#i was very inspired this last year i'm almost impressed

[buckets-and-trees]

Sweet, sweet Aspen. You have been a very bad girl. This soft!dark guy, your boss, caught you doing something wrong—something that could easily get you fired—but he decided maybe, jussst maybe, he should keep your indiscretion, and your resulting punishment, between the two of you. After all, he’s been dreaming about filling you with his cock for ages 😏

(I picked this GIF because it looks like he’s saying, “On your knees.” lolll)

well, dearly beloved sister ho, you know we were thirsting over a particularly ... inspiring gif.

I don't think you anticipated your ask to spawn THIS, but... here we are! THANKS FOR POPPING MY ANDY CHERRY!

Fandom: Chris Evans Characters Title: I'm Your Man Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 3k

Summary: You've spent weeks working to pull off the perfect night for Andy Barber's big charity event. A rush job, but you worked meticulously and diligently over six weeks to coordinate the biggest event of your career to date. You weren't the only one with a plan for the night.

Content Warnings: extortion, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT, spitting, oral - male receiving, spanking, vaginal intercourse, breeding kink, unprotected sex

Logistical Notes: A NAUGHTY submission @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge. Prompts incorporated are in bold.

Additional Notes: I didn't want to write a summary. There's only enough plot here to smut you up. Dividers by @rookthornesartistry and @firefly-graphics.

You sit up straight when you hear the door to Andy’s home office open behind you.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he says as he strides across the room and takes a seat in the leather executive desk chair.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Barber,” you reply. Every part of your body is tired – tired in a good way from the long day of work – so you were eager to get home, soak in your tiny tub, and crawl into bed for the rest of the weekend, but it hadn’t been an incredible inconvenience when he’d asked if he could speak with you before you left.

“Tonight was exquisite, you did well,” he doles out the praise, and you try to quell the blooming in your chest. In the six weeks working with Andy Barber to plan the charity event you’d just executed for his foundation you had seen that he wasn’t one to casually compliment, hard to impress. You had taken more and more satisfaction out of each meeting, email, or text exchange as you consulted and then presented him with options for the event when he had fewer and fewer notes, knowing you had cracked his taste and gained his approval. He’d been your toughest client to date, but by far one of the most rewarding as he had excellent taste.

“Nearly perfect,” he adds.

Your smile falters ever so slightly, and suddenly your chest floods with a chill. “Nearly perfect? I’m sorry, sir, what didn’t live up to your expectations?”

This was far from your first event, you had built an incredible portfolio over the years, and you knew you were finally ascending to be one of the best event coordinators on the eastern seaboard – you had received an email request from a goddamn Vanderbilt to plan a wedding for them in a year and a half that you were going to respond to and accept in the morning. You weren’t arrogant, but you’d worked damn hard and knew you were good.

“You.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “I – what?”

“Only one misstep tonight.”

Your brain flies back through the evening, reviewing every moment, raking through trying to determine what you could have possibly missed.

“I’m very particular about what belongs to me, and I cannot abide theft.”

Your jaw drops.

“Empty your bag.”

Now your whole body is buzzing with incredulity. You shake your head.

“I know what’s in there.”

You almost didn’t take this job when it landed in your lap. He was the reason you knew you should have said no. There were whispers about his reputation, his real businesses. But you took the initial consultation because the pitch was more money than you’d made over the last three years. Then when you’d met him, he’d been so normal, so nice, maybe a little charming, and up until this moment you had convinced yourself there was no way any of those rumors had been right.

But before you even put your hand in your bag, you knew you were wrong to have thought he wasn't all those awful things.

Not one, not two, but three Rolex watches nestled in the bottom of the main pocket. Watches you'd never seen - wouldn't even have known where to find them.

You scoop them out and drop them on his desk, eyes burning with tears. “Why?”

“Yes, why? I was already giving you a fat paycheck. What a shame when I had just given your name to the Vanderbilts’ social secretary for their son’s wedding a few days ago, I’ll have to reach out and let them know.”

“No,” you breathe.

“I’ll have to discreetly let everyone in my network know it’s better not to invite someone in their home with such light fingers.”

Your breath hitches and your hand flies to your mouth to stifle an almost sob, trying to hold back the onset of tears. “Andy, no, please.”

His smile softens. “There we are,” he coos, “you finally called me Andy like I’ve told you to so many times.”

He leans forward resting his arms on his desk.

“Now, if you go upstairs, be a good girl, put on what I left for you in my room, and wait for me, maybe I can make all of this little misunderstanding go away.”

His steel blue eyes are hard, they demand an answer.

You cock your chin up wishing you could say no, wishing you could even scowl at him, but aside from the heat and hurt in your eyes, you know you can’t do anything more without risking further ruin, so ultimately you let your chin drop and nod, resigned to the impossible power this man wields.

“Now we’re back on track for a perfect night, sweetheart. I’ll be up soon.”

You don’t know how long he makes you wait, using the promise of soon as another show of his power, but long enough that your knees hurt from sitting back on your heels in a submissive, kneeling position with your head lowered, hands folded in your lap, and back to the door as the card in the white box left for you had instructed.

Also in the box had been a set of exquisite black lace and silk balconette bra and cheeky underwear. That they fit you like a glove had been both humiliating and alluring.

Even though Andy was the reason you almost said no to the job, even though he was the humiliating reason you were in this position – extorted into a nearly naked state, no question of what was to come – he was also the reason you took the job.

Dread pooled in your stomach, but along with the dread and humiliation, there were rivulets of shameful desire.

You had taken the job for the money and for how quietly charming he had been. He had never outright flirted with you, but he always left you with the question of whether he was. You worked hard for him because it felt good to win his approval. He praised you and you had preened under his intense blue eyes every time. You had forced yourself to keep everything professional.

All for nothing since you were in the farthest position of professional now.

When you finally hear him enter the room, your sit up straight again.

He tsks and says, “Head down, sweetheart.”

Andy comes around to stand in front of you. You see his perfectly polished shoes, the perfectly tailored trousers. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. He runs his thumb over your lips, circling them.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

You do.

He leans closer, then spits in your mouth, and you blink in surprise, a surge of humiliation running through you, but his grip on your jaw is powerful, so you don’t move away.

“Close your mouth but don’t swallow.”

He moves back from you then, and he begins to silently undress. He had already taken off his jacket, but he doesn’t hurry as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, the buttons down his chest, and then shrugs it off his shoulders. He places it nicely on a plush armchair on the side of the room. Next he sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes and socks.

The way he doesn’t watch you but does all of this in your line of vision, knowing you have to watch, is another move meant to communicate who is in control of this situation. Still holding his saliva on your tongue is starting to become uncomfortable. Your instinct is to swallow, but you don’t know what disobedience may mean with Andy, so you fight the urge, not wanting to tempt any more of his darkness.

He stands and takes the shoes and socks to a large closet off to the side of the room, and when he returns, he stands directly in front of you again, takes your jaw in his hands again.

“Show me,” he says.

Your eyes watch his face you open your mouth, showing him the pool of saliva.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs. You hate the small bloom in your chest those words immediately invoke again. He spits into your mouth for a second time, then with a caress that is too tender he urges you to close your mouth. “Swallow.”

You do.

Andy unbuckles his belt, unbuttons the top of his fly, then unzips and pushes down the waist of his trousers with his briefs, and reveals his hard cock for you.

He’s big.

You had gotten yourself off to the thought of him a few of times late at night alone in your bed, most recently a few days ago, and you hated that you had since you were now here like this, forced on your knees in front of him.

Your core is pulsing with heat at the sight of him though – bigger than you had fantasized, and bigger than any man you’ve been with previously. You know he’ll fill you in a way that will ruin you for other men. You want and dread it.

“Take me in your mouth, sweetheart,” he commands.

Instead of forcing his cock into your mouth, this is more possessive, having you submit yourself to pleasing him of your own accord. You know every way he’s manipulating you.

“If I have to tell you one more time,” he trails off, leaving the end open for your imagination.

You plant one hand softly on his hip and wrap your other hand around his shaft, leaning forward to take him in your mouth. As you push forward, he groans. He won’t hold back when he’s pleased with you – he never has, he knows it affects you. His hands go to either side of your head. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, sucking him, bobbing up and down his length, and for a while he lets you control the speed and the depth, but his hands let you know he can and will control this when he wants to. After the first couple of minutes, he makes this clear when you push back to take a breath and wipe the mix of your spit and his pre-cum dripping out of your mouth and his hands firmly prevent you from moving off him. Instead, he pushes you down slowly – more slowly than you had been pumping – and doesn’t stop until your nose hits his lower abdomen. You try to push against his hips, and he pushes his hips forward with you still anchored on his dick. Your eyes well up.

“So pretty,” he says, “imagined you like this, but you’re more gorgeous than I thought you would be.”

Something in your chest melts. You wish he wouldn’t say things like that. It makes you weaker – weaker for him. He pulls back just an inch or two, then pushes his length into your throat again.

“That’s it, sweetheart, my perfect fucking girl.”

You whimper, and the tears spill over.

His right hand moves away from your face and around behind him. He’s quick, and when you can see his hand again, it’s to discover he’s taken his phone out of his back pocket. He takes photos of you, angling the phone a few different ways. Then he tosses the phone onto the chair where he’d laid his shirt.

Then he resumes his small, concentrated rutting, only easing out just enough to make the thrust back in worth it for him. As he does, he groans, swears, wipes tears from your cheeks, and the moment before it’s too much, he finally pulls you off him.

You fall forward, gasping for deep lungfuls of air, but he’s already putting a hand under your arm and hauling you up.

“Get on the bed,” he instructs, man handling you with surprising ease, doing most of the work your weak and aching legs can’t do to hoist you up onto his Alaskan king bed.

He’s immediately up as well and behind you, the last of his clothing stripped off. His fingers quickly undo the clasp of your bra and pull it off your shoulders and toss it away. He pushes you forward, toppling you down to the mattress. He slaps your ass, and you gasp and jerk. He brings his hand down on your round flesh again, with another sting, but the second one has you moan, and he lets out a satisfied, “Yes,” before giving you a third slap, the hardest, and you moan again, but this one more guttural, and you’d be mortified if you weren’t shocked over the way it translated to pleasure so quickly to your brain.

Then he yanks the lacy underwear roughly down and off your legs, tossing it away as well. He pushes between your legs behind you, splitting your legs open, and his fingers seek your cunt.

He hums in approval, “So wet for me. Ready for me.”

You huff and pant.

He leans over your back, pressing you down into the mattress. “Are you eager for me?”

“Andy,” you whine.

“Say it and I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart.”

You don’t want to. You bury your face in the covers.

He slaps your ass again, and you yelp.

“Admit you want me to fuck you.”

Another slap.

Another.

“Yes,” you finally concede.

“To breed you.”

You gasp, but he’s already hauling you further up the bed, and he drapes himself over your back, arms caging you in on either side of your body. His legs push yours apart as he leans down to press kisses over your shoulder blades, at the base of your neck, along your spine. He uses one hand to guide the thick head of his cock to your leaking entrance. He doesn’t care to stretch you. “Take me in your cunt, sweetheart, it’s mine.”

The only mercy is that he slots himself in slowly.

You press your hands up against the headboard and concentrate on taking deep breaths, on trying to relax your walls completely, because he’s entering you, in you, filling you, unrelenting invasion and it’s pleasure and pain and too much and not enough because every moment of more fullness is exquisite and you can’t even think about holding back the sound he’s pushing out from your diaphragm, up your throat, and out of your mouth, because that’s how it feels as he's filling you.

Once’s he’s fully inside of you, he presses his mouth right next to your ear. “I’m going to fill this pussy with my seed.” He anchors one hand on your hips, then begins pull out, only so he can start thrusting back in. “I want everyone to know who you belong to.”

You’ve never had an orgasm only from vaginal penetration, but the way he fills you as he fucks you, and at this angle, making you almost forget to keep breathing, you wonder if this is how you’ll go, strung out as his cock punishes you with the pleasure, but then his hand works around beneath you and his fingers quickly find your swollen and aching clit. You cry out, and one of your hands reaches back to cling to him, fingers clutching into his hair. He nips at your neck, chuckling darkly.

“My pretty girl, my good girl, taking my cock so well, you close?”

An immediate, “Uh huh,” is all you can manage.

“Then let go,” he commands, pinching your clit harshly.

You see stars, and you cry out for him.

Hearing you scream his name and feeling you clench around him is all he needs, and he pumps his cum into you, saying more dirty, filthy, possessive things, but you don’t know what the words are, because you’re completely lost to coherency.

He sinks his full weight on top of you when he’s completely spent.

Both of you are silent while you come down, heartrates returning to normal.

You wait for him to say whatever he’s going to torment you with next, but he doesn’t speak.

After more long moments, he finally pushes up enough to turn you from your front to your back. He cups your jaw again and strokes his thumb over your cheek. Your breath hitches at the intimate gesture in the aftermath.

“Aw, why are you crying now, sweetheart?”

No, you didn’t want more tears, and not these - the soft tears. You try to look away, but he forces your face back to look at him.

“I would have slept with you if you’d asked, Andy, why did you have to do it like this?”

“Because this is so much more than that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to just sleep with you, and I needed you to know from here on out that you’re mine. I own you. I’m very particular about what belongs to me. I didn’t want you to have any illusion that there’s a choice here.”

He brushes the tears off your cheek.

“I’ll have my men move your things here in the morning, and we’ll elope in a few weeks. I’m closing the deal on a resort in Lake Como, doesn’t that sound perfect? We’ll tie the knot and then spend our honeymoon there – we can stay all summer if you want.”

You hesitate.

“No one else is gonna take care of you like I do. Now I asked you, ‘doesn’t that sound perfect?’”

“Yes, Andy,” you whisper.

“Of course, it does.” He finally kisses you – and it’s dangerously soft. Warm lips engulfing yours, insistent, sucking your bottom lip between his. You whimper, and he licks his tongue into your mouth, lapping you up. He rolls over with you, putting him back on the mattress with you on his chest. He holds you pressed to him with one hand, the other hand securing your head so you can’t escape his kiss until he’s done kissing you.

It isn’t until you think you might pass out from how breathless you are that he finally breaks off the kiss. He shifts his pelvis up against you, his cock hardening again. “And I was serious about you carrying my child. But first you’ll ride my face until I’ve made you cry for a good reason, and then I’ll fill you up with more of my seed. You’re not leaving this bed the rest of the weekend.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

ARE YOU OKAY? AM I? DO WE EVEN CARE IF WE'RE OKAY?

read: -> THE MORNING AFTER

[blood-orange-juice]

Inspired by a discord discussion.

I keep seeing characters from snowy places portrayed as unbothered by cold or missing it, and every time I remember that it's completely counterintutive if you didn't grow up in freezing temperatures

So I thought I should write this post.

We are very bothered by cold. We are way more bothered by cold than southerners. Being bothered is what keeps you safe. Warmth is a resource.

There are few lucky people who simply never get cold (mostly guys of endomorph body type) but it's not a given and generally northerners start to complain and wear warm coats at the tiniest hint of cold.

Humans can only adjust up to a certain threshold.

For example, Irish and British winters allow you to ignore weather almost completely (you'll be miserable but you'll probably live), so there's a culture of stoicism, not heating your house above 16-18°C (60-65°F), wearing shorts and sandals (and a Very Big Scarf) when it's snowing and all that.

(I quickly got used to leaving the bathroom window open at 4°C when I was living there. who cares really)

So there's a common misconception that you can do the same with even colder weather.

However, once you are past that adjustment threshold (for most people it takes as little as -5..0°C/23..32°F lasting for more than a month per year) there can be no special built-in resistance to that type of cold (unless you are a yogi or a Taoist monk), instead you learn a bunch of behaviours that help you. You start to preserve warmth religiously.

You also start to differentiate between types of being cold and avoid some of them (some build up over time and it wears you down, so it's best to avoid them entirely). Anything that drops your core temperature (this is noticeable long before you start shivering, shivering is the equivalent of fire alarm) is a huge no. Fingers getting a bit numb from building a snow castle is nothing major though.

It can be hard to unlearn that even if you moved to a warmer place years ago.

Stoic northern characters who have moved to a warmer country are very likely to Complain About The Cold.

They'll start wearing coats at higher temperatures than southerners (because, well, the weather might get worse, or you might stay outside longer than you planned, or move less).

They'll get cold hands more often because their body panics at the tiniest signs of cold and diverts blood to the centre (my first impression of the Irish was how warm everyone was when we shook hands. I'm the same now).

Most will heat their houses to the point where it's possible to walk around in a t-shirt no matter how cold it is outside (those who don't will comment "thank gods that people don't do that in your country, I hated it back home").

They'll whine at +5°C (40°F).

Apart from heavier clothes they'll have a bunch of weird habits like Walking Really Fast when the weather is bad (it's for when you don't want to wear heavier clothes).

They might have a fondness for scarves and good winter shoes (warm shoes and a warm hat are even more important than a warm coat. the lack of hats in fantasy upsets me. scarves are less important but they are pretty).

When locals get surprised they'll reply with "yes, but this is *damp* cold, *dry* cold is different" (it's more complicated than that but this answer usually stops further questions, so we go with that).

It's not like they are actually less cold-resistant, they just take cold more seriously.

At the same time they can be weirdly unbothered by things that freak some of the southerners out because they know how their body deals with low temperatures and which things have no consequences.

(it's not something that you learn from books, it's practical knowledge of what you personally can get away with. for example, I often get completely numb thighs during winter walks, takes an hour to start feeling anything when I get home. but I know it's all right as long as my feet are warm and my core temperature is within normal range)

They also won't suffer consequences when it gets truly cold, while more nonchalant southerners won't notice when they get borderline hypothermic or just cold enough to get sick.

They'll probably consider -30°C (-22°F) exciting. It becomes enjoyable again, because the outside world is now a death zone and there's some macabre fun in resisting it. Oh, and your eyelashes get covered in frost and it looks dope. What's not to like.

Kids will make a point to eat ice cream outside in -30°C (no, they won't get sick from it). I can't explain it, it just works like that.

Generally people from colder countries are not bothered by cold if they can return to a warm place soon enough, it's the prolonged exposure to cold (even mild) they are worried about. Going out for a smoke without a coat is common.

If they are still in a cold country, it's also a bit different from what you expect.

There's a trope of drinking to keep warm. It doesn't work like that. You can drink alcohol to feel warm but not to keep warm and it's an important difference. When it's cold your body's proper response is to constrict blood vessels and to divert blood flow from extremeties to slow down the loss of warmth. Alcohol reverts that.

This means it's perfectly appropriate to drink eggnog or mulled wine at a fair (when you are supposed to get to warmth soon enough, so the illusion of not being cold is not harmful) or hard spirits when you get back from the cold (it will help you warm up faster), but not if you are staying in a cold place. During a hike through winter woods a thermos with sweetened tea and fatty food are your best friends.

Some won't know it and get drunk and frostbitten/hypothermic. People are stupid.

Food gets weird, fats start to seem even tastier than usual. People in Antarctic expeditions are known to crave sticks of butter. In certain weather sandwiches with frozen lard are delicious.

Anything can and will be made into tea.

Some tropes I personally disagree with.

Pain. Pain levels depend on the weather. Cold eases any kind of external pain (cuts or burns) but makes worse anything internal (broken bones, cramps, most headaches).

Hypothermia feels nothing like peacefully falling asleep. It's the most miserable state I've ever experienced, psychological trauma doesn't even come close.

Well, maybe there are people who do fall asleep but other people I've talked to seem to share my experience.

I'm not sure how exactly it works, I think it messes up your self-regulation, since most chemicals in your body require a certain temperature range to work properly. Basically you become Not Yourself. Your emotions go whack (usually it's either extreme self-pity or extreme anger). It feels awful. I hope you never get to experience it.

Most of us don't really miss cold.

Well, some perverts do, but there's a general consensus that cold is awful.

We do miss some things that only happen during cold days though. The stillness and the quiet or how pretty snow looks. How bright the stars are on a clear night. The colour of sunsets and twilight sky when it's freezing.

(in my opinion, the best experience happens around -5°C, it's already pretty but the world is not a death zone yet)

There's also an appreciation of contrast with things that are Not Snow.

Walking from the cold into a greenhouse with orchids.

Watching a blizzard rage outside your window while you sit in warmth with a cup of tea.

Jumping into a lake straight out of a sauna (then going back. do not do that if you have a heart condition).

Fireplaces. Holiday food. Mulled wine. Saffron in pastry.

There's also a lot of beauty in the world that is frozen. I keep stumbling upon the fact no one around me shares these experiences anymore and it saddens me.

The xylophone sound of first ice being broken by a passing boat.

Sea moving under the ice — when it's not too thick it rises and falls like some large animal breathing.

The whale-song-like sounds of ice cracking on large lakes.

There's a very special mood of waiting for first snow. The world is too cold and dark without it and then you wake up one night from the sudden quietness (snow muffles all sounds) and you know it's there even before you look out of the window,

There's the exhiliration of spring. The moment when the wind starts to have a scent — thawing snow smells a bit like watermelons but clearer. Winter smells like nothing at all.

The first tiny yellow flowers in mud. They are our hanami.

(I don't think anyone in Europe truly appreciates spring if they are not from Nordic or Baltic countries)

There's a certain attunement to the scent of ice too.

Like that barely perceptible tingle in the air in late September, long before you can see any ice.

I feel the scent of ice when there's wind from the right part of the Atlantic. No one ever notices but it's there. I love it.

It's nostalgic in a way.

But it's never missing the cold itself for me. For very few people it is, I think.

*

This is, of course, personal perspective and my experience is not universal. I'm a person from continental climate with harsh winters and hot summers and a city dweller with occasional visit to country houses and a tiny bit of mountaineering experience.

An indigenous person from a place with barely any summer or a character from a fantasy everwinter country will probably differ from me.

There are, after all, simply people who genuinely love cold. A lot of them. It is, however, not the default northerner's experience.

But hey, it's still more complex than it's usually written.

*

If you want to read something focused on winter descriptions, there's Smilla's Sense of Snow by Peter Høeg.

It's hauntingly beautiful prose and the main character is from Greenland.

‘It’s freezing, an extraordinary -18 °C, and it’s snowing, and in the language which is no longer mine, the snow is qanik – big, almost weightless crystals falling in stacks and covering the ground with a layer of pulverized white frost.’

And then there's Moominland Midwinter. I think it gets better when you read it as an adult and it's probably still the best thing I have ever read about winter solstice.

Anyway.

I think we need more good winter stories.

[eisforeidolon]

Question: You guys have been so close for so long, what would you say each other's greatest character trait is and why?

Jared: As people? And I have to say this in front of him?

[Jensen theatrically turns to Jared, crosses his leg, and props his chin on his hand to listen]

Jared: I mean, where do I start, honestly? But I'd say one of the things that has been abundantly obvious to me, and I relied on for almost the last twenty years? Is he doesn't give up. He doesn't give up - not on a project, not on a person. He just goes, like, alright, one step at a time, let's do it. Not that he doesn't get down, I mean, we're all humans, we have good days and bad days [Jensen nods]. But when the shit hits the fan, he's - I always said he'd be a good, like, Navy Seal or something. 'Cause he's just like, okay, what's next? I can't change that, what are we doing? Like, didn't you just hear, the camera broke, the stage is on fire. And he's like, alright, well, can we get something from tomorrow's work? Like, he's just sort of like, alright - he goes. And that, that - I don't want to say it's confidence, because it doesn't come from a place of arrogance, or some ego? It just comes from alright then what can we do? And so it's infectious to go like, well, that guy over there, Jensen, he's still ready to get after it, even though everything went wrong and everything broke and everything's on fire, he's still ready to carry on. To borrow the name of an episode. So I think that that permeates a lot of his life, whether things are great or things are not great? He just goes, like, okay, cool, what's next? I can't change that, so what can I do, what can we do? And he doesn't put - he's not one of those drill sergeant, hey, I'm ready to do it, you better do it. But you see him doing and well, if he can do it, then maybe I can, too. So it's a very hopeful attitude, that I really appreciated. [Jensen pats Jared's leg, Jared pats his back]

Jensen: There are many, so I will pick one. And one that I admire and I, you know, wish I had more of is his appetite for knowledge in the things he becomes even remotely interested in. He can take a subject, any topic, and wonder about it. And he doesn't continue to wonder very long. I just kind of sit in that wonderment for a while, oh, that's - I wish I knew more about that. Oh well. Jared dives deep. And almost in just an insatiable appetite way of wanting to know more and that zest for knowledge and life is - it's inspiring? But it's just so unique and powerful for somebody to have that and have that drive to wanna know so much more about so many different - I mean the guy is insanely intelligent in a way that - I always knew he was smart, I always knew he had a really great head on his shoulder, but. Shoulders. Two just stunningly muscular shoulders. But he gets an interest in something and he just digs in so, like, amazingly. And any subject - if it's academics, if it's wanting to know about - like I'm always like, hey Jared, what supplements should I be on? Because I know he knows all about it. Or hey man, I'm looking for a book right now, what are your recommendations? And he'll give me thirteen, fourteen recommendations. He just has - his brain works in just such a brilliant way that I've always been in awe of how he's able to do that and do it consistently. You know he doesn't burn out, he doesn't tire out with the zest that he has for wanting to know more about life, and it too is infectious. And I was it was more infectious, I wish I would be infected with it completely. But I get a little bit of it and it's inspiring for me to wanna just know more and learn more and have that desire for knowledge the way he does. It's really really impressive and I think it's had an amazing impact on his life and the way that he can relate to so many different - you put him in a room with anybody and he will have a researched knowledgeable way of communicating with just about anybody and everybody on almost any topic. And that to me is just incredible, so. And again, that's one of many things that I could say, but that one just popped to the front. [Jared squeezes Jensen's knee and then puts his hand on his back]

[sunny44]

Model

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x girlfriend!reader

Warning: none

Summary: Y/n is studying to be a fashion designer and for her final college project she has to design a collection of clothes, but after designing and making all the clothes she thinks it's not good enough so Charles does everything he can to make her believe that her work is wonderful.

I was very nervous.

It was my last semester at college and I was doing my final project, which I thought would be easy since I only had to create a collection of clothes but it was harder than I thought.

I'd never had a problem finding my work beautiful and good but it seemed that nothing I was doing lately was good but after a while I got to the point where if I didn't start making the clothes I wouldn't be able to deliver them on time.

Luckily I have a wonderful boyfriend who as well is letting me use his body measures and didn't mind that the living room of his apartment was completely messed up with bits of thread and fabric lying all over the floor.

When I started this project, the first thing that came to mind was a collection of women's clothes as most of my class would do since it was the safest option, but since I like to take risks I ended up opting for men's clothes.

"Love, are you all right?" he asked after seeing me almost biting my finger off.

"Yeah, it's just that I don't think this is good enough."

"Y/n, you need to believe in yourself more. Your work is incredible and I'm really looking forward to seeing it."

I looked at him almost crying with happiness at having him on my side.

"Thank you, Charlie. I just want this collection to be perfect."

"There's no such thing as perfect, Y/n." he replied in a calm tone. "It's not because your collection doesn't suit one person that someone else won't like it too, there are different perspectives."

"I know, it's just that I'm very nervous." He sits down next to me on the floor and hugs me.

"I know and it's going to be okay, now show me how it's going."

I showed him the pieces and made a point of explaining the creative process and the inspiration behind each of the outfits.

"Babe, this is wonderful." Charles finally said. "I'm impressed and honored that I am your muse ."

"Are you really? Don't lie to me."

"And when have I ever lied to you?"

"Never."

"Then trust me when I say it's wonderful."

I snuggled closer into his embrace and we sat there in the living room together while I hoped my project was as good as Charles says it is.

...

I walked into the college with the portfolio in my hand and Joris was pushing a trolley with four mannequins where the clothes were fitted.

"Oh my God." I turned desperately to him. "I forgot the photos of you wearing the clothes."

"No you didn't, they're with me." I breathed a sigh of relief and we went to the room where the presentations would take place.

"Well, the next work to be presented is Miss Y/n Y/L/N's." I got up on the small stage and positioned the mannequins.

"Good morning everyone, my name is Y/n and the inspiration behind my clothes is my boyfriend." They analyzed the clothes. "In case you didn't know, he's a driver and I used him as my inspiration because in the last two years of college he was the person who supported me the most, especially in this last project."

"I was inspired by Ferrari, which is the team he races for in F1 so I was inspired by that to create the collection." I said as the teacher leafed through the portfolio. "Well here are some pictures of the clothes on the model."

I clicked to show the pictures and sure enough they weren't the ones I was expecting, Charles was the model wearing all the clothes I had made.

"Nice model." My teacher says.

"Well, that wasn't the one I had chosen, but thank you." She smiles. "Well, these were the four final pieces I decided to make."

My colleagues stood up and walked over to the mannequins and began to analyze them.

"Well, I have to admit that in all the years I've been teaching I've never had someone who impressed me so much and who also got an A+."

"I got an A+?" She agreed and I heard applause coming from the classroom door and Charles was standing there smiling.

"Looks like we've got a visit from your model."

"That's my boyfriend actually."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." He says and my girl colleagues almost drool over him.

"No problem darling, make yourself at home." She says and continues with the introductions while I go over to him.

"You didn't tell me you were going to model the clothes, I thought Joris was going to do that."

"I asked him not to tell you because I wanted to surprise you and also show you that I believe in you and that I will always support you the same way you support me." I smiled and kissed him.

"Let's watch the other works and then we can go out for lunch."

"Great." We sat and watched the rest of the presentations and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief after knowing that I had made it.

Bonus scene!

Charlesleclerc instagram post

Liked by @pierregasly, @yourusername, @pescaleleclerc and others 6273027

Charlesleclerc this is a few photos of the clothing collection that my girlfriend made for her final project in college. She is the most talented person I know and I’m so proud of her.

I love you babe and I can’t wait for you to dress me up again.

Tagged: Yourusername

Yourusername I love you so much baby and thank you for being the best boyfriend ever

Pierregasly wow, she make you look good

Charlesleclerc I always look good

Yourusername true

Scuderiaferrari I think we all agree that y/n needs to make the next year overall

Yourusername yesss please, let me do it

User08 I love them so much

User29 I need to know where I can buy her clothes

Yourusername instagram stories

This is my beautiful and hot boyfriend using the clothes that I’ve made inspired by him and his amazing team.

I just wanted to thank him for supporting and believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.

I love you so much Charlie ❤️

[grimsonandclover]

inspired by @artdcnaldson

He Might Not Be the Best, But He Beat the Best.

My chat with Patrick Zweig, the man rumored to be responsible for tennis player Art Donaldson's sudden retirement. There's more to the story than meets the eye, though. By Grimson Clover PUBLISHED: NOV 13, 2019

Patrick Zweig, a man of both few and many words. He’s shaking my hand eagerly as we meet at a familiar spot for him: the same tennis court he played on two months ago against the legendary Art Donaldson.

We’re in New Rochelle, and if you’ve never heard of it, don’t worry because I hadn’t either (it’s a suburb in New York City, in case you were wondering). We sit on fold-out chairs by the net– the very one Art Donaldson soared over at that now iconic match, Patrick stunned with arms wide open and catching him. We all gasped, right?

Despite the steadily declining temperatures, it is November in New York, Patrick Zweig presents himself before me in a pair of plaid, red and gray, knee-length shorts to pair with a black quarter-zip sweater. An interesting combination I point out to him, and he gives me a good and friendly laugh. “My closet is ninety percent shorts, five percent jeans, five percent sweats.”

Clover Grimson Sweater from The Gap; shorts from Old Navy; shoes by New Balance.

“No sponsors? Most athletes I talk with are covered head to toe in logos like walking billboards.” Surely enough, his clothes are bare of any obnoxious or out-of-place brand insignia. He gives me another good chuckle and a shake of his head, and I’ve never felt better about myself. “No, no. I used to– earlier in my career– have a few sometimes. Not nowadays though, haven't gotten any emails yet!”

Some readers may be wondering why I’m sitting here today with this seemingly random tennis player. Though he’s undoubtedly skilled, and won the Phil’s Tire Town challenger against tennis god and heartthrob Art Donaldson (occasionally referred to as Mr. Tashi Duncan, his wife and coach, by some fans), he’s also only ranked 227th in the world compared to Donaldson’s impressive place at 13th. They’re worlds apart, and yet Patrick won and Art announced his retirement to the world last week.

“It’s not so shocking.” Patrick reasons to me, one well-loved New Balance sneaker resting on top of the other as he gets comfortable in his chair. “The retirement, I mean.” He adds quickly with a sly smirk, and I begin to wonder if that’s really all he meant. I push him to elaborate, and that smirk of his grows even wider. He doesn’t want to explain further, but he lets me know that he knew it was coming. Something about him knowing Art like that.

He asks if I smoke (I don't) as he pulls a pack of blue Camels. Athletes are meant to treat their bodies like sacred temples, but he’s far from the first I’ve met who shared his vice.

Initially, I was trying to interview the current topic of our conversation. Unfortunately for me, my email was simply replied to with: “Thank you for the invite, but Art and Tashi Donaldson are declining any press and interviews at the moment as they focus on their family.” When I turned to his opponent, I got a response almost right away. Some might think in an act of desperation or want for attention, and to trash talk the man he beat, but I don’t get that impression when I speak with Patrick. He’s almost hesitant to speak about Art, only giving away bits and crumbs of info for my journalistic fingers to scramble and grasp at. Patrick tells me how they went to the same tennis academy as kids, a boarding school of sorts. “Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy,” he says with an air of nostalgia. "It's in Florida, we were roommates."

Perhaps it's because I'm personally not a tennis mega-fan, but I was unaware that the two knew each other previously, let alone went that far back. I ask him what it was like, and he tells me stories of late-night pranks amongst the boys' dorms, first crushes and first injuries, and intense coaches. "It was great, truly. I'd never trade those years for anything." Patrick concludes along with his cigarette. "Art was a little dork back in those days, but you'd never be able to tell looking at him now." He confesses to me with a chuckle, and he's right-- you wouldn't. I struggle to picture the man before me any bit dorkish, either. When I ask him if he knew Tashi Donaldson (née Duncan), a former tennis star before a terrible knee injury in 2007 and now renowned coach that players kill for a chance to be in the same room as, as well, and he shrugs. "I've talked to her once or twice."

He refuses to talk about her further than that, and we move on to the match itself. From what I know, Art Donaldson was a wildcard entry coming in last minute. "I had no clue he was gonna be there. Chance encounter, I guess." Patrick tells me as we walk around the court and surrounding lawn. He's lit a second cigarette and it dangles from his lips as he speaks. I'm about to ask him about how it felt to suddenly find out he was going to compete against a U.S. Open winner at a place like Phil's Tiretown, but he was already ahead of me. "When I found out, which was the morning before, I was a little shocked. Not really the kind of thing you'd expect a guy like him to be at."

For good reason. Art has been to Wimbledon, won a Juniors title at the US Open in 2006 (With Patrick, actually. They were doubles partners), and later again in 2017. He's rumored to have a room just for his countless trophies, though that's a rumor his wife dispelled in an Architectural Digest video last year. When asked why he joined the challenger, Art Donaldson simply stated he needed the confidence. Fan theories online suggest this lack of confidence and losing the challenger led to his retirement announcement, though no official comment has been made about why.

I ask Patrick about his plans regarding his career. He's young, only thirty-one, but that's retirement age in tennis. He stops under a tree, and with the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves onto his face, I almost forget he's not actually a male model. "I'm trying to find a good coach, and I think I've found one. I don't plan on retiring until they stop letting me onto the court."

[goodluckclove]

I've been meaning to say something. (100 follower hot take)

Hey! Thanks for stopping by. I hope you've had a nice day. Why don't you rest with me for a while? I made some chocolate chip cookies - with shortening instead of butter, so they're very soft and very chocolatey. I made way too many and they aren't my wife's favorite, so I could use some help in eating them.

You're probably a writer, right? Or maybe you think about how you could be. Browse the tags here, or on other social media platforms. Maybe you used to write stories as a kid. I bet those were fun. Teachers might've thought they were impressive, or they dissected them line by line until the words didn't make sense in your head anymore. Either way, if you're here you're probably here for a reason.

(rant alert)

I dipped a toe in online writing communities on and off. My last attempt was forty-five minutes scrolling through the writing hashtag on Youtube Shorts (so TikTok, I guess? I don't know). I didn't like it. I really didn't. The thing that sticks out the strongest in my mind is one particular video where a woman claims that every story needs a second act plot twist.

Huh? Every story? All of them? Why? Since when? Who are you? What qualifications do you have to make a statement like that?

That's the common thread that makes a lot of writing spaces very uncomfortable for me. Successful writers are really only successful in their genre and for the given moment, so they don't have that much objective authority in the craft. And yet I see a lot of people deciding the things that you can't do in writing. Or the things you have to do, and how you have to do them. It was so much of Writeblr at first glance that I almost dipped out once again. I didn't, though, and I'm glad I didn't because now I get to watch some of the next great storytellers from across the world grow and examine and forge their way forward.

No one can teach you how to write. No, that's not true. Teachers teach literacy. Handwriting. Typing maybe - do schools still teach typing? Let me try saying it in a different way - no one, not one single person on this goddamned planet, has the right to tell you how to make a story.

I was supposed to get my MFA in creative writing before my first breakdown. My uncle stayed in the program I was meant to be in, and a few years after I dropped out he graduated. Recently I had the thought to look up his thesis novella, and as I searched I found myself regretting my decision to leave school. If I stayed and got to develop my writing in an actual class, with other writers and a knowledgeable professor, how much further along would I be than where I am right now?

It was bad. His novella was terrible. It was so bad I had a small existential crisis for, like, three days. He spent so much money on years and years of professional education and came out with a truly soulless story that read as if you prompted an AI to write the next Great American Novel. So if you think you need a writing degree to be a legitimate author, it could help connections-wise, but it ultimately won't be the thing that does the work for you.

Not all advice I see online on writing is bad. I find the people who are able to capture the "I" statements of therapy and phrase advice as things that have worked for them, or things that they personally enjoy, to be fine. Some writing advice can spark inspiration.

But if someone is the type of person to boil every story down to troupes and cliches, and then immediately say that every story that uses the trait they don't like is automatically bad for everyone? I'm dropping the kindness for a second - that's trash. That's a trash take and I see far too many writers use it as a reason to stop before they begin.

I don't like whump. I say my reasons in previous posts if you go back through my blog. But you will never hear me say that any story with whump in it is bad, because I don't know that. You might prove me wrong. I am an adult human being and I have the humility to admit that I can like something I didn't expect to. I genuinely enjoy the direction of The Human Centipede (only the first one) and if you cringed just now that probably means you haven't seen it.

There are so many types of books and movies and plays and comics out there. To enjoy a specific genre is fine, to ignore the existence of everything else is a really, really, really odd thing to do. Maybe someone will hate your story because they think everything should be Neil Gaiman, and therefore have no way to understand your epistolary high-Western. You are not the wrong end of that situation just for existing.

And at there is a definite threshold on how many writing tips you can gather before they stop being useful. If you find them interesting, that's one thing. That's fine. But if the culture of creativity online has made you feel like you need to educate yourself on every possible angle before you can write a story, you are actively harming yourself.

Imagine taking the level of structure you put on yourself in that way and putting it on children playing pretend in the backyard. Oh, Susie, don't you know that it's overdone for your Kitsune have dead parents? Xyler, shouldn't you ask someone else before you decide how Spiderman would react to this? It would make no sense and they do not need it. Kids will make a whole world out of nothing and it's the most fucked thing in my heart that at some point they get access to Reddit and dipshits start insisting that's wrong.

They aren't wrong and you aren't either. Your favorite creative influencer can't tell you your story, strangers on the internet can't tell you your story, your teachers and loved ones can't tell you your story. They can influence it, but they can't write it honestly the way you can.

You do that. That's the thing you do.

Man that makes me upset. I can't tell you how to make a story, either. If anyone sends me asks for writing advice the most I'll do is say what I've done before hopping into your DMs and starting a direct conversation. it's so personal to each individual artist, and I'd like to think that the people selling these classes and software and promoting these platforms haven't thought about that before. Otherwise it does feel manipulative. If you have a willingness to practice and imagine and really experiment with the possibilities, you are ready to write your story.

And if it doesn't work? Try again. That's what you do.

Stephen King has written roughly a thousand books and maybe five of them have decent endings. He is unimaginably successful.

I'm rambling now. I think I got that out of my system. I was really worried to say this out of fear of being too weird or somehow reverse-gatekeeping so hard that it circles back into also being a bad thing. I've just spoken to a lot of people who I still think of throughout my day, and I truly ache for them to get past the fear of creation. Because it's worth it. It's worth it and it's fun, even when it's messy and you're tired.

Let it Be just came on. Beatles. I haven't listened to The Beatles in a long time. Feels a little apropos.

I love you, reader. Reader, Writer, Colleague. Take care of yourself. Especially the little you, still sitting there in the backyard of your soul, bathing in the sun with their bare feet in the damp earth.

Consider joining them, maybe.

[piratefalls]

welcome back to the latest edition of biweekly fic recs! as always, mind the tags, if you can't leave a nice comment don't leave one at all, and happy reading!

masterlist.

There's No Problem That San Diego Can't Solve by @historicallysam

Alex doesn’t even bother knocking; he simply twists the knob on the door and shoves it open. His eyes narrow as the door bangs against the wall and he sees Henry on the phone. Maybe (definitely) it’s rude but his blood is fucking boiling so he doesn’t really care.

All the Ocean was Sleeping by @sparklepocalypse

The worst part about being a siren in the modern era, Henry ponders as yet another ship flies past his cove at a speed that he knows will disturb the anemone gardens below, is the yacht bros. Between the sound of their vessels’ motors and the dissonant noise the humans call music, Henry’s singing has no chance of attracting anyone’s attention.

cause you're a classic, and i'm reckless by @firenati0n

“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

Over Land and Sea by SatinBirds

Alex and Henry come from very different worlds, and still, they manage to find each other.

Clean Slate by smc_27

“Henry.” Pez comes over, puts both hands on Henry’s cheeks and looks him dead in the eye. “You are not a sad man who’s gotten dumped. You’re in the prime of your life, and I quite desperately need you to act like it.” “The prime of my life,” Henry scoffs, more incredulous than questioning. “I’ve just gotten out of a 15 year relationship, endured a divorce, am suffering an almost impressive case of writer’s block, and your hands are like bloody icicles.” Pez grins, doesn’t take his hands away. “Explain to me how this is my prime. Please.” Pez tilts his head, and sounds entirely serious when he says, “Literally anything can happen from here.”

in bloom by stutteringpeach

Yoo, can u hook me up with some flowers?? It's the busiest day of the year for florists. Alex texts Henry with a last minute request.

here is a map (with your name for a capital) by @alasse9

That day at the Rio de Janeiro Olympics, Alex comes across the very same Prince Henry who just dismissed him having a panic attack in a bathroom. The choice Alex makes then has ripple effects neither of them could have ever expected. What's the story like, when they actually are friends all along? “So, you’re going back to England tonight, and you’ll spend the next three days pretending you two are the closest and best of friends until we can put this mess behind us.” And there are reasons he hasn’t told anybody this, good reasons, even though he’s sure June and Nora saw through him ages ago. Faced with his mom’s disappointment, though, and with the realization that the entire world apparently thinks he hates Henry and would willingly shove him into a fucking cake, he can’t stay quiet. “But we are friends,” he says, vehement and serious. “We have been for years. He’s—he’s probably my best friend, actually, along with Nora.”

thoughts of you consume by yrsonpurpose

Henry sees Alex appear on the red carpet in a blue suit that screams sex on legs and is ready to throw away all attempts at concealing their secret relationship in the name of dropping to his knees at the first available opportunity.

eyes on me by matherine

Alex’s hips buck back against Henry’s mouth the moment his tongue does more than tease, and Henry squeezes his hip in gentle consternation. But before he can say anything, Alex is already rambling. “Sorry, I’m — I’m sorry, I know you said not to move, and I’m trying, I — I’m trying to be good, I promise,” he blurts, voice shaking ever so slightly from something that certainly doesn’t sound like pleasure, resolutely refusing to turn his head so that he can meet Henry’s gaze from where he’s positioned behind him. Henry’s heart aches. “Alex — love, it’s alright. Where’s your mind?” Or: Sometimes, Alex needs a distraction. Something to take the edge off, to scrub away at the stress of the day. Some days, it works better than others. 

the evolution of intimacy by Poutini

There’s no spontaneity anymore. One might think this boring. That the novelty had worn off. The spark snuffed. Absolutely not

Want Me by OrchidScript

Henry had always been weak for a nice smile, but his was impossible to ignore. Blame it on summer heat and a fresh flush in his cheeks. Blame it on sunset painting the outdoor bar sweltering, romantic colors. Blame it on two healthy glasses of albariño thrumming in his bloodstream, or the good music floating on the air. Henry could blame it on anything liked if he thought long and hard about it, but that didn’t change much at the end. The core remained the same: he had been gone from the jump. -- Henry and Alex hook up on a vacation in Spain. Henry falls a bit deeper.

fill my lungs with sweetness by @priincebutt

Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor wakes up at 3 AM on his birthday to an empty bed. What could Alex possibly be getting up to at 3 AM the night before his birthday? The possibilities are endless.

got myself in quite a tangle by coffeecatsme

"It seems I've gotten myself in quite a tangle." "Tangle?" Henry's voice is hoarse, eyes darkened as they travel over Alex's body. They stop at his crotch, and Alex can see it even under the dim lights—Henry's growing hard too, a visible bulge pushing at his sweatpants. Alex's cock gives a desperate twitch. "Y'know, I was trying to put them around the tree," he starts, gesturing at the plain tree at the corner. It's clear he didn't even attempt to touch it. "And somehow I've managed to completely trap myself. Can't even move my hands." Henry makes a desperate noise at the back of his throat as his eyes snap up to Alex's face. Alex flashes him a suggestive grin, teeth biting down on his lip. "Seems I'm completely at your mercy."

The Forces of Chance and Coincidences by @stellarm

Bad weather leads to a late flight that leads to no one being where they wanted to be, but maybe everyone was where they needed to be.

I've never felt safer (than when I'm with you) by viciouslyqueer

Alex takes the bag and opens it slowly, careful not to rip it, and gasps quietly as he sees what’s inside. “H, you didn’t…” Strong arms wrap around his waist from behind, Henry’s chest warm against his back. “Do you like it?” Henry asks in a whisper, resting his chin on Alex’s shoulder. Alex doesn’t know what to say. Gingerly, like he might ruin it with even the smallest touch, he takes out the silky fabric and holds it up in front of them. It’s a gorgeous dress, fancy too, in a deep red color with thin straps and an open back. It’s long, almost touching the floor even as Alex holds it up and has a slit on the left side that would probably end a little above Alex’s knee.

An Amateur's Guide to Professional Gift-Giving by anincompletelist

Alex, a former-law-student-taking-some-time-off turned professional part-time gift giver, is tasked with finding a gift for the most high profile client he's ever worked with, both in and out of the world of law. It turns out finding the perfect gift for the Prince of Wales might be easier than he'd anticipated.

Love At First Bark by everwitch

“I still don’t know your name, do I?” Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate. “It’s David,” Henry supplies. “Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?” Henry blinks at him. “... David?” “What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.” Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

don't let me get drunk again by headabovethewater

Alex had never wanted to cancel plans as much as he had while watching Henry pull a pair of light wash, tight jeans over his stockinged legs and bare ass. Christ, he’s getting hard thinking about it now.

The Beginner's Guide to Floristry by clottedcreamfudge

As if there's anything romantic about it; as if it's not the most humiliating death Alex can imagine. This is why he doesn't do relationships. This is why he never will. The risk, as far as he fucking sees it, is too great. -- Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible.

Everything you take, you make it better. So go on, take forever by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

It's 2024, and nobody knows they're engaged. But they will, just as soon as Alex can decide what to wear to his birthday dinner. Henry has an idea and a special gift to match.

false pretenses by rizcriz

Henry spins around, glaring at Alex. “For christs sake,” He hisses, holding a hand out between them. “Can we just not? I do not have the capacity to pretend to hate you today.” Alex splutters as Henry turns on his heel and starts to walk away. He stares after him helplessly. “Pretend?” After a beat, he starts to follow after him, “What the fuck do you mean pretend?” Three years of breathing down each others necks, fighting every time they come in contact with each other. And if Henry is saying every single thing on his end has been pretend, Alex Claremont-Diaz is going to have a fucking breakdown. Because he has been harboring this stupid fucking crush and burying it beneath false antagonism, meeting Henry where he’s at, for three years, and if Henry is implying that they’re both faking it— -- or, Alex learns better.

turn the desert to glass (you would be the one) by @taste-thewaste

Henry and Alex's domestic bliss has lead to some changes in Henry's body. Henry doesn't really mind being a little chubby, but he wonders if Alex does. Alex, it turns out, does not. Not one bit. He does not mind one bit, and he is more than eager to prove it.

coming on fast like good dreams do by cricketnationrise

When Henry recovers from his unexpected factory reset, he still can’t really breathe properly and somehow Alex is still standing in front of him with a hopeful and excited expression on his face. “Run that by me again?” he asks faintly. “I need your help.” “Right…” “I need you to edge me. Like a lot,” Alex says with a shrug. Nope, it’s not any clearer a second time around.

as always, let me know if you want to be tagged in future lists, whether you're a reader or writer!

tagging @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels @midnightsfp @sarahjswift @enablelove

[kopivie]

trick-or-treat.

# — pairing: spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man!kazuha

# — warnings: a little suggestive.

# — tags: fluff, kisses (bc who am i if not a madman for kisses), mild hurt/comfort, BANTER YIPPEE!!, this is zuzu's way of making up for the fact that he all but forgot kazuha's birthday, apology fic

# — notes: (PLEASE READ!!) this is... not at all what i intended to do. it's 1:30 am and i just came down from a much needed high. as my head cleared, i noticed that this fic was like, riddled with flaws, but i feel too good about this to second guess it and feel bad. anyways, this is heavily inspired by this fic that 🎻 anon sent in my asks, as well as a follow-up to this fic i wrote on @awlumii last year on kazuha's birthday. i hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think! i could really use some feedback.

✦ — 🎃 — ✦

There's a knock on your door. You stare at the entry to your apartment and think: "How mean would it be if I ignored them right now?"

In your defense, you've been giving out candy all day. All. Day. You figured that there would at least have been a lull in the early afternoon since children had school to attend, but no — you've been giving out candy to all ages from as early as 10:30 this morning. It's a good thing you stocked up on candy late last month, otherwise you would've had to ruin the days of some very enthusiastic trick-or-treaters. So after setting aside a bucket full of your favorites and giving out the leftovers until about 10 at night, you finally thought yourself ready to curl up on your bed with your softest blanket. You were halfway to dreamland when some monster started pounding on your door.

(So maybe you're exaggerating a little. But who could blame you? You're tired and you want to sleep.)

And so, here you sit, your legs half-tangled in your weighted fleece blanket as you glare at your door and hope that your unwanted visitor is telepathic and gets the message that you want them to leave. Scram! you think. You raise your voice in your head. Get out of here. Shoo! Begone!

…They knock again. (Kind of a dick move if they can read minds.)

The groan you let out is obnoxiously loud and is most definitely heard by whoever is on the other side of the door. You hoist yourself to your feet and trudge to the door, but you don't open it quite yet. Judging by the fact that this person has yet to say anything, you figure that they're old enough to know when their presence is not welcome and left.

Wrong. You're too optimistic. They knock again.

You sigh and once again, hope that the sound carries through the door. "Who is it?" You try to make yourself sound as unfriendly as possible. Considering how cranky you are, you don't have to try very hard.

"Trick-or-treat..?" The voice on the other side is muffled by the door, but also by something else. Fabric, probably. All you know is that their voice is deep enough to be an adult's.

You click your tongue. "Trick." You almost snicker. It's a little refreshing not doling out treats for once. "Go home."

"Can I at least give you a treat?" The person asks.

You blink. They didn't leave? "Pretty sure that's not how it works," you reply. "I give you treats and you… I dunno, TP my house or something."

"Yeah, well," the person at the door chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to say 'trick', either. Since you're breaking the rules, it's only fair that it's my turn, right?"

Well… Shit. They have a point.

Impressed by the stranger's reasoning, you hum. "Fine. Let me find my costume." You turn to gather your costume and notice that you can't find the full thing. You were so eager to get to bed that you didn't hesitate to drop the thing in the wash. Not wanting to make the stranger wait too long, you improvise. You blindly grab the mask and the blue throw blanket you have folded up on your couch and tie it around your shoulder like a cape. It's a shitty excuse for a costume, but you reason that your exhaustion is a good excuse. You swing open the door and cross your arms over your chest. "Alright, what do you got for-- Oh."

Standing on the other side of your door is none other than Spider-Man himself. The two of you stand in silence as you take in each other's appearances. Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "So… a cape, huh?"

You don't hesitate — you grab your door and swing the thing shut as fast as you can, but Spider-Man is faster, catching the door in his gloved hand. You turn your back to him. The mask is obscuring his face, but you already know what expression he has underneath. "Don't say a word." You warn him.

Spider-Man pays you no mind. You can feel him lifting your 'cape' as he inspects it. "Hmm… capes are kinda aerodynamic, but considering how dirty my enemies fight, I don't think that's a very good design choice." You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "I'll give it a five out of ten."

"I said shut it!" You snatch your blanket out of his hands and march further into your apartment with Spider-Man's laughter following at your back. He walks inside and the door shuts behind the two of you. "Get the fuck out, webhead," you seethe. Your voice trembles with shame. "I didn't invite you in."

Spider-Man just walks around you to look you in the eye. "Come now, lovebug," he tilts your chin up with a finger, "you look cute wearing my mask."

You grumble and push his hand away as you struggle for words. You want to say something like, "this isn't what it looks like!" to try and save face, but there's no point in trying. This is exactly what it looks like.

Because the mask you'd been wearing for Halloween -- and the mask you haphazardly thrown on moments ago -- was none other than Spider-Man's mask.

To be fair, these things were a dime a dozen. The people of this city adore the vigilante. It was only natural that kids and adults alike would want to pretend to be him for a day, even if they had no powers like him. You're not exactly one of those people — you've seen firsthand just how brutal Spider-Man's job can be. You wouldn't trade your life for his even if you were offered money. But as you stared at the costume while shopping, you couldn't help yourself. There were obviously cooler, much more interesting costumes to choose from but this one just… called to you.

Hindsight is 20/20, after all. You should've ignored that calling.

Spider-Man takes your chin in his fingers and shakes your head side to side. "I never knew you liked me so much, lovebug. I'm touched."

You scoff. "Don't be."

"Y'know, if you wanted to wear my mask so badly, you could've just asked." Spider-Man leans in and presses a clothed kiss to your cheek. You consider yourself lucky; he can't possibly feel the burn of your cheeks through all that fabric.

You stammer. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"What? I'm sure I have a back up somewhere." He eyes you for a moment. "You'd look good in it."

Against your will, you wonder if he's saying that he wants you to wear his clothes. Would he ever actually loan you clothes that he's worn? The thought makes your face burn hotter. "Why are you here?" You ask. Anything to change the topic.

Spider-Man chuckles, but plays along. "I haven't swung by in a few days," he says, "so I figured I'd try and surprise you as a trick-or-treater." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some reverse psychology thing where I could trick you into thinking I was just some guy in a costume so you would give me candy."

You process his words for a second. "Okay, first of all, you already are a guy in a costume."

He visibly deflates and places a hand over his chest. "Ouch, lovebug. What if you hurt my feelings?"

"Second of all," you continue, "do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've seen today?"

"...Is that a serious question?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess twelve."

You pause. You actually aren't even sure if that's the right number or not. You lost count after three hours of giving out candy to cute kids.

"Am I right?" He asks.

"Who knows?"

Spider-Man huffs. "If there's that many of us around, then what am I even here for?" You giggle at his petulant behavior, and he makes another breathy sound, reminiscent of a stifled laugh. "Did you treat them the same way you treat me?"

"What?" His question takes you off-guard for a moment. You chortle. "Oh, definitely."

"You gave them band-aids and kicked them out, too?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms. "Just slapped a few on some pretend wounds and told them to get the fuck off my property."

The two of you laugh together for a moment. Once the laughter dies down, Spider-Man tugs at your cheek for a brief second. You let him get away with it for now. "You're so cute." He sighs and you can hear something somber enter his tone. "I was worried about you. It's been a week since I've seen you."

It has been a week, hasn't it? You may have been swamped with work at the hospital, but there was never a night that you didn't find yourself waiting on your balcony like an idiot in this chilly weather. You had faith that he was okay — the Daily Bugle printed something new about the "masked menace" every day this past week — but that didn't stop you from longing for his presence. Stories can't compare to the real thing, after all. You're far more taken with the masked vigilante than you'd care to admit to yourself.

You hum. "About time someone else did the worrying for once," you mumble jokingly. "It gets tiring worrying all by myself."

Spider-Man stays quiet. "I've been okay. A little worse for the wear for the past two days, but okay otherwise."

You reach for him instinctively. "Lingering pain isn't like you," you say, already in doctor-mode, "did something happen?"

"No, not like that. I've just been… sad. I guess." His confession is soft as he takes your outstretched hands in his own. He's been more vulnerable around you lately and you're not sure if that's good or bad. "It's been a rough couple of days, that's all."

You rack your brain. What could possibly be paining him that you don't know of? He's already told you that he tells you everything (within reason), so maybe it's something that you already know of? You furrow your brows as you dive deeper into your memory. Deeper, deeper… until you happen across a memory from just about a year ago.

The kiss you shared on your balcony close to midnight.

"Oh my God." You voice your incredulity aloud. "Oh my God! I missed your birthday!"

Spider-Man straightens his posture as he inhales sharply.

How could you have forgotten? He confessed to you on his birthday last year that you were the only person he had left in his life since he hated his birthday so much. October 29th was such a painful day for him — to think that you didn't stop for a second to wonder if he was okay that day. It's not like you would've been able to contact him of course, but what if he swung by after you'd fallen asleep? You should've at least left him a note or something.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, lovebug." The confidence is starting to bleed out of him, you notice. Spider-Man walks over to your couch and sits on the floor in front of it. "I'll be okay. It's not like I was going to celebrate or anything."

You move to the couch and adjust yourself so that the vigilante is between your legs. You two often assume this position when you're finished patching him up and too tired to goof around until he leaves. You would place your hands on his head and press your fingers into the fabric of his mask. Spider-Man told you once that the action was soothing, but you have yet to admit to him that it's your way of trying to conjure up an image of what his hair must look like underneath.

Like always, he gets himself into position, draping his arms across your legs. This time, however, he's looking up at you. You're not sure what expression he might be wearing.

"I wasn't saying that we should've celebrated," you say softly. "I'm just upset that you had to be alone. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask as you massage your fingers across the crown of his head.

He hums. "I am now. I promise."

"If you're ever feeling down, you know you can come and see me." Your words surprise the both of you, but you don't regret them at all. He always seems to be around when you need his company the most, so why shouldn't you do the same for him? Who else would? your mind unhelpfully supplies. "I may not be the best company in the world, but at least you won't be alone, right?"

Spider-Man moves so that he's on his knees facing you. He's so close to your face like this; you inch backwards to preserve your sanity. "You're the only company I need." He says it with so much conviction that you shiver. "But does this mean I'm getting special treatment?"

"What--? You mean from the other Spider-Men?" When he nods, you snort. "Yeah, I guess you do get V.I.P privileges. You get extra treats unlike everyone else."

"Extra?" He tilts his head. "But you haven't given me any candy at all."

You raise a brow. "All that's left is the candy I'm hoarding for myself. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing any. Why don't you try actually trick-or-treating? People would probably give the city hero the best of the best."

He sinks a little lower, seeming defeated. "...Would you believe me if I said I tried that already?"

"Did it work?"

He's silent.

"...It didn't work, did it?"

"...No. They thought I was just some superfan."

Peals of laughter burst out of you at his admission. "So this is how they repay you, huh?" You say between giggles. "No faith and no candy? That's rough, buddy." You get the distinct impression that he's glaring at you, but that only makes you laugh harder.

Fed up with your insistence on laughing at his misfortune, Spider-Man taps your leg. "Since I get special treatment from you, can I ask for a few wishes?"

You wipe a stray tear from your eye. "I'm dressed as a superhero, not a magic genie."

"Please?"

"Fine, fine." You finally catch your breath. "You get two wishes.

"Not three?"

"I'm not a genie. Don't push it."

Spider-Man puts his hands up in defense. "Alright, two it is. The first is… let me stay with you for the rest of the night."

You shrug. Wouldn't be the first time. He's usually gone by the time you wake up, anyhow. "Granted. Next one's your last — make it count, bug boy."

Spider-Man doesn't react to your nickname. Instead, he just stares at you. A familiar sensation tickles up your spine. He's watching you; you know that stare all too well. "I think you know what I'm going to ask for next." His voice is deeper, smoother than it was mere moments ago.

You nod and he eases himself closer to you. You feel your heart pick up an unsteady rhythm and rather than kiss him normally, you lean in close and press your masked lips to his. He makes a surprised noise before he laughs and melts into the "kiss" all the same. When you pull away, he's still laughing. A very welcome change from the bitter smile you're sure he was wearing when talking about his birthday. "Consider that a freebie," you mutter.

"You're too kind," he chuckles.

Soon, your fingers come to the base of his mask to raise it just above his lips when he suddenly stops you. He reaches for your face and you feel something tug at the base of your neck. Somehow, you completely forgot you were wearing that stupid mask. "It's kinda funny," he half-laughs, "having to unmask you for once."

"You... You can't tell anyone about my identity, okay?" You tease.

Spider-Man rolls your mask up just enough to expose your lips and you do the same to him. Neither of you are sure who leaned in first, but you meet in the middle in a kiss that has fireworks bursting behind your lids. The two of you are greedy, pouring a week's worth of longing into the kiss. The mutual yearning is palpable, so much so that you can hear his breath hitch when you sigh. He rises to the couch slowly and without breaking the kiss, doing his best not to part from you for even a second.

You missed him. Oh, how you missed him — you missed how he would wrap a strong arm around your waist and pull you closer like it was nothing; how he would whisper his adoration for you between breaths; how he would chase after your lips whenever you would tease him with barely-there kisses. You missed the exhilaration, the thrill of knowing that you were the only one Spider-Man would ever treat this way. That you were his and he was yours.

He moves from your lips to your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear and down to your neck. His pace is unhurried, though he seems eager to pull a reaction out of you. You give him what he wants whether you intend to or not. You press yourself closer to him in a silent request for more and he indulges you; his kisses become little nips, and the nips turn to bites as he starts to leave marks on your neck. He eases you back so that you're laying on your couch and he's hovering over you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I use my next wish?" His voice is rough. When you nod, he leans in once more. His uncovered lips brush against your ear as he whispers. "Let me give you a treat."

Something foreign yet familiar makes you shudder as you nod.

Spider-Man attacks your neck once again. Clearly he was holding himself back earlier, because every mark he leaves stings. He makes them dark and obvious, completely disregarding any warnings you may have given him on other days. You normally would tell him to ease up, to hide the marks that he so desperately wanted to leave on you. But now you let him do as he pleases. You gave him an inch and as expected, he took the mile. He soothes each one with a kiss and muffles your whimpers with his lips.

It takes a while before he's satisfied with his handiwork. Kazuha raises himself up with a shaky breath. Your wrists are in his hands and pinned against the couch. Looking down at you now, all flushed absolutely covered in his marks, he feels something uncontrollable stir within him. He has half a mind to tell you to close your eyes so he can take his mask off, but he refrains.

That's all he ever does when it comes to you. You, the greatest test of his endurance that he will ever encounter in his lifetime. No supervillain with any amount of underground connections or otherworldly technology will ever test his patience and restraint quite like you. For years, Kazuha has weighed the pros and cons of telling you who he is. He always wonders if you would still allow this, if you would still treat him like a lover if you knew who he was — if you knew that he's been lying to you. Though your reaction may not be guaranteed, it's a risk he's more than willing to take.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. Maybe another day when the time is right.

For now, Kazuha releases your wrists and sits himself up. He fixes his mask while you take yours off. You sit up and he watches as you ghost your fingers over each of your fresh hickies. You wince a little when you brush the one on the left side of your collarbone, above your heart. The silence that hangs in the air is evident, but not uncomfortable.

Then, you mutter. "I was supposed to give you a treat."

Kazuha reaches out and touches a hickey left on your pulse point. A sensitive spot for you – you shudder in response. He admires the lingering haze in your eyss. "You did. Thank you, lovebug."

✧ my goodness. @perpetualcynicism look at what you've done. you've reawakened a monster in me.

✧ edit: btw, the dividers belong to @cafekitsune!! thanks so much for making such beautiful dividers!

[mamirhodessxox]

Hey there, would it be possible to get a cody fic? Length and type of writing is up to you but the prompt is "Cody meets your mom for the first time and is a bit nervous"

(Don't ask me why that came to mind I just imagine him super cute and nervous XD)

Nervous

Black Hair!Cody Rhodes x Fem!Reader

S/N= Sisters Name

M/N= Mothers Name

L/N= Last Name

Y/N= Your Name

Desc: Cody is meeting Y/N’s mother for the first time since their relationship bloomed & he’s feeling just a little bit nervous & is soon reassured.

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @southerngirl41

Contents: Fluff, Cussing, Y/N’s mom showing off embarrassing childhood pictures, Cody being a sweetheart <3

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Cody was rarely ever nervous for anything, but once you two began dating he became nervous to meet your mother especially since that was the only parental figure within your life. Your mother was someone who was never easily impressed, she knew if certain friends were good enough to be your friends or not simply by the vibe they bring to her home. He only spoke with her briefly over a face-time you were having with her over the summer and she seemed like a nice lady but now that the holidays were rolling by she had brought it upon herself to have you two stay over for Christmas and Christmas eve. At first he was more than happy to accept the invitation and even cleared his entire schedule.

But then the months rolled by faster and faster & boom, December 23rd hit and because she lived across town you two decided to take a road trip to her house. The entire car was filled with silence beside his shaking breath and hefty mumbled of “fuck..” at first it was fine but when you had tried taking a nap it became slightly irritating “sweetheart what’s wrong?” Cody turned his head with a flushed red look on his face “I’m fucking terrified to meet your mother doll.” A chuckle rolled from your tongue as he finally confessed as to why he had been freaking out “Cody babe you’ll be fine. You met her before” He shook his head “No I had a brief interaction with her over a screen that’s different baby, She’s making me rethink me choices in life like this tattoo & choice in career and she hasn’t even said anything yet. I’ve heard your stories Y/N.” She laughed shaking her head and run her fingers through his black hair “Baby you’re overthinking it she doesn’t judge off of tattoos relax.”

Cody sighed as he realized they had just pulled into her driveway and pinched the bridge of his nose after tugging the keys out of the ignition and staring down at his lap “Baby if she hates me I’m so sorry.” You laughed and took off your seatbelt “Baby she won’t hate you relax.” Cody sighed opening the trunk after he got out of the car while you went up to her mothers door knocking on it while he grabbed their suitcases & bags of gifts for Your cousins & nieces since her sisters had become parents a few years ago. Your mother opened the door & smiled widely hugging her youngest child “Babygirl! I missed you so much I was almost convinced you forgot about me!” You smiled brightly and hugged her mom as Cody just made it to the porch and wiped off his clammy hands and took a deep breath holding out his hand

“You must be who swiped up my daughter.” She spoke in a serious tone which even had you concerned and probably cause Cody to shit bricks. “Oh I’m just joking baby come here! Give me a hug.” She smiled widely and pulled Cody into a big hug while he smiled and sighed out in relief before wrapping his arms around her “It’s wonderful to meet you Mrs L/N.” Her mother smiled patting his back before guiding him inside while he carried in the suitcases “I hope you don’t mind pizza tonight I was quite unprepared and all of the food being made will be for christmas.”

You shook your head “Mama don’t worry it’s fine, Cody & I can go to the store tomorrow and whip something up for Christmas eve don’t worry.” Her mother smiled cupping your face in her hands “You’re too sweet dear, Cody sweetheart you & Y/N will be sleeping in her old room okay? It’s down the hall the last door to your right.” He smiled nervously and hustled upstairs with the luggage while your mother took you to the Christmas tree to put away all the presents you & Cody had brought during the trip over to the house. “He’s a sweet boy Y/N i can tell he has love for you.” You smiled from ear to ear while pushing strands of your own hair out of your face as you thought of your boyfriend “He is the best isn’t he mama?”

Cody came downstairs & nervously sat on the couch while your Sister had just walked into the house making your mother get up and help her get settled in. Cody smiled over in your direction as you got up and stood between his legs as his arms wrapped around your waist “One direction?” He teased at your bedroom that was filled with boy band posters & teen magazines you owned when you were in middle school and high school “Shutup.”

You laughed out as he pressed a soft kiss against your collarbone, Cody got up as S/N made her way into the living room while her husband put away their suitcases while the kids scampered around hugging your leg “Auntie Y/N!!” You grinned widely fixing your attention onto the little ones while S/N & Cody introduced themselves to each other “You must be Cody! It’s nice to meet you finally!” Cody smiled shaking her hand “It’s amazing to meet you too S/N! I hear a lot about you & the kids.” S/N grinned as her husband shook Cody’s hands while they all got to know each other.

For the remainder of the night they all munched down on pizza & laughed about their old family memories, “Mrs L/N Is it alright if I get a drink from the kitchen.” Cody questioned while your mother smiled “Of course Cody! My home is your home you welcome yourself to anything you’d like sweetheart and don’t call me L/N I feel old! Call me M/N!” He smiled nodding his head “Yes Ma’am.” He got up & went into the kitchen seeing you bake Christmas cookies with the girls while he got himself a drink. He watched as you interacted with the kids & helped wash their hands while he pointed out your failed attempt of a santa clause cookie “What happened here?” You sighed jokingly “I ruined Santa.” He snorted looking over at you while the kids ran off as he hummed wrapping his hands in your hair while you admired his black hair before kissing him “Thank you for being so good to me Doll.” You smiled before kissing his cheek “No thank you, this means more than a lot to me Codes.” He smiled and kissed you once more before you two called it a night & went to bed.

The next morning it was finally Christmas Eve you noticed Cody wasn’t in bed with you & then you heard muffled chuckling from downstairs followed with your Mom telling some sort of story so you made your way downstairs and saw Cody sitting next to your mother on the couch while the kids were playing & running around & immediately saw the old photo book your mother owned and knew she was showing off your childhood photos up to your high-school graduation “She was such a talented girl.” Your mother sighed while Cody smiled nodding in agreement before turning his head looking over at you

“Goodmorning baby, I didn’t wanna wake you so I let you sleep in for a little bit.” You smile groggily and shook your head before getting on the couch and lying your head down in his lap “Don’t worry it’s fine.” Your mother smiled as she looked at you two & showed you one of the photos they were looking at which was your first month of college sitting in a dorm with your roommates pre gaming for some sort of party “Y/N was a major party girl when she went to college” Cody raised a brow “You? Partying? This is news to me.” You smacked his chest lightly while he laughed it off.

For the remainder of your stay at the house you both help make dinner for Christmas & mainly watch as he bonded with your mother & nieces & cousins, If you didn’t know then that he was your soulmate for the rest of your life well now you knew. <3

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

[ingravinoveritas]

So al was asking ppl to ask her questions as her Fridays are so dull while her partner doing a play. Doesn't she find when she wiv michael it dull cos usually shows it or the other way round and then the bird one I found interesting cos since when have we seen Ms be protective over Al we haven't seen him speak or defend his relationship of what the journalists or ppl say about his relationship of what was said on weds where she defended it and and put a insta story about it we all know he loud but protective I think if he had to choose to protect or save someone it would be david hands down not al

What ur thoughts love to hear ur take on this

(Grouping together for ease of answering. @hyperfixating-rn-brb's Ask is referring to the last screenshot.)

So, I saw this as it was happening on Friday, and...yeah. I'm not sure what the impetus behind this random Insta AMA was (perhaps PR suggesting that Anna do something to counter her rash of recent off-putting social media posts?), but whatever the reason, choices™ were definitely made with some of (well, most of) her answers.

I think what struck me about the ones in these screenshots is how they’re lowkey insulting to Michael, but all in different ways (and not overtly, but passive-aggressively, as hyperfixating-rn-brb mentioned). It also seems odd that AL is currently in London, one of the most dynamic and attraction-filled cities imaginable, yet acting as if there is nothing to do on a Friday night. (Because Michael (and/or Georgia) aren't there to entertain her, I guess?)

Leaving that aside, the entire way this happened was just strange. A lot of the questions felt very boilerplate ("Are you currently reading anything?" "Who is your biggest inspiration?") and almost like they were planned in advance (I think at least one actually was from someone AL knows personally, IIRC), yet interspersed with enough "wacky" questions to give the impression of it being this spontaneous Q&A thing.

As for the answers in the screenshots above, I saw people on Twitter getting outraged over the "girly" question on Saturday, but predictably for all the wrong reasons. In particular, I noticed people once again blaming Michael/David shippers for it, but just from the wording alone, my feeling was that whoever sent in this question did not seem to be a shipper at all. "Girly" has a very specific, borderline homophobic connotation to it (akin to someone asking Anna if she "acts dykey" around Georgia), and while I know English is not her first language, I don't think that meaning is something AL would have missed.

So, no, it's certainly not a great or appropriate question by any means. But the bigger issue, at least in my opinion, wasn't so much "Why would someone ask this?", but rather "Why would she post this?" Because Anna is a grown woman who could have very easily just ignored this question altogether. Instead, she chose to draw attention to it, and to react in much the same way as her "vagueblogging" from the other day. It was as if the purpose in sharing it was to show people what she has to "put up with"--either from the fans or from Michael or both.

That's the other piece of this--that she shared this question with seemingly no regard for how it makes Michael look, or whether it would or could be embarrassing to him. It immediately made me think of this tweet from Michael two years ago, where he chose to answer a question in such a way as to deliberately not embarrass David (further explanation can be found here). It's something that seems so small but means so much, and that you'd think would happen effortlessly for someone you love. So the contrast of that to Anna posting this was striking to me, and it was further compounded by her answer to the "favorite bird" question.

Again, it's almost unsurprising at this point. Anna has previously made unflattering comparisons between Michael and Cousin Itt, a Hobbit, and Hagrid--among others--and now we can add a cockatiel to this list. What’s weird is that the question itself had nothing to do with Michael, so there was absolutely no reason to bring him into it...and yet. It felt like name dropping for the sake of name dropping, which just seems like a weird thing to do when she's been dating him for five years now. Did she think we forgot? That we needed a reminder? Whatever the reason, this definitely seemed like such a strange choice, and another instance of passive-aggressively putting him down under the pretense of a compliment.

(A note about the "protective" part, as I noticed that was particularly mentioned in this Ask. I would agree that there are a lot more overt/visible instances of Michael being protective of David--many of which I have talked about on my blog--than of Anna. That does not mean I don't think he is protective of her, however, but that there is a distinction between the two. It is possible to be protective of someone out of a sense of responsibility and obligation, and those are not necessarily bad things. But it's very different to being protective of someone not because you feel like you have to be protective, but because you want to be. Interpret that how you will...)

Finally, I just need to mention that one of the questions AL was asked was about Georgia ("Is Georgia secretly holding you hostage?"), and what I have hardly seen anyone talking about is that Georgia reshared that Insta story a short while later...and added a song called "I'm Trapped"...

I just...was this meant to be shady on Georgia's part? Who, exactly, is "trapped" here? The subtext and potential implications can go in so many directions here that it's hard to know where to start, but...yeah. The optics of Georgia resharing this story and adding that song in the middle of AL's Insta Q&A were and are questionable/cringey/unintentionally hilarious on multiple levels.

So yes, that is my take on the events of Friday night. As I've said before and will again, I know I could be totally off the mark here, so I'd love to hear from my followers as to what you think. Thank you for writing in! x

[sheikfangirl]

Positively adore your art!! Thank you for sharing it!! Also, would you happen to know of any fics that sort of resemble your art style or ones that inspired it? I’m right there with you I love the basic vanilla vibe and I have been trying to find a decent fic to get into before I finish totk

thank you!!

Thank you so much for your kind words for my art

🙏 I greatly appreciate!🙏

I have a confession to make dear friend! I hadn't read fanfictions in several years but beating Totk made me go FERAL for Zelda material and explore what's been written since BotW came out.... oh boy the rabbit hole is deep!

There is a lot of good stuff out there but I have read so many fanfics in a short time that the whole thing is a blurry mess in my brain. BUT! There is one in particular that really stood out and left a lasting impression on me: Displaced written by socksock https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128084/chapters/50279321 It was originally written in 2018, before the release of TotK so there are some small and harmless inconsistencies that can easily be ignored because, duh, it was written BEFORE totk. I particularly liked this fanfic because it has all the qualities I'm looking for!! Also several key moments and general ideas in that story are extremely close to my own headcanon to the point it almost scared me. The story focuses on Zelda trying to find her place in post-calamity Hyrule. The characters are very well written and credible, Link's personality is player behavior accurate (MORE OF THAT PLEASE!!!!!!!!) and obsessed with completing his quests backlog and I thought it was amazing. Damn i love a player accurate Link!!

It's a wholesome slow burn romance, lots of humor, it's sexy, does not take itself too seriously but can be very emotional at times. Also, I was amazed by one scene in particular....I don't want to spoil anything for you, but the Big Damn Kiss moment is *CHEF KISS*: the setting, the tone and the resolution HSGDKJS, I would've slow clapped if i could've (I was holding my phone lol)

Reading that scene, I thought to myself : F*** YES! This person gets it hahaha !!

My own Zelink Big Damn First Kiss moment shares a lot of similarities with that fic so, Im going to say it now: when 'll post the Zelink first kiss i'm currently crafting, be sure to know that Socksock and their fic Displaced did something in the same general vibe FIRST! They are awesome. I hope i answered your question haha Have a great day!

[elegantmusicdragon]

Adventures in Bravo-Sitting

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Babysitter!Reader (f!Reader probably? Can be gn!Reader for now)

Rating/Warning: Just some language! Words that rhyme with certain swears. Me being a menace. You know how it goes.

A/N: Okay so this is for @blueeyesatnight who just went a on a Dieter/Babysitter journey with me and inspired me to crank this fic out in two days. Haven't written a fucking thing except a fic I won't post and THIS. Blue, you're the best and Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas (if you celebrate) and thank you so much for the inspo! Our Dieter/Babysitter thread is my favorite thing and also if you wanna write some of these two or your own version PLEASE DO IT. I encourage it! Much love to you.

To anyone else who may read this: thanks for sticking around and checking this not beta'd dumpster fire. I have no clue what this is. It came out of my brain and onto the page in a frenzy. But it's fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Enjoy! And Happy Holidays!

You are terribly confused. 

"We know this is highly unconventional." 

Well, that's putting it mildly. 

"In all honesty, I've seen weirder." A nightmare child smearing his feces all over the baking appliances and a cake his mother had made takes the trophy as of now. Though this situation is a close second. 

The woman, Amanda, smiles at you - relief flooding her features. She readjusts herself on the ridiculously fancy chair she's sitting on. Behind her, a small cluster of people in suits and business skirts gather. And between Amanda and the group? A man. Well, not man. Celebrity. A celebrity who seems to be grumbling something close to the words “ducking shooshes”.  

You never thought you'd end up babysitting Dieter Bravo but, you guess, things could be weirder. 

"Can I just...ask...um...why does a grown man need a babysitter?"

Dieter rolls his eyes and cuts in, "I don't." 

Amanda talks over him, "I'm sure you've seen the...incidents...on the Cliff Beasts set." 

You nod. "Absolutely, who hasn't? A drug overdose, quickie marriage, annulment - all within the span of a year. And the giant bender in Vegas with the showgirl last month? It's been all over the news." 

Amanda nods, tension lining her face. Behind her, Dieter rolls his eyes again. 

"It wasn't that bad." 

Amanda finally graces Dieter with an irritated glance. Her voice raises slightly, “Not that bad, Dee?? You almost destroyed the MGM Grand’s lobby, casino, and the penthouse suite you were staying in! That showgirl almost lost an eye!” 

Dieter rolls his neck back to face the ceiling, “Yeah, but she didn’t. She was fun,” he chuckles. “Liked to party. We still got her number?”

You see a vein throb in Amanda’s forehead. You’re not quite sure if you should butt into their conversation. Amanda grips the planner she holds so tightly, her knuckles begin to turn white. 

“No, Dee. We don’t have her number. You know, since she ALMOST LOST AN EYE??” 

Dieter sighs. “Oh my god, she was fine. It was safe. I was totally able to handle that machete. That lobby guy was just scared.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

Amanda fires back, “He was the manager!!! And you were swinging a machete at one of his showgirls!” 

“I wasn’t gonna hurt her, god it’s like you think I’m irresponsible or something.” 

Oh god what have you gotten yourself into???

You reach down and attempt to subtly get your belongings. You’ve decided you want no part in…whatever this is. To your utter disappointment, you’re apparently not subtle enough. Amanda’s eyes dart to where your hand is resting on the strap of your bag. Her eyes widen just a fraction in desperation. 

“I know we’re not giving the best impression here. But I promise, this is going to be a very rewarding experience. Dieter is special!” 

She had said that on the phone too, but it was your fault you had misinterpreted it. Dieter clearly is special just…not in the way you were expecting. He’s special in a super-fuckin-entitled-wealthy way. 

You swallow and your eyes dart to Dieter, who hasn’t looked at you once since this whole meet and greet started. 

“Listen, Amanda, I’m really flattered that you and your…” You peter off, realizing the entire group of people behind her are now listening to you basically say no to this insane job. Are they really surprised you’re not interested in this? 

You clear your throat and continue, “team…want me to do this. I just don’t quite think I’m what you’re looking for.” 

Amanda looks behind her at a gentleman in a neatly pressed suit. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear. She nods, and turns back to you. Dieter remains absorbed in the ceiling. 

“Alright,” Amanda starts, “how about I show you what your pay would look like and we’ll take it from there? Maybe we could do a trial run if the amount is to your liking?” 

Dieter snorts. “It’ll be to her liking, I’m loaded.” 

Amanda rolls her eyes. Despite that, she keeps her focus on you. “Well?” She asks. 

You sigh. You know you’re caught between a rock and hard place. Money? Or no money? Well, even if this job isn’t what you necessarily thought it would be, it couldn’t hurt to look at the amount. Why the hell not? 

You shrug. “Sure,” you reply back to Amanda. “I guess looking at the number can’t hurt.” 

She smiles and nods, turning to confer with the gentleman behind her again. They whisper to each other for a few minutes before Amanda turns back to you. 

“Okay! I just want to clarify that we’ll be starting with a trial run of a week. If just you, or both you and Dieter-” 

He snorts at his name. Amanda studiously ignores him and continues on. 

“Are interested in keeping this arrangement going, we’ll re-discuss and go from there. Is that amenable to you?”

You nod. “Sounds good to me.” 

Amanda smiles widely, looking truly relieved for the first time since you stepped into the room. 

“Great!” She replies. She reaches behind her to grab a small piece of paper from the suited gentleman (who is he???) and hands it over to you. You surreptitiously glance over at Dieter. For the first time, you find his eyes on you. You shiver slightly. His eyes sparkle with…something. 

You look back down at the folded piece of paper in your hands. You’re more nervous than you thought you’d be. You open it slightly and see the number written down.

WOW that’s a LOT of zeroes! Holy crap. 

You look at Amanda.

“Trial run it is.” 

P.S. Banners by @firefly-graphics

Tags:

@grampsgirl14

@apsiringghostmusicians

Anyone else want a tag? Lemme know!

[ladysarai]

@inception30daychallenge day 1: my favorite thing about the movie

I think my FAVORITE thing about Inception is how MUCH there is to it, as a movie. You can watch it a zillion times and get something new from it every time, and you can read one person's take and be impressed and amazed because you didn't even think of that take!

But what REALLY makes me sit up and pay attention to a piece of media is Characters, and Relationships. I love how MUCH the cast did with so very little... I want to know EVERYTHING about Arthur's relationships with Mal and Dom, (okay, ESPECIALLY Mal) just because of the way he calls Mal "lovely" and because of the way he PUTS UP with Dom and follows him around and has obviously been loyal through So Much Shit and then the way he SMILES in the end. Cobb himself is a hot mess, and given only the context of the movie, you have to wonder why anyone would put up with the things he puts Arthur through, so there has to be a history there, right?? And OF COURSE I'm here for Arthur and Eames and their shared history, whatever that may be (they're married okay). The fact that in the paper script, Arthur and Eames could have been played so differently by two other actors is... It's a little awe inspiring, and just makes you really appreciate what actors can bring to their roles.

I love that every single time I watch it, there is something new to notice, some new nuance to pick up on, a new piece of canon that can be used to spin out headcanon or fic from. And I absolutely ADORE that so much is open-ended and there's no real WRONG interpretation; I think that's what's given the fandom such lasting power over the years. We're give so little actual canon that very little fanon is actually contradicted. It's kind of beautiful that way.

On a personal note... When I say that I'm new to the Inception fandom, I mean BRAND NEW... like as of April of this year new. Which is not to say I didn't see the movie when it came out in 2010, because I did! I watched it more than once! But here's the thing... You ever have those experiences where OTHER PEOPLE ruin a thing for you before you give it a chance yourself?

That's what happened with me and Inception. I thought "hey, fun movie" and left it at that. Largely because my younger brother was in this weird "I'm a Movie Connoisseur/Expert and My Opinion is the One That Counts" stage and as someone with self-proclaimed "man crush" on Leo, he was All About Cobb, who is easily my LEAST favorite character. He was also All About arguing for the "it's all a dream" theory over the ending, which I think beautifully demonstrates the main difference between us: I am an optimist and prefer happy endings. So he would Not Shut Up about this movie and how GROUNDBREAKING it was and how the pessimistic viewing of the ending was the Only True Way to watch the movie. (May I say how much I fucking love that this has generally been disproved in the last 14 years? Because I have serious Schadenfreude over that.)

(I was also RPing in a panfandom LJ game at the time with people who were obsessed with playing characters played by Certain Actors and our game wound up with an Arthur and an Ariadne and I think they shipped them but it was full of ~drama~ and I wanted nothing to do with it so I kept my Barbies on my corner of the game and avoided theirs.)

ANYWAY, this is a very convoluted and long-winded way to get to my point. Which is that I largely forgot about Inception for the last 13 years-ish. Then I was rereading some old fanfics in March and because I liked an author, I went to see what other fandoms they'd written for. And somehow I fell into Inception and discovered Arthur/Eames, and HOW THE FUCK DID I MISS THAT????? After a few weeks of reading fic, I decided to watch the movie again and, well. Then I was watching it every other day for several weeks.

Moderation? What's that?

So another favorite thing about this movie is that I got back into fandom for the first time in... god. Almost ten years???? Because of it. Which is a little miraculous by itself.

[matan4il]

Hi friend! I was wondering if you had any favorite Israeli/Hebrew children's books! Also any fave Israeli musicians??

Hello, my lovely! :D How are you?

Ooooh, do I! Man, you're gonna regret asking me this. XD Sorry, not sorry... So shall we start with Israeli/Hebrew kids' books?

Anything by Yehuda Atlas (יהודה אטלס), but especially And That Kid is Me (והילד הזה הוא אני). Short humorous stories, written in rhymes, perfectly capturing how baffling the world can be for a kid, and how silly adults can seem, or just what things can sometimes feel like for a child. It's one of those books that work, funny and essential, 'coz it's so true. He just gets kids.

Another one that I love, and am probably one of the few Israeli kids who even know this book, is Siamina and the Cats of Yemin Moshe (סיאמינה והחתולים של ימין משה) by Holocaust survivor Uri Orlev (אורי אורלב. He's more well known for his books about that period of time, which are also highly recommended, but I only dared read them when I was older). Jerusalem is known for its many stray cats, and the book is a love fest for cats and Jerusalem, with some historical sites becoming in the book the "homes" of the cats.

David Gershtein, who crafted the engravings for the book, is a pretty popular Israeli artist, and you can find some of his creations all over the country, and even entire shops dedicated to his works.

Last one ('coz I don't wanna burden you too much, but lemme know if you want more recs!) that I really loved as a kid, was Yael's House (הבית של יעל) by Miriam Rot (מרים רות). It was about a girl who has a home, but she wants a house that would be all her own. She tries all sorts of solutions, including taking over the space under the kitchen table... Not gonna lie, as a kid I was inspired to follow in her footsteps, but my parents were not impressed.

Now, as for Israeli musicians! You have stumbled onto dangerous ground, my friend, since I'm a music addict, and in love with the Hebrew language, so songs in Hebrew are something I can go on about for freaking years...

I'll share with you the link to two unlisted playlists that I made on YouTube. One is of some of my fave Israeli songs (though I started it years ago, so sadly, I see some vids have been deleted or made private, and there are literally hundreds of songs on the list, meaning I'm not sure which ones are missing), but also with a few thrown in 'coz I think they're good for people who wanna know Israeli culture and popular Israeli songs, and the other is one that I started making with songs connected in different ways to the current war we're in. They're not all faves, but I thought they capture a moment in time, so I wanted to have them grouped together. I'm actually not done with either list, the latter I really just started not that long ago, so you can expect them to grow.

If we're talking specific Israeli musicians, I find it hard to answer, I think almost every singer or songwriter has at least one good song to offer, and likewise whenever I wanna name one, I feel like adding, "Except for this song... and that one..." No musician is great all the time. But I guess some of my faves (where I like more songs than I don't) include Ivri Lider, Berry Sakharof, Yehuda Poliker, Ran Danker, Harel Ska'at, Chanan ben Ari, Narkis, Eliad, Amir Dadon, Avraham Tal, Marina Maximilian, Achinoam Nini (Noa), Sheila Ferber, Gilad Segev, Ofra Chaza, Meni Berger, Yardena Arazi, Natan Goshen, Keren Peles, Izhar Ashdot, Nurit Galron, and the bands Beit Ha'bubot, Ha'Yehudim, Metropolin, Ethnix, Mashina and Synergia.

I was thinking I should add at least one of these vids to my reply, and for whatever reason, the one that started playing itself in my head (where there is always music) was a song first released in 1993, אדמה חמה (Hot Earth) by Shlomo Gronich and the Shva Choir (Sheba is the English pronunciation of Shva). I love this song, I think the vid was very cool for its time, and I'm still never gonna forgive the MTV viewers who gave it last place in a video music awards. The song incorporates Hebrew and Amharic, both Semitic languages, the latter being the language spoken by Ethiopian Jews. You can actually listen to the whole special album (inspired by the story of the Ethiopian Jewish community's journey to Israel) here.

But just for the fun of throwing in a gay themed song as well, here's התשמע קולי (Will You Hear My Voice), a love poem for a man, originally written by an Israeli poet called Rachel (full name: Rachel Bluwstein Sela), but it's performed here by only men, and no one changed the pronouns, which makes it a mlm song to me. It's so pretty and sad (Rachel is believed to have written the poem to a former lover, a man she even thought at one point she would marry, but WWI tears them apart and they never meet again. She wrote this poem, after getting the news that she's terminally ill), it fills my soul at the same time as it tugs on my heart.

I hope this helps! Sending so much love! xoxox

[jichanxo]

sooooo... *twirls her hair* how many asks should i send until kuwagami art. jk as well. the real question will be: does it happen often that someone else’s art inspires you? in fandom spaces specifically

well you see it’s like a loyalty card program, every 10 asks or so you get a complimentary kuwagami

just kidding you can just breathe in my direction and I’ll be tempted to draw them. kuwagami blast! (you've caught me on a... just okay art day lol)

(people still like kabedons, right?)

anyway for my actual answer: in terms of direct inspiration, it doesn't really happen much? the last two times i did art directly based on someone else's work is probably this one from this fic, and also that time i drew art of someone else's judgment au. oh! and there's that moriohpsycho art based on this comic! (filthyguts' work is so very. hgngngghh. very good.) nothing else really comes to mind, and when i think of the other things i've been into recently there hasn't been as much opportunity for that to happen...

flex and herds = strong fixation but lmao. almost nobody else made stuff about them. nobody is surprised umineko = surprisingly i don't read much umineko fanfiction? and in terms of illustration, i certainly picked up imagery and indirect inspiration but nothing concrete enough for me to give an example... now that i think about it, i did once draw andromalius from redaction/sunny, but that was years ago, and also mostly because i was acquainted with the writer. ...i don't have that artwork on hand right now death note = didn't really get involved with the fandom + i enjoyed my own ideas well enough! ...i can't recall if i drew long-hair-L art before or after seeing other artists do it. and as for everything else the same kind of reasoning applies. didn't really get involved with the fandom or wasn't really compelled to make art in response to stuff i saw, or i just don't remember anymore.

buuuuuuut if we're opening this up to just... pulling ideas from other people? then yeah, all the time, though that kind of goes without saying when you have a creative hobby. ...it's probably going to be hard to come up with examples of this since it's more ambiguous.

there's uhhhhhh... kuwana listens to nickelback which was a @/four-white-trees invention, wasn't it? (EDIT: and @/overdevelopedglasses!) (not tagging in this post so he doesn't feel obligated to read my big ass ask responses 💀) as of writing this, it's not posted but i did end up making kuwagami art based on a nickelback song so. yknow. there's that LMAO

for sawashiro and arakawa, i do sometimes go reference @/todayisafridaynight 's art to help me with my own. ("how did he draw this part of the suit? oh, like that huh? hmm" <- this kind of thing)

and um. i'm not trying to pander to you (at least not this time), but genuinely it's one of the few examples that come to mind at this moment. but when i was writing my first kuwagami fic, i could feel the influence of the ever-changing on my brain... was turning over some of your ideas there...

you remember this? (you even pointed it out in your comment on my fic, and i should've said something then, but whatever i'm saying it now)

that was absolutely because of this

(obligatory poke at anybody else reading this post that you can read passthroughtime's fic here.)

so, um. yeah. not really sure what else to add to that. pretty self evident i think. (i'm always talking about the ever-changing but i don't think i can overstate the impression it left on me at the time)

anyhow there aren't really any other examples off the top of my head! these are all recent examples so they're not so difficult to recall, but there are probably others i've forgotten...

[lualuabestningdungie]

Haunted | C. Beomgyu

Chapter 1

Pairing nonidol!beomgyu x afab!reader; genre angst, a bit of fluff, non-established relationship; warnings fwb situation, mentions of stress, anxiety, public speaking, mentions of alcohol, toxic relationships; wc 2k

haunted

-

It is real that an artist displays their feelings on a canvas. Mixtures of colors, simple lines, rough brushstrokes, and soft. All types of emotions could be seen in your canvas.

The art exhibition was held in a downtown museum, where only a few people attended. The dim lighting of the room casts a soft glow on the walls, illuminating the artwork and creating an intimate atmosphere that invites contemplation and reflection.

The room is quiet and the only thing echoing was your voice, as you explained to the small group of people some of your paintings. The hushed tones and attentive expressions of the listeners reflect their deep appreciation for your artwork and the vulnerability you share through your creations.

As you continued to guide the attendees through the gallery, sharing insights about your artwork, you didn't expect anyone to ask questions or give their opinions, until someone interrupted you.

"Could you tell us more about the inspiration behind this painting?" he asks, gesturing toward a piece that you were talking about. His face was oddly familiar, you were sure you had seen him before. And then it hit you.

A tall man, with long brown hair, and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. Choi Beomgyu.  He was in the back of the crowd, almost as if he had emerged from the shadows.

"Of course." You said startled, feeling your heart skip a beat at the sight of him. You were surprised that he had somehow managed to come back. It had been almost a year and a half since you last saw him since he left to Japan, and since you two broke up. 

As you begin to explain the inspiration behind the painting, you notice the man's intense gaze fixed on you, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest and curiosity that sets him apart from the rest of the people.

"My technique was abstract expressionism. My goal was to portray how strong feelings such as sadness, fear, guilt, and even love, affect a person. But I believe that this piece has a subjective meaning, this is what it means to me, but it could have a different interpretation for each of you." You explained.

A satisfied smile appeared on his lips. After your exposition came to an end, and people walked over to you to congratulate you and say thank you, you stayed behind for a few minutes to relax after feeling the pressure of having to give a perfect exhibition, hoping that people were satisfied with your work.

"I have to say, I'm very impressed." You heard his voice, you turned around to see him. “It’s been a while, huh?”

"Beomgyu…” Your eyes widened. You hadn’t been able to concentrate properly through the rest of your exhibit.

"Hello yn, how’ve you been?” He smiled.

Your words were trapped in your throat, still couldn’t believe that he was there, standing in front of you. “I’m… I’m okay.” You managed to say.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You look beautiful, as always.” His words always had an effect on you. His presence somehow brought you nostalgia. Maybe you missed him more than you thought.

“Thank you. You look good too.” Your shy words made him chuckle.

“Thanks.” He moved closer to you. He placed his hand on his pockets, the sight of his rolled-up sleeves from his button-up made your heart race. “I saw you were having an art exhibit the same day I was coming back, I didn’t want to miss it.”

"Well, that's a lovely coincidence." You said, surprised by his words.

"Perhaps fate." He smiled. 

"Well the museum is about to close, so we better get going." You said after a small silence not knowing how to continue the conversation. You didn’t know how to feel at that moment, a lot of things were going on, and it felt almost overwhelming.

"I would love to keep talking to you, yn. Do you, maybe, want to have dinner with me? " He offered as the both of you walked towards the exit.

This is something you don't regularly do. Since many of your friends were always busy, you hardly saw them, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. And you do need to relax after talking in front of a lot of people.

"I would like that." His smile widened.

"Great," Beomgyu said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

You walked next to Beomgyu until you reached a small restaurant that was just across the street. The dim light of the place made it look more comfortable to be in, soft jazz music played in the background, and only hushed conversations from the people there could be heard.

You sat near a window, the lamp posts outside illuminated the pavement outside, casting a soft glow on the snow covering the sidewalks.

"So..." Beomgyu started and you turned to see him. "How’s everything going? Did anything happen while I was gone?” 

Yes. A lot happened. 

The first few months without him were tormentous for you. You didn’t know how much you’d miss him. Even though you knew he’d eventually leave, you never really prepared for it. Missing him felt like complete emptiness. Mainly because you had no idea for how long he’d be gone. Two weeks, two months, two years. It was only a year and a half. But it felt like an eternity. 

Even though it wasn’t really breaking up, you felt as if you were going through the harshest break up. Separating from your other half, having to spend your nights alone, and not being able to hold them. Everything hurt.

It hurt how much you depended on him. Therapy could never take the feeling of longing and need you had for him. You knew depending on someone like that was not okay, but he was the one who was always there for you.

No, you weren’t perfect together, but you loved him and he loved you, and you loved being with each other. You always made it work out in the end.

He still was the one who soothed you, the one who helped you relieve all the anxiety and stress after talking in public, the one most of your paintings were about. He was the one who knew all your birthmarks and called them pretty.

So yes, a lot happened.

“Well…Nothing much really.” You shrugged. “The same as always, you know? Except that I graduated, and now I have a small art school.”

He smiled. He knew how much you’ve always wanted to have your own art school. Seeing you making your dreams come true made his heart happy.

“That’s amazing. I’m proud of you, yn.” His words made you travel back in time, all the feelings you once had for him were coming back all at once making it feel overwhelming. 

“Thank you, Beomgyu.” You smiled. “So how was Japan?” 

“It was great, I met a lot of people, and I had a lot of fun.” He said. “But… you know, I kinda missed it here. Yeah, I had a lot of fun and I don’t regret leaving, but I couldn’t help but feel that I left a part of me back here. I guess I was just homesick all the time.”

A part of you wanted him to say that it was you who he missed. You wanted him to tell you how much he missed you and that he couldn’t stop thinking of you all the time. But that was just selfish.

“I see,” You started, what were you going to say? Can you tell him how much you missed him? Would he say it back? “I’m glad you had fun.”

If he knew how much you missed him, he’d run away.

After dinner and a nice talk, he offered to walk you back home.

“You still live here, huh?” He said once you reached your apartment. The apartment Beomgyu used to spend most of his nights at.

“Yeah, I’m still saving some money.” You explained, looking up to your apartment, which in reality was a small room above a Chinese restaurant. 

Standing out here with Beomgyu made you remember the first time you entered together to your new home. Hand in hand walking through the small apartment as you showed him around. “Do you have a place to stay?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, I’m staying with Soobin. He told me I could stay for a while.” Soobin was your friend back in high school, you remembered him as a soft person, always there to help others. Beomgyu noticed your slight shiver from the cold weather. “You should probably go in, I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Oh right…” You fixed your scarf around your neck. A soft grasp on your shoulder made you turn around. 

“Is he bothering you, yn?” Jay, your roommate had just arrived from work when he saw you and Beomgyu.

You could see from the corner of your eye how Beomgyu’s expression changed and rolled his eyes.

“Who is he, yn?” Beomgyu said.

“Oh, Beomgyu, this is Jay, he’s my roommate.” You explained. Jay’s hand was still protectively on your shoulder.

“And you are?” Jay asked with a cold tone.

"Beomgyu," he said, sparing only a glance toward Jay. "Old friend of yn's from high school.” His cold tone made you uncomfortable.

“Ah, so you’re that Beomgyu.” Jay placed his arm around your shoulder, making Beomgyu tighten his jaw.

Of course, he knew Beomgyu. Jay was always there to comfort you when you missed him a little too much. 

“Do you mind? I was talking to her.” Beomgyu said, matching Jay’s cold tone. “You can leave now.”

The uncomfortable tension between the two made you nervous. They didn’t know each other and it looked like they were long-time enemies.

“Jay, it’s okay, I'll go inside in a minute.” Jay sighed and nodded.

“Yeah okay, I’ll wait for you inside.” He gave you a soft smile, but completely changed his expression when he took a last glance at Beomgyu.

"Didn’t know you had a guard dog, huh?" Beomgyu remarked once Jay walked away.

You tried to diffuse the situation, “Jay's just looking out for me, you know. We've been through a lot together.”

Beomgyu hummed. “Yeah, I guess.” He was slightly irritated by your last words. Been through a lot? together? He’s known you since high school, he knows you better than anyone. “Anyway, I have to go now.”

You nodded. “Okay.” Those words made you remember when he left for Japan. That same nostalgic feeling from earlier returned. And he felt it too. Saying goodbye again, even if he knew he wasn't leaving anywhere far, still hurt. And it brought all those memories and feelings of longing back.

He smiled and took a step closer to you pulling you in for a hug. You were pretty sure you were going to start crying if he hadn’t released you just after 3 seconds.“I’ll see you later, pretty.” He whispered.

You entered your apartment and found Jay making some dinner in the kitchen.

"Hey, everything alright?" Jay asked, glancing at you with concern.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... unexpected meeting at the museum. Beomgyu showed up. I didn’t know he would be back today, so he wanted to catch up after the exhibit."

"Catching up, huh? Seemed like more than that." Jay said without looking at you.

“We just talked, that’s all.” You walked towards him and leaned your back on the counter next to him.

“He looked like your boyfriend. Maybe he forgot that you’re just friends.” He looked rather annoyed by Beomgyu. 

You sighed, feeling the weight of Jay's concern and annoyance. "Jay, it's not like that. You know how it went with Beomgyu. We have history, and he just showed up out of the blue."

Jay turned to face you. "I just don't want to see you getting hurt, yn. Not again."

“Thank you, Jay” You leaned your head on his shoulder.

You met Jay a year ago when you stumbled into him while walking to your apartment. He was an exchange student in your last year of college, and he was looking for a roommate. You immediately became close, due to your shared passion for art, and he became your roommate. Eventually, when you graduated, you opened an art school in a small rented house. Jay offered you his help and became an art teacher next to you.

He wrapped an arm around you, providing a comforting embrace. "I just want you to be happy, yn. You deserve that."

A soft smile painted your lips. “Thank you for helping me be happy.”

-

Lua's note: first chapter!!