certain that he was looking past you as he was speaking. He was avoiding eye contact with you because he was feeling uncomfortable. What was he truly trying to say?  Why the sudden change in appearance?

“Um, okay. I would like that Buck.” You wanted to scream from the top of your lungs. Aside from the fact that Bucky was feeling uncomfortable or nervous or whatever you were happily screaming inside. This was turning into a reality – you were having your chick flick, Christmas movie moment. You were getting to spend Christmas with the man that you were yearning for. The man that made you feel so many things all at once.

“Really?” His nervous look turned into relief as he leaned back in his seat as if he finally got something out of his chest.

“But why were you rambling about it? I mean, you know I have no issues at all with wanting to spend time with you, even during Christmas. My family is complicated and one day I will tell you all about it. Otherwise, I’m happy to be with you, you know…” You trailed off, now the one feeling somewhat nervous but also proud of yourself for being direct. Bucky was really rubbing off on you.

“I know, I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me.” He shook his head as a light laugh passed from his lips. “You’re a beautiful woman, printesa mea, and I didn’t think you’d want to spend the festive season with an old man like me.” He said running his fingers through his cottonlike dark hair.

His words took you by surprise, but you wanted to hide it and for some reason you were feeling cheeky quite quickly as you came up with quite the comeback, “Daddy, I promise you that I’m really going to enjoy myself with you.”

You couldn’t wait to jump onto his lap and have your way with him. Maybe he could fuck you with your Santa hat on or with your merry Christmas dress on…you’ll have to get it for him for sure. Oh…all the fun that you two will be having is going to be endless.

[endless-ineffabilities]

Hello! Could I request a scenario where Daemon somehow winds up in the modern world and is taken in by a nurse!reader?

this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 1/3)

Daemon Targaryen x nurse!reader / f!reader

part two - part three.one -

word count: 4k ▪︎ masterlist

After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: slow burn, jealous!daemon, cursing, some violence

112 AC, Westeros

He feels it. Slight at first, then the pain becomes almost unbearable.

Daemon feels the sword pass through his torso. A sudden intrusion of steel, one second it was buried in him, and the next it was being pulled violently out.

There’s no way, he thinks, seven fucking hells.

He feels enraged, and it must have shown, because the knight who had so luckily impaled his sword through him, started to back away in fear.

He starts to feel everything fade away, white spots beginning to blot his vision. The sun suddenly feels excruciating, the heat burrowing into his head, and not in a good way. Daemon was a Targaryen, born out of fire, and one way or another, likely destined to go out in flames. But this heat, was hell.

Everything was burning, and he presses his hand down hard, trying to stifle the outpouring of blood from his ribs, but it does nothing to help.

I’m going to rip you apart, Daemon thinks, angrily straggling towards the knight, using every bit of his remaining strength.

One strong, determined swing, and the knight’s head rolls down on the ground.

Daemon falls to his knees, and he hears those in his army start to notice.

“Prince Daemon!” he hears several voices exclaim in a panic, hurriedly drawing closer to him, but they were being impeded by enemy knights.

The pain was still there, but Daemon starts to feel numb, almost eerily calm.

Oh gods, he thinks, this is it.

A deafening screech echoes throughout the skies, and a large looming beast flies overhead.

“Caraxes”, Daemon determinedly says, raising his voice one last time, “Dracarys!”

Then everything is ablaze. Screams reverberate all throughout the battlefield. Daemon could hear his army start to cheer, gaining the upper hand due to dragonfire.

Caraxes flies down to his master, but it was too late.

Daemon Targaryen was gone.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

October 2022

His eyes fly open. He remembers the heat, the excruciating pain through his torso, and hurriedly looks down to inspect the wound.

He was lying down still clad in armor, so he strips his breastplate off, and sees the bloodstain pooled on his undershirt.

Lifting the shirt up, he sees a fresh wound just below his ribs. It was certainly painful, and still raw, but it didn’t look like he just had an entire sword go through him.

What the… Daemon sits up, trying to find any more evidence of the fatal wound. Perhaps it was on another side? Maybe it had partially healed? But how? He remembers that moment as if it just happened, and it certainly feels that way.

He shouldn’t be alive. He was sure, that was his end, as excruciatingly mediocre of an end as he might deem it to be.

He puts his breastplate back on, and gets on his feet, nausea coursing through him. He begins inspecting his surroundings. It’s dark out, and he is in some sort of alley, although nothing resembled anything he’s ever seen before. This sure as hell doesn’t seem like the afterlife.

A loud wailing sound echoes from somewhere, and he glimpses a white carriage-looking thing rush past the road, a glowing blue and red device atop it. He makes his way in that direction, and bumps into an unsuspecting man who was holding something up to his ears.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Daemon curses, grappling with the unfamiliarity of where he was.

“Okay, sorry, dude,” The man nonchalantly raises his arms, and walks off.

What did he just call me? Daemon thinks.

Everything was loud, and he almost found it unbearable, the pain in his head burning white-hot.

Where the fuck am I?

- - - - - - - - - - -

You walk back to your apartment, your trusty coat over your blue scrubs, after finishing a long shift at the local hospital.  Now, you want nothing more than to take a shower, change into cozier clothes, and make a quick meal.

Making the turn onto your street, you see him.

He almost looked alien, given the setting he was in. Dressed in medieval-looking garb, with a full body of armor. His striking white-blonde hair caught your eye.

That can’t be his natural hair color, you think in passing. You notice that he was loitering right in front of your building, and he looked lost. His gaze was jumping from one thing to another, as if everything was new to him.

He must be insane, you think, and shit, I would have to pass right by him.

You walk faster, determined not to catch his eye. It could just be your imagination, but the sword hanging by his belt looked all too realistic.

You reach your place, trying to keep your head down, and fumble in your bag for your keys. When you finally have it in your hand, you hear a clanking noise behind you, and you swiftly turn around.

The blond man had fallen down on his knees, his arm hanging onto the street fence, a few feet behind you. You now have a clearer view of him, and see the unmistakeable sign of pain across his face.

He’s hurt. Your instincts kick in, and you rush to his side.

“Hey, hey,” you kneel down beside him, and you hear him mumbling incoherently.

“What's wrong? Let me help,” you implore him, and you hope that it wasn’t all a ploy, and that he wasn’t someone dangerous.

“I don’t know where I am,” you hear him say. He looks so pale, clutching his torso. You notice a spot of blood spreading from his undershirt, and you mutter to yourself, “Oh shit.”

“Come with me,” you struggle to help him up, “I’m a nurse, and my place is right here. I can help you.”

“A nurse?”, he mumbles, as if unfamiliar with the term. You grunt under his weight, as you walk him to your building door.

“You’re not some goddess, are you?” he whispers, groggy eyes studying your face. The comment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond to that. In normal circumstances, that question might have made you blush, but you were preoccupied by his potential injury.

It takes you around 5 whole minutes to drag him up to your door, as opposed to the usual 20 seconds, after which you plop him down on your couch, your body feeling strained.

You run to your room to retrieve the necessary medical equipment, and when you return, you find him passed out on your couch.

Who are you?

- - - - - - - - - - -

Daemon's eyes flutter open.

A pleasant smell wafts from the kitchen, and he raises his head a little, taking in the room he was in. It seemed small, with the kitchen right beside the lounge area where he was lying down.

Are these servants quarters? The prince thinks, as he attempts to sit up.

You hear him moving from your spot in front of the stove, so you tentatively greet out, "Hey, you're awake."

He looks at you up and down, trying to place you, "You're the woman from the street."

"And you're the man from the street," you walk over to him, "Are you a cosplayer?" You had been genuinely curious about his garb, among many other things. You could not deny his striking, roguish beauty, for one.

"Am I a what?" He asks, almost angrily. He notices that he was only in his undershirt and trousers, his metal armour stripped off and neatly piled in the corner of the room.

"Oh yeah," you follow his gaze, "I had to take the heavy parts of your costume off of you so I could thoroughly inspect your wound, which is now sewn up nicely by the way. You would have to apply an antibiotic daily so there won't be an infection, and I can give you a whole bottle-"

He rises, groaning loudly, clutching his side, "Where am I? How do I go back to King's Landing? I'm sure they're looking for me."

He sways a little, and you place an arm around him, keeping him steady, "You should sit down."

"Look, I appreciate your help but I really don't think I belong here," he spits out venomously, shrugging off your help, "Actually, I should be fucking dead."

"Who are you?"

"Who am I?" He asks, as if expecting you to recognize him. You briefly wonder if he was some celebrity or something. Was he coming from a movie set, hence the armor?

"I am Prince Daemon Targaryen, the first of my name, Commander of the City Watch, one of the last great dragonriders, wielder of Dark Sister, and brother to King Viserys I himself."

"Oh." So he is insane.

You take a deep breath, in an attempt to stay calm as this shit show unfolds before you. This is what I get for being a good Samaritan, you think.

"Well, Prince Daemon," you take a step closer, and hold out your hand, "I'm y/n. Are you hungry? I’m making some pasta.”

“Some what?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

December 2022

It had taken some time, for both you and Daemon to become acquainted with each other. The fact that he almost never left your apartment certainly helped. He was there when you woke, and he was the last person you greeted before you went to sleep.

You and him had gone through the motions – you eventually convinced him to visit the hospital that you worked at, so that he could get a more thorough check-up, and that experience was stressful, to say the least. You could tell that he seemed apprehensive and a bit scared, even. When the doctor tried to use any “strange object” on him, as he so called them, he had lashed out. Another worrying thing was that Daemon did not have any medical records, nor did he appear on any system. He simply did not exist. And you should know, you checked everywhere.

He told you his story, one so fantastical and so grand that you're unable to wrap your head around it until today. You hoped it was all true, that there was something so extraordinary out there. Battles, and kingdoms, and dragons, and sorcery. Things only present in the fantasy novels that you so loved.

It sounded a lot more exciting than the often dreary world you were living in, although you knew you were quite lucky with your lot. Working a job wherein you actually get to help people, and living independently in a small but homey flat that you have personalized to your liking.

A flat that has been invaded by an undeniably charismatic, brooding, potentially crazy, apparent Prince from “one of the last great families of Old Valyria”. Wherever that may be.

Daemon was someone who had a regal air about him, which somewhat validated his claims. In nearly two months of observing him, you could tell that he was highly intelligent, and calculating. And he acted like he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, which you first chocked up to plain entitlement. But he didn’t possess the rudeness and lack of self-awareness that usually came with it.

He occupies your thoughts, much more than you’d care to admit. And as you walk back after another shift, you find yourself looking forward to being home, largely in part because of Daemon.

Nearing your door, you become alarmed at the unmistakable smell of smoke coming from inside.

"Daemon?" You hurriedly enter, and find out that the smoke was coming from your kitchen.

"Fuck!" He stands in the kitchen, arms desperately trying to wave the smoke away.

"What are you doing?" You rush to take the pot away from stove, its contents charred and probably inedible. You throw it onto the sink, dowsing it in water.

Feeling relieved, you lean against the counter, wiping sweat from your brow.

"That wasn't meant to happen," Daemon says under his breath.

"Oh yeah?" You motion to the remains in the pot, "what were you making?" He had never done this before, but he would shadow you in the kitchen sometimes, learning the names of the dishes, and the equipment you used.

"I was trying to make the thing you cooked that first night. Pasto."

You stare at him, trying to decipher what he said, and when you realize, you burst in a fit of giggles. The word sounded comical coming from Daemon, who stands dejectedly in your small kitchen.

"Do you mean pasta?"

"Oh," A crooked smile graces his lips, as he shrugs, "That's what I said."

"Sure," you smile back, "you know what, I'll just sort all of this out then I'll make some pasta. Alright?"

"Thanks, love." He says, before he walks over to the couch.

Oh, hell. Why does he have to call me that? Your thoughts race, as you feel your cheeks redden. You didn't want to feel anything for this stranger who might walk out of your life just as spontaneously as he walked into it.

Suddenly, there's a strong knock on your door.

"Y/n? Is everything okay? I smell smoke."

"I'll get it," you motion to Daemon, and open the door to find your neighbour from across the hall, Tom.

"Hey," he leans by the door, a concerned expression his face, "where's the fire?", he adds lightly.

"Oh," you laugh dryly, "just a bit of a cooking hazard, is all. All sorted out now. Sorry to alarm you, Tom."

His eyes land on Daemon sitting on the couch, and he whispers to you, "That guy's still here?"

You had told him that Daemon was a family friend from out of town who needed a place to stay for a while. Tom didn't seem to like the idea, once telling you, "I don't know, that guy seems sketchy. He stares at you a lot."

You had dismissed that notion. Although, yes, you did think Daemon was sketchy, but more so in the beginning. He has since grown on you, and you had learned to accept how different he was. If he believed that he was from another world, then you wanted to believe that, too.

"Yeah, turns out he needs to stay longer."

"Oh, really?" Tom seems annoyed, and you assume it's only because he's being a protective friend, "he's not paying a share of your rent, though, is he?"

"No, but that's not a problem. I want to help him, so it's okay," you try to convince him, and he starts to relax, shoulders loosening.

"Okay, well, I was just checking in. By the way, would you like to see a movie with me this weekend? If you're not working, that is," he asks, and this wasn't the first time that he tried asking you out. The last two attempts, you had genuinely been busy working.

"Uh, well, okay," you decide, because why the hell not? You need something to distract you from the sullen Prince who nearly tried to burn down your kitchen. That handsome, infuriating, mysterious...

"Great!" Tom grins, breaking your thoughts, "I'll come by here before then, so we can decide on the movie."

When you end the conversation and close the door, you turn to see Daemon looking your way, then he says, "I don't like him, he looks at you far too long, sometimes."

Well, what a coincidence. He feels the same way about you, you think.

You briefly wonder why Daemon would be bothered about Tom, in that way. Deep down inside, you hope he was jealous, but before you let wishful thinking run rampant, you head over to the kitchen, and get to work.

- - - - - - - - - -

You sit across each other, as per your routine, coming home and eating a meal together after you’ve spent the day working and he has been reading through your “magic box”. Your new laptop, that is. Daemon proved to be a highly adaptable person, and he’s been eager to learn everything he can about the world in which he has apparently been forcibly transferred to.

After the first week or so of intense denial and anger at his situation, he had calmed down, and he learned to be civil to you. As he should - he is freely staying in your apartment, after all. You had taken long walks outside together, introducing him to things such as traffic lights, concrete buildings, buses, coffee shops and the like. One notable moment was when he spotted a helicopter in the sky, smiled softly to himself, and confided in you, “How I wish I could ride a dragon again.” You had gotten lost in the innocence in his expression, that sincere wistfulness, and you hoped that he would someday get what he wanted. Although, your heart sank at the thought of him leaving you.

There would be bleak moments, now and then, like when you had found him on the floor of your room, head in his hands. He had discovered the bottle of wine you kept in the shelf, which lay empty beside him. Your laptop had been discarded, a visible crack on the screen, after he had thrown it down in frustration. His voice broke when he spoke, “That thing is not giving me any answers. It doesn’t know how I can go back home.”

You heart ached for him, so you sank down, and pulled him into a hug. He froze at first, not used to such contact, but relented after a while. You held each other, until he whispered, “I’m sorry about your magic box. If I had any gold with me, I would get you another.” You reassured him, taken his hand, and given him one of your books to read. He had since read all of them, eagerly prompting discussions with you after every book.

“This is delectable, as always, y/n.” He says, in between bites, “How were your hours today as a healer?” Healer was apparently what they call a nurse where he came from.

“Quite alright,” you respond, “learned anything new today?”

“I have been… looking for a suitable position around these parts.”

“A position?”

“Yes, a source of funding, you might say. I can no longer just accept your food and lodging, and not contribute anything of use.” He says sincerely, and you appreciate it.

“Alright, and what have you found?” you ask curiously, knowing that Daemon has grown quite restless as of late.

“Apparently there’s something called an auto shop just 5 minutes from here, and they’re looking for a mechanic. Someone that can help mend carriages, I mean, cars. I’ve walked over to the place, and the owner is willing to accept me even without documentation. He‘s also willing to teach me everything about the craft.” He explains, audibly pausing before words that he still finds to be unfamiliar.

“That’s great, Daemon,” you say, knowing that among all modern technology, he found vehicles and aircraft to be especially fascinating.

“Yes, I shall return there tomorrow,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What was that I heard that Tom ask you about? Something about a movie?”

“Well, you know all about movies by now. He’s asked if I would like to see one with him. Something like a date, actually.”

“A date? So that means you will spend some time together?” he asks, and you could hear the distaste in his voice.

“That’s right. But, a date can have some romantic intention behind it, which I think is what he wants.”

“Romance? With him? Surely, you don’t consider him a worthy prospect,” His tone is sour. Is that jealousy, or does he simply dislike Tom as he is?

“You know, he’s not so bad,” you try defending Tom a little, “and anyway, it’ll be casual. Nothing serious.”

“I do hope he has no plans of bedding you,” he says offhandedly, roughly chewing his food.

You almost choke on your drink, taken aback by his sudden statement, “Daemon!”

“What? It’s a founded concern. You are a very beautiful woman, and he seems dim-witted enough to think himself worthy of attempting such a thing.”

The compliment stifled your embarrassment, and made you feel something else entirely. He had said it so easily, as if he wasn’t expecting anything in return or flirting mindlessly, and was simply stating an observation.

“Well,” you swallow, trying to find the words to say, “I doubt that will happen anytime soon. I don’t see myself and him, in that way, yet.”

You see him scowl at the last word, and you feel slightly pleased. Prince Daemon Targaryen may actually be jealous, and that means… “He likes me.” You freeze, having voiced out your thought.

Daemon’s eyebrows furrow, missing your point, “Well, of course he does. Why else would he try his hand at being with you?”

Daemon had been mulling over many things, and admittedly, most of his thoughts concern you. He would think of his current predicament, and find himself pleased that it was you he had been saddled with. If it were anybody else, Daemon might have found some way, some miracle, to bring a dragon to this chaotic world and burn everything down. You made it all bearable.

He liked waking up with you every day, although you don’t share a bed, with him still being designated the couch. He looked forward to your arrival from work, the quiet apartment feeling less droll with your presence. You had patiently shown him your world, even though he knew it must be a drag for you to answer his ceaseless barrage of questions. He found you a pleasant companion, to say the least, but lately, he has also noticed other things.

He would feel his heart quicken, when your hand would touch his arm, his hand, his shoulders, when you would teach him how to use your modern appliances. He found himself admiring your smile, the sound of your laughter, at how you had managed to be good-natured and pragmatic about the whole situation. Even if it must not be easy for you to have a madman like him dwelling in your home.

He enjoyed the way you would talk to him about your favourite books, and ideas. How your eyes would light up while you spoke of the things you love.

But also, he had started to notice your bright eyes, the sensual swell of your lips. The smoothness of your skin, your womanly shape, your backside…

“Daemon?” you snap your fingers at him, “I think I lost you there.”

“Oh yes, sorry, ” he leans back.

“I asked what you would you like to do after dinner.” Seeing him also having finished, you pick up your plates, and walk over to the sink.

“I’m not sure,” he stammers a little, and you wonder what he was so lost in thought about, “I can clean those.” He points to the dirty dishes.

You shake your head, “It’s alright. It’s my turn anyway, you did the dishes last night. We can find a new movie to watch?”

He looks at you for a long time, and continues to do so, as you begin your task.

Soon after, you hear him stand, and say, “Sure, we can do that.”

You sense him walk over, stopping just behind you, his warmth just inches from your back, and before you can ask why he was standing so close, he lays his head on your shoulder.

You don’t want to move, so as not to displace him, as he steadies himself with one hand on the counter beside you. This feels good, this feels right.

“Daemon,” you whisper softly, desperately trying to continue your task even though your heart was racing.

“I’ve missed your presence,” he confesses. You want to turn around and wrap your arms around him. You want to finally know how his lips might feel on yours.

But for now, you hold back, content with this, how he feels. How he has slowly been warming up to you. Perhaps, there will be more, another time.

You smile widely, your expression mirroring exactly how you feel, “I’ve missed your presence, too, Daemon.”

end of part one.

This was meant to be a oneshot, but it got too long -- so part two coming soon!

And yes, part 2 will be 18+

Thanks for all the love on "without you, I would not be". I'll be writing a longer Daemon series soon 🖤

[loquaciousferret]

Bad People

Summary: A stroke of fate leads one of your trading partners in the QZ to your front door one night, could it lead to something unexpected?

Pairing: Joel Miller X Female Reader

Content Warnings:  alcohol, established age-gap, SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, facial, cumplay? Maybe more READ AT OWN RISK 

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: More Joel thots and a serious praise kink going on...? Anyways...

As always, not canon timeline or events. Joel aged maybe 40, 45?, but dialogue references it being 20 years into the outbreak. 

NSFW under the cut do not press keep reading if you are a minor pls thx!

“We got to stop runnin’ into each other like this, darlin’.” The cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth wobbled as his lips turned up into a smirk.

He was right. This was the 4th or 5th time this month, and the 2nd time just this week that the pair of you had traded. You didn't answer, just tutting and shaking your head, looking down shyly at your feet. The way he talked to you pleased you a little bit, but you're sure he's like this with everyone.

“You should be more careful.” He frowns. “You’re lucky it was me on the other end of that setup. Could’ve been bad people. There's lots of em around here”

You looked up to meet his eye before screwing your nose up at him playfully. “You are one of the bad people around here.”

His smirk only widened at your remark, his eyes sparkling just a fraction more.

“I can be, if that’s what gets ya goin’…” He took a draw of his cigarette, gaze intense as he released the puff of smoke into the space between you.

You feigned disgust at his remark, clicking your tongue but couldn't help yourself from smiling again as you met his eye, “Goodbye, Joel.”

You shot a look over your shoulder as you left the alleyway and stepped into the street, pleased to find his eyes still fixated on you. A coy smile is sent his way and then a passing truck and a horde of guards pass between you. Once they’ve moved on, he’s gone, retreated into the shadows at the other end of the alley no doubt.

You had been trading with Joel Miller for nearly 6 months, he was a prolific smuggler with access to goods you didn’t even know still existed. In return, you had your own ways of sourcing his vices, cigarettes, alcohol, pills, small items easy enough to steal for someone as small and unassuming as yourself.

Illicit trading within the QZ operated in a variety of ways, one of the most common being through encoded notes or messages left in public places. And Joel was right, it could be bad people at the end of them, or perhaps worse, it could be undercover guards weeding out rule breakers. But often, the goods were worth the risk. And more and more frequently of late, you were finding Joel at the end of these messages.

You found there was something trustworthy about his eyes, despite a hardened and threatening exterior, and the bulges of multiple weapons in his jeans, his jacket pockets. You got the sense he had a soft spot for you and that always came in handy in regards to a good price for trading.

You traveled the short distance to your makeshift home within the QZ, a relatively quiet street and certainly one of the less dilapidated buildings. You knew you were lucky to have this place compared to the living conditions of some friends you’d made over the years here.

You had front door access up a short flight of stairs and fairly large windows, facing towards the centre of the town. You had managed to fabricate wooden shutters that you used for privacy and safety. Unlocking the door and crossing the threshold, you breathed out and released tension you hadn’t noticed you were carrying. Even within the QZ it was a dangerous world, for no one moreso than a single woman. You weren’t naive and knew that whilst living in the QZ kept you save from infected, there were fates worse than that.

You struck a match and lit the candles that surrounded the living area, the end of October meaning shorter days, night was quick to fall and curfew rapidly approached.

You began to empty your heavy pack, you had done a number of supply runs today, some through the legitimate channels. Food, soaps, a perfume for which you had swapped nearly an unjustifiable quantity of ration papers, a very specific red wine courtesy of Joel, which you had wanted for your birthday coming up, and a novel. You stowed the rest of this away in the right places and settled in to the sofa with the book, curling into a blanket that you have had since before the outbreak.

Curfew came and went with all of the city sounds ceasing, replaced only by the occasional stomp of guards patrolling the street.

You hadn’t realised you had drifted off whilst reading until you were sharply awoken by banging on the door. You leaped into action mode, reaching under the sofa for a baseball bat that you stored there. As you creeped towards the door there was another round of banging, and your mind whirred with possibilities. If it was FEDRA they would have shouted and said so. Could it be a friend? You weren’t sure. A possibility you hadn’t considered, was looking through the peep hole and seeing… Joel?

You kept the baseball bat gripped in one hand, breaking all rules and common sense about personal safety to unlock the door with the other. His eyes widen in surprise momentarily and you realise that he hadn’t been seeking you out, he had just knocked on any door. As you registered this realisation he pushed past you into the house.

He slammed the door behind himself, locking every bolt rapidly as if he was familiar with the apartment. He wasn’t, of course, but this is the kind of confidence and self-assuredness with which Joel completes every action. He proceeds to a small chink in the wooden shutters over the windows, sweeping up and down the street. Satisfied, he turns to you.

Eyes flickering between your face and the bat still clutched in your right hand, he smirks, “You gonna hit me with that?”

“I-oh.” You let out a breath of laughter and tossed the bat onto the soft sofa. “I guess not.”

“I was just looking for someone stupid enough to let a stranger into their house, I got lucky.” He explained, confirming your suspicions that he hadn’t known this was your place.

You rolled your eyes. “What are you doing anyway. Is someone after you?”

“No one dangerous,” He responds “Just FEDRA. I won’t have brought any trouble to your door. They won’t find me, idiots can barely track down their own heads.”

You smile at him.

“But seriously, what I said earlier about you needing to be more careful. ‘s true. Would you just let any old crazy person in off the street who needs your help.”

“You aren’t just any old crazy person.” You smiled. “Devil you know, and all that?”

He reached a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, your eyes fixed on the strong arm flexing under his thin jacket.

“Listen, uh…” He shifted on his feet and his ever confident appearance faltered slightly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I promise I’ll pay you back fairly-“

You were nodding before he finished the question. Of course you would let him stay. You did trust him, despite not really knowing him. And you didn’t want to see him caught or hurt by the guards. His business benefitted you, too. There was a net gain to helping him. But more than that, you found yourself intrigued and almost excited at the prospect of having someone in your home like a normal old day.

“It’s no trouble, really.” You said sincerely, and his eyes expressed relief. “You’ll just have to me owe me one.”

“Anythin’, honestly.” He responded.

“Take a seat.” You urged him, picking up the baseball bat and sliding it back underneath the sofa. “Are you hungry?”

“No, no. I wouldn’t ask you to waste your food.” He shook his head.

“Suit yourself.” You shrugged.

You sat opposite him in an armchair. You had better furniture than many people, mismatched but relatively clean and comfortable. You watched him as he collected a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket, raising an eyebrow when he looks back at you in confusion.

The penny drops and he asks, “Can’t I smoke in here?”

You consider him for a moment over the top of your book. “I guess so.” You offer, but he’s replacing them back into his pocket already. You realise you had made a mistake, then. You recognised a knowing look in his eyes, he knew you weren’t happy with the smoking and yet you had said yes to him anyway. A glint in his eye was questioning what else you might say yes to. You blush as your train of thought continues.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tension between the two of you which you had felt rising. “So, why the wine? You hosting dinner parties these days or somethin’?”

You laugh a little at the suggestion, both knowing the answer. “Nope, I’ve got a big birthday coming up.”

“That right?” He raised an eyebrow. “How old?”

“Guess.” You shot back, folding the corner of your page and setting it on the coffee table.

“Ah…” He tilted his head. “No, I’m not falling into that trap.”

You leaned towards him and put on a theatrical whisper, “Twenty-five”

He grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Oh yeah, ancient.”

“On Wednesday.” You added.

“I don’t celebrate my birthday. What’s the big deal about another year in this place.”

You rolled your eyes. “25? Remember? It’s pretty much all I’ve known.”

A sharp intake of breath from Joel has you pondering. You’ve never been good at knowing other people’s age, but you imagine he has 15 years on you at the very least. He most likely lived a life he remembered well before this, unlike you, who only has faint fragments from your early childhood.

“How old are you?” You asked.

“Old enough to be your father.”

His tone was laced with something unfamiliar. You tore your eyes away from him and returned them to your book. Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play it, you thought. But something about how he held your gaze when he said it made you think he wasn’t expressing disgust or disinterest at all, it was more like a test.

“You live alone?” You ask.

“Why?” His eyes narrowed.

You sigh, “Just making conversation.” You muttered back.

“Yes.” He confirms. “You?”

You gestured around the apartment. “Just me. After..” You trailed off.

He nodded knowingly. “Yeah.”

Details were never needed. Everybody had lost most of those close to them. People with remaining family from before were few and far between and very very fortunate. You weren’t one of those fortunate few and Joel’s entire character made it clear that neither was he. He was out for himself, only. Maybe that could work to your advantage.

“Well, listen. Do you want to share that bottle?” You asked, tentatively. “Today’s Saturday and you need somewhere to stay. Better than me celebrating alone on a weeknight.”

“Don’t see why not.” He says.

Before you could stop yourself, the bottle was empty and you had loosened up. Probably to a degree more than was wise. At some point you had moved from your armchair to occupy the sofa alongside Joel, there had been a reason but you had never proceeded to move away again.

Something about it felt so natural, so normal, like being in the company of a friend. You had even extracted a few laughs from him.

You were watching him, not expectantly, just lost in your thoughts and his deep brown eyes when he cleared his throat and you realised just how close to him you were, warmth radiating from him, a rich musky scent, all contributing to the somewhat magnetic force you felt acting upon yourself.

“It’s been a while.” He said.

You didn’t know what he was referring to. A while since what? Since he drank wine? Since he shared a night like this with another human being? Since…

His mouth latching onto yours interrupted your train of thought. His kiss was hungry, but not desperate, it remained powerful and dominant, just like the energy Joel permanently exuded.

You lifted your hands to tug lightly at the curls at the back of his neck, tilting your head up and deepening the kiss in the process. He turned to face you more fully, a strong arm reaching round to wrap around your middle. And with one movement, that same arm manoeuvring you onto his lap. The kiss breaks for the first time and you pull away ever so slightly to look at him. The sight staring back at you is the most attractive thing you think you have ever seen. Pupils dilated, broad chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes shallow breaths. You feel something growing in his jeans at the place your body connects to his. The affect you were having on him after just briefly making out gave you confidence.

“I’ve wanted you, for such a long time,” He whispers into you as he pulls you closer again, hot breath tickling your neck, your ear, as he flicks out his tongue and nibbles your earlobe. “Tonight I’m finally going to have you.”

You can’t stop an audible whimper escaping and you feel his smirk in return. Of course, you had messed around with other young men in the QZ, friends and such, but never had you felt attraction as deeply as you did to Joel in this moment. Joel knew what he wanted and how to get it. There was nothing awkward or fumbling about this like your previous encounters.

You pressed your lips to his again, rolling your lower half into him. His firm hands gripped your hips and his fingertips lightly grazed the skin as your top started to ride up. His touch was magic, the way in which he managed to be simultaneously so powerful yet remain gentle was expert.

He broke the kiss again, his voice husky as he questioned, “You gonna show me to your room or do you want me to take you right here, beautiful?”

You couldn’t speak, just hopping off of his lap in response and taking one of his large hands in yours to lead him to the bedroom at the back of the apartment. The corridor, only a few feet long, had never felt like such a long walk due to the anticipation that was reaching unmanageable levels inside you.

You entered the room and Joel closed the door behind you, plunging the room into darkness. Spinning you round by your wrist to face him, he began stripping the clothes from your body whilst kissing you, quickly taking your sweater off over your head. You fumbled with the buttons on his shirt in return, but he quickly took over, pushing your hands lower to deal with his belt buckle as he tore off his forest green button-down. You successfully undid his buckle and unzipped his jeans, slipping your hand inside to press against the hardened bulge inside his boxers.

A low groan escapes his lips as you apply further pressure, palming his cock as it continues to harden further.

“Don’t tease me baby, you won’t like where it gets you.” He says, as he pushes you gently onto the bed.

You can’t make out his features in the darkness but his tone paints a picture of that signature smirk that is making you grow wetter by the second. He pulls your bottoms from your legs and you hear them land somewhere across the room, before doing the same with his own. His hands widen your thighs and you feel the weight of the bed shift as he positions himself between your legs. You reach your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss, and he uses this as an opportunity to snake an arm around your back and unclasp your bra.

It drops to the floor to reveal your breasts and hardened nipples, which he teases lightly with his thumbs, continuing to kiss you.

“Isn’t this a pretty sight.” he mumbles as he leans back, taking you in as much as he could in the low light before attaching his mouth to your nipple, sucking and nibbling lightly, eliciting gasps from you.

You feel yourself rolling your hips towards him, finding his thigh and whining at the lack of attention your lower half was receiving from him.

“Patience, sweetheart.” He smirks, gripping your hips and pinning them onto the bed.

He fulfils your request anyhow, gently rubbing you through your underwear as he focussed his attention once again on your breasts. kneading one in one hand whilst balancing his weight on his elbow, and continuing to use his tongue on the other, sloppy kissing and suction on your nipple and intermittent biting that had you whining through gritted teeth.

You were sure he could feel your arousal, heat and wetness permeating through the thin material of your underwear, letting him know the effect his teasing was having on you.

“J-Joel.” You gasped, your tone not far from begging. “Please.”

He obliged at last, “Only cause you asked me so nicely,” He whispered into your skin, kissing and sucking your breasts, your throat, your neck, your ear.

Joel was consuming every single one of your senses, intensifying the pleasure you felt when he finally inserted a finger into you. You felt as though you were practically dripping all over him, malleable and ready for whatever he might give you. He groaned softly as he curled his finger inside you, pulling it out painstakingly slowly to replace it with two this time.

You let out a quiet moan, biting your lip to try and hold back the sounds of your pleasure, not wanting to let him see how much this act alone was affecting you.

“Let me hear you, baby.” He said, as if reading your mind. “Show me how much you like to be touched.”

You let yourself go now as he picked up his pace, curling his fingers hard and fast against that spot inside you that had your toes curling. As he continued this, his thumb found its way to your clit and he rubbed slow circles into it.

“Oh, Joel…” You gasped, twisting the bedsheets in your fists either side of you. “I want you to fuck me Joel, please Joel I- ah” You cut yourself off with another moan as he inserted a third finger, stretching you out and increasing the pace and force with which he massaged your clit.

“Baby, the way you beg so nicely has me tempted. But I need you to come before I fuck you.”

You nodded and reached a hand out towards him, feeling for him with your eyes closed. Your hand connected with his shoulder and you tugged him towards you gently, keen to be enveloped in his warmth, his scent. He reached his lips down to yours and your moans escaped into the kiss. Your eyes shot open when he removed his fingers from inside you and then his whole hand from where it had been working at you.

He pulled away from the kiss and replaced his mouth with his fingers, which you sucked instinctively, interpreting his wordless request.

He moaned as you swirled your tongue around his fingers and tasted yourself and you did too, closing your eyes and releasing your sounds of pleasure.

“Jesus…” He sighed contentedly

He returned his hand to your core and focused entirely on your clit this time, pinching gently before rubbing circles rhythmically. You were close to orgasm already, your deep attraction to him and the power he exercised over you all encouraged your release quicker than usual.

It didn’t take long for his practiced attention on your clit, coupled with his low praise in your ears, when you felt it building inside you.

You arched your back slightly, pressing yourself against his hand to increase the friction however possible.

“That’s it, baby.” He muttered in your ear. “Show me how good it feels.”

“You gonna come for me, good girl?” He breathed.

Your face was screwed up in pleasure, your breathing shallow and erratic as your orgasm built, tension growing more and more.

“Let me hear those pretty sounds, sweetheart.” He urged.

You came hard with noises between moans and wails escaping your lips. Joel’s pace didn’t falter as you enjoyed your orgasm, writhing your lower body against him before you collapsed onto the bed, spent of the energy needed to hold yourself up.

He pressed a wet kiss onto your cheek before moving from where he lay alongside you to position himself over you. He took your hand and guided it to his erection, which you palmed gently, feeling its size again. He sighed at the sensation of your small hands grasping him through the fabric, but he had little patience for this moment and quickly moved on to removing them, pulling them down his thighs and allowing his cock to spring free. You resisted literally letting your jaw drop as you saw him bare and felt the full weight and size of him. Definitely bigger than anything you had experience with.

He took a hold of himself, guiding his tip down to rub it through your folds, causing you to shudder slightly with your clit still sensitive from your orgasm. He nudged the tip to your wet hole and you bit your lip as he entered you, slowly at first until he was about halfway in before thrusting himself into you as deep as he could. At this, you couldn’t keep your noise to yourself, releasing a desperate and tortured moan.

He took this noise as a sign to continue at this pace, dragging out of you slowly but thrusting in with force, hitting the deepest parts of you.

You moaned and whined and could barely catch a breath, his thrusts picking up in pace as he used your body for his pleasure.

“God, Joel, yes,” You say, but you are sure it comes out unintelligible. “Please fuck me like that Joel it feels so good oh my god.”

He grunted in response and continued, taking one hand and giving attention to your clit as he fucked you relentlessly, all you could do was babble words of praise and thanks and his name, rolling from your tongue as though you were addressing a deity.

“You’re so tight.” He groans through gritted teeth, bringing his body closer to yours to kiss at your skin as he fucks you.

You sense he won’t last much longer when he slows down his thrusts, and your suspicions are confirmed when he asks “Where do you want my cum, beautiful?”

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. The look on your face as you do this is almost enough to push him over the edge, “Oh god.” He exclaims, pulling out of you in a rush. A playful look in your eyes as you laugh a little, still keeping your tongue out.

He grabbed your arms and manoeuvred you roughly onto the floor in front at the edge of the bed. He kneeled on the bed above you and you kept eye contact with him, wiggling your tongue as he pumped his cock in his hand.

He groaned as he watched you, you closed your eyes briefly and he scolded you.

“Keep them open.”

You did so, and with another few tugs of his wrist he was exploding all over your face, salty cum landing mostly on your outstretched tongue and inside your mouth but some more leaking onto your nose, cheeks, and chin.

You swallowed what was in your mouth and tongue as he kept his eyes fixated on you, deflating slightly and relaxing lower onto the bed. He reached out and used his thumb to wipe your face, collecting his spent load from around your face and guiding it towards your lips. You sucked on his thumb obediently, and he sighed, totally transfixed and holding your gaze throughout your entire performance for him.

With most of him cleaned up from your face you straightened up higher and he reached over to press a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“You did fantastic.” He praised, and you hummed, enjoying the feeling of his hand holding the back of your neck and his face pressed into your hair.

When he released you and lay backwards onto the bed, you got up and padded barefoot to your bathroom. You washed your face and rinsed your mouth out, eyeing yourself in the cracked mirror. Your hair was slightly pressed to your forehead with sweat and the rest of it was sticking out wildly. Your cheeks were dark with blush and you still hadn’t quite slowed your breathing down to normal. Yep, you looked like someone who had just been fucked hard.

You crept back to bed, floorboards creaking, collecting your underwear on the way and putting it on before sliding under the covers. He stood slowly and did the same, reaching out to pull you close towards him, attacking the top of your head, your forehead, your throat, your chest, with rapid kisses.

“Joel-“ You giggled, flattered with the kind of attention he continued to give you after the sex was over.

After a final kiss, he kept you close to him, inhaling from the top of your head, his breath tickling you.

You lay this way, content for a while, until something compelled you to speak. “Joel?” You said softly, your voice not quite a whisper, unsure if he was awake.

“Hm?” He responded, rubbing circles on your waist with his thumb where his arm was around you, holding you tightly to him.

“Are we going to do this again?” You asked shyly.

He exhaled with what might have been a small laugh. “Absolutely, sweetheart. You’re not gonna get rid of me now.”

You nuzzled into his neck and eventually, sleep took you. Nothing you could dream about would top the night you had just had with Joel.

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

[thatdogmagic]

Once upon a time, this was Sandra.

And thanks to having posted my way through her entire design process throughout 2020, I have pretty much all stages that lead from this, to her current incarnation.

...which is this:

I actually started drawing the first image around 2018-2019. This was at the height of my dry spell, art wise, wherein I was maybe churning out a sketch a month at most for several years.

As a result, my skills weren't quite up to the challenge I was making for myself: how to make a werewolf that is a) aesthetic, b) monstrous, c) still human without losing bestial qualities and, similarly, d) without just looking like Some Furry.

I kept trying, though, and in 2020, started work on an illustration that tracks an entire chunk of the design process.

I say 'started,' but in this case I mean 'continued.' The underlying sketch was one of the 'one a month' ones I mentioned before. It was also much more tuned to how I was picturing her in her WtA incarnation.

It took hours of struggling with her face and pose to even get it this far, and by the time I got to this point, I was well and truly frustrated. Worse, I still didn't like her design. I didn't hate it, mind, but I wasn't entirely sold on it, either.

Still, I could at least try and salvage the image itself.

The sketch, I ended up liking (and still do, tbh). I struggled with some attempts to color it quickly and, ultimately, set it aside again. Then I got my Huion, and started futzing with it at work.

That's when I tried something a lil different.

I always liked the kind of uncanny mix of human/wolf features on a face, and wanted to play with that a bit, but once again found myself running afoul of skills I hadn't built up yet. I needed to find a design that I could do consistently, that wouldn't frustrate me so much.

So, this more primate-like face eventually became something a little more wolfish.

I still wasn't happy with it. The monstrousness was starting to vanish into this 'basically a furry' look again. So I did a pass while looking at design elements from the Cabin in the Woods werewolf.

Better!

Except, again, missing out on elements of her human face, and I want her to be recognizable regardless of what form she's in.

Better than nothing, though, so I hash out a sketch I intended to use for a model sheet.

Then I got to thinking: I like the look of incomplete pelts on werewolves. What if I played around with that?

So-- I did.

This is the first real appearance of what she'd eventually become, and even then, subsequent sketches were still lacking elements that make up what her design is presently.

That was its own work in progress, which eventually became:

The rest of the finessing, I did over that year's October art challenge, and eventually landed on the design we have now, which, honestly?

I like a lot. I'm very happy with how she turned out, and I'm glad I accidentally documented the entire process from start to finish.

[anime-grimmy-art]

It’s this time of the year again, folks. Time to wrap up the art Ive made in the last 12 months in another Year in Review! I’ve noticed that this is my fifth Year in Review in a row, so I’ll be making an extra post looking back on the progress in those last 5 years!

I've got a lot to say about this year, but purely art wise, I've gone all when it comes to comics, damn! I've kinda found a format that is messy, and therefore more time efficient, yet still looks good. I even made 2 animatics and lotsa shorts/reels! All that on top of opening coms twice, and, oh yeah, MAKING A WHOLE ASS 4MIN ANIMATION ON MY OWN.

How is my hand still alive.

2023 has been….interesting, to say the least. The first half year I was working on my thesis project, aka making an animated short all on my own (in the art department), which makes it honestly surprising how much I managed to churn out between animating. Trigun rly did have me in a choke hold.

Summer was a bit more spotty, esp. with me not being able to draw anything during August as I was writing my thesis (and doing commissions). And towards the end of the year, Kingdom Hearts tried to save me, but alas, Genshin Impact has finally sunk its teeth into me and dragged me to the bottom of the rabbit hole. It all started with me watching a story summary and lore videos while I was sick after my thesis and I was too intrigued to not dig deeper and well, first I fell in love with Kaeya and then the ships started dropping in left and right.

I’m not gonna lie, the last few months have been weird. I finished my masters in October, and have been on job hunt since, sadly without success so far. I’m existing in this weird limbo of still not grasping I’m not a student anymore after 18 years in education, not really being able to accept I’m an adult, yet desperately trying to find something so I can make a routine, cos rn Im too scared to build a rhythm as I know I’ll have a so much harder time readjusting again. It’s left me in a weird emotional state, where most of the time I feel fine, but when it counts, there’s just, nothing. No joy at getting my diploma, no anticipation to finally go to a convention again, neither any sadness hearing my grandfather died. It frustrates me that it extends to my art as well, there’s excitement over ideas and concepts, but no motivation to pick up the pencil, which makes me either not finish art at all or making so many shortcuts and just ending up with sth not satisfactory to me since it’s not the idea I sought after.

Tho, not everything is doom and gloom. I DID finish a whole ass short animation and got my masters degree, that IS sth to be proud of. Also, while Im struggling at drawing, I’ve also kinda started integrating my shortcuts into my style and some stuff I’ve thrown together actually turns out real good nowadays. Also, and this might be a bit of a weird one, I’m so fucking happy to know I can still enjoy gay ships. I’ve been a bit uncertain over the last few years because when I was around 16-18, I had a real big yaoi phase, which mostly came from the fact so much stuff came out that tickled my brain in the right way (Free, Haikyuu, etc.). But over the years, my enthusiasm died down, and I even started to resent some ships because it’s all some fandoms produced. I often found myself liking a hetero ship more than the popular gay ship, which really made me not wanna stick around because I did not care for most fanart and you can only go through a tag with art you don’t care about so long before you lose interest. I think in retrospect that it rly had nothing to do with the ships being gay ships but rather cos the fans just shoved it in your face when you didn’t care (and shipping culture nowadays also can get real scary). But I’m so happy to see I can still get obsessed with a ship and it’s all thanks to Haikaveh/Kavetham. It really just needed the right flavour for me to dig in again. And oh my god, I FINALLY like a ship with a SHIT TON of art and fanfictions, no more scrounging the crumbs from the bottom of the barrel. 

Anyways, enough lamenting. Here’s to hoping I can bite my tongue and get shit started properly in 2024, and that my brainrots may make me obsessed enough to churn out an obscene amount of fanart again.

[sincerely-sofie]

Seeing as you have finished writing the script for your AU thingy, I wanna know, how?

Like, were you motivated the whole time? Or was it a on and off writing type thing?

i'm trying to write but I don't know if I have the motivation...

How did you keep the motivation if so?

Oh man. I have so much to say about writing and creativity that I could make an entire series of posts talking about the subject, but I'll try to keep things orderly and brief.

Disclaimer: I should let you know that I have never finished a writing project before recently finishing my TPiaG AU. Keep that in mind when reading the advice I offer— the tips I give have only been put into work in my own life over the course of the last couple of months, but they’ve proven very effective in my experience!

Sofie Creativity Tips Episode 1, go!!!

Was I motivated the whole time I was writing TPiaG / How did I stay motivated?

Absolutely not. If I hadn’t provided myself a detailed chapter-by-chapter outline for TPiaG before starting the writing process, I would have given up thanks to a mix of writer’s block and absent motivation. Motivation is a fickle muse and prone to ditching me for months on end, so I’ve adapted by trying not to rely on it, but also by creating new motivation rather than clinging to past motivation. I create motivation for myself in two ways: removing friction when writing and being my own fandom.

Removing friction is pretty simple— I create very detailed chapter outlines that remove any fear of writer’s block, set up my devices in a way to make it easy to access my manuscripts and notes, download premade writing playlists that have Pomodoro session break timers built into them, and more. Anything that makes the writing process easier to get into and enjoy doing, I make sure to incorporate into my life.

Being my own fandom is less intuitive, but a thousand times more rewarding in terms of motivation. I make memes of my characters. I write self-indulgent snippets on the side. I make AUs of my own work. I make playlists and save audio clips that suit the characters. I draw comics exploring concepts that might not get into the manuscript itself but that I want to make content for regardless. Basically, I dive in deep into the story, characters, and world, and try to do so with the enthusiasm that I give other people’s projects.

(That part is extra fun, because if I have a headcanon, it automatically becomes canon to whatever AU or original project I’m working on. I have all the power in the world when working like this, and it’s very fun.)

What changed and made it so I finished my first ever written project?

This isn’t exactly what was asked, but because I have eschewed motivation as the main driving force in my writing process, I figured I’d give another insight into how TPiaG went against the pattern of half-started and swiftly abandoned projects that came before it and actually got finished. Late into October, I adopted a new method of producing first drafts. Previously, I would spend weeks polishing the same chapter and would only move on to the next chapter once the current one was perfect. My new method is the complete opposite. I’ve started calling it Writing BFF:

Write bad

Write fast

Write fun

First up, write bad. The point of this is not to waste your time writing prettily during your first draft. Don’t bother agonizing over how to reword that one sentence to be more elegant when it does the job well enough to get its point across. Don’t go off on a 30-minute research tangent in the middle of a writing session because you want to fact-check that one detail and make sure it’s perfectly accurate when you could just put a placeholder detail in brackets and CTRL+F search and plug in something accurate later on. Don’t write pretty, write bad. And be okay with it. You can’t edit an empty page, so fill the page with as much garbage as possible so that you can turn it into gold later on.

Next, write fast. This is only effective when paired with writing bad. Don’t pause, don’t hesitate, don’t deliberate. Write as much as you can and do it as fast as you can. This idea is best illustrated by Chris Fox’s book 5,000 Words Per Hour, where he talks about increasing your WPM (words per minute) and how it makes everything about your writing better. The person who creates a beautiful first draft once every three years is doing okay, but the person who cranks out a complete manuscript every three months learns leagues more about writing than the first person does by the end of three years. The second person has practiced outlining, drafting, editing, publishing, and more with every manuscript completed. The faster you write, the better you get, because practice makes perfect and quantity begets quality.

Finally, write fun. I write what I enjoy, and if I’m not enjoying it, I pivot the project so that I enjoy it again. I like writing deeply personal stories, so pretty much everything I write is heavily based on my life and experiences— TPiaG included. Grovyle’s portrayal is deeply influenced by my experience being an elder sibling who has been a bad example of self-talk, and cleaned up my act because my younger sister started echoing how I spoke to myself. Dusknoir’s portrayal is informed by my experiences with being the therapist / mom friend in different social circles as well as attending actual formal therapy. Twig is the character that my experiences have the greatest influence on in her portrayal, and I joke about her being a self-insert, but ultimately all of the characters are self-inserts to some extent. I also enjoy low-stakes and slow slice-of-life stories that are driven by character growth. If I ever stop having fun with a project, I inject more of myself and my preferences into my work to get it back into my favor.

TL;DR / Writing advice lightning round

Write as badly as possible as quickly as possible, and have fun as you do it. Momentum yields motivation and stagnancy yields doubt. Editing comes only after the first draft is complete. Be your own fandom and your project’s biggest fan. Give yourself direction and ward against writer’s block by making detailed chapter-by-chapter outlines. Make the writing process as easy and enjoyable as possible. Motivation is a lie and if you chase after it instead of making your own, you’ll be writing on hard mode for the rest of your life. Reject perfectionism, embrace flawesomeness.

If I didn’t answer your question right, let me know! I’ll do my best to correct it.

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E6

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 6th | behind the scenes | the daring interviewer, zena daren, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and advertise krayt house’s first full-length pornographic series. the new frontier of breaking through this industry’s stigma is a challenge she’s up to face. joined by any member of the cast that’ll lend their mouth to the microphone, zena wants to know the answers to questions the people are too afraid to ask. WC: 0.5k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, zena daren (oc) WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: episode 2 | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“So, this is your first shot at a series, right?” Zena makes conversation, beginning with something light as she coolly crosses one leg over another in her pencil skirt.

Anakin, who sits across from her in casual attire, gently signals a single nod of his head with a long blink. It’s not the first time she’s encountered the legendary Anakin Skywalker, but his body language never ceases to surprise her. From way he acts on camera, and his well-endowed features, his posture here is remarkably flaccid.

She flips the pen in her hand, gripping the edge of her clipboard as she adjusts in her seat, engaging with him. “What made you take the job?”

He flashes a downturn of his lips, scratching the side of his nose. “Money. Needed a job.”

Zena raises her brows, his crude sense of humor— if it is humor— landing on her enough to curl the corners of her mouth. “This series is practically built around you, I’d imagine the kind of person to warrant that attention would be well-off, don’t you?”

“If that’s what you think.” he shrugs.

“You wanna know what I think?” Zena goads.

His expression shifts mild encouragement, gesturing with his hand to go on.

Zena pushes up her glasses by pinching the frames, eyeing him down through her brows. “You care more than you let on. Your platform is built, Mr. Skywalker, but your co-stars are relatively new to the scene. You’re using this and your name to give them publicity.”

He takes his time in moistening his lips, leaning back in his chair to hook the crook of his elbow over the back of it. Those famous, storming eyes bore into hers, yet neither she nor he wavers. He repeats himself, “If that’s what you think.”

Clearly, it’s a dead-end. He’s not one to crack, and she’s not sure which is the fake. His porn-star persona, or the uncaring personality who sits before her now. She chews the corner of his mouth, and moves on. She’ll get him to open up in other ways. “You know me, I have to be candid.” she warns as she relaxes into her seat.

“I prefer it.”

“This last week of episodes, which was your favorite to film?”

“I liked the girls in the shower.” he replies, his nonchalance towards subject matter most would find distasteful is appreciated. He won’t beat around the bush. His intense gaze holds her as he relays those words, and she sees why his co-stars often describe him as “intoxicating.” There’s a sensuality she can’t describe to his features, and his eyes draw her in. “I like when the attention’s on me.” Does he really?

“There was a lot of passion during foodplay.”

“Are you talking about how I ate cake from her mouth?” The way he says it betrays the fact he’s not ashamed, but he’s heard enough about that detail.

A smile tugs its way onto Zena’s features. “That’s the one.”

“What can I say?” he sighs, crossing his arms. Thick tendons folded together in a most pleasing manner. He’s got a beautiful body, and he seems proud of it. “The scene runs away with me sometimes.”

[callmewrinkles3]

Homemade food.

Summary: As the 2022 season begins to draw to a close, Em spends an afternoon trying to look after Dan.

Warnings: mentions of issues around eating and disordered behaviours.

October 2022

When Em started trying to plan dinner at two that afternoon she wasn’t really thinking. The plan was to keep chopping food until she got her frustration out, staring out at the grey October day. It was another discussion that was an argument by any other name with Michael about Dan’s meal plan and his macros and she just wasn’t in the mood. The last thing she needed was to be told how to look after her husband.

Any other day she would have been exhausted and gone for a nap, but instead she was ignoring the details of the meal plan on the fridge. It said baked chicken, broccoli, peppers, mushrooms and quinoa for Dan’s dinner but she was worried. He’d barely been picking at meals, during the red flag in Japan Seb had asked her if Dan was ok. He needed something he’d actually eat, and she had time to make something in the new kitchen she barely got to cook in yet.

It was a minor miracle she wasn’t out with Dan. It was a day of sim work and media filming with Lando, so usually she drove him out to Woking. But that morning he kissed her goodbye because Blake was heading out with him. She was to stay in and out of the rain, so she hugged him and whispered her love as he left. Blake promised to bring Dan back in one piece, and to call if Dan needed anything. She trusted Blake with the hurting heart that was her Danny. Knowing that it was the two of them out in Woking led to her call with Michael about Dan’s diet and food, Em hanging up frustrated because what was the point in serving Dan the meal if he wasn’t eating any of it?

After she calmed down from the call she got on another one, this time to the one woman she knew would be on her side about everything. The first time she’d met Grace she ended up helping in the kitchen, starting to learn family recipes with Grace’s “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” echoing in her ears. They were all worried about Dan’s appetite and disinterest in food and this could help.

In Dan’s case it was more that the way to his stomach was through his heart. The best he’d eaten since the summer was their quick week in Perth, his mother feeding him. After that he’d usually eat her recipes, but the text from Blake warning her that Dan had barely touched his lunch was what made her act. He’d played with his chia parfait for breakfast that Em had made, she needed to do something. Em was too scared that her usual recipes wouldn’t be enough. So without thinking about timezones and oh so grateful it wasn’t too late in Perth she was ok the phone to Grace for advice.

It was half an hour on the phone and a grocery order on Ocado for next hour delivery but she had the method down and started chopping veggies for one of his favourite meals. Grace sent a voice note a few minutes later reading off her own mother’s recipe, making sure that Em had it as perfect as possible so he couldn’t reject it. Not that he’d deliberately reject anything that Em had made, but this way he really couldn’t say no.

Four hours and a “thank you SO much, Grace” voice note later, the apartment smelled like glory and good enough to eat the second you walked in. Em was never one who would pat herself on the back and say she’d done something really good, but even she had to admit it smelled good. She was more than proud of herself when she lifted the lid of the Dutch oven to see how the tomato sauce was bubbling around the chicken thighs. She grinned again when she took one final look at the way she’d set the table. The little bouquet Dan had bought her the day before, two candles in her favourite holders, a floral tablecloth and one of Dan’s red wines decanted into the stupid shoey decanter he was so proud of and waiting to be poured.

She’d thought about changing her clothes, putting on a cute dress and heels to make herself look good. But Dan didn’t want all the fuss. He loved seeing his girl in his clothes, so the ancient Ric3 tee from their first run and pair of his boxers stayed on. Plus, the outfit showed most of her tattoos which would make him happier. Her phone buzzed and she picked it up to see his text.

On my way back, half an hour?

Don’t stop anywhere just get home. I love you.

He was probably thinking about stopping to pick up dinner for her, considering his meal was in their fridge. Em used it as the moment to start cooking the quinoa, her one concession to the hated meal plan instead of the pasta or roast potatoes Grace usually cooked. Her text worked, because twenty minutes later she could hear his key in the door.

“Baby, I’m home,” Dan called as the front door closed, Em leaving the kitchen to welcome him home. There was her boy, dry and safe without flowers or takeaway. Just like she wanted him. “What’s that smell?”

“Hey Love,” Emmy smiled, hugging her husband’s waist as soon as he kicked his shoes off and hung his jacket up. Then it was a kiss on her lips and a peck to her forehead like every single time he came home. “I called your mama and she gave me another recipe. I need to say it the right way, she got me to repeat it a couple of times. Pollo alla cacciatora a cottura lenta per il mio bel ragazzo.”

She smiled brightly as she looked up at Dan’s surprised face. It wasn’t new for her to make one of Grace’s recipes, she was always in the kitchen with her in Perth. But this was a big deal, it was one Grace was careful who got to learn. It wasn’t a big deal to do - chicken, peppers, mushrooms, tomatoes - but the secret was in the seasonings and in the long, slow roasting.

“It smells like my mum’s. And my Nonna’s.”

“Well I hope it does, otherwise I really did something wrong. Your mum says hi and to call her before we go to Austin. It’s never going to taste as good as theirs but I hope you like it.”

“You did all this for me? Why?” She pulled him even tighter into a hug before leading him into the kitchen and getting him to sit down while she served their meals.

“Just because.”

“Just because? Really?”

“Does your wife really need a reason to make you dinner? You deserve something tasty. And it’s miserable outside, I wanted us to have something fun.” She put his plate in front of him, Dan reaching up to kiss her cheek.

“Does your husband need a reason to give you a kiss?”

“Not at all. Enjoy.” She watched Dan pick up his fork and actually start eating, a tiny weight off her shoulders. It was so much better than that morning.

[belmottetower]

3.10 International Meta

Ted Lasso’s International Break details - actually extremely accurate! I am pleasantly surprised! If you read my review of episode 9, you’d have seen at the end the part where we freaked out about the potential for bad exposition regarding this stuff. But they actually fucking nailed it! And they left so much space for amazing fic and headcanons!

I’m going to overhaul the International Break page on the primer to include all the new information and erase stuff that is now erroneous and I will post again when done, but in the meantime, here are some notes about details in this episode that hopefully will be exciting to think about, in terms of gap-filling fic or otherwise. Trust me, applying some of the below information to the show really heightens an already VERY AMAZING episode. Uncle’s Day! Gareth Southgate! 24!

Ted Lasso season 3 is set in the 2021/2022 football season. We have a thorough timeline of season 3 coming for the primer, but in 3.10, Richmond has played 31 league matches so far (16 wins, 6 losses, 9 draws according to the board) and the time being featured in this episode is the annual March international break. 

In real life, this break happened from 21-29 March 2022. There also would have been international breaks in August, October and November 2021. These were not featured on the show but would have occurred in between episodes, regardless of whether any players were called up during them or not. The August break would have happened during the Zava montage of wins in episode 3, the October break would have happened directly after episode 3 and before episode 4, and the November break would have happened in the bad run of matches that happened off screen between episode 4 and episode 5.

The March break is usually dedicated to continental friendlies rather than tournament qualifiers. Each international team would have played TWO games that week within their confederation, so Canada played Mexico once and some other CONCACAF nation once. England and Wales would have each played two UEFA opponents, and so on. 

The international matches are generally spaced out over something like Thursday and Saturday, or Friday and Sunday - a few days training, play one game, more days training, play the next game, recovery, press, back to the regular league club by the following Tuesday.

The moment Beard reads out the names in the dressing room after the Leicester match would not be the first moment the players are finding out this news. That international announcement does not happen on a match day, and they guys are responding happily but not as excitedly as they would if this was The Big News Announcement, especially for Jamie’s very first time. That moment was a summary of already known information, the call-ups would have come in the week before. 

They’ve just played Leicester on the Saturday and Jamie for instance would have got the news sometime between Monday to Thursday of the prior week. This year, the England squad announcement for the March break was released to the public on Thursday 16th March before the players showed up at St George’s Park to train on the following Monday the 20th. I’m sad we did not actually get to see Jamie’s call-up moment, but the primer has a BUNCH of examples about how he may have gotten the news so feel free to peruse and imagine your favourite situation for Jamie.

Dani is the only person we know for sure has had prior call ups - he’s listed as a Mexico international on the cheat sheet since before he even came to Richmond - but on this break, Jamie is the only person they mention making his debut, his very first call-up (invitation to be in the squad) and potential cap (cap being the term for actually making an appearance - he could have been called up but not capped, as in, didn’t come off the bench.) That Jamie detail kind of implies all the others have done it before, but that doesn’t quite fit with Ted not knowing that Bumbercatch is playing for Switzerland, as they would have gone through like, nine prior international breaks before this one since Ted’s arrival.

Pretty sure Bumbercatch IS English, but he must be eligible for Switzerland under the grandparent rule. Basically, when you select your international eligibility, you can claim it for the country of birth of one of your parents or grandparents. Players will sometimes do this if their main nationality is from a more competitive footballing country. You can switch allegiance between junior and senior levels (Jack Grealish and Declan Rice, both VERY ENGLISH MEN, played for Ireland as juniors because they had a better chance of being selected there. When it became clear they were England-good, they switched allegiances for senior selection. Irish fans are still angry about this.) I’m assuming Bumbercatch has at least one Swiss parent or grandparent so put himself up for FIFA eligibility as Swiss rather than English, as the Switzerland team is easier to get into than the England team.

England trains at St George’s Park near Birmingham, about 130 miles/ 2 and a half hours drive from Richmond. Jamie would have trained at SGP before as a junior England player in the age group teams (see the primer about how this is almost 100% a given) so it would not be a brand new place for him to visit, but it would be very special coming in as an England senior player for the first time on the Monday morning.

The team travels down from SGP to London to play their home matches at Wembley Stadium, the home of English football and the same place the semi-final against Man City took place last season. This is only about 10 miles from Richmond, hence Beard saying “up the way at Wembley.” Sometimes both matches of the break are at home, or sometimes one is abroad and they fly to the other country. FWIW, in real life, the two England games in the March 2022 break were both at Wembley, so no overseas travel.

The jacket Jamie is wearing for Uncle’s Day is an example of the casual England wear the players get given upon their call up (as opposed to their training kit or match kit.) This is what they will wear to travel as a group, or in their free time around camp. Sometimes they get gear sent over the week before so they can already be dressed in the team gear when they arrive (there are social media videos made of their arrivals) or sometimes they pick it all their gear on arrival.

Jamie would have reported for International Duty probably on Monday. Occasionally the report-in is Tuesday. But Uncle’s Day is happening on WEDNESDAY. (Keeley references the day of the week in her scenes set that same day.) The reason I bring this timeline up is because it’s looking likely that Jamie ran away from the England camp to attend this party. He either drove himself down from Birmingham after training on Wednesday afternoon - very not allowed, they are kept pretty firmly on campus - or the team traveled down to London VERY early, because Jamie’s first Wembley match takes place on Friday, not Thursday. The fact that he has sourced an original copy of the 2014 World Cup kit for Roy and was able to get the name cuntified in a legitimate manner suggests to me that he actually got that done at by the kit men at the England base camp, making it even more likely that he’s been at camp and snuck away back to London for the afternoon. 

2014 was Roy’s last World Cup, but his last England cap, ever, was in the 2016 Euros (in a real life game that England lost, a very low point - we suspect this is also when he left Chelsea, at the end of the 15/16 season) and given his legendary status in the game, it’s not unlikely his first international tournament was either the 2000 Euros or the 2002 World Cup. Comparing how the show frames him to other players like him, I would guess he has anywhere between 70 to 120 caps.

3.10 establishes, via Jamie’s gift to Roy, that the World Cup cycle within Ted Lasso is the same years as real life, so there is a World Cup coming up for the players right after season 3 finishes. If Ted Lasso-verse does a different host to real life (the controversial choice of Qatar) the 2022 Ted Lasso World Cup will be in the June and July immediately following the finale. If Qatar is mentioned, the 2022 World Cup won’t take place until November 2022, disrupting the Premier League during the following season (season 4, if we get it.)

The commentary of the England match mentions Southgate - meaning that Gareth Southgate, the real England manager, is also the manager within the show. This is GREAT news for Jamie enjoyers, almost as good news as Real Pep. See primer for details on Southgate and how he would have crossed paths with Jamie before. This is a VERY BIG DEAL and a bit of a dream come true for me. Gareth is about a decade older than Roy, they would know each other from some crossover playing time in the early 2000s. He would have played at England alongside Roy if Roy debuted for England before 2004.

I just had a conversation that made me realise that some people might think that league or club coaches might also join the England team for breaks the way that players do. Not how it works. Managing England is a full time job - Gareth Southgate is not ALSO a club coach. Sometimes the assistant coaches have other jobs - for a while Ted Lasso match commentator Chris Powell was helping to coach England while also helping to coach the Tottenham Hotspur academy team. But Gareth's ONLY job is the England men's first team, including keeping up with the status of potential squad members all year and so on.

It's not impossible that Roy could eventually be brought on to the England assistant coaching staff while also assistant coaching Richmond - in real life one of West Ham’s assistant coaches does this - but Roy doesn't have a lot of experience coaching so it's unlikely, and it's not going to happen if Roy becomes the actual manager of Richmond at the end of the season. Still. It could be a fun idea if Roy doesn’t become the manager.

Jamie wearing 24 is very plausible within how national squad numbering works and it is actually the number we suggested for him in the primer before this episode aired! Our choice was nothing to do with Sam, but was chosen because it was the number given to Callum Wilson, England’s non-starting striker, in the World Cup. Jamie will not be England’s go-to 9 for many years. 

Jamie could have requested 24, but the international shirt numbering is not a free for all. You can’t select 54 or 81 or something. The squad is numbered from 1 to however many (usually 26) with no gaps, and it’s not fixed and permanent like club numbers. Who gets what number is altered every match based on the starting line up, unless you’re in a big tournament where you keep the same shirt number the whole month. For an international friendly like this, the starters for that game will wear 1 through 11, then all the substitutes will be numbered on from there. 

Given that Jamie is brand new to the team, and on the bench (he comes on at the 65th minute when it’s 6-0 to England, replacing the not-Harry-Kane England starting striker who wears the 9, a very normal situation for a game that’s going successfully, rest your stars and give the newbies a chance to stretch their legs) being numerically low in list makes sense. He would have always had a number between say 22 and 26, but within that, he could probably make a request, if it isn’t putting anyone else out, like “Hey, if no one minds, can I have 24?” as opposed to 22, 23, 25 or whatever. They do give people their favorites if they ask for it, so it works PERFECTLY for him to have 24, as it fits his position in the team as well as the Sam tribute.

However, his squad number would have been listed on the team sheet in advance of the match. Sam being surprised in the moment is slightly off - they would have seen his number when they learned he'd been selected for the game's lineup at all.

For those bummed out that Jamie’s friends were not there in person - England would have played another match on the Sunday, there is never just one in a break. Maybe Roy, Keeley, Ted, Isaac, Sam and so on went to Wembley to support him at the Sunday match in person before club training resumed at Richmond on the Monday or Tuesday.