#props to everyone involved in both of these amazing projects

[rakruined]

Between episode 2 of A Fox in Space and the Lackadaisy pilot this is THE time to be into furry indie animation

[ticketstomydaydreams]

HOME

(All We Have: Part One)

Part Two

Colson x Female Reader

Summary: You and Colson are close friends and he invites you to move in to his house while you work on his record together

Word count: 1,580

Feels: Friendship Fluff for now

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, cursing, mentions of feeling depressed

Companion playlist:

Machine Gun Kelly - Home

Sia - Dressed in Black 

The Beatles - With a Little Help from My Friends

A/N: Throughout the series there will be changes to the timing of real life events like the pandemic, the release of certain songs etc. There's certain things I want to incorporate into the series, like particular events in MGKs life and lyrics from songs, so some stuff will get moved around to fit in to the story ✌️

______

It had been a long evening working in Colson’s home studio, The Boulevard, with him and the gang on the upcoming Tickets to my Downfall album. To say your schedule was busy was an understatement, but Colson had insisted you get involved with the new material after the success of your work together on Hotel Diablo.

Composing music was your main gig, you had an ear for melody and your passion for writing meant you always had lyrics swirling around your head. You had a penchant for dark and melancholy lyrics, finding music to be a source of therapy for you. It was something you and Colson had instantly bonded over. He'd bugged you to list some of the stuff you'd written that he'd know and you had gained his professional respect immediately.

He always kept a close eye on your work, ever the supportive friend and had laid claim to your piece ‘Glass House’ as soon as he'd heard it.

______

2019

You were sitting crossed legged on the sofa in your lounge, gently strumming your guitar and gazing off into space and mumbling to yourself, as you worked out some lyrics in your head. Colson was lying on the floor by your feet, scrolling through his phone with earphones in, a blunt in his hand that he occasionally passed up to you. This was a common set up, you found it easier to write in the peace and quiet and Colson has gradually started hanging out at your place more when he needed to focus on his own writing.

"All alone in the glass house, lie awake til the sun's out, pink sky when you come down…"

"Throw me in the damn flames, Bury me in gold chains, throw me in the damn flames…"

You'd started singing out loud, occasionally stopping to scribble down lyrics and make adjustments, not noticing that Colson had removed his earbuds to listen to you

" Dude, that's hard, like, beautiful… " His comment made you jump slightly, you hadn't seen him propping himself up on his elbows, watching you intently "Sing that last bit again"

You blushed slightly, his opinion was always important to you, and started singing. He muttered to himself as you did, then pointed at you "Again!"

Letting out a little laugh and rolling your eyes, you sang again

"Throw me in the damn flames, bury me in gold chains, throw me in the damn flames"

Colson's voice met yours at the end of the line, rapping softly "I'm waiting on the rain to come and wash it all away"

You locked eyes, smiling and he sat upright. "Dude, Im'a need that hook! That spoke to me right there, I've think got something for it that I've been stuck on"

He looked so excited, your heart did a little flip. You'd seen that writing this album had taken it out of him, he'd been digging deep and really going through it emotionally. You could tell it was going to be raw and special from what you'd heard already.

He sat forward and moved the guitar from your lap so he could lean his arms on your knees and looked up at you shooting you puppy dog eyes with those baby blues "Pretty please Y/N"

You laughed and ruffled his hair, "Anything for you Col" Honestly, it'd be an honour to be part of such a personal project, you thought

He wrapped his arms round you and squeezed,

"You're a legend, kid. Get a sample recorded and send it to me!" He grabbed your guitar off the sofa and whipped back around, strumming a few chords as he carried on talking with his back to you, leaning against the sofa "This is gonna be fire, you always just hit the nail on the head, I swear it's like you're in my head sometimes"

You smiled, seeing the wave of motivation that had struck your friend. You felt so lucky to have a friend who was not only so inspiring, but one who 'got it', who understood that music was a form of release. Someone who recognised that it was important to feel these things, rather than encourage you to push dark thoughts away with toxic positivity.

He’d pushed to use your original samples on his record, but as much as you loved writing and singing, you were a behind the scenes kind of gal which had always suited you just fine. Naomi, a mutual friend of you both, came onboard to record them with him. A decision that turned out to be golden… 'Death in my Pocket' would be born not long after, with Naomi doing your lyrics such beautiful justice yet again, perfectly pairing with Colson's emotional rapping.

______

From then on Colson had kept you close to his recording. You'd been helping here and there with composition and notation, but your production skills were what was taking centre stage during the most recent sessions. You had a long list of projects you were working through, leaving you chained to your equipment most days and nights anyway so throwing more music into your workload didn't seem like much of a big deal. In all honesty, the chaos of Colson’s studio and the revolving door of personalities that were in and out constantly, made it one of the most fun places to be. You loved what you did for a living and it never really felt like work Even though the guys were a real handful at times, you kind of enjoyed being the studio 'Mami' as they often affectionately referred to you

Everything had wrapped up for the evening and the guys had migrated back into the house. You could hear from the raucous that the drinks must have started flowing freely. You were saving your work and packing up your stuff when Colson bursts back into the studio and throws himself in a chair, spinning it around with his arms in the air.

"You staying for drinks Y/N?" he grins at you, clearly hyper and in party mode

You let out a big sigh "Urgh, I'd love to but I have an early start tomorrow. I finally managed to get an apartment viewing. I swear I've looked at a hundred places now, they get snapped up so quickly.. I've only got a few weeks left on my lease as well"

“Ah, that sucks kid” Colson empathises, spinning his chair again before an idea strikes him “Wait! Why don’t you move in here for a bit until you find a place? The guest room is pretty much your room anyway, the amount you crash here”

You laugh “This is true, that mattress is so much better than mine! Aw Col, that would honestly be so helpful, the stress of finding a place when I’m this busy is killing me. I don't know… You sure the guys won’t mind?”

Colson scoffs “Why would they mind? You practically live here anyway” he teases “I’m sure they’ll be just as stoked as I am at the thought of you joining the madhouse for a while”

Before you have a chance to respond, he stands up and throws his arms around you, squashing you into him tightly “That’s it decided Roomie. Another song in the bag and a new housemate, plenty to celebrate tonight!”

Wriggling out of his tight grasp, you laugh and in a deep voice shout “let’s goooooo” mocking his signature catchphrase. He flips you his middle finger and says “Kitchen, now”

Once you’re in the kitchen, Colson heads to get you a drink and grabs one himself. Appearing back at your side, he passes you your beer and then shouts out to the rest of the group,

“YO, meet our latest housemate, Y/N is moving in. LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO”

Everyone in the kitchen lets out a big cheer, clearly pleased as he said they would be. Colson bends down and picks you up, swinging you around in a circle, spilling your drinks all over the both of you as you shout his name in mock annoyance, between giggles.

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for” Rook laughs, clinking his drink against your now empty beer bottle once your feet are back on the floor

“It’ll be good to have another pair of hands around here, looking after you lot” Ashleigh chimes in, laughing and slapping Slim away as he pulls her hood up over her head, covering her eyes

It had been 5 years since you'd made the decision to move to LA, barely knowing a soul. You'd worked several jobs, jumped from place to place, worked your ass off to catch your break in the music business, sometimes feeling like the grind would never get you anywhere.

There had been times where you felt like you couldn't carry on, aching from trying to keep pace. The dream had felt like it was turning into a nightmare, as you tried to make ends meet, feeling so lonely in this enormous city.. but eventually you'd made these amazing friends who made you feel so safe and loved.

Now, there were times you had to pinch yourself just to make sure it was all real.

As you shake off some of the beer that's dripping from your hands, you look around the kitchen. Taking in the crazy, loveable bunch before you, your new housemates, you are filled with gratitude. You finally felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be…

Home.

______

❌❌ Lace up!

[hoodieofholland]

Here is an ideia for a smut concept: Tom as been very stressed with work and one day he and the reader are going at it and he can't come and feels really bad and embaressed and the reader makes him feel better about it. Write it only if you feel comfortable about it of course. I love your fics by the way.

A/n: loved this concept so much, hope you like it. Got a bit long again lol ❤️ thanks for your comment :)

Masterlist Request/tell me your thoughts on this!!

NSFW content bellow

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, fingering (f rec), cockwarming, bit of angst, unprotected sex (pls use protection!!)

"Tom, I'm putting your bag in the car, okay? Have you got everything you need?", you shout as you crossed the corridor of you and Tom's bedroom with his bag in your hand. Both of you were in your way to the studios, Tom has been shooting Spider-Man 3 for a while now. With busy schedules, you two barely had the the time neither the energy to spend some time alone, so whenever you had a break from your work, you'd take the opportunity to make him company in his work. Right now, you were running out of time to make it to the studios in the right time, as you and Tom drifted in deep sleep and almost lost your time.

Tom didn't answer from the bedroom, and you decide to pop your head through the open door to check on him. "Hey, did you hear- Tom?"

You look at you boyfriend, who's currently sitting on the edge of your bed, elbows prompted over his knees and staring at the floor with nothing but a sad expression on his face.

"Tom? Is everything alright?" You ask softly as you drop the bag on the floor and make your way to him.

He glanced back at you with a sorry look, eyes dropping to the floor again as you kneel down and touch his thigh. "What's going on, baby? What happened?"

He sighed, brushing his hand over his face and pulling his hair a little. "I don't think- I don't think I can go today, y/n".

Confused, you furrow and straight your back to take a better look at him.

"How come?", you put your hand on his forehead as to check his temperature, a worried look on your face. "Are you sick? You feeling something-"

"No, darling, it's not that", he sighs impatiently. "I'm sorry, it's just that... I don't feel good, y'know? I'm tired. Like, really exhausted".

You blink a few times, trying to catch what he was saying, though you already new what it was all about.

You've seen Tom work really hard throughout the last three years, filming and being involved with a lot of projects. You always felt so proud of him, but at same time worried about how overwhelmed he might feel. You simply knew this day could come, and now there were you, taking a seat beside him and brushing his hair out of his face to reassure him.

"You've been working a lot, Tom". You say in a low and careful voice. "It's absolutely understandable that you feel tired".

Tom sighs and throws his body back on the mattress.

"Okay, I just need to... take a large cup of tea. Do you think you can get me, love? I promise I'll be down in five minutes, I don't think they'd be truly mad if I got twenty minutes later-"

"No, Tom", you sigh, climbing up on bed to lay beside him. Resting a hand over his chest, you look up at him. "You're not going today, okay? We staying home and taking a break".

Tom scoffed. "I can't just skip job, y/n", he sighed.

"Tom, be honest with me" you propped your elbow on the mattress and support your head on your hand. "We were about to head out for, like, half an hour ago and you can't seem to get out of bed yet. You're tired, it's fine. I'll call the team and tell them that you don't feel so good".

Tom grimaces and rub his hand over his cheeks. "That's not professional of me. I- I have a contract, I have people that are counting on me- I have you here, and it wasn't even your job to follow and help me while I'm working, but you're still here and I feel so stupid for being such a pussy and not being able to-"

"Thomas Stanley", you say sternly, lifting your body to sit on bed. "Don't you dare saying it again. Baby, you're so hardworking. There's no doubt in anyone's head about how dedicated you are and how strenuous you get with everything you're involved with. But you're human, Tom, and you're exhausted. There's no need to be ashamed of it".

Tom sniffs, pressing his nose with two fingers as he tries to gather his composure. He wasn't feeling like easing himself about it and you could feel it by the way he closed his eyes tightly.

"Okay, that's what is going to happen", you say, getting up from bed and clapping your hands together with determination. "I'm gonna call the directors, gonna say that you don't feel good and tell them you're sorry about it, but that they'll need to postpone the filming. Then I'm gonna run you a bath just how you like it and we're gonna order dinner, maybe some pizza. What do you think?"

Tom gumbled, feeling vexed that he couldn't argue with you, because you were right - there was no way he could go to work today. He knew if he tried to, he'd do a shitty job and feel even worse that he'd need to waste everyone's time again to redo it.

So he silently nodded, and you give him a small softly smile.

After calling the studio and telling them about Tom, you filled the bathtub with a warm water and his favorite bubbles.

When everything was ready, you called him out from the bathroom and reassured him some more, kissing his cheek as you gave him time to undress and get in the tub.

"I'm not getting in here without you", he stated, pulling his shirt off his head, a kind smile on his face. You bite your lips as you watch he taking his jeans off, his white boxers beautifully on display for you.

"It's supposed that you relax there. It's gonna be tighter if I get in with you, and you won't be able to spread out".

Tom snorts and gives you a smug smile. In no time, he grabs your waist and pulls you closer to his chest. "No way I'm buying that, love", then his feature turns goofy all of a sudden. "C'mon, I need you there with me. Hold you real tight so I can relax a little, eh?"

You laugh at his attempt and end up giving up, shoving his chest playfully to pull him away enough to take out your clothes.

Tom gets rid of his boxers, entering the bathtub next. Whilst, you are taking off your jeans. "You still coming?", he teases, eyeing you shamelessly. "Hurry up, darling, the water is amazing".

You poke your tongue out and giggle when get completely naked, testing the water temperature before entering it slowly. When you were about to sit in the opposite seat, in front of Tom, he shook his head and took your hand, signaling for you to come closer. “You’re too far. C’mere”.

Narrowing your eyes in a little protest, you did as he asked, not being able to turn down the offer to sit with your back pressed against his chest.

“You were supposed to be relaxed, Tom”.

“Well”, he wrapped his arms around you, hugging your body in the most comfy way possible. “How am I supposed to relax when my girl is right on the other side and not this close to me? See? Much better now”, he lowered his head to rest in the crock of you neck and you giggle for the tingle his breathe sent over your wet skin.

“You relaxed now?” You ask as your hands play dismissively with the bubbles in the water.

“Yeah”. He takes a few seconds to answer, and when he does, you can’t seem to believe in his words.

You turn your head to look at him, a furrow on your face. “Tom...”, you say in a concerned yet stern tone. “What’s up?”

He sighs and lifts his head from your neck. Chewing on his lips lightly, he looks at you. “I still feel kinda guilty. I mean, I was supposed to be working right now, and instead I’m taking a bath with you... It kinda of- embarrass me”, he confess, lowing his eyes to the water, a light pink flush on his cheeks.

You pout, feeling bad that he was still with that thought on his mind. Turning your body just enough to hold his face on your hands, you caress a finger on the smooth skin of his cheeks. “Tom, you shouldn’t be embarrassed for taking care of yourself. You’re just taking a day off, it’s not that big of a deal. No one would want you to have a breakdown in order to get work done, alright? Look at me”, you ask softly and he does so. “I’m so fucking proud of you, my love. Should never doubt that”.

His face lightens up a bit and you smile. “Okay?”

His eyes wander through your face, a bright shine on it as he seems to save every part of it. “Yeah. Thank you, darling”.

“Alright”, you smile wider. “Now, if you mind, I’d like to enjoy my bath”.

He laughs and holds you tighter, pressing his forehead to yours. “What would I do without you, my sweet girl?”

“Probably not much”, you joke, and he chuckles.

His voice is low and his face is centimeters away from yours. Two of his slender fingers rest on you chin as he brings you closer. “C’mere”.

It’s a matter of seconds until your lips as touching in a slow, sweet and soft kiss. It’s calming and relaxing, and you feel yourself melting in his arms. Tom parts his lips, and so do you, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth and touch yours seductively. Your hand goes straight to his neck, fingers curling up in his hair to bring him closer, deepening the kiss.

When he pulls away, his hands are on your waist, smoothing the bare skin. “Love you so much, darling”, he murmurs. “You’re just fucking perfect”.

You smile before bringing him to kiss you again. “Love you too, Tommy. So, so much”.

His lips are a little rougher now, tongues waging a battle as both of you get eager with the touching. You can feel his member pressed against your back getting hard, just in perfect sync with your pulsing heat, starting to claim for some sort of attention.

"Shit, that's relaxing", he says through kisses and you giggle, turning your body around to have a better angle. "Love these lips".

"Yeah?", you whimper as his mouth traces a new path, slowly going down your neck.

"Yeah" he breaths over the wet spot on your sensitive skin, and you shudder. "Love kissing your neck too. The way you get all excited 'bout it. Love how you get goosebumps over it. Always so responsive to me".

"You make me feel good, Tommy" you breath out, eyes closed as you enjoyed the moment.

His lips stops right on the edge of your shoulder, biting it slightly as a smirk makes its way to his face. When he's facing you again, you can tell his eyes are darker.

"Wanna make me relax, love?" He asks, voice husky. You nod once, fingers tightening on his hair.

"Tell me what can I do, Tommy?" You ask lowly, brushing your nose over his, though you knew the answer already.

Tom brings one hand to lay flat on your ass, squeezing it, while the other rested on your back. The tip of his tongue traces a wet path over your lower lip. "Ride me, darling, would you? Wanna feel you around me, this close".

"Mmm", you bite your lip to refrain a moan as you nod. You turn your body completely now, facing him, legs positioned to straddle him. He was hard already, his length pressed against his abs, the tip red and needy for you.

Tom's hand slides down your side from your back to your core, feeling your wetness and you buck your hips against his slender fingers. "Gonna prepare you for me, love".

He presses two fingers over your clit, rubbing it delicately in smooth circles as he watched your face draw all the pleasure. Though the feeling of him collecting your arousal to lead his fingers through your slit was already overtaking, you knew you wanted something else, so you touched his arm and pulled it away from you, taking his cock on your free hand.

"I want you now, baby. No foreplay".

He smirks lazily and helps you straighten your back, as you pumped him a few times, thumb caressing his tip and spreading the pre-cum. He growls, and you can see the veins on his neck outlining with the pleasure.

His grip on your ass gets more firm and you smile smugly as you position his cock right in your entrance. You brush it from your folds to your clit, teasing both of you a bit, before sinking down on him slowly. Tom closes his eyes at the sensation of your walls holding him tightly, coursing by every bit of his length that enters you.

You moan as soon as you feel him completely inside of you, walls adjusting to the stretch he gave you. Tom brings you closer, your boobs now pressed against his chest as both of you breath heavily.

“Shit”, he says. “So tight”, with the feeling of his teeth sinking on the skin of your shoulder, you buck your hips forward, to create some kind of friction, but Tom stops you right there. “Can we stay like this for a while?”

You look at him, hands grabbing his hair softly. “You don’t want me to move?”, you bite your lips when he nods, hands caressing your back up and down.

“Yeah. Wanna feel close to you and just-“ he breaths sharply and a deep groan comes through his throat at the feeling of your involuntary clenching, “just take it slow. Fuck, you’re gonna make it hard for me”.

You giggle and press your forehead to his. “I’ll behave”, you let out a heavy sigh. “You feel so good inside me. So deep”.

Tom takes the moment to kiss you, tongue slowly invading your mouth, in a messed way, as both of you released grunts and whines for the feeling of having each other so connected.

"You're so good to me, darling", he says when you pull apart, thumb tracing your puffy lips. You shudder at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside of you, closing your eyes briefly. "My gorgeous girl, taking such good care of me. Feels so snug around me, love".

You pant, biting hard in your lip as you find it extremely difficult not to move when your pussy clench at the sound of his words.

"Tommy, can't take it-" you breath out.

He squeezes your ass firmly, assaulting your neck with sloppy kisses. “Just a little more, pretty girl. Know you can”.

You moan when his lips connect with the sensitive skin bellow your ear.

“Shit”, you throw your head back. “Please, Tom”.

You can feel his smug smirk against your skin and want to slap him for that, but all is forgotten when he say, “It’s okay, darling, you can move now”.

You take it as your sign to move your hips up slowly, the friction getting more intense from the previous position. Your walls are sensitive, you can feel the wetness making it easier for you to move. “Fuck” you curse, gripping on his shoulders for dear life.

Tom tugged at your waist, helping you to stead a pace, when you sink down on him again. You started slow, just how you two felt like. His hands kept running on your skin, his mouth was glue to your ears, whispering motivating words to you.

“You’re so beautiful, riding me like this”

“Taking me so well”

“Gonna make me cum so hard”

His words were your fuel, and his touching ignited a fire inside of you. Soon, you were bouncing on top of him, water splashing everywhere, but you couldn’t care less about the mess on the floor. All you could focus about was the pleasure on Tom’s face, the way he gripped tight on your waist every time you swirled your hips and the need you had to chase your release.

“Fuck, Tom, I’m so close”, you moaned, hiding your face in the crock of your neck. You were growing tired, but still managed to keep moving. Noticing that you slowed down, Tom holds your hip and starts to buck his to meet with yours, his tip brushing on a special spot inside of you.

Your breathes were heavy, the sounds of the water among with skin slapping were all too much for you to take. Your rigid nipples were brushing against his toned chest, making you feel him everywhere. You moaned his name, clenching as your legs trembled. You knew you couldn’t last much longer.

“That’s it, baby” Tom panted, mouth on your ear as he bites your lobe. “C’mon, cum on my cock”.

And as easy as his command, you fell apart. The shocks ran through your body as Tom still pounded in you, chasing his release, following right after yours. Your walls clenched around him, riding both of you out of the recent orgasm.

A panting mess, the two of you stayed still, hugged tight on each other’s arms, catching your breath. You feel his length softening inside of you, and when you climb out of him, you feel his cum dripping out of your pussy too.

Tom had that light pink on his cheek, from the effort, and a beautiful brightness on his eyes. You smiled at him, who did the same and stretched his arms to reach you, holding your body just like when you entered the bathtub.

As he kissed the top of your head, you could hear his breathing still heavy and relaxed into his arms. After a few minutes of silence, just enjoying each other’s warmth, Tom speaks.

“Thank you, darling”, his words were soft, just like the brushing of the tip of his fingers on your face. “I mean, not for this”, he chuckled, and then sighed. “But for really taking care of me. You’re always so understanding”.

You turn your head and give him a sweet smile, full of the love you shared with the man of your life. “That’s because I love you, Tommy. And you don’t have to thank me for that”.

“I love you too, sweetheart. A lot”. He pressed a kiss to your lips.

Turning your soft smile into a smirk, you add, “Are you feeling more relaxed now, though?”

He laughs and kiss your cheek. “Absolutely”, licking his lips, he watches you with bight eyes. “But I’d love to repeat the relaxation session”.

…………………

Taglist: (add yourself to my taglist here)

@pinkrockstar19 @onyourgoddamnleft @spideyspeaches @miraclesoflove @zspideyy

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 10 of 27: Dating

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHAPTER 9

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR AMAZING FEEDBACK! I AM BEYOND GRATEFUL FOR EVERYONE WHO READS THIS STORY! This project has become so important to me and I have so much fun working on it! Thank you thank you thank you! Also - this chapter is a little shorter and more ‘calm’ at first. But be prepared, it’s still very important to everything that follows it!! <33 Enjoy!

Words: 3.1k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader Warnings: none

Two days after Hogsmeade …

Monday morning. You yawned and it turned into a chuckle when Malfoy mimicked you.

“It’s contagious,” he defended himself quietly to avoid attracting Professor Sprouts attention. He sat next to you, way back in the last row of the classroom. It had been your idea – after finding out that almost none of your friends believed your act, it seemed like a good idea to sit next to each other during classes. Maybe it would help convince them.

With a flick of her wand, Professor Sprout made an assignment appear on the blackboard. Nothing too difficult. You walked to the front to get the small flower you were supposed to work with and Ron glared at you from his seat. You ignored him.

Back at your table, Malfoy and you started working together quietly. When you looked at his notes, you leaned over a little too closely, feeling dizzy from the smell of his cologne. Whenever he reached for something, his hand brushed over yours. His comments were accompanied by smiles and direct eye contact. He played his part so well, you almost believed it. From the corners of your vision, you saw Ron staring.

You acted the same in every class that you shared. During breaks, you stayed together – always a few feet away from the others. You discovered how funny he could be when he gave you live-commentary of a fight happening between a Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

In the evening, you came back to your dorm, feeling unusually content. Not even the letter from the parents on your desk changed that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, your mother had written. I simply don’t understand and I am scared for you. I can’t lose you too.

“Oh, mum,” you whispered, rubbing your neck. Then you sat down and reached for a quill. She deserved the truth. At least, a little of it.

 ***

One week after Hogsmeade …

Draco was happy.

Well, maybe happy was a little exaggerated but he felt … calmer. He used to spend his free time by himself which gave him plenty of opportunities to think. About the war, his parents, himself – and it nearly killed him. The notebook was an escape, a good way to focus, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how many pages he filled, he still felt himself sliding away from his surroundings. Now he spent that time with you – and things began to change. In those few days he even stopped dreading getting out of bed because Draco had finally something to look forward to again: spending time with you.

Draco considered you his friend. A part of him had trouble with the realization since being around someone like you went against everything his parents taught him but he tried tirelessly to shut it off. No, you were his friend and being around you made him feel almost okay.

“What are you writing?”

The sound of your voice caused Draco to look up from his notebook. The two of you sat in the library. You were across from him, finishing up on some homework. Draco shrugged. What was he supposed to say? I’m writing about you? Certainly not.

“Can I read it at some point?”, you tilted your head in curiosity. You did that a lot, Draco noticed. It reminded him of a puppy.

Am I comparing her to a dog?, he scolded himself in the next second. No, he didn’t mean it like that. He meant to think that he thought it was cute when you did that. You … were cute.

“It’s okay,” you finally said with a smile when you sensed his hesitation. “It’s personal, I get it – or do you keep track of dirty dreams in it?” You teased him.

“Only of the dreams involving you,” he winked at you, causing you to snort. Despite the joke, Draco was relieved you didn’t dig any further.

From where he sat, he had a direct view of the huge door leading inside the library. This was the reason why he saw the Greengrass sisters walking in, their gaze immediately landing upon him. He casually reached over the table and softly began to draw circles on your soft skin with the tip of his finger. He smirked at your shiver.

“Ron?”, you asked, not looking up from your book.

“Astoria,” he replied.

A few minutes later, Astoria and Daphne left again. Draco didn’t pull his hand away.

 ***

Two weeks after Hogsmeade …

Snowflakes were dancing in the cold winter air as you sat on the bleachers with Malfoy. Down on the Quidditch field, the Slytherins were practicing under the strong rule of Zabini. Games were cancelled but they still needed to stay in shape.

“I never pictured you as an Auror,” Malfoy confessed. He had asked about your future plans just seconds before.

“Why?”, you wanted to know.

He thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I always thought you’d become … a healer. Or a teacher maybe.”

His words made you laugh. “Are you serious?”

Malfoy nodded.

“Well, no,” you shrugged. “I wanted to be an Auror since I was little girl. And I’ll make it, believe me.”

He raised his hands in a defensive manner. “I have no doubts about that. It simply surprised me.”

You chuckled another time at the thought of becoming a teacher. It had always been the furthest thing on your mind. You loved Hogwarts, it had been your home for years but you craved to see more from the world. Especially since the war happened. You didn’t want to spend your whole life in this castle.

“What do you want to do?”, you then asked, curious as to what his answer might be. It was hard for you to picture him outside of school.

Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It surprised you. “Really?”, you wondered. “Pureblood families like yours normally have a plan set up for their kids, don’t they?”

“Normally,” he laughed bitterly. “My father wanted me to follow his footsteps and get some high-ranking job in the Ministry. That’s not an option anymore. For obvious reasons.”

He was probably right. The wounds were still too fresh. The chances for a former Death Eater to be employed in the Ministry of Magic were slim.

You stayed on the bleachers for hours. It had only been a little over two weeks since the Halloween party and yet you had become a lot closer to Malfoy than you expected. You felt comfortable talking to him. Both of you had very different childhoods and friends – you came from different worlds. However, it was precisely this fact that made it easy to talk to each other. You were almost certain that he felt the same.

 ***

Three weeks after Hogsmeade …

Draco watched you flick through the pages of a magazine and for the first time since that night in the storage room, he saw you. And by Merlin, how beautiful you were.

He sat on the couch in the Room of Requirements with you, listening to the flames crackling in the small fireplace in front of him. You were laying down on your back, head propped up against the armrest, a small wrinkle on your forehead as you read the descriptions in the magazine. Your legs were stretched out and on his lap. Draco wondered why – no one would be around to see you anyways.

“Stop staring, Malfoy, it’s creepy,” you giggled.

Draco blinked as he snapped back into reality. “I’m not staring, I’m thinking, Y/L/N.”

“Think without staring at me.”

Easier said than done.

Draco cleared his throat. “What are you looking at anyways?”

“Christmas presents for my parents. But,” you clicked your tongue, “I can’t find anything good.”

Draco grabbed your legs and lifted them slightly while moving over closer to you. “Let me see. I’m awesome at getting gifts.”

 ***

Four weeks after Hogsmeade …

When December arrived, Hogwarts felt like home again. A cheerful atmosphere filled the castle, accompanied by snowball fights outside and hot chocolates in the common rooms. As if a spell was lifted, something changed within the students and parents alike.

You happily noticed how Ginny needed less and less of her sleeping medicine. The nightmares slowly faded, being replaced by happier memories. The letters from your mother barely mentioned your sister anymore. Instead, she talked about carriage rides in the snow with your father and her plans for Christmas dinner. For the first time in a while, you looked forward to going home.

You wondered if it was the same for Draco. When they put up the Christmas tree in the Great Hall, he got even more quiet than usual. It planted an idea inside your head and on that same day, you wrote a letter to your parents, asking them if he could spend the holidays with them. They agreed. It came to no surprise to you; your mother was eager to meet him and see if her prejudices and fears would be proven right.

“I don’t want to impose,” Draco said with a stern voice when you told him after dinner.

“You’re not! I asked them and they want to meet you. Come on,” you insisted.

He watched you with uncertainty and furrowed brows. “I don’t know. I can’t –”

“What are your plans for Christmas?”, you interrupted him.

Draco looked away at the question; that same expression of bitterness on his face that you’d seen too often for your own liking.

“I thought so,” you said softly. “Please, Draco, come with me.”

He sighed and wiped his hands over his eyes. “Why would they even want to meet me?”

You smiled widely. “You’re my boyfriend.” Never would you have thought it would sound normal to say that.

“Yes, but –”, he lowered his voice, “– but not really.”

True. For a weird reason, it stung a little to be reminded by him. “I am your friend though, aren’t I?”

He blinked at the word ‘friend’ and you wondered if he felt differently about it. Then he nodded.

“Awesome!”, you exclaimed, shooing away your worries. “Then it’s settled. Christmas at my place.”

In that moment, Harry and Ron walked passed you. Ron didn’t even glance at you. How weird, you wondered, this was the first time in days that you thought about him.

 ***

Five weeks after Hogsmeade …

 My dearest Draco,

I am delighted to hear that Y/N’s family invited you for Christmas. They are very kind to do so. Please remember to bring a little housewarming gift. Although it hurts me to be away from you this Christmas, I do believe it’s a better option for you than visiting your grandparents with me. I’m sure the holidays will be spent in a rather somber spirit this year as your father will be unable to join us. I want you to have at least a little fun and am looking forward to your stories.

Lots of love, your Mother

P.S.: I met with Mrs. Greengrass yesterday. She is not upset and gave me her word to wait until you are ready.

Draco shook his head in amusement when he finished reading the letter. Only his mother could wish him a nice time with his (fake) girlfriend and then continue with ‘if you’re done having fun, your fiancée is still available’.

“That’s why pureblood traditions are fucked up,” was something you would say right now. But you weren’t here. You were practicing for the first Quidditch game in the new year and Draco sat in his dorm, waiting for Blaise to get ready.

Reading the letter a second time, he started to wonder. Why would Mrs. Greengrass wait? Why did their family want this union so desperately? The questions were lingering on his mind ever since you brought them up months ago. He failed to come up with an answer to this day.

“Please don’t tell me that’s a letter to Y/N,” Blaise announced when he stepped out of the bathroom.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s from my mother, idiot.”

“Good,” his friend sighed dramatically. “Because I rarely get to see you now that you have her. No need for you to start writing love letters when she’s not around.”

Even though his nagging slightly annoyed Draco, he realized something in this moment: it had worked. The whole PDA and ‘being-more-affective-in-public’- thing worked. It had been almost two weeks since Theo or Blaise (or even Astoria) tried to get him to confess that they were faking it. His friends started to believe them.

“Yeah, whatever,” Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand and put the letter away. “Maybe I just don’t want to see you, Zabini, and it has nothing to do with Y/N.”

Blaise laughed. “No, you love me too much. Now, let’s go. Theo’s waiting for us.”

 ***

Six weeks after Hogsmeade …

A loud shriek echoed through the classroom and you almost dropped the container of cat teeth on the floor. Parkinson jumped up and down, trying to get a slimy violet mass shaken off her leg. It didn’t budge and made its way up her pants, accompanied by absolutely disgusting slurping and smacking sounds. You tried hard to suppress a laugh but when you saw the way Harry grinned behind her, you couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling.

Professor Slughorn hurried over and quickly cast a spell. The mass fell down to the floor and stopped moving. “Oh well, Ms. Parkinson,” he quickly glanced inside her cauldron. “It’s important to add the cat teeth before the mandrake juice.” Then he knelt down in front of her, inspecting her pants. “It looks like nothing got on your skin. If I am mistaken, please go and see Madame Pomfrey. It can leave nasty burns behind.”

The Slytherin girl nodded, still in shock.

“What happened?”, Draco joined you at your table. He had gone to the backroom, to gather missing ingredients.

“Parkinson got attacked by her potion,” you sneered while counting the cat teeth. “It was hilarious.”

“I bet,” he grinned, before skimming over the instructions again.

“I think I need to go and see Madame Pomfrey,” Parkinson whined behind you. “It got through the fabric of my pants.”

As if, you thought and rolled your eyes.

“Please go,” you heard Slughorn say. “Better not take any chances. Interestingly, this modified form of the potion has been used in the past. They removed foreign magical particles with it, such as certain marks that resulted from dark spells. It is very aggressive though and since then, the healers have invented different potions. However, when it touches your normal skin, it only leaves burns and scars. Please, Ms. Parkinson, please go. Mr. Nott, you can accompany her.”

“Huh,” Draco made next to you. “What did she do wrong again?”

You sighed when you saw that you had miscounted the teeth. Damnit.

“Y/N?”

“What?”, you looked at him.

Draco stared at the liquid inside the cauldron, a blank expression on his face. “What did Pansy do wrong?”

“She put in the mandrake juice before the cat teeth.” You frowned. “Why?”

“No reason.”

 ***

That same day …

It was late when you returned from Quidditch practice; tired and sweaty. All you craved was a shower and then your bed. Playing that sport in your free time was one thing but practicing under Ginny as Captain? You were glad that you didn’t die yet.

“Y/L/N!”

Someone shouted your name as you walked inside the castle.

“Y/L/N!”

Irritated, you turned around, trying to make out the person that voice belonged to.

“Y/L/N, here!” Theodore Nott sprinted down the stairs, coming from the direction of the Gryffindor common room. “Fuck, we looked everywhere for you!”, he cursed, completely out of breath, when he finally reached you.

“We?”, you asked with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

You then noticed the fear in his eyes. He gripped so tightly onto the stair railings that his knuckles turned white and his whole body was trembling. Panic began to dwell up inside of you. Draco.

“It’s Draco, something happened,” he panted. “You have to come, please!”

Your blood froze. “What’s going on?!”, your voice turned shrill but he ran down the stairs again.

“Come!”, he shouted. “Now!”

The two of you sprinted down stairs and hallways, passing confused classmates on the way. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you repeated the same sentence over and over again in your head: Something happened to Draco. The thought of it was unbearable and it hit you like a brick wall, making it hard to breathe. Please, no. Not him.

When you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Theodore turned to you abruptly. He grabbed you by your shoulders. “Act normal,” he hissed. “Walk slowly. They don’t need to know.”

You nodded absently. Your hands were clam and you tried to calm down your breathing.

“Okay,” he didn’t seem convinced that you understood him. Then he mumbled the password and the door opened.

Under normal circumstances, you would have stopped in the middle of the room, looking around in awe. You’d never been here before; it was a mystery to you. But now, you only briefly glanced at the green and black furniture. There weren’t many students around. The ones that saw you, stared at your red Quidditch robes.

“What the fuck?”, someone said loudly. “What’s she doing here?!”

Nott ignored them, leading you quickly to the stairs that must have led up to the dorms. You noticed the windows on the way up and gasped when you realized that you didn’t look at the fields of Hogwarts. You were under the Black Lake.

“Finally,” Zabini exclaimed. He had waited in front of a door, looking just as shaken up as Nott. “You found her.”

“What’s going on?”, you asked for the third time now. “Where is he?”, your voice trembled a little.

“In here,” Nott pointed at the room. “In the bathroom. He locked himself in.”

“He wouldn’t let us in and asked for you,” Zabini continued with a quiet voice, fidgeting with his hands. “It’s … you’ll see. Just go in and help him.” He paused briefly. “Please.”

You nodded and reached for the door handle. Three deep breaths. One … two … three.

You pushed open the door and stepped in, closing it softly behind you. Looking around, everything looked perfectly ordinary. Three beds, three wardrobes, a table. Your gaze wandered over to the door that lead into the bathroom. Then you heard it – a sob. And another one. Someone was crying. He was crying. Your heart broke at the sound.

“Draco?”

 ***

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! <33 Also: did you notice Y/N stopped calling him “Malfoy” halfway through the chapter and switched to “Draco”? 

CHAPTER 11

“Choose Me Instead” Masterlist HP Masterlist

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[betelgeuse-boo]

WARNING: NSFW !!!

If you are a minor or someone who does not want to see smut, please scroll past this post!!! Thank you!

Extensive Info/Warnings: Penetration, almost ‘caught in the act’, reader has breasts and a vagina and uses she/her pronouns

For @rhodochrosite-love; “How about Beej and a fem reader having some very loving sex but only realize they’re in the Deezlands living room when they’re caught by Adam and Barbara?” 

Love this idea! I hope you’re okay with me tweaking it just a bit so that it’s almost being caught and not quite actually being found out! Thought that would add some excitement >w> Thank you so much for the ask!

Words: 3332

----------

“Almost Caught”

It was no secret that you and Beetlejuice had enjoyed each other’s presence. Between the constant flirting on both ends, abundant PDA, and overuse of pet names, everyone in the Deetz-Maitland household would usually distance themselves when you visited. Not because they didn’t enjoy your company, of course, but Beej would often hog you to himself and his overly doting attitude towards you would make all the other household inhabitants sick. Thankfully, you two had the house practically to yourselves today! ...The operative word being “practically”.

Adam and Barbara Maitland were housebound their afterlife, the only place other than their home that they were allowed to reside in being the Netherworld. They preferred to stay in the house that they shared with their strange gained family, and while they were often about in other rooms in the abode, they had recently learned to stay in the attic when you would visit after giving you a brief greeting. They always intended to flee before seeing Beetlejuice press a thousand kisses against you. 

The house was quieter than usual as the Deetzes were gone- on a road trip to Vermont for some sort of convention Delia was interested in. After the ghostly married couple said their hellos to you and promptly dashed upstairs after BJ picked you up into a tight bear hug, you found yourself relaxing on the couch with your demonic partner. The green haired spectre was talking, at length, about how his week went, making sure to not leave out the details of eating an infestation of bugs that were found in the attic so that the Deetzes “wouldn’t have to call pest control”. You found yourself almost apprehensive as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, but as he informed you he had ‘taken care of’ the issue a couple of days prior, you figured it’d be okay to let him continue to smooch you. Hopefully...

Conversation between the both of you died down as he got lost in cuddling with you, his big, clawed hands holding you as gingerly as he could, the bulky demon taking turns between nuzzling you and peppering kisses all over your face. He was quite the sucker for both giving and receiving affection, and he always did an amazing job in making you feel loved. As he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against his soft yet clammy body, he muttered against your neck. 

“I missed you.”

It had only been about a week and a half since you last saw him in person, but your job involved traveling out of town a lot. You had been unable to summon him in partial fear of him wrecking the hotel you stayed at and in partial responsibility in desiring to get full nights of sleep so that you could perform adeptly at work. Of course, you had missed Beetlejuice and you were hoping to transfer to a job soon where you could stay in town so that you could spend more time with him. 

“I missed you too, bug,” You replied, pulling away from him slightly to see him smiling at you, happy to hear that he was wanted. His relatively innocent sentimentality faded as the doofy grin transformed into a smirk, one of his hands sliding down your back and resting at your butt for a moment before he squeezed it with a crude chuckle.

“And I missed this too.” A chill traveled up your spine as the sensation of him touching you paired with the sound of his gravelly voice lowering ever so slightly to a more suggestive tone. Beetlejuice paused, his eyes finding yours, and you leaned forward to plant a kiss against his lips- intentionally banishing the bug eating anecdote he had given moments before to the recesses of your mind- cupping his ever so slightly warmer cheek with your hand. 

You knew complimenting him like this would go to his head, but figured it was still worth telling him. “I...thought about you a lot while I was away.” With this, you trailed one of your hands down his chest and over his plush belly before groping ever so slightly at his crotch, eliciting a soft gasp out of him. Your bug’s gaze grew more intense as he somehow scooched even closer to you, continuing to idly rub and pinch at the fat on your butt. The demon moved in to kiss at your neck, making you shiver once more at the initial electric sensation the contact gave you. A halfway stifled gasp soon left you as he incorporated his sharp teeth- gently nipping and sucking the sensitive flesh, holding you flush against him. 

While this was incredibly arousing, you couldn’t help but feel that doing this sort of stuff in the living room felt...odd. Like, the space was too open. “Do you think we should take this somewhere else?” You asked hesitantly, though there weren’t really many options to do more sensual stuff with BJ in the Deetz-Maitland household. The bedrooms, of course, were off limits, the Maitlands were currently in the attic, the kitchen just felt…wrong. You had normally only had sex with Beetlejuice when you had summoned him into your home instead of when you visited him at this location, and the one other time you had done anything sexual in this house was in the bathroom one night when everyone else was asleep. 

Beej laughed against your neck and you jumped at the sensation of his cold breath hitting the saliva coated skin he had previously been sucking on. “There’s no one else home, babes. The married dorks are doing some project upstairs and you know they can’t hear shit up there. Especially when they get in their ‘zone’, heh.” As you were silent, he pulled away, removing his hands off you and holding them up. “If you want to stop we can-”

“-No!” You interjected, a bit more vigor in your reply than you anticipated, BJ smirking at the enthusiasm. “....Okay. If you’re sure the Maitlands won’t be able to hear anything then I’m fine doing it here.” 

“That’s my girl.” Beetlejuice purred, clambering on top of you and cautiously pushing you down so that you were reclining on the couch, your neck propped up by the armrest. There was hardly enough room for his 6’5, 300 pound frame in this position on the couch, but he was determined in making you feel good after not having been able to for what seemed like forever to him. He began to rub at your sides, locking his lips with yours, that great big striped tongue of his quickly finding its way into your mouth. The two of you french kissed for a while, making up for lost time you guessed, before you felt Beej begin to rut against you, the both of you still fully clothed. A needy growl came from the demon on top of you as you could feel his erection press against your belly, and he had finally fully broken the kiss for the first time in what felt like ten minutes to comment that you were amazing. 

While you normally graciously accepted his compliments, there was something about him praising you during sexual acts that made you red and almost bashful. You choked out a ‘thank you’ before he gave you one last, brief kiss on the lips and pulled slightly away from you so that he could undo your button down shirt, fumbling with the buttons as he was way too eager to see what was under the garment. You stifled a giggle and let him flounder before he groaned in annoyance at the damned buttons and snapped his fingers, your shirt momentarily going up in a puff of green smoke before dropping to the floor next to the couch. Thankfully, he got your bra off without a hitch, and he moaned softly at the sight of your chest. “God, I missed these too,” Beetlejuice sighed out, pinching at the nipple on your right breast and grinning at seeing you inhale at the sensation. “Did you think about me playing with your body like this?” His yellow sclera seemed to glow as he locked eyes with you, rolling his fingers over the nub achingly slow. 

You quickly nodded in response, arching your back as electric arousal coursed through your body. Through having done intimate acts with you for some time now, Beetlejuice had gotten the hang of touching you in just the right ways. He always made it a point that he wanted you to be as turned on as possible and that seeing you aroused because of him was practically enough to get him to cream his pants. In other words, the ghost enjoyed playing with your body. 

Pleased at your affirmation, a rumble left his chest and he placed his hand on your other breast, squeezing and groping at the whole thing instead of just the nipple. “I thought about your pretty little self under me just like this, baby. Thinkin’ bout it got me jerking off so much pretending I was fuckin’ you,” He said with a laugh, relishing in you squirming with pleasure under him. “Can’t wait to cum inside the real thing after so long.” 

“It’s been a week and a half!” You giggled, voice quieter than usual as you found it difficult to speak when you were aroused. 

“I said what I said. That’s too long.” He returned to laying over you, making sure not to place his entire weight against you as he preferred that you were breathing, and began to nip at your earlobe, hands still against your breasts. At this angle, you could smell the dust that was collected in his locks, of which were now steadily turning pink. He was a master with his mouth- he had used it for God knows how many things that he could now excellently position his lips, tongue, and teeth to make sure he was making you feel the best you possibly could. Whining as you could feel his cold breath in your ear, you reached your arm up and held the nape of his neck, holding him against you. The space in between your thighs was incredibly tingly now, in between not having done anything of a sexual nature in a bit and Beej being admittedly good at foreplay, you felt like you needed him that very second. 

“I want you inside me now,” You murmured against him, and you heard him purr in response as he finished nibbling at your ear. Rising just a bit so he could plant his forehead against yours, he took a moment to catch his breath- you were still unsure on why exactly he still breathed despite allegedly not needing to. 

“Okay, sweets,” He responded, getting off you and clumsily undoing your jeans, managing to get them off without magic too. As he pulled the waistband of your pants down, he brought your panties off with them too- it was clear he was also eager to get right into it. However, as you sat there expectantly, waiting for him to push you down once more, he left his hands on your thighs and swallowed before asking, “Is it okay if you, uh, get on top this time? It’s kinda...hard to really get leverage on the couch,” Looking almost flustered, he flashed you a questioning, toothy grin, and you nodded. 

“Of course!” With this, Beej kissed your cheek and shifted so that he was in a similar position to the one you were just in, and you quirked an eyebrow. His signature two piece pinstripe suit was still on him. “Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” 

He shook his head and yanked the waistband of his pants and boxers down, his dick springing up after he got his pants down to rest at his upper thighs. “Too lazy, plus I kinda’ like how warm fuckin’ with my clothes on makes me,” You wondered how he could possibly be too lazy to snap away his own clothes but you didn’t question it, wanting your bug to be as happy as he made you. After climbing on top of him, you played with his hair as you positioned yourself over his erection. Beetlejuice was in awe at the sight of your body, staring at your face and chest and hips and- he was suddenly squeezing his eyes shut, a long groan escaping him as you led him into you, half of his length enveloped by your warm vagina. One of his big, clammy hands found its way up to your hip, squeezing it as he rolled his own hips forward just a bit, pressing more of his dick inside of you. It didn’t take long before the both of you found a rhythm, you bouncing on top of him and him lazily rolling his hips under you. 

Neither of you were particularly quiet either- and it only took a moment before pleasured noises and groans were coming from the both of you, only silenced partially when you caught his lips in a kiss. When you had gotten all of him inside you, you sat there and relished in the feeling of it for a moment.  His dick was more than substantial for you; his dick always made you feel nice and full. The arousal was almost painful as you continued to bounce on him, feeling him grip at your hips and thighs and ass and- it took you an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that he had summoned his extra limbs to grope at more spots on you at once. Beej was hissing with pleasure and grumbling under his breath in his demonic language- he’d only really start speaking in the infernal tongue when he was really mad or really happy. It was easy to guess that the latter was the case in this situation. It was surprisingly arousing to watch him dip into his more arcane side, but it was as equally arousing when his eyes found yours and his gaze softened.

“F-fuck, baby, you feel fantastic around me,” Beej whined, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. Looks like using his suit as a sauna was working for him. He was choked up, almost overstimulated with pleasure, his claws pressing into your soft flesh. You couldn’t help but huff back in response as you continued to move your body on top of him, your own hands circling his chest and tummy. 

“And you feel fantastic inside of me.” You moaned out, having to speak just a bit louder over the sounds of your body meeting his. One could say that Beetlejuice had a praise kink, as he whined at the slightest mention of being good for you. The demon was basically drooling at this point, basking in the euphoria that the very notion of pleasing you brought. His hands- all six of them that were currently on you- aided you in your motions now, shifting your body up and pulling it back down against him. His penis was throbbing inside of you- you could feel it, the demon was already nearing orgasm. It was cute how easily you got him to cum- your bug was initially embarrassed, thinking that it wasn’t desirable to be essentially a two pump chump, but you couldn’t disagree more. You loved making him feel good as he did you. Nothing was as arousing and gratifying as when he flooded any one of your openings with his cum, and it would often bring your own orgasm on prematurely too. 

Trembling under you, you heard him beg for you to keep going, him all but singing your praises under you, losing his rhythm and just slamming his hips upwards now. He wasn’t lying, he was desperate to empty out his balls inside of you after a week and a half of having to get himself off, the poor thing. You were more than happy to accommodate- since he was a demon, he couldn’t get you pregnant due to some weird rules from the Nether. It was completely safe for him to make a cream pie out of you, and that’s honestly the way you preferred it anyways. It always felt weirdly dirty and you appreciated that.

“Th-that’s my bug,” You choked out, tears prickling in your eyes from the overwhelming euphoria encompassing all of you. Beetlejuice hummed at the nickname. “You’re almost there, baby.” 

The two of you kept going for a few moments, the big demon under you whining your name out as he could feel the onset of his orgasm. Sharp claws sunk into you as he pulled you against him one last time, about to explode inside of your warmth- however, something seemed to grab his attention as his pointed ears perked up, his previously closed eyes snapping open. While you paused and were about to ask him what was wrong, he began to mutter “fuck” over and over, snapping his fingers. In an instant, all your clothes were back on, albeit messily, and your ghost was hastily pulling his pants and underwear over his erect cock- which was leaking copious amounts of pre-cum- and tucking his undershirt in. 

“What-” Was all you managed to say before you jumped at a voice behind you. 

“Hey, (Y/N), would you happen to know the name of that one animal you were telling us about?” You recognized the voice belonged to Adam Maitland, and it was coming from the top of the stairs. Awkwardly, you turned around to face him, wondering why in the world that was such a burning question that he had to come down unannounced. As you opened your mouth to respond, you could see Adam’s expression shift, and Barbara piped in too, walking out from the upstairs hall and standing behind her husband.

“Adam was saying that you said it was ‘capybara’ but that doesn’t feel right. Aren’t capybara those big rodents? The one we’re talking about are small ones.” It was Barbara’s turn to stare at the both of you- her eyebrows knitting together as she noted how… uncharacteristically unkempt you in particular looked. “Are we interrupting something?” 

“No, not at all,” Beetlejuice sarcastically responded, turning to face the couple too. You could see out of the corner of your eye that his hair was back to green, smidges of red running through it. “You’re thinking about a ‘jerboa’, Adam. Not a capybara.” 

Adam’s face lit up with the realization that he had gotten the rodent’s name wrong. “Ahh, right.” His expression dropped after he noticed Beej scowling at him. “...Right, well, uh, thanks!” He quickly ducked out of view while Barbara stood still, quirking an eyebrow down at the two of you. 

“What is it, Babs?” Beetlejuice sighed. 

The blonde woman shrugged. “Maybe don’t do...that on the couch next time. If Delia notices a stain she’s gonna’ have your heads. I’d spray some Oxi-Clean on it if I were you.” With this, she turned and followed after her husband, leaving you and the demon feeling incredibly awkward. 

A few moments passed before Beetlejuice stood up and said, “Welp, that was the worst thing to ever happen.” His expression softened as he looked at you and he ran his fingers through his mane, now back to its neutral green. “Sorry that was cut short. I could hear them leave the attic cause...y’know, superhuman senses and all.” He tapped one of his pointy ears.

You placed a hand on his thigh and smiled, finding humor in the situation. “It’s okay, Beej. It was fun.” Rising as well, you straightened your clothes out and planted a kiss against his chest. “...And besides, we can always try for round two at my place after we clean this couch.”

Pink strands began to jut through his locks again, a doofy grin once again finding its way onto his face. “Yeah. I’d like that, baby.” 

[cosplayinamerica]

Widowmaker from Overwatch : @gumiv4​ / Photo: @jsb262

Cosplay to me means building your own fantasy world and being a more true version of you. I get to be whoever I want to be and take a small break from what can sometimes be a harsh reality. And I feel as though this applies to every cosplayer, because even though I make my own cosplays, you can still experience this feeling of escapism whether you make your cosplays or not! But for those who do make their cosplays or even parts of it like the wig, the props, etc., it brings an extreme feeling of pride! I love to problem solve and work with new materials, so when experiments and unique projects are a success, I feel so proud! To me, cosplay is just something that is so special and unique to everyone no matter how you choose to cosplay.

I discovered cosplay by complete accident! When I was in elementary school I began to dive into anime and Vocaloid but had no idea cosplay was even a thing. Then on a Saturday night, my dad and I went to a casino for a father-daughter dance and the casino was also hosting an anime convention (SNAFU Con). It was around Halloween time, so I had actually made myself a costume of the Vocaloid Kagamine Rin and returned to the convention and wore my Halloween costume the next day!

For a solid chunk of my life I’ve struggled heavily with my health, but cosplay has been a huge factor in improving my mental health while dealing with this time in my life! At the age of 13 was when I began struggling with pain throughout my joints and muscles as well as chronic fatigue which put a giant bump in my hobby as a cosplayer. As someone who had only been cosplaying for 2 years at the point of the beginning of my health decline, feeling my body making it physically hard to sew and craft was devastating.

After several years of traveling from doctor to doctor, I got a diagnosis of both Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Autoimmune Autonomic Ganglionopathy at the age of 18 which I am now. Neither of these illnesses have a cure or any medications certified to decrease symptoms, so although I’m grateful to have been diagnosed, the way I cosplay and attend conventions has been changed forever.

When it comes to cosplay, I’m a huge fan of making everything from scratch, sewing and crafting everything from the bottom up, but I’ve learned that in my current state patience is key. I can’t work for long hours as any sort of work involving my hands (which in cosplay is everything!) causes muscle and joint pain all through my upper body, as well as severe mental fatigue. I have the constant need to work and be creative, so being physically held back is hard but I’ve gotten so much support from the cosplay community and they’ve kept me motivated to just take it one task at a time!

Conventions have also changed for me as they’ve became something that I have to physically prepare myself for with extra medications and large amounts of sleep before, during, and after the convention. But despite these changes, cosplay is something I’ll always be grateful to have in my life as it makes me feel as though I’m still capable of making fun and amazing things!

One extremely positive experience that I can recall in cosplay was during a charity event in which my group (Cosplay for Kindness) was in character at a fundraiser for juvenile cancer.

During the event, some kids who had beat various forms of cancer got to go up and ring a victory bell, and then afterwards could come and take pictures and interact with the characters (us). I was dressed as Ariel, and one boy who had beat cancer ran up to me with his parents and excitedly asked if I saw him ring the bell. I in fact did see him, and told him how proud I was of him and how I would have to tell Flounder and Sebastian of how he beat cancer and got to ring the bell.

His parents were crying and I was on the verge of tears as well (ended up crying over it once the event was over) and it was just such a special moment and the fact that I can give back to the community through these events means the world to me!

____________________________-

Overwatch merchandise on Amazon https://amzn.to/2UHK9Jf

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 12

Catch up on Chapter 11 here

“So?” Van brings you back to reality.

“So what?”

Van’s eyes widen like your question was stupid. “Are you able to go to dinner with us?”

Your neck jerks back like he’s just said something repulsive. “Why would I go to Benji’s birthday dinner?”

The longer Van stares at you like you’re an idiot, the more irritation boils under your skin. “Because you’re our friend?” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

or

You’re cordially invited to celebrate Benji’s 29th birthday.

Word count: ~14k

A/N: content warning for drunk sex and some sliiiight under-negotiated kink

Chapter Twelve July 2019

True to your word, you hold Van hostage at your place for the rest of the weekend, making sure he gets plenty of rest, fluids, and soup. It feels amazing to have him close by, not having to wonder about what he’s up to or how he’s feeling. Whether you’re on the porch with your nose in another one of your books, or finishing up some work things at the kitchen table, it relieves you to know that Van’s only a room away, snoozing peacefully on your bed. 

On Sunday evening Van feels well enough to sit on the couch with you, dragging your comforter along with him. You two resume the Netflix show about the stalker and have a small binge of it until both of you are distracted with your phones.

“Hey,” Van croaks. “What’re you doing Monday?”

“Tomorrow? The same thing I do every Monday, Van.” You can already tell from his tone that he’s most likely about to suggest something insane. You mentally gear up for his argument against your no.

“Not this Monday, the next. And I know you work, so shut up-” He shakes his head in exasperation when your mouth opens to tell him that. “I mean after work.”

You open up the calendar on your phone. There’s nothing special happening on the day in question. “Um, nothing…” You answer Van wearily, bracing for his request.

When Van doesn’t speak you dare to meet his eyes. “Uh, why?”

“We’re having a birthday dinner for Benji,” Van tells you. “Technically his birthday is on Thursday but we’re flying out on Tuesday and we wanted to go to that restaurant we like. The one I took you to?”

You nod at the memory. How could you forget it? It was the most exclusive and expensive place you’d ever eaten at. Not to mention it’s sort of where this whole thing with Van started. Or would San Diego be considered the place where it all started? You lose your train of thought pondering this.

“So?” Van brings you back to reality.

“So what?”

Van’s eyes widen like your question was stupid. “Are you able to go to dinner with us?”

Your neck jerks back like he’s just said something repulsive. “Why would I go to Benji’s birthday dinner?”

The longer Van stares at you like you’re an idiot, the more irritation boils under your skin. “Because you’re our friend?” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your jaw goes slack at this. He didn’t say my friend. He said our friend. As in the fucking band.

“What- I mean, Benji doesn’t even like me!” You insist. “He doesn’t want me at his birthday dinner. We’ve barely said five words to each other!”

“Aw, Blakes likes you plenty. He’s just quiet, is all. Bob’s cool with everyone. You know John adores you. We love having you around!”

You can’t even wrap your head about what Van’s saying. You’ve always figured you were a nuisance to the other boys, an inconvenience at their shows. The guitar Bondy had gifted you had been an incredibly nice gesture, but you always assumed his kindness was a direct result of trying to make Van happy by welcoming you.

“I think you’re just saying that,” You argue. “I don’t think they like me. They’re nice to me because you like me.”

“Not true,” Van says. “All of them have said they liked you. They think you’re cool. You’re chill at the shows, they thought you were hilarious that time we had drinks on the patio, and Bond still talks about that one time we smoked weed at my house and you told us to do Encore at our set. It was a big hit, by the way. He loved that you made the right call.”

“I didn’t make the call,” You huff. “You two both like Encore best.”

“Y/N,” Van says seriously, “Conversation is a single. The label was one-hundred percent expecting us to do Conversation. We switched the set because you, a listener, liked Encore better. We were not going to do Encore.”

All you can do at this news is blink at him.

Van wiggles around underneath your comforter. “So are you going to fucking dinner with us or not? No pressure, but I already told them you’d most likely be there and they’re excited. Afterward we’re gonna go back to John’s place and have drinks. You don’t have to stay late, though.”

They were excited that you’d be there? “Um. I mean. Well, since you’ve already told them I’m going, what choice do I have?” You roll your eyes, but it’s all just an act so Van doesn’t feel like he got his way that easy.

Van beams at you before starting to tap away at his phone. “Perfect. It’s gonna be class.”

\\

Van makes a speedy recovery on his antibiotics, and on Tuesday you come home from work to a clean kitchen and an empty sink. 

Your house is so small that you don’t need to call out to Van that you’ve arrived, like you have to do at his house if he’s not in the living room. You can instantly hear the strumming of an acoustic guitar ringing out from your bedroom. 

You open the door slowly to reveal Van sitting on your bed, strumming away at the guitar Bondy gifted you. It’s been propped in the corner, unused, but you’ve noticed Van steadily gravitating towards it during his recovery, unable to resist the temptation of messing with it. Today’s the first day you’ve caught him doing more than just tuning it or plucking a few strings; he’s got his leather notebook spread out next to him, and he’s bobbing his head to an imaginary beat that continues even as he looks up at you. 

He finishes playing his tune, setting the guitar next to him on the bed and scrawling a few things into his notebook before closing it and tossing it onto the bedside table. “How was work?”

“Good, actually,” You tell him as you head to the closet, already starting to unbutton your silk blouse. The workday didn’t feel completely behind you until you’ve changed out of your professional clothes and into something that made you feel like yourself. “I made good progress on the research for that water company.”

 Van lays back on the bed, watching you shamelessly as you peel the silk off of your shoulders. “Ah. Do you think they’re gonna make it?”

Although it was difficult to explain exactly what it was that your company did, your department specialized in market research. In L.A. everyone’s got a big idea, and they paid your department to investigate if there was something to them. As you were only a couple of years out of college, you were assigned businesses that didn’t have a big research budget to spend, ideas that you could clearly see wouldn’t be taking off. Your more experienced coworkers were reserved for companies that had something to them, that would likely be developing life-long relationships with your firm. And though it was frustrating being assigned the businesses doomed to fail, you could tell your experience was starting to pay off, and could more easily recognize who was worth more of your time. 

“Not at all,” You snort. The business in question was run by two men that looked about your age, but were probably younger. Typical surfer-stoners, they’d developed a concept about THC water. Not CBD water- which was beginning as a profitable trend- but THC water, inspired by their friend group who thought it would be a million-dollar idea to be able to get high as they hydrated on the beach. But THC water is already a patented idea, the production costs are extremely high, and there are a lot of legal hoops to jump through with THC marketing campaigns.

You’d never discussed your job before with Van, but who could blame you? What job beat touring the world performing to screaming fans? But once you’d answered his questions about what you’re always doing on your MacBook, he’d become obsessed. A big fan of the underdog, he’d taken to placing bets against you on all of your projects. He’s certain this water company is going to make it.

“Nah, just wait,” He assures you. You turn to face him as you stand there in your bra, shimmying your slacks off of your legs. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Shut up. They’re doomed, Van.” Van gives you a once over as you stand there in your underwear, and you turn away just to deny him the privilege of admiring you. “Plus, their budget is almost used up and I’ve barely done anything. They’ll likely pull out next meeting.”

“I’ll fundraise for them,” Van jokes. “Send out a couple tweets, get the fans behind them. They’ll take off.”

“Or,” You suggest, snapping your bra off and throwing a clean t-shirt on, “Save yourself the effort of trying to remember your twitter login, and smoke your weed like the rest of us in California.”

Van laughs at that, and the argument is settled.

“By the way,” You’re clad in your typical t-shirt and sweatpants now, and pick up your guitar to settle it back in the corner. When that’s put away you sit down on the bed next to Van’s sprawled out body. “Why’d you clean the kitchen? You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I was bored today! I didn’t do anything crazy like mop. I just wanted to pay you back for the dinners.”

You’d quickly learned that Van’s chef act that he’d whipped out the first time you’d stayed the night at his place was just that: an act. He was absolutely hopeless in the kitchen if eggs and bacon weren’t involved, which meant that every night you were the one cooking up dinner for you two while Van hacked up a lung from his spot on the couch. 

“You don’t have to pay me back for anything, stop,” You ruffle his hair. Van untucks one of his hands from behind his head so he can playfully bat you away. “If anything, I owe you the dinners for the car.”

Van shakes his head at this. “What car? The car I leave baking in my driveway most of the year?”

You bat at his hand as he plucks at the hem of your shirt, another telltale sign he’s not feeling deathly anymore. He’s been making passes at you for the past two days, but you’ve dutifully ignored them. Your first fuck after time apart was always intense, and truthfully you were a little worried about breaking him. You bat his fingertips away, playfully grazing the soft skin of your stomach, and then he bats at you in retaliation, and soon you’re both breathless from laughing and your hands sting from slapping at each other. 

“So what should we do for dinner?” You ask when you’re done giggling. “Let’s get something. I don’t wanna cook.” What you actually didn’t want to do was ruin the clean kitchen. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” Van suggests. “Nowhere fancy. But I’m really in the mood for a burger.”

That’s good news, considering he’s only had an appetite for simple sandwiches and soup. And a burger does sound good, so you agree.

You sit up, preparing to switch out of your sweatpants into some leggings, when Van’s arm suddenly shoots out, keeping you from standing up.

“Wait,” He sits up, his hair straying from its usual side part. 

“What?” His sudden seriousness has you worried.

“Is that us on your shirt?”

You frown in confusion, looking down before you understand. You’re dressed in the shirt Van had given you in San Diego, the Balance toucan design on the front. “Yeah. You don’t remember?”

“Of course I remember! Just figured you’d have thrown it out by now.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “Why would I throw this out?”

“We didn’t speak for like, three months after that! Figured you forgot about me.”

“It was a free shirt! I wasn’t gonna waste it! Plus, that was a night to remember.”

Your words are tender, and you worry for a moment that you’ve betrayed your real feelings for him. But Van looks just as nostalgic and dreamy, nodding as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

There’s a beat of silence as you both remember that night, and then you both get up, preparing to make yourself presentable to the public.

\\

You’re tucked in a booth at the diner two blocks away from your house, a place where you and Mary have heavily frequented over the years. It was the perfect spot for some greasy food after your late nights out, considering it was open 24/7, and they also made some killer pancakes, perfect for mornings when she stays over and neither of you feel like making breakfast. But this time it’s you and Van settled into your usual spot, and you can see the gears turning in Van’s mind as he ponders the burger menu.

They’re not very busy tonight- probably because it was a weeknight- and the waitress is able to take your orders without much wait, and your food comes back almost as quickly. You’ve both gotten burgers and fries, and the steaming baskets placed in front of you look mouthwatering as she shuffles away, leaving you two to dig in.

Van’s gotten a classic cheeseburger, no onions, while you’ve treated yourself to the burger that included a fried egg. You didn’t get it often, but you always cursed yourself for not ordering it every single time when you remember how good it tastes. 

There’s no conversation for the first few minutes of eating, the only noise the crinkling of the paper lining in the plastic baskets. But after a sip from his bottle of beer, Van clears his throat.

“I think the waitress fancies you,” He says quietly.

His words instantly jar you. Crushing on the same sex was a complicated ritual, a delicate balance of over-friendliness while trying to avoid seeming like a creep in case the girl was straight. You’d never had any sort of playful interactions with your waitress, although she’s served you and Mary plenty of times. 

“What makes you say that?” You ask.

Van hunches over slightly, subtly trying to come in closer as he chews on a fry. “Okay, well, as soon as we got in here she started whispering,” He tells you, carefully looking around for her. “And then the second we sat down she basically ran over here and was being all nice to you. And I dunno. She was blushing when she took your order.”

You shake your head and take a sip of your lemonade. “I’m pretty sure Alexis has a boyfriend. Maybe they’re broken up now, I dunno. Mary and I heard her getting into an argument with someone in the parking lot the last time we were here.” Even as you reject his suspicions your cheeks heat up, and you fuss with your shirt self consciously. Alexis had an influencer look to her, with tanned skin and black hair so smooth and straight you were sure it was mostly extensions. There was no denying she was gorgeous, but every girl in the city was. 

“A boyfriend don’t mean nothin’,” Van insists. “Look at you!”

You choke on your bite of burger as you laugh. Your cough is loud in the small space, and you notice Alexis peers over at you where she’s dutifully bussing the front counter.

“Not everyone is bi just because I am,” You tell Van. 

He only shrugs. “Didn’t say that. It’s a possibility, that’s all.”

You shake your head. “I think she’s crushing on you, actually.”

“Me? Hell no. I’m a fucking toad.”

You roll your eyes. “Not true. And you’ve got that accent. Even the nurses were swooning over it.”

Before Van can argue, you two both sense Alexis approaching your booth.

“I’ll get you another lemonade,” She nods to your almost-empty glass. “Do you want another?” She asks Van about his beer, but he shakes his head.

“I’m alright. Cheers, though.”

She giggles as she trots off, and both of you look at one another with your eyebrows raised in a see? Sort of expression. 

\\

The sun is starting to set as Van pays the bill, and the air has cooled when you two exit the diner. You’re light on your feet, giggling as you and Van resume your argument over how you wanted to split the bill. You two are halfway across the pavement, Van jabbing at you with his elbow at something you’ve just said, when you hear the clatter of the rusty bell the diner keeps tied to their door. 

You two keep joking, disregarding the sound, until you hear someone call softly: “Hey!”

At this you two suddenly go quiet, turning to see Alexis approaching. There’s another waitress behind her, the one she’d been giggling with when you two had entered. You both stay rooted in place as they make their way to you.

“Sorry,” Alexis says immediately. “I didn’t wanna interrupt your meal, and this is so weird, but… Do you mind if we get a picture?”

Both girls are radiating nerves, their eyes glued to Van. looking at their wide, starstruck eyes makes the entire evening make sense. The blushing, the whispering. Van had misread the situation this entire time. They were fans.

As soon as they’ve broached the question, Van’s shoulders relax, his usual breeziness immediately resuming. “Oh, deffo,” He tells them, untucking his hands from the pockets of his jeans. “For sure, for sure. How are you guys?”

They both rush to answer his question, stammering and speaking over each other. You’re momentarily forgotten, his attention entirely dedicated to his conversation with them. You’re a bit amused at how they react to his intense eye contact, freezing up and stuttering over their sentences. It’s the exact same reaction you tend to have when he sets his sights on you like that.

The pictures only take a moment, each of the girls holding the phone for the other. But even after the pictures are done, Van gestures with his left hand absentmindedly.

“Have you got anything for me to sign?” He asks them, but neither of them do. “Go get my receipt,” Van tells Alexis, “I’ll sign that.”

The two girls hurry off, practically falling over their feet as they go. Once they’ve disappeared inside of the building Van remembers you exist.

He smiles in amusement, a secret inside joke over how starstruck they are, and you instantly feel included again, beaming back at him. The bell on the door rings again, both of them returning. Alexis has the bill Van just paid, and the other waitress has the pad of paper she records orders on, and Van signs both with a Sharpie they’d grabbed on their way out before he exchanges final goodbye hugs with them. Once they’ve walked back inside, giggling with each other the whole way, you two finally finish your walk to the Range Rover. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Van says immediately when you’re alone in the car. In the business of the fans you’d forgotten that you were supposed to be the one driving home, and Van’s the one that reverses out of the parking spot.

“Are you alright to drive?” You ask him worriedly, remembering the beer he’d ordered.

Van huffs out a laugh. “I’m fine.” The diner is so close to your place you’re already well on your way home by the time he passes under the stoplight in front of the building. 

“Alright. And don’t be sorry. I thought it was sweet.”

Van chuckles. “Sweet?”

“Yeah! They were so nervous. And the way you made them go get something for you to sign was so nice. You could’ve just taken the pics and left.”

“Yeah. When there’s nobody else around and I can take a second with them I like to do that. It doesn’t happen often, one or two people approaching me. Either I go without being recognized or I’m getting mobbed. Which, I’m proper surprised I got recognized. I never am in the States.”

“It was a strange coincidence,” You agree. “You’d never think the waitress that serves me and Mary all the time was a secret Catfish fan. And, by the way, I was right! She had a crush on you, not me!”

The car is stopped at a red light, and Van throws his hands up quickly in a show of surrender. “You were right, I’ll give you that. But we’ll find someone for you, don’t worry.”

You turn to look out of the window, hiding your blush from Van. How was he supposed to help you find someone when they were already sitting in the fucking car with you?

\\

In a strange- but pleasant- turn of events, Van doesn’t go home. On Wednesday he runs home to grab his MacBook and some fresh clothes, and on Thursday morning he shaves over your bathroom sink as you wiggle around him trying to get ready for work.

“Good luck with your meeting,” You call to him as you stuff things into your work tote. The band had some sort of Zoom call with their U.K. label. Van already told you what the meeting was about, but you’ve forgotten.

“Good luck with yours!” He shouts back. “Tell them I’m rooting for them!”

You’ve got a meeting today with the two founders of the THC water. You roll your eyes even though Van isn’t in the living room to see. “I absolutely will not! Bye!”

As you close the door on the morning commotion, surrounded instead by the peaceful quiet of your little street, you smile to yourself. You’ve been living alone for over a year now, and you’ve forgotten how pleasant the chaos of someone else being around can be. When you get along with them, that is. The chaos of living with an unbearable roommate is the whole reason you wanted to be alone to begin with. But you and Van seem to make it work just fine.

Your meeting goes just as you’d expected. The research budget is draining, but the boys insist you keep going, their belief in their idea still going strong. When you present the budget and the plan for your future work they make your workload easy by having to cut half of what you’d intended to do. They leave discouraged, and Van’s support for them rings through your mind. You make a mental note to put a little extra effort into their project, pro bono. At the very least, maybe you could make some calls and find someone more experienced in THC marketing that would be willing to meet with them.

You had felt your phone buzzing with texts during the meeting, but you don’t get a chance to look your notifications over until your lunch break. You’ve decided to take your break out of the office today, walking the short distance to the little coffee shop you frequent. 

There’s a text from Van asking about the meeting, and you regretfully inform him that things were going exactly as you predicted.

Mary’s sent you a picture that takes a second to load, only her message underneath visible at first: Tell me why Alexis just tweeted this last night??

The picture is a screenshot from Mary’s twitter app. There’s a tweet from @A_lexi_s that reads: Ya’ll I met Van McCann how is this my actual lifeee. She’s attached the picture you’d watched Van pose for in the parking lot. His arm is draped over her shoulders, an easy grin on his face. The breeze has made his hair a bit disheveled, and the wrinkles in his button up are visible where she’s got both of her arms wrapped around his waist. She’s absolutely glowing beside him, her waist length hair shining and her smile bright and perfect. You hadn’t realized she had eyelash extensions until now, seeing how the extra length of her lashes perfectly frame her eyes.

It’s a great picture. You don’t think you’ve ever taken a picture on the fly and looked as good as she did. In response to Mary you send back You follow Alexis on twitter?

Mary’s message pops up in your notification bar as you scroll through Instagram and munch at the bagel you’ve ordered. You don’t?! 

Before you can ask how Mary even got her handle Mary sends two messages in quick succession: That’s not the point, and This is!

Before you can question what “this” is, a third message comes through, another screenshot. 

It’s the replies to Alexis’s tweet. You recognize her coworker in the icon of one of the replies, her response a string of hearts. Someone else has asked who is that, and then someone else has responded with omg where did you meet him???!?

Alexis hasn’t replied to anyone except the last user. I served him at work!

The person has replied back Was he nice? With an emoji making an uncertain sort of face.

He was! You read Alexis’s tweet back to them. Very polite and he tipped well lol!

Was he with the band or eating alone, the user wants to know.

With a girl! I’ve served her before she’s always super sweet. 

The replies end there, Alexis’s words putting a cold pit of dread in your stomach. 

Instantly your mind starts racing. Do you tell Van? Keep it a secret? You check Alexis’s followers. 4k. Not a huge number, but there’s obviously people in that mix that know who Catfish is. Was this info going to blow up out of proportion?

You don’t reply to Mary, and spend the rest of the day debating if and how you should bring this up to Van. You push your worries aside long enough to get your work done, but the whole drive home you start to feel sick. Things felt like they were going so good. You loved having Van over and you two had been getting along so well. Now this gossip will probably scare him off. 

Still, you know honesty is the best policy. That’s why when you get home, interrupting Van as he watches something on TV, you don’t have it in you to greet him with the same enthusiasm he welcomes you with.

“Was the meeting that bad?” Van notices your energy is off immediately, sitting up straight. 

You take a shaky breath. Maybe if you were calm, you could show Van these screenshots in such a nonchalant way that he wouldn’t care. You knew your anxiety was only making everything a bigger deal. Yet, you couldn’t help it. Your heart felt certain that everything was fucked up now.

“Um. I have something to show you,” You tell him, sitting down on the couch next to him. 

Van’s brows furrow in worry as you pull up your texting exchange with Mary.

“Mary sent me these,” You tell him as you hand over your phone, letting him read the screenshots on his own.

His brows stay furrowed as his eyes skim over the tweet and its replies, and then his expression relaxes when he understands.

He hands you the phone back gently. “She said I’m nice and I tip well,” He laughs. 

You don’t have it in you to laugh along with him.

Van looks a little hurt that you don’t joke with him. “What’s wrong? Are you that embarrassed to be seen with me? Christ.”

You look up at him in shock that he read you so wrong. “Aren’t you worried about this blowing up into some big rumor?”

Van laughs at that. Like throws his head back, genuinely laughs. “I’m fucking twenty-six years old, Y/N, I don’t care what people on social media are saying. One time I took my necklace off to go through airport security and forgot to put it back on and this giant rumor started that my folks, like, disowned me or something. Shit on there does not make the slightest bit of sense. That’s why I stay away from it.”

Your nerves are still shot from the fear of Van wanting nothing to do with you, but you start to relax at how he brushes the entire thing off. 

“You’re so tense,” Van points out after you stay quiet. “Want me to roll us a smoke?”

You do, and while he goes to get the weed tray you head to your room to change. Alone in your bedroom, you let out the breath you feel like you’ve been holding all afternoon. For once, luck was on your side with Van. 

\\

On Monday morning when you rush to silence your blaring alarm, you’re alone in your bed. 

Not because Van’s left, because he hasn’t. By the weekend he was already too committed to staying at your place, citing the fact he had absolutely zero food at his own. There was no use in going back home and trying to order groceries or clean up, he’d argued, because the boys were leaving for the next leg of the tour on Tuesday. For the record, you couldn’t care less about his reasoning. You’d listened politely, nodded along and assured him he was welcome, all while repressing the urge to jump for joy. 

He’s not in bed this morning because he couldn’t sleep. His full recovery from his strep meant that he was no longer exhausted, back to his usual bouncy self. Last night you’d left him on the couch, watching some sort of British show that was available on Netflix, and then had been woken at God-knows-what hour of the night to Van slipping into your room and grabbing your guitar. He’s taken to playing in the guest bedroom when he needs to be quiet, even though there’s no furniture in there and he has to sit on the floor against the wall.

When you stumble out of your bedroom, rubbing your eyes, the whole living room is dark except for the flashing lights of the TV on mute. Van’s lumpy form is curled up on the couch, fast asleep on a decorative pillow with throw blanket on top of him. The blanket is way too small for his height, and his legs are completely uncovered, his bare feet exposed to the chilly morning air of the house. 

You leave him be and head for the kitchen, switching on the lights so that you can start to get some coffee brewing. While that’s going you jump in the shower, mentally trying to prepare for the day ahead of you. After work you’ve got Benji’s birthday dinner, and tomorrow morning you had to drop Van off at the airport. This week of domestic bliss would be coming to a close. You dreaded it already.

Your robe is actually clean for once, a direct result of Van learning to use your washer and dryer. He throws a load of your clothes in anytime he needs to wash his briefs or the t-shirt he’s been sleeping in, and now you were actually caught up on the laundry. He couldn’t take all the credit, though, because you’re the one who actually folds the clothes. If Van had it his way, everything clean would be in a rumpled pile on the floor. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in your fluffy robe with your towel dried hair, Van’s awake.

“Hey,” You greet him before turning the corner into the kitchen. You prepare yourself a mug of coffee before returning back to the living room. “When did you go to bed?”

Van shuffles over on the couch, making room for you to sit with him. “I dunno,” He yawns. “Lost track of time.”

You flick the floor lamp behind the couch on, the space basked in light before you sit down on the cushion Van’s cleared for you. Van searches for the remote in the cracks of the couch for a minute before he finds it, flicking the television off. 

“Write anything good?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink.

Van fusses with the throw blanket, trying to make it cover his folded legs. He nods. “I’ve had some scrap verses that I couldn’t find a place for. Finally wrote a nice chorus for them last night.”

He reaches for his pack of cigarettes on the table. He doesn’t ask if you want one anymore, automatically plucking one out of the box for you. 

“So…” You take your first drag of the day, even if 6:30 A.M. is way too early to be having a cigarette. “Who gets to hear these songs?”

Van was always writing. Always jotting down things in his notebook, always audio recording bits of melodies with his phone. But you’d never gotten to hear a finished song, or read any of these lyrics. You didn’t want to pry, but his enthusiasm for the things he’d been creating lately made you curious. 

Van scratches at his stubble. “Nobody, at first,” He says. “Unless it’s love at first listen, like this one is. So I’ll probably play this one for the boys soon. But I save mostly everything until it’s time for the new album, and by then I sort of know what my favorites are. Pick a few of those, then we’ll we write the rest around them.”

“What about me?” You decide to ask, keeping your voice light and joking. “When do I get to hear them?”

Van grins. “When the fourth album is out, duh.”

You scoff at the unfairness, before quickly composing yourself. “Fine. But if we hate each other by then I’m not listening.”

Van pretends to be wounded, hand to his chest. “Hate each other? You’re my best mate!”

You shrug as you take another sip of coffee.

Van wiggles into your personal space, resting his body against yours. You catch a whiff of your shampoo as he leans his head on your shoulder, and can tell from the waves in his hair that he’d taken a shower last night to pass the time.

He knocks your balance, almost spilling your coffee. “Van,” You glare at him. 

He blinks up at you in mock innocence. “How could you hate me?” He pouts. “Because I want you to hear a full, cohesive album? Aren’t I your best mate?”

You pat the crown of his head. “You’re my best friend,” You correct his British vocabulary. “But Mary has seniority, so be careful.”

“And friends can fight,” You point out. “You can ruin a friendship like anything else.”

Because it’s true. You two could find out you disagree on something fundamental, like human rights. Or the connection could fade with time and distance, as has happened with many of your friends back home. Or everything could be royally screwed up by unrequited love, for example. That’s an example, obviously. It’s not like you were sitting here with Van’s body pressed to yours, breathing in the scent of his clean hair as your stomach already ached with how much you would miss having him around because you were terribly, hopelessly in love with him and he didn’t feel the same. 

“Nah, not us,” Van shrugs you off, sitting up so that he was supporting his own weight now. “We’re solid.”

“Hmm,” You hum thoughtfully. Then, as you lift your mug to your mouth: “Are you pro-choice?”

It’s Van’s turn to scoff. “Course I am! It’s your body, innit?”

When he realizes how you two have never discussed this, his expression turns from indignation to confusion. “Aren’t you?”

Your laughter echoes through the silent house.

\\

Considering the fact you’ll be up late tonight for the birthday celebrations and up early tomorrow morning to see Van off, you throw yourself into work today. The less you had on your to-do list tomorrow, the better. By the end of the day you’re satisfied with what you’ve gotten done, and relieved that you’d been so distracted you’ve forgotten to be anxious about the dinner tonight.

You return home at the end of your workday to a silent house. Van is burrowed in your bed, comforter pulled over his head, the curtains in the room drawn tight.

“You’re still sleeping?” You ask, poking at his legs through the comforter while you get undressed. 

He really is sleeping, because he doesn’t respond. You tug the comforter down away from his face, watching his nose scrunch in displeasure. 

“What time is it?” He whispers, struggling to tug the blanket back over his eyes. You don’t let him.

“It’s about to be six,” You tell him, leaving the side of his bed so you can finish getting dressed. The reservation wasn’t until eight, but you might as well throw your outfit on now. You had a pretty good idea of what the boys would be showing up in, so you’ve picked out your own clothes accordingly. You’ve just bought a new baby blue tank top for your work wardrobe, with fabric so light and flowy it was like crepe paper. You throw some dark jeans on to keep it casual, and grab a dark cardigan off of the hanger so you don’t forget it. 

Van is awake, squinting up at his phone screen. 

“You gotta get ready,” You remind him.

“Gonna take me about six seconds,” He replies, his voice stiff.

You ignore him, closing the bedroom door behind you when you leave. You’re starting to learn that grumpy, exhausted Van wasn’t worth getting worked up over. You immediately head to the kitchen, getting a pot of coffee started. You weren’t usually one to have an evening cup, but Van was. You cut yourself up a bruised apple that’s been sitting in your crisper for a bit too long, and scrape the bottom of the peanut butter jar to make yourself a snack to hold you over until dinner.

You bring your paper plate into the other room, settling yourself at the table. The coffee machine has just finished warming up, getting noisier in preparation to run the hot water over the grinds, when Van finally emerges from your room.

“Coffee?” He grumbles, stumbling into the kitchen before he realizes it’s still brewing. He redirects himself to the bathroom, taking a piss with the door open before he finds his way back to the table. 

“For you,” You tell him around a bite of peanut butter covered apple. 

He perks up at that. “For me?”

“Yeah,” You keep your tone indifferent, hoping he realizes that he’s pissed you off. You think he does, because he stays silent until you hear the machine sputter, signaling the end of the brewing cycle. Van immediately jumps up, heading into the kitchen to pour himself a cup.

He comes back with two mugs. One is filled with black coffee, for him, and the other has milk in it. He places the one with milk down in front of you.

“I don’t drink coffee this late,” You inform him. You’d planned on having a cup, but Van didn’t need to know that.

“We’re gonna be up late.”

You’re both silent except for the sound as you bite into your apple slice, and the noise of Van setting his mug down. 

“Sorry I was a dick. I’m fucking wiped out.” 

“I know,” You sigh. With his apology, your mood has cleared, and you slide your paper plate towards him slightly. “Want some apples and peanut butter?”

Van shakes his head. “Apples make my teeth shift. Drives me nuts.”

You tug the plate back towards you. “More for me.”

\\

You two were supposed to leave at 7:30, but as always Van is running late. Why exactly, you don’t know. When the Uber pulls up outside, struggling not to block the entire street, Van is still in his socks, fussing with his hair in the bathroom.

“Uber’s here!” You call, but Van can’t hear you over the sound of the blowdryer. You repeat yourself in the bathroom doorway, watching Van style his hair with the dryer and a brush. 

As Van finishes shaping his waves into a presentable shape, you notice in the mirror that his hair’s gotten longer. 

“How often do you get your hair cut?” You ask as he unplugs the blowdryer, rushing past you to stuff his feet into his boots. 

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “We’ve got a stylist on tour. She gives me a quick trim whenever I need it.”

Van never seemed to have a solid concept of time. It seemed like he just floated through life, sleeping, eating and performing whenever, wherever. Unlike you, who had to look over your calendar app multiple times a day. You sigh at his vague answer, sliding your cardigan on and grabbing your bag. 

It’s 7:50 by the time the Uber is pulling away.

“We’re not gonna be there in time,” You tell Van after you check the time on your phone. The driver is grumpy that he had to wait on the two of you for ten minutes, and is brooding in the front seat. It’s making you uncomfortable, but Van seems oblivious.

“Bob’ll be there,” He shrugs. “He’s always early. Bet Bondy’ll be later than us.”

“So Bob’s just supposed to sit there alone?”

“I’m sure Blakes is there! They don’t like being late, those two.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And you do?”

“I don’t mean to be!” Van sighs, frustrated. “Christ, woman.”

You cut him some slack, deciding to drop the subject. 

You two arrive almost twenty minutes late, Van scrambling to give the driver a ten dollar bill as you two rush into the building. Once he informs the hostess of your reservation you two are led out of the lobby and into the familiar dining area. 

You spot the table that you and Van had eaten at, momentarily lost in your reminiscing as the hostess leads you away from that dining room and around the corner to tonight’s table. You’re in your own private room tonight, which hosts two large circular tables, five seats each. Only one is being used, Bob and Benji looking up as soon as you two enter the space.

Nobody gives Van any shit about being late, and Van doesn’t offer any apologies. Bob is sitting next to Benji, and Van slides into the empty seat on the other side of Bob. You sit down next to Van, and that means that Bondy will be sitting between you and Benji. You feel relieved with how the seating works out. It’s always strange being sat next to someone you didn’t know that well, but Bondy was enough of a familiar face that you didn’t mind. 

Bread has already been served, and Van reaches for the basket eagerly while you’re distracted admiring the decor. There were still the glossy white floors and the dark walls, but this area lacked any of the windows looking out onto the courtyard. Instead, the walls boasted a collection of impressive looking paintings. One catches your eye in particular, a renaissance style oil painting that depicted a woman preparing a loaf of fresh bread. It was in the sort of style where the humans don’t look very realistic, her face and arms painted with curvy, disproportionate strokes. Her dress is covered in intricate designs and bright colors. 

“Whatcha looking at?” Van interrupts your thoughts, mouth full as he chews a bread roll. 

“That painting,” You nod to the one of the woman with the bread.

Van looks it over carefully as he swallows his bite of food. “Kinda looks like my mum,” He says finally.

At this you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Bob asks, a smile blooming on his face only because he’s watching you and Van laugh. 

Van gestures to the painting. “Doesn’t that look like my mum? Blakes? She looks just like me mum!”

Both boys crane their heads to look at the painting. “It does,” Bob agrees quietly, smiling to himself as he returns to looking over the menu. When Benji turns back towards you guys he looks repulsed.

“Van, that doesn’t even look like a person,” He insists.

Van gestures passionately with his hands. “Oh really, because everyone agrees! It looks like my mum!”

It’s this moment that Bondy’s chosen to join everyone, trailing in behind the hostess as gets him settled with a menu in the seat next to you. Nobody seems to mind her presence, Van and Benji bickering like noone’s watching. 

When she’s gone, Bondy looks up from his menu with a confused smile. “What’s this about?” He asks you, because you’re letting them battle this out between themselves. 

“Van says the woman in that painting looks like his mom,” You try to discreetly point to the one you’re talking about.

Bondy shifts in his seat so that he’s closer to you, trying to figure out exactly where you’re pointing. “The one that looks like the virgin Mary?”

There’s a painting near the one you’re referencing that clearly has heavy religious influence, although you’re not positive if it’s a painting of Mary. “Below it,” You correct Bondy. “The one making bread.”

Van and Benji have started to quiet, but both jump to attention at Bondy’s deep, throaty laugh.

“It does, it does,” Bondy agrees, and this starts them up again.

They settle when the waitress turns the corner, prepared to take their orders now that everyone’s arrived. 

“Do you want the wine we got last time?” Van stage whispers to you as the waitress hovers around Bob, carefully noting what he’s pointing out on the menu. You nod eagerly, remembering how it tasted. The freedom of not having to worry about driving home means that you’re eager to start drinking as soon as possible and loosen up. 

When the waitress gets around to Van, he orders his usual lobster and a bottle of the wine for you two. You settle on the chicken parmesan, and listen as next to you Bondy orders the roast dinner. Then your menus are carried away, and the chatter starts up again.

“So you agree?” Van jerks his head to ask you. “That looks like my mum?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. Debates between the boys can go on forever, fueled by each of them always wanting the last word. “I don’t even know what your mom looks like.”

Van pauses, realizing this is true. “You’ve never seen a picture?”

“Where the fuck would I see a picture of your mom?” You laugh.

“Dunno… The internet?”

You actually cackle at this, even if it makes Benji look at you from across the table. “Do you think I like, sit around googling you? What should I search up? Van McCann’s mom? I’ll get right on that.”

Even Bondy snorts from where he’s engrossed in his phone. 

Bondy’s snort at his expense has Van narrowing his eyes, gazing past you at Bondy. “Texting your girl, John?”

At this you jerk your head to look Bondy. “You have a girlfriend?”

Bondy rolls his eyes at Van before setting his phone down. “A gentleman can’t say,” He teases.

“You can’t say if you have a girlfriend?” You laugh. “I don’t think that’s a real rule.”

You knew from dressing room conversation that Bob and Benji were seeing someone, but Bondy’s never spoken about his romantic life.

“Is she British, too?” You decide to ask.

Bondy takes a long sip of his ice water. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He aims this dig at Van, glaring at him. “But she’s from here, actually. She’s in London for work. But that’s all I’ll say, I don’t wanna jinx anything.” He holds up his hands, and you know that’s his way of politely shutting down any more questions.

“He’s been after her forever,” Van pipes up, ignoring Bondy’s attempt to close the topic. “She’s finally done with her bloke.”

“He’s finally got a proper chance,” Benji grins.

It feels like a family dinner, the way everyone bickers. The food is finally served, and it takes forever to eat with everyone too engrossed in conversation. Benji’s digging into the roast chicken entree you got last time you were here, and Bob’s picking at some sort of creamy pasta. Everyone drinks except Bob, and the waitress is scary good at bringing beer for Bondy and Benji whenever they’re running low, and delivering freshly chilled bottles of wine for you and Van. 

There’s not a moment that feels awkward. Just like at soundcheck, everyone loves using you to pick at Van, and your heart feels so full and warm from the atmosphere that you don’t mind. It used to be overwhelming at first, but you realize you’ve gotten much more comfortable interacting with the four of them all at once. 

You’re in a wine-induced haze as everyone heads out to the parking lot. Patrons in the regular dining area go silent, glaring at the five of you as you all laugh way too loudly at a joke. Soon you’re out in the warm summer breeze, headed for Bob’s car. 

He’s got a small sedan that only seats four. Bondy calls shotgun immediately, tucking himself into the front seat, and then it’s up to you, Van, and Benji to decide on the seating arrangement in the back.

Before your anxiety can even get a headstart on worrying, Van puts a hand on your back, leading you over to the driver’s passenger side. He climbs in first before motioning for you to sit in his lap. You’re thankful it’s dark enough that nobody can see the blush that starts burning on your cheeks.

“Put your seatbelt on,” You tell him, and Van obliges before reaching for you again. You crouch down, sliding into a sitting position on top of Van’s thighs. You feel him stretch underneath you as he grabs for the door, closing it securely.

Nobody says anything about your seating arrangement, but you’re still so self conscious you could combust on the spot. You try to shift your weight around.

“Am I squishing you?” You ask Van quietly as Bob starts to back out of his parking spot. You hunch your shoulders, lowering your head so that he can see behind him in the rearview mirror.

“Not at all,” Van says, and then you feel his arms slide around your waist, pulling you close to him.

You’re stiff as a board as the car pulls onto the road, careful to shift your weight as forward as possible, trying not to smush Van between you and the seat. But he tugs you back by your waist until you’ve relented, allowing your weight to press against him. Forever unbothered by other’s opinions, he hooks his chin over your shoulder, closing his eyes serenely. Your hands come to his forearms, one of your thumbs starting to rub back and forth, feeling the hairs on his arm ruffle with every swipe.

None of the boys even give you two a second glance. Bondy is helping Bob navigate to his house, and Benji’s on his phone, the glow of his screen lighting up the dark car. The drive is longer than you expected, and eventually you relax fully, tipping your head so that it was gently resting against Van’s, feeling his breath on your ear the rest of the way. 

You can’t help the stab of disappointment when the car lulls to a stop, Bob finally having pulled up at Bondy’s. You try to shake off the drowsiness that the car ride and glasses of wine have left hovering around you as everyone climbs out of the car and heads inside. 

While Van’s house is more classic-L.A.-bachelor-pad, Bondy’s house has a heavy Spanish influence. Missing are the clean, stark-white floors and dark walls typical in the newer homes. Instead, warm hardwood extends in every direction, interrupted only by plush rugs with rich colors. There’s at least one eccentric, abstract piece of art adorning every wall, and guitars are everywhere. Some are hung with the art, and you spend a moment hovering by his stone fireplace, admiring a very used guitar with someone’s illegible signature on it. And there are others that it’s clear he uses, one propped by the plush armchair, some on a storage rack by a large potted plant. 

The ceilings are insanely high, supported by thick wooden beams that keep the extra space from feeling empty. You gaze around in awe, mentally debating whether you prefer Bondy’s decor over Van’s.

While you’re distracted, the boys make themselves at home. Van and Bob get lost in conversation in the foyer, where they’re supposed to be taking their shoes off and hanging their jackets. Bondy has already headed to the kitchen to start the drinks, and Benji made a beeline for the bathroom, clearly comfortable with the layout of the house.

As if synchronized, the moment that the flush of the toilet sounds from the hall, Van and Bob emerge from the foyer, everyone stumbling towards the kitchen at once. Van hangs back for a second, waiting for you to stop flicking through one of the coffee table books.

“This is so cool,” You look up to see Van watching you in amusement. “Have you looked through this?”

It’s titled 1000 Record Covers. Every page is dedicated to a photo of album artwork, with minimal captions describing the source. You know Van’s waiting but you’re too intrigued.

“I have,” Van says, his voice gentle with understanding. “You can spend hours going over everything.”

You close the thick, hardcover book with a satisfying thud, and catch up to Van. He slings an arm around your shoulder, warm and comforting, and suddenly you’re regretting this afterparty. It’s lovely to be in Bondy’s home, but you wish you could be spending your last night with Van snuggled up in the comfort of your own bed. 

Bondy’s kitchen is as gorgeous as the living room. A large, square island takes up the center of the room, counters and appliances running along the walls. Everyone makes themselves at home, reaching into cabinets and shuffling around as you’re all responsible for your own drinks. 

Van grabs a beer from the fridge, and helps you navigate the kitchen as you make yourself a Diet Coke and vodka. It transports you back to your college days when you take a sip, remembering the nights where your goal was to get as drunk as possible, as fast as possible. Now you typically enjoy a more tactful (and better tasting) approach, but it’s clear the boys mean business tonight. As soon as everyone has their drinks, Bondy has procured shot glasses and is starting to splash tequila into them. 

Even Bob is cajoled into taking one. The entire night has consisted of cheers to Benji turning 29, and this shot is not an exception. After cheersing over Benji’s birthday you all down your glasses before heading into the living room. Bondy and Van struggle to get a fire going, but eventually one is roaring and everyone gets cozy on the couches, the endless stream of conversation picking up right where it left off at the restaurant.

Van slings his arm over the back of the couch, so essentially around you as well. You’re tucked into Van’s side, sipping idly at your drink while the others talk. The conversation has somehow migrated to the band, and you don’t have much to contribute. Before you know it, your glass is empty.

You don’t rush to fill it, knowing you’ll make the same mistake of downing your next one too quickly. You wait for Van to finish his beer, your body occasionally jostled when he talks with his hands, lifting the arm behind you to gesture. 

The fire makes the space a bit warm for comfort, and when Van asks you to hold his beer bottle the cold glass feels nice.

“I’m gonna down this,” You warn Van, peering down the neck of the bottle to see what’s left. It’s only a couple of inches, a few nice gulps. You see him look over at you in your peripheral vision.

You look up and Van’s smiling. “Go ahead, love,” He chuckles, but he doesn’t tune back into the conversation. He’s waiting to see you do it, so now you can’t back down.

You hate the taste of beer, but it’s bearable because it’s cold. When you’re finished you hand Van the now-empty bottle and beam at him. “Now come get another drink with me.”

You trail after him into the kitchen, where he grabs himself another beer. 

“I’ll have one too,” You say quickly where you’re leaning against the counter next to the fridge. The marble is cool under your palms, and you wish you could press your face into it. You don’t know how long you consider doing it before you realize Van hasn’t passed you a bottle, and is staring at you with his eyebrows raised instead. 

“What?” You giggle.

“I’ve never seen you drink beer, that’s all,” Van shrugs before he grabs another bottle. He uses the bottle opener set out on the counter before passing you your very own ice-cold drink. 

“It’s so nasty,” You confess, contradicting yourself by taking a sip. “But I’m so fucking hot and this is cold.”

“You do look pretty warm,” Van points out. You can feel your body radiating heat, sweat forming at your hairline. You don’t know if it’s from the wine, the vodka, or the fire. 

Van looks reluctant to head back into the other room, taking a swig of his own beer as he leans his hip against the counter. Your eyes roam over him. His cheeks are pink, too, and any effort to style his hair has gone to waste by now, the waves falling into his face. He looks so happy, like he has all night. It’s as if joking around with everyone has lit him up from the inside out, and now you just wanted to be alone with him and bask in the glow of a nice night out.

Without a second thought you pop up onto your tiptoes, pressing your mouth to Van’s. 

You’re startled by the noise of Van setting his beer down, both of his hands reaching for you instead, pulling you closer. For a moment everything is off kilter, the balance of the moment disrupted. You’d only been prepared for a quick kiss but Van’s desire for more is evident as he keeps you close, kissing you again, and again. Your body only needs to borrow the spark of Van’s attraction before you feel the heat in your belly, a full fire burning for him under your skin. 

It’s during that third kiss that you both hear someone call Van’s name, the two of you jerking apart. Your hands fly to your hair self-consciously, easing your fingertips through the strands that Van had just had his hands entangled in as Bondy comes into the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna break out the big E,” Bondy declares, shuffling past the two of you. He looks completely oblivious to anything that’s just happened in here, and you relax in relief. Van looks over at you with worried eyes. You furrow your eyebrows in a silent question.

Bondy’s been digging through different kitchen drawers, but suddenly he procures a zip lock baggie out of one of them, shutting the drawer with a thunk.

“Here we go!” You can tell he’s drunk by the way his voice rings loudly through the kitchen. “You want some, Van?”

The bag contains a collection of colored capsules. They look like vitamins. You hadn’t understood what he’d been referring to at first, but now it’s clear: Ecstasy.

Van looks uneasy. “Maybe in a minute, mate,” He tells Bondy, who does not seem to catch on to the lack of enthusiasm. He proceeds into the living room, hollering about what he’s got. 

You can hear Benji asking for a capsule, which makes you snort. Van looks alarmed.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him. “Are you gonna have some?”

Van’s eyes widen. “Are you gonna have some?”

You shake your head. It had crossed your mind, but probably wasn’t the best idea if you had to drive early in the morning. “But you can!”

Van hesitates before shaking his head. “Nah. It’s alright.”

You roll your eyes. The spark of your kiss minutes before has started to fizzle out with Van’s weirdness. “What’s wrong? Isn’t ecstasy, like, your favorite?”

“Nothing’s wrong. As long as you’re not uncomfortable.”

You laugh at that. “Uncomfortable? Why? I know you’ve done it!”

“I haven’t recently,” Van mumbles, sipping his beer. You remember yours, and decide to press the cold glass against your cheek after you take a sip. “And I dunno. It’s weird to be the only one in the room not blitzed out of your mind. I’ll say no with you.”

His unease makes sense now, and his concern has you stepping forward for another kiss, Van reciprocating passionately. 

“What time is it?” You ask when you pull away. You hadn’t brought your phone into the kitchen, but Van procures his from his back pocket, flashing you the time. It’s slightly past midnight. 

“One more drink and we can head back to yours?” Van suggests, and you nod in agreement.

“What are you two doing in there?” Bondy calls, all of the boys chiming in with their own teasing. Van rolls his eyes, pressing his thumb into the fingerprint sensor on his iPhone.

“Order the Uber now, you know the wait’s gonna be ages.” He passes his phone into your hands before he goes back into the living room. You immediately hear him laying into everyone, a bite of annoyance in his voice. 

You blink down at Van’s unlocked phone, handed to you so trustingly. His Instagram feed is pulled up, his favorite app for passively scrolling. You hit the home button twice to see if the Uber app was still open from your first ride tonight. 

There’s a few things running in the background, but you don’t see Uber right away. There’s Instagram (obviously), and his notes app, and you flick through the line of open applications until you see Uber, right at the end. 

But right next to it is Safari, and the preview makes you flush brighter than you already are. You can clearly see the miniature layout of a porn website, a paused video front and center. Your curiosity gets the best of you. You have to click it.

One tap of your thumb expands Safari so that it encompasses the screen. The still of the video expands, but it takes a second for your brain to understand what’s going on in the tangle of limbs on screen. It’s a woman, hunched over a man. She’s clearly riding him, evident from the focus of the shot where their two bodies are joined. PINNED DOWN AND FUCKED, the title of the video boasts in bold letters, and when you peer at the paused moment more closely you can see that the woman has two hands around the man’s neck, choking him. 

You quickly click away to the Uber app and start ordering a car, your head spinning. When you hurry into the living room to sit back down with Van and tell him when the car would be arriving, it’s clear that Bondy and Benji’s ecstasy adventure is underway. Bob’s opted out as well, and Van’s discussing how he’d like the drums to sound on the song he’s just written this morning, leaving you to ponder Van’s porn choices while you wait. 

You end up grabbing the coffee table book with the record covers again, admiring all of the artwork while you listen to the boys talk about the next leg of tour. It used to be awkward when the boys start going on about band things you couldn’t relate to, but you find that you’ve adjusted to it. They didn’t mean to exclude you; they were just passionate about their work. It feels nice to be a fly on the wall sometimes, listening to them interrupt each other in excitement. You smile to yourself at how many fans would die to be in your place right now. 

Van isn’t paying attention to his phone when the screen lights up on the coffee table. He’s too busy laughing at Bondy and Benji, who are slung over the couch opposite you three. They’re already starting to sweat, and you can tell they’re speaking faster. Benji especially tended to speak in longer, meandering sentences, and it’s clear he’s rushing to voice his jumbled thoughts. They’re discussing something about Austin Powers, which you hadn’t realized Van was so passionate about.

You grab Van’s phone, showing him that there’s an Uber notification. With a press of his thumb you see the notification that the car’s arrived.

“Alright boys, this one has to get to work tomorrow,” Van explains, heaving himself off of the couch. You follow suit, saying goodbye to everyone. Bondy and Benji reach out for hugs, and you give them one good-naturedly. Bob, who’s not craving touch like they are, gives his usual wave. You and Van stumble around the foyer, tugging your shoes on, and Van slings his jacket over his arm, and then you two head out. 

For once you’ve managed to get a female driver, and have avoided pissing her off. She’s the type who makes small talk as she navigates back to your place, and although you prefer to quietly stare out of the car window, Van clearly enjoys the attention. 

You’re both quiet as you stumble through your front door into the dark living room. Van clicks the lamp on, heading straight for the bedroom, but you head for the bathroom, eager to wash off your makeup. You’ve had it on way too long, and it feels nice to wash it all away, your skin feeling like it can finally breathe. 

In the bedroom, Van had already stripped down and changed into boxers, starfished across your comforter. 

“Are you gonna get under the covers?” You giggle, kicking your shoes in the general direction of the closet. No thoughts of neatness cross your mind as you let all of your clothes fall into a heap on the floor. You’re still flushed, and the cool air feels good on your exposed skin. You climb onto the bed in only your underwear.

Van’s eyes had been closed, but he opens them as the mattress shifts with your weight. His eyes widen when he catches sight of you topless, attempting to yank your sheets back while Van weighed them down. 

“You gonna sleep like that?” He asks, his voice high in that amused tone he gets.

“You act like you’ve never seen me naked,” You reply, finally able to tuck your body into the soft cocoon of your bed. The sheets against your stomach feel nice, and you wonder why you don’t sleep without clothes more often. 

“Never seen you sleep naked,” He points out, finally joining you under the covers.

“Well, I’m still hot!” You switch your lamp off before flopping back down, sighing happily.

You can feel your whole body thrumming with contentment. Tonight was wonderful. You felt welcomed and accepted by the boys, you were warm from plenty of alcohol and laughter, and now you were settling down for the night next to the man you loved. You can’t remember the last time that your heart felt so full. Even in your best moments, you always tended to feel a trickle of sadness, like a piece of your heart was out of place. You didn’t know why. You only knew that nights where that shadow wasn’t lurking around were few and far between; Christmas in your hometown, sleepovers with Mary where you two stayed up giggling about nothing like you were kids. But now you could add tonight to the list. Everything in the world just felt right.

That’s why you feel compelled to snuggle up to Van, kissing his neck without hesitation. 

Van’s body stiffens. “What’re you doin’?”

His lack of immediate reciprocation might send you into a spiral any other night, but tonight you’re blissfully free from inhibitions, continuing to mouth at his pulse point. 

“It’s our last night,” You murmur into his ear, smiling when you feel him shiver. “Let’s do it the right way.”

Van’s time in L.A. has completely slipped through your fingers. Between the strep throat fiasco and your busy workweek, there’s been no extra energy or time to fool around. Your bodies have been running on different frequencies all week; either Van’s in the mood and you’re not, or you’re in the mood and Van’s finally catching some much-needed sleep, or there’s the nights where you had your mind set on messing around, but had fallen asleep as soon as you’d laid down.

Van tucks a finger under your chin, tugging you away from his neck before connecting your lips with his. You recall how he’d kissed you at Bondy’s, the way he’d surprised you with his urgency. It gets that fire going all over again, and you seat yourself on his thighs, still hunched over to kiss him. 

Van’s too close to his edge of the bed, your knee dangerously balanced on the mattress. “Scoot in,” You instruct him, and your bodies rub together as he shuffles towards the center. While he’s adjusting his hips you get your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, attempting to tug them down. You don’t get very far.

You climb off of him, dealing with your own underwear while Van kicks his boxers down around his ankles. It feels so good to climb back on him again, to feel the warm muscle of his thigh press right against the tenderness of your clit. The sensation makes you jump, which only provides friction. You hadn’t realized how slick you were until you realize you’ve gotten Van’s thigh damp. You curiously run your fingers over his skin, unable to help your small gasp of surprise when you realize how much you’d smeared on him. You’d been oblivious to how bad your body was craving him.

You lean over to kiss Van again, pressing his lips apart the same as he’d done to you earlier. He tastes like beer and Diet Coke and vodka.

“You had a lot to drink,” Van murmurs when you pull away. You realize that you were the one who tasted like the Coke and vodka.

You pause the kissing momentarily, instead nuzzling into his neck. You were well past tipsy, but nowhere near blacking out. If this was someone you’d never met, going further wouldn’t be appropriate. But cuddled up to Van, breathing in his scent, you give another happy sigh. With Van, this was a no-brainer. 

“Not enough to not know what I’m doing,” You tell him. It’s definitely true. You would remember this tomorrow, even if the memory will be a bit fuzzy. 

You lean away from his neck, admiring his beautiful face. “And you’re my best friend. It’s safe.”

Your words don’t come out exactly right, but Van’s expression softens as he gazes back up at you. You had meant you were safe with Van. Because you knew it was true. You had been to plenty of sketchy parties with your ex-girlfriend, who was on the hunt for the cheapest coke she could get her hands on. You’d seen bonfires escalate from a joint being passed around to people shooting up heroin behind closed bedroom doors. You’d been approached by shifty, jittery men more times than you could count, towering over you as you struggled through the weed to figure out how you were going to get out of there. It was only pure luck that nothing dangerous had ever happened. 

But at a party where people were blatantly peddling coke, Van turned them down like he’d never done it. In the presence of four men that were all various levels of inebriated, it never crossed your mind that anything would go amiss. You trusted Van with every bone in your body, and you hope you convey that message as you lean in for a kiss. 

“Alright,” Van replies. He uses a hand on the back of your neck to tip your head down, giving your forehead a quick kiss. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” You chirp, happy to have gotten your way. When you sit up again, you yawn. “Condoms are in there.”

Van twists to slide open the drawer of his nightstand, procuring the large value box of Trojans you’d purchased at his suggestion. “You shouldn’t have!” He teases, popping the box open to grab one of the packets. “You want me to put it on now?”

You nod. Clearly from Van’s thigh you were in no real need of foreplay, and you were eager to get started. Van gives himself a few firm pumps before expertly rolling the condom on. 

Getting into position over him makes your heart start to race. You loved riding Van, the way he went absolutely nuts when he couldn’t control every single little thing. 

“You’re not too drunk, right?” You ask when you’re ready to lower down. You had no idea how many glasses of wine he had, or how many beers.

“Nah,” Van laughs. “We’re about the same, I’d say. I think you’re just having a better time.”

This was probably true. Van’s brain wasn’t being clouded by crazy love hormones like yours was. With that settled, you sink down onto him. You’re so wet that he slips in faster than you’d prepared yourself for, the breath punching out of you. Both of you pant for air as minor adjustments are made before everything is going at a steady pace.

As predicted, Van is clearly going crazy over his lack of control. He can’t stop touching, stroking his fingers over any of your skin he can reach. It’s fine when he rubs his calloused fingertips over your nipples, or eases a thumb against your clit. But then he’s just restless, stroking lightly at your sides, which is tickling you.

“Will you stop?” You huff, pushing his hands away from your ribcage. He starts to smooth his palms over your lower stomach instead, where your skin bulges slightly with a pesky pocket of fat. It makes you self conscious, which is distracting.

You think about the porn he had pulled up on his phone, and the gears in your mind start turning. Van is stroking your upper arms now, an unnecessary sensation as you try to figure out your pace. You’d never choke Van without his consent, obviously, but maybe you could try something a little less intense, see how he reacts to that. If he’s not a fan, he only needs to say so and you two can get back to your regularly scheduled programming. 

You have to lift your hands from where you’re using them for balance against his chest so that you can loop your fingers around his wrists before bringing them down to the mattress. You press them down on either side of his head, and keeping your weight forward to balance yourself means that you can successfully apply enough pressure to hold him down while also continuing to ride him. 

Van looks stunned.

“I said stop touching me,” You explain. “It’s ruining my focus.”

Van stays silent, but under your palms you can feel his arms tense, testing how hard you were pinning him. You swear you’re not imagining how you feel his dick twitch inside of you as he relaxes, surrendering to your hold.

“You done? Want me to let go?” You ask him, eyebrows raised. It seemed like a clever enough way to make sure he was alright without breaking the mood, and you’re happy it works. Van shakes his head, and you see his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps.

You feel a satisfied flush burn on your chest, pleased that you knew him well enough to get this right. 

Only as you keep Van helpless beneath you do you realize how much he’s actually necessary during sex. You’re quickly exhausted being responsible for all of the thrusting, and without any hands available you’re not getting any of the stimulation you’ll need to come. You’re dying to kiss Van, to run your fingers through his hair or over the soft hairs on his stomach, but none of that’s possible as you keep pressing him down.

But even with all of the drawbacks, it’s one-hundred-and-ten percent worth it for the view. Van is a complete mess, sweating and squirming and whimpering. He’s not exactly one to keep quiet during sex, but you’ve never heard him like this, practically whining with each breath. He’s gulping down air like he can’t get enough oxygen, squeezing his eyes shut like looking up at you is too much for him.

He doesn’t squirm too much at first, but things get more difficult as you feel him ready to finish. Your thighs are on fire, but you keep your rhythm as steady as possible. You don’t have the core strength to lower down with control anymore, instead simply slamming down against him before you struggle to lift yourself up. The stiffer he becomes beneath you, his muscles starting to clench in preparation, the more you feel his wrists press against your palms, fighting against your restraint. You’ve got to shift more weight forward, your shoulders burning with the resistance against Van’s struggling. There’s a few moments where you realize you might have to give up, that you’re not physically fit enough to both fuck and pin down a full grown man. And then Van really pushes up against your hands for a moment before he cries out, melting beneath you as you feel the condom start to fill inside of you. You hold his wrists until you feel him shudder through his aftershock, finally opening his eyes.

Your muscles cry out as you finally shift your weight back, releasing Van’s arms. Everything aches. Van reaches down, getting his hand around the base of the condom, and you can feel his fingers trembling. Your thighs feel like jelly as you lift off of him, and the noise of him slipping out of you is obscene. 

You take care of the condom this time, worried that it’ll slip through his unsteady hands. Neither of you say anything as you gently free his dick from the latex, struggling to tie it off in the dark before leaning over to toss it into the small trashcan by the bed. 

You haven’t come, but something about Van’s orgasm felt final. You don’t expect him to muster up the energy to finish you off, and truthfully you don’t really feel like you need it tonight. 

Van coughs to clear his throat before he puts his hands on your hips, tugging you forward.

“C’mere.” His voice is rough. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, frustrated. You’re too tired, and he’s not making any sense. 

“Sit on my fucking face,” Van bites back at your frustration, and you freeze in shock at his request.

He tugs your hips forward again, and this time you start to walk your knees up the sides of his body until you’re seated on his chest.

“Have you ever done this before?” Van pants, licking his lips. 

You shake your head, reaching out for balance. You’ve got an iron bedframe, so it’s easy to wrap your palms around the top bar of the headboard. 

“That makes two of us,” Van tells you, his palms cradling your ass as he adjusts himself slightly. “So let’s see how this goes.”

You’re careful when you lower down on his mouth, scared to death of smothering him. He’s got to crane his neck up slightly so that he can lick at you, and you shiver, clenching your bedframe tightly. 

After a few licks, Van jerks you down harder onto him, his arms wrapped around your thighs. You startle, attempting to hoist yourself up again.

“Stop going so easy on me!” Van laughs, pulling you down again. He’s pulled you off balance, and your hand flies to his hair to steady yourself.

“I’m trying not to fucking kill you!” You tell him, easing yourself back up. 

“Will you quit?” You can hear the amusement in Van’s voice. “Let me do this properly.”

If he wants to be stubborn, fine. You let him pull your weight back down, pressing his tongue against your clit. Every lick makes an audible noise, and you’d be cringing self consciously if it didn’t feel so fucking good. He’s got a 5 o’clock shadow, and although his is never visible with his facial hair being so light you could definitely feel it. 

He’s angling his mouth to get deep, licking you clean when you seize up around him, frozen in place as the waves of your orgasm rock through you. Van is an expert at making it last, of keeping his licks quick and light to draw your climax out as long as possible, and as you tumble off of him you’re already dying to know when you can try this again.

Van immediately hops up from the bed, rushing from the room. He must have to pee. You catch your breath while you wait for the bathroom to be open, your mind trying to get some sort of grip of what’s just happened. 

When Van comes back in, he hunts around in the dark for his boxers. You flick the lamp on, and he finds them instantly, shimmying them on. 

It’s your turn to pee and then clean yourself up, tossing wad after wad of toilet paper out covered in your come. When you get back into the bedroom you don’t feel like trying to track down your underwear in the mess on the floor, and climb right into bed instead. 

Van has a cigarette lit, and he passes one to you right away. As terrible as you know smoking is for you, Van’s onto something with the whole cigarette-after-sex thing. It’s a nice way to relax and come back to reality. 

“Can we do that again?” You blurt out shamelessly. 

Van jerks his head. “Tonight?”

“No!” You laugh. “Not tonight! You think I’m ready that quick? Just… again!”

Van nods as he tips his head back, a puff of smoke floating from his mouth. “Shit. Whatever you wanna do, I’m down.”

You blush at that, peeking over at the time on your phone.

“Oh my god, it’s two,” You groan. You take one last hit of your cigarette before carefully snuffing it out on the empty water glass you’ve left in here. You carefully set the extinguished, half-smoked cigarette aside so that you could finish it tomorrow. You’ll have to try to remember to get yourself a pack after you drop Van off at LAX. 

Van yawns, but doesn’t seem disturbed that you two will only get two and a half hours of sleep.

You almost doze off while you wait for Van to finish his cigarette, but you’re jolted awake as he leans over to shut the lamp off before burrowing down next to you.

You wait for him to flip away from you and head off to sleep, but instead you feel the warm press of his body against yours, nudging you until he can rest his head on your chest. You force yourself to stay awake, to savor this moment, and you bend your arm so that you’re cradling his head and able to lazily play with his hair.

“I didn’t hurt you, right?” You ask him, your voice syrupy and slow with exhaustion.

He jostles your body when he shakes his head. “You got it right,” He tells you.

“Okay,” You exhale a big sigh of relief, and feel Van chuckle against your chest. “But I have a confession to make.”

You can feel Van grinning. “And what’s that?” 

You yawn. “I saw the porn on your phone.”

Van stills. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” You nod. Your mind is so hazy with sleep that you don’t consider that Van might not take your news very well. “I didn’t mean to. I was only trying to open up Uber.”

“You liar,” Van lifts his head, but he’s smiling. “You were being nosey!”

“No!” You argue, but Van’s smile is contagious, so you look like you’re lying. “Okay. Alright. I was curious. I guess I didn’t realize you were so serious about the whole… I dunno. Rough thing. Whatever you like to call it.”

Van shakes his head in disbelief, wiping his hands over his face. “Christ. You’re unbelievable. A lad’s porn is sacred!”

“I’m sorry.” You put on your best pout. “Am I still your best friend?”

Van sighs. “Of course you’re still my best mate. And if looking at my porn is what gave you the bollocks to do that, you can look at my porn history anyday.”

“Bollocks?”

“Balls,” Van translates, flopping back down against your chest. “G’night.”

You pat his hair. “Night. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I miss you already,” Van mumbles against your skin.

When you wake up at 4:30 A.M., barely conscious enough to be driving Van over to his place so you can help him pack, you shoot a text to your boss that you’ve come down with a nasty case of food poisoning so you’ll be taking a sick day. And you do it without one single lick of regret, because those late night moments with Van were worth every. Single. Second. 

\\

[beetlefursuits]

Why Your First Fursuit Commission Was a Disaster! (or How to Prevent it)

Being approached by a stranger asking you to be THE fursuit artist they have chosen can make you feel AMAZING and eager to say YES!

Out of all the artists out there, they picked you!

The immediate assumption is that you can knock that project out and get some money in your pocket, while filling out your portfolio, gaining some experience, and having some fun!

But pause a moment, step back and think “Am I ready for this? Is this the right client for me? Do I even WANT to do commissions?”

Before you jump into business with someone, consider the following list of reasons that this project (or this client) might not be the correct fit for you.

Six Tips For Success in Choosing Which Fursuit Commissions to Accept (and which to avoid!)

#1. Will I ENJOY Doing This Project? 

Is this REALLY something you want to make? 

When a new project crosses your eyeballs and you get that excited glow, you can immediately imagine how great it will be to show off the finished product in your portfolio.

But stop and REALLY think about the project you are considering, break it down into every aspect, every small detail that you will have to source and buy materials for, that you will have to construct and sew and cut and sculpt and paint, and then decide how jazzed you really feel about building it.

300 rosettes (you realize only after counting each one) will look amazing but consider sewing each one and how does that make you feel. Sew a test spot just so you can time yourself and feel it out.

Those cool markings? How will you do that? By machine? By hand? Do you have the fur for it in stock? Does it even exist and do you know where to find it?

How will you do the long hair to get that particular shape? Does it have Spikes? Horns? Both? What will they be made from? Have you done it before? Does that prospect of making something new excite you? Or do you feel dread?

If you are not starting it immediately, consider how interested you will still be in a few weeks or months once that initial glow has faded, the deposit has been spent, and what’s left is a pile of materials and the prospect of a lot of hard work.

If there is an aspect of the project that you do not like, consider that future clients will see this work and assume it’s the type of project you wish to do again.

#2. Am I CAPABLE of Completing this Project?

Building a commission is NOT like building a personal fursuit.

With a personal project, you do not need to discuss your ideas with others, you do not need to stick to a reference or plan, you can cut corners with sewing or final finishing, etc.

A commission requires a lot of back-and-forth discussion between the artist and the client. You have to consider the opinion of someone else. You need to accurately size it to a person you have never met and who cannot try it on during the process. Everything has to be finished and durable and clean.

Following are 4 quick tips to consider if you’re ready to accept client work:

Do you know how long it takes (roughly) to build a (non personal) fursuit?

Have you already made and sold artistic liberty/artist-designed/premade projects? When you are starting out, this is how you decide on your pricing and deadlines. It’s not good to enter into an agreement with no idea what to charge or how long it will take you!

Do you have a dedicated work space/guaranteed amount of time available?

Fursuit making takes a lot of space (Huge awkward foam rolls to store and fur to spread out while you pattern/cut. Duct tape dummies awkwardly starfish out their arms and legs all the time and don’t help at all with the sewing) and it’s much easier to work on commissions when you separate life and work areas.

If you currently have other major obligations besides fursuit making (such as work, family, health, and school) which already take (or have the potential of taking) most (or all) of your available time, then it might not be the right time to take full suit commissions. Artist-designed projects and smaller projects will offer more flexibility for unpredictable and limited time—and energy.

Are there a lot of new elements to the project that you have not done before?

Some things may look easy and then when you start building it you realize that it’s much more involved than you expected. This can be a huge drain on your time, your money, and your motivation (which just compounds those first two issues).

An example could be a character with 3 tails. It’s just 1 tail(X3) right? But will they all fit correctly together? Do you make and attach them as one tail or leave them separate? Will they bounce or sit weirdly? Do you now need to make a new ‘side tail’ pattern so they splay out in an appealing manner?

Or say you take on a particularly tall client and you suddenly have to research and develop all new larger hand and foot designs as your current ones do not fit them or the padding you normally make looks too small now and needs to be remade larger.

These are all aspects worth considering. To prevent taking on more than you can handle, my suggestion is to take on no more than one new aspect (that is preferably no more than 10-15% of the project) on each commission that you’ll need to research and develop. You will probably go over time and over budget on these new processes at first (as you gain experience you naturally find ways to craft things quicker and easier) so it’s best to not knowingly take projects that you do not yet have the skills and/or experience to fulfill.

Can you take criticism?

Paid artistic work invites criticism. Sometimes something you make does not work out. You loved it and the client hates it. Or it doesn’t fit. Or it fell apart. That is all part of learning and growing and trying new things. Can you take the corrections, make it right, and move on?

If you feel that you currently cannot emotionally/mentally/physically handle potential setbacks/obstructions/times where things just don’t go your way; stick with non-client projects that are easier to control and fit to your schedule (premade suits. ears and tails. fursuit props.) and revisit commissions further down the road.

#3. Is the Client Displaying Red Flags?

Knowing which clients to turn away is a valuable skill.

As your business grows, it pays in your time, resources, and sanity to know when to refuse a commission (or when to cancel a commission) and to do so as early and gracefully as possible.

If you watch for situations like these, you can focus on cultivating happy, excited, and RESPECTFUL clients who love your work and your preferred artistic style. Not those who try to cut corners or denigrate or manipulate you for their own goals.

Here are 6 ‘red flags’ to consider when picking or accepting client projects.

The client complains (a lot) about their previous artist(s)

Simple, constructive, and legit complaints are one thing (the client says “Artists tend to get this marking wrong so here is how I really want it.” or “My last artist used these materials but it broke so can we try something else.”)

If instead the client immediately gossips about/trash-talks previous artists to you, it shows a lack of social boundaries and the high potential that they will then trash-talk about you/your work in the future.

Poor Quality Reference art.

This one is not a deal-breaker as long as it is not paired with an uncommunicative and/or demanding client.

If the client wants a “sly grey wolf” then we may proceed as long as we both understand that it will be my personal version of that idea and might not match what’s in the clients head.

If the very specifically-desired concept involves complex unclear markings, specific tattoos that are not consistent across the reference, the client’s desired fursuit and the reference do not match, a blurred photograph of a scratchy OC reference, etc; IE ANYTHING you cannot make heads nor tails of.. then ask them to clear this up with a favorite reference artist first and get back to you.

(And If YOU are your favorite reference artist, make sure to charge appropriately for the extra service!)

The client is a child or cannot/will not prove their age.

Children cannot be held to a contract in the USA and most fursuit artists require their clients to be over 18 (many are starting to ask for proof such as a photograph of a legal ID). You may choose to proceed with the project but the contract, payment, and all discussion needs to go through the child’s legal adult caretaker.

A client who micro-manages you and/or your work through constant criticism, proposed changes, or ‘redlines’ of your work.

These clients (though generally well-meaning) are honestly hell on the self-esteem. The occasional suggestion or constructive criticism (as mentioned earlier!) can be very helpful in determining the angle to take on a project or future projects.

But CONSTANT red lines and complaints and ‘suggested changes’ to your work (that they keep suggesting because they don’t even KNOW what they really want from you) means that NEITHER of you is going to come out of it feeling very happy about the art. Cancel and refund them and move on. I promise that it’s worth it.

The client disagrees with the quoted price/requests a discount/attempts to change the commission parameters.

“No” is a complete sentence.

To elaborate on that further; not everyone who asks for a discount is like this but be warned that there ARE potential clients who look for bright new fursuit makers, with the intent to jump on them early and obtain a new commission at a low price by (knowingly or unknowingly) taking advantage of the artist’s inexperience.

I am going to give a fictional example of this situation to show how insidious it can be:

You are still unsure about fullsuit commissions but you say on social media that you’re thinking you could try a head? An acquaintance says yes! Me! PLeeeeese. They seem excited so you agree for an introductory price. This new client chats a lot and seems friendly.

Could they get feet?? Feeling on-the-spot you agree since they’re ‘friends’. You’ve not made feet on commission yet so you underestimate the difficulty and under-charge. The client seems happy tho. They discuss a few changes they want to the head (that they’re sure they mentioned in the initial quote). Maybe you forgot??

This all takes some time and meanwhile they show you some reference art they just got done of a different character and ask to move the commission to this since you don’t have THAT much done yet. Also how much for hands?? They find you at a con and offer to buy you a drink. You restart the work.

A few more rounds of these (or similar) behaviours. The client starts to complain how long it’s taking. Maybe they drive other potential clients away with their actions or threaten an artist beware on you. And eventually you realize you’ve been manipulated and bullied into taking on a complicated fursuit that you had no intentions of making and have very severely undercharged for. Not fun!!

Instead of this situation coming to pass, hold your ground in the beginning and refuse to ‘add’ to a commission or to change a commission after it’s been paid for and/or started. This muddles what you’re working on and allows the client an opportunity to keep changing things forever. (instead treat the add-on as a brand new commission to be started only after the current part is finished and paid for)

Do not entertain those who think you’re not worth the price you’re asking for. Do not give ‘friends discounts’. Friends want to see you succeed!

Other artists warn against working with them.

Get to know other fursuit artists! We are usually happy to vouch for good clients and warn about any particular issues you may experience with others. Sometimes there are issues that prevent one artist-client relationship but can be managed within another and eventually other artists might recognize which clients to refer to you (and you to them).

If you are wondering how to start this type of discourse, there are public groups on Facebook or considering joining a fursuit artist’s Patreon and/or Telegram chat! Many fursuit makers have one (or both) of these with various mentoring tiers.

As an example, all of my patrons are given a link to join my Telegram chat where you can share your work and receive critique from a like-minded audience. At higher tiers you can join my Discord to share and chat in real time.

If there is a fursuit artist that you admire, ask them and see what they offer!

#4. Do I Need The Money?

Fursuits are maybe NOT quite the jackpot they might first appear to be

Fursuits are deceptive. It sounds like a great deal to gain several thousand dollars in one simple cheque, but, if you are not careful with budgeting, if you undercharge, or under-estimate how long it will take; you can find yourself falling into a state of using future projects to pay your current project materials, shipping, taxes, etc; as well as your regular life expenses like rent, car, insurance, utilities, loan repayments, etc.

The simplest practice is to prevent this entirely right from your first commission! My suggestion is to first take on smaller projects with a quick turn-over. This keeps you flexible to increase your prices or change your practices as needed. Then when you have enough savings to keep yourself afloat (so that you will not need to dip into your fursuit deposit money even if things don’t go exactly on schedule), you can take larger projects with longer turn-around times and higher price-points.

If you do find yourself in a situation where you NEED the money immediately; the issue is that you will be much more motivated to take on more difficult clients, less fulfilling projects you don’t really like, and overall accepting a worse deal for you for the reward of immediate payment (which then exacerbates the issues by giving you more work for the future and then pushing you further into the hole). Sadly, getting out of this situation can be very difficult.

Sparkle Kreations writes:

In my earlier business years, I found myself in a deep hole; I struggled financially day to day, I had over 80 clients on my list, and I was overwhelmed by the amount of work to be done. There were solutions, all very challenging decisions laid out before me. One path was the one most recommended, was that I go out and get a full-time job as I slowly refunded everyone on my list (a viable decision, advised to me by furry and non-furry alike) while I continue living and paying my living expenses. Another path was that I completely close off all large commissions, only taking on a few quick/small commissions to keep a bit of income flow, closely budgeting every dollar that I spend as I worked on my queue and knocked out my commissions until they were all complete. So I chose a hard path to regain my business name; I started by being completely honest with all of my customers and offering refunds if they chose. I then worked 6-7 days a week/8-10 hours a day, for about 5 to 6 years. I watched my budget closely, avoided going to conventions so I could instead refund customers. I now run a successful business that is financially stable, with a comfortably-sized queue, where myself and my assistant comfortably work a 5 day/35 hour work-week.

Finally, keep in mind that what really matters is not the $$$$ on the cheque but actually how it distills into $/hour. An artist is limited by the hours they are able to put into the work and a sexy $$$$ fursuit deposit might not actually gain you more in the end than several smaller $$$ projects with quicker overall turn-around times. Track your time and choose the most profitable options to promote and pursue.

(For much more on the physical realities of running a business, read my previous blog article “What I’ve Learned From The Past Decade Working as a Professional Fursuit Artist”)

#5. Can I communicate effectively with others?

Good communications are key with all client-artist interactions.

Can you stay calm, be professional, and set expectations? Poor communication (on either artist or client end) can easily snowball into angry clients and artists, stress and anxiety, emotional withdrawal from your work, misunderstandings, and even artist bewares.

There are several important aspects to communicating effectively:

Can you stay calm and professional even when the client is combative?

At some point, you will have a difficult client. When this happens, you need to stay professional and work through the issues with them. If you cannot agree then you might need to part ways. You must do so with the grace and assurance that you did everything possible to fix the situation. If you think “Taken out of context, will this screenshot look bad?” And the answer is “yes,” then you need to step back, collect yourself, and rewrite your reply.

Can you set expectations?

As the artist, you can choose your commission methods, but you need to be VERY CLEAR to the client what those methods are, what your expectations are (for them and for you), and how the commission process will proceed. Before you take any clients, figure out what you what you want out of the commission process. Do you want to take on clients for money? For the satisfaction of a job well done? For the social challenge of managing an artist-client relationship? Or the artistic drive of working to a specific goal and schedule? Aka WHY do you want to take commissions??

If you have not developed your own drive and are not familiar with your own commission process then you are not ready to move a client through that process

Are you ready to directly and clearly (and repeatedly if needed) communicate your policies to a client through the design, payment, construction, delivery, potential changes or repairs of the commission?

If you need payment by X date or they’ll be dropped from the queue, you need to inform them of this. If they have an issue with the work you did (and you need them to ship the item back asap so you can fix it before their warranty runs out), you need to inform them of this urgency and what failing to act by the deadline will result in.

Don’t leave it up to the client to know your policies. Your policies/procedures should be on your website Terms Of Service (TOS) that you had the client read and agree to, but a little refresher (plus a reasonable and clear deadline, if applicable) allows everyone to move on informed and aware of the consequences.

Do you have a method to communicate with your clients and be available for them to discuss issues with you?

I’m not saying be available 24-7 (an important self-care aspect is having certain hours of the day and/or the week to yourself without any work concerns) but if the client has an issue, how will they communicate that with you so that you can respond in an effective and timely manner? Do you prefer Telegram? Email? Twitter? Decide how you want to conduct business matters and let clients know where/when to contact you.

Do you have a method to update your clients and ask their opinions?

Depending on how you like to work, you do not need to ask a client’s opinion on every aspect of the build. However, showing your work and giving updates on the progress will make the client feel happy and secure in their commission choice.

One easy method for updating that I like is to keep a Trello board of projects where the client can always see the current progress of their commission. Telegram is a popular group chat client. It’s nice for sending pics/videos to clients and the ever classic email is perfect for initial quotes and longer back and forth discussions.

Can you always be honest with your clients?

It’s hard to run an entire business by yourself and you might promise too much or underestimate how long something will take or you life circumstances change and you now have less time to work. When these things happen, you need to be honest and transparent to your client. Explain the issues you are having (in simple, appropriate terms), apologize, and try to work with the client on a solution.

If you are going through some things that might affect work or deadlines, let them know. Keep in mind though, this doesn’t mean you have to share ALL of your struggles if what you are going through will not affect them. Just share what you feel they need or deserve to know.

#6. Do I have other artistic or personal goals right now?

Are commissions even right for you? 

If you have other things that are important in your life right now, it’s perfectly acceptable to focus your time on them instead of commissions.

Depending on your stage of life, you might still be in school. Or have a family. You might have another job or a hobby you enjoy. You also might just have other artistic goals that existing commissions do not fit into right now. People love your canines but you want to try cats instead. Or cosplay.

Or you don’t know what you want to do yet but agreeing to a many-month long contract is not that.

The desire for quality fursuit work from reputable artists is high;

if you are active in your community, your peers might try to convince you into taking their project.

It’s great that they love your work! But if the project is not in the direction you wish to go, does not offer enough money in compensation for sacrificing something else you want to do instead, or you do not feel like you can dedicate the time needed, it’s okay (and probably necessary!) to say no!

The ultimate goal in taking client commissions is to have them bring you MORE satisfaction and fulfillment than they take away; Be that in monetary, social or artistic terms.

Figure out your personal drive in being a fursuit artist. Create and run a thoughtful, intentional, and passionate business; whether you decide to take on 30 clients, 1 client, or zero clients.

Above all, have fun with it! Bring those characters to life without losing your own.

[scxrsgxrd]

Can you imagine being part of the crew for IT and going out for drinks with the rest of the crew and cast (those 21+ at least lol) on the last day of filming and Bill and you are doing shots and talking and having so much fun but homie gets absolutely shitfaced so you Uber home with him and walk him to his door and he’s like BY THE WAY IVE HAD A HUGE CRUSH ON YOU SINCE FOREVER and you just laugh and send him off to bed before Ubering home but secretly hope it was true + he remembers saying it 🥺

Shitfaced Bill is something I think about *a lot*👀

The last few weeks of filming had flown by, and before you knew it this project that you had devoted months of your time to was at an end. The adult losers cast, visibly emotional at this end of an era had organised a trip to the local bar for everyone involved in production. You were hesitant at first, but it didn’t take much persuading before you were sat at the bar, beer in hand, watching over the rest of the crew polishing off a bottle of neat tequila.

“Last day of filming and you’re on a.. beer?” A voice beside you piped up, and you swivelled your head round to see none other than Pennywise himself sat beside you, with what looked like bourbon infront of him.

“I’m working early tomorrow. No rest for the wicked.” You raised your eyebrow and took another swig of your beer, watching as he ordered two shots of god knows what and slid one over to you.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, you worked hard these past couple months. Cheers.” He knocked back the tiny glass and you smirked at his expression, since you were the one in charge of the costume department you had both become inevitably friendly, and weirdly, you were going to miss being greeted by 6”4 grown man in clown makeup every morning.

-

You watched in pure amazement as Bill managed to guzzle half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s to himself, and realized he was way past the point of knowing his limits. During the two hours you had spent at the bar he had managed to coax you into numerous drinking games; you had lost count of the amount of various shots he had consumed and he was in no fit state to be sitting at a bar with a whisky bottle swinging precariously in his right hand.

“Listen. Just, listen okay?” He slurred, swaying his arm towards you and in the process dumping a large splash of whisky over your lap, causing him to giggle before taking a large swig then settling the bottle on the bar with a large clatter.

“Bill, sweetheart, you’ve been telling me to listen for the last five minutes but I don’t know what you want me to listen to.” You patted his shoulder and scanned around you for his jacket, knowing that this was the time he needed to be escorted back to the hotel he was staying in.

He frowned as though lost in a muddy train of thought before slamming his hand on the bar. “Got it. I’m gonna write a script myself. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna write the script for the next IT movie, chapter three: pennywise returns.” He nodded and grinned to himself before asking the waiter for some pen and paper and another tequila shot.

“Woah buddy, I think you’ve more than your fair share of tequila for one night. Let me get you an Uber and we can talk about your script idea?” You finally located his jacket and slung it over his shoulders before putting his arm across you, using all of your strength to haul him unwilling out of the bar. He was significantly taller than you so this task wasn’t an easy one, especially since he seemed to have lost all motor skills since entering the bar.

Once the Uber finally arrived and drove you both to the hotel you mentally prepared yourself for your next task: getting him to his hotel room on the sixth floor. You managed to drag him into the elevator and prop him up against the wall as you pressed the button for the appropriate floor, silently praying that the burps he was doing were down to the drink and not any impending vomit.

“Come on, we’re almost there.” You shoved your bag down on the floor as the elevator doors opened, hoping that was enough to keep them opened as he was refusing to step out, citing that he wanted to visit the mini bar on the ground floor. You somehow managed to sling his arm back over your shoulder and escorted him out of the elevator, his legs practically trailing behind him as you slowly made your way down the corridor before reaching his room.

“Here you go. I trust you can make it to your own bed.” You handed him the key, immediately regretting it as he repeatedly poked the door as opposed to the slot, frowning he pushed down on the handle and nothing happened. You then took the key back off him and shoved it into the slot, forgetting that his entire weight was pressed against the door as he almost fell into the room before you grabbed his jacket and hauled him back in your direction.

“By the way,” he cleared his throat and turned to face you, swaying as he leaned against the wall for support, and you almost winced as the smell of whisky hit you. “I’ve had a huge crush on you since.. forever.” He smirked as he leaned forward, lips pouted and eyes closed but you held a hand in front of you to deflect the sloppy kiss you were about to be hit with.

“Get some sleep buddy, and maybe drink a glass of water before you go to bed.” You patted his back and made sure he safely made it into his room before walking back down to the lobby and ordering another Uber for yourself, your muscles were aching from practically carrying Bill to his room.

Once you were finally home and in the comfort of your own bed you reflected on what he had told you, a small smile forming on your face as you remembered his smirk as he informed you of his ‘crush’ on you. You silently scolded yourself as you remembered how truly shitfaced he was and how this most likely wasn’t true. But all logic seemed to leave your brain as you lay awake for the rest of night, deeply hoping that he’d not only remembered what he’d said, but that it was also the truth.

[everybodylovesrand]

Raje Judkins answered some questions about the show. Filming spoilers for the show below:

Q: What part of the books should you be caught up on for the first season?

A: Depends on if you like to read something before you watch it or not.

Q: What are you finding most challenging about going from book to screen? A: The hardest thing is the physicality of production. In the first book alone they go to more than 20 villages and cities. To try to do that is physically impossible for the show, so most of the work we don in the room is geographical, figuring how to condense the story and move it through places we can physically create.

Q: Do you have a favorite chapter from the whole saga? Mine is Veins of Gold. A: So many. But Honey in the Tea is the one off the top of my head.

Q: We can’t wait to see Elayne, Aviendha and Min

A: Me either. Three of my favorites.

Q: Has any post-production work begun or does that not start until filming is completed?

A: Nope! We do it simultaneously. Before the corona hit, I was prepping 2 episodes, shooting 2 episodes, in post on 4 episodes and writing Season 2 simultaneously :-0

Q: Will there be a soundtrack? Who’s the composer? A: Of course! David Buckley. Plus a few incredible musical guests we’ve already had.

Q: Are Min/Elayne in season 1? A: The Wheel weaves as the wheel wills

Q: Are you going to merge Min and Elayne? A: Hell no

Q: First moment you were speechless on set? A: First time walking into Emond’s Field with my mom

Q: Is mat fluent in the old tongue yet? A: We’ve had a couple cast members speak in it already and they NAILED IT

Q: Which character has your favorite costume so far? A: Ooo this is tough. Probably Geofram Bornhald.

Q: How is the cast and crew weathering the pandemic? A: Our team in Prague did an amazing job of getting everyone out and keeping them safe. And now everyone’s home and we all live on Instagram.

Q: Who is your favorite Forsaken? A: Ahhh. I love the ladies. Graendal, Lanfear, Moghedien. And Ishamael holds a special place in my heart the more time I spend with him

Q: What’s been your favourite shooting location so far? A: Slovenia! Spectacular stuff there

Q: Yes or no. Have you had to make any cuts be it a scene or character, that has been painful for you? A: Yes.

Q: How are you planning to handle the visualization of the weaves? Any little tidbits? A: We are trying to stay as true to the books as possible. I’ve been giving a bunch of VFX folks long diatribes about channeling, weaves, threads, earth vs. air, etc and they early stuff has started coming in. It looks FUCKING AWESOME. I screamed when Rosamund started channeling

Q: Similar to Them performing in an old Inn, what other iconic moment filmed stands out to u? A: Rand and Tam walking through the Westwood

Q: Blink twice if Min is in season 1. A: 😉😉

Q: Will Jeff Probst be one of the Aiel? Can you make some calls? A: If he dyes his hair red 😉

Q: Which WOT book title best describes your self isolation experience? A: A Memory of Light…

Q: Can we expect a trailer for the show anytime soon? A: Probably not for a long while sadly.

Q: Can you guys do a big WoT Wed announcement during the hiatus to keep all us fans hyped instead of al A: Yea! It would cheer us all up and we have some fun news

Q: Is Lan going to be as much or an absolute stud in the show as he is in the books? A: You’ve seen @danielhenney right?

Q: If you were an Aes Sedai, what Ajah would you choose? A: Such a good question. They all have merits but GREEN for the win. If only to hang with @priyankabose20

Q: Will we have to wait till season 2 to see any Aiel? (Other than Rand)

A: Nope. And the one you see will shock you. Hah. Amazon shouldn’t let me be on here when I’ve been cooped up for a week.

Q: RJ writes a lot of internal headspace stuff. What’s 1 hint on how the show will handle that? A: That’s the biggest difficulty of any novel adaptation. Figuring out how to make the internal monologue come out clearly to the audience. A lot of the changes we make and stories we tell differently are designed to serve exactly that purpose – showing you what those characters internal monologues from the book are without them just saying it out loud in exposition

Q: Are you using taller actors to portray the Aiel, or camera trickery? A: Trying to get tall folks. But I’m less concerned with height and more concerned with acting ability.

Q: Since JordanCon was cancelled, can we maybe get an extra treat next month? A: Sure! What do you want?

Q: Do you have a favorite Wise One? A: Avi

Q: How many trollocs do I have to take out to become a writing assistant? A: Violence is never the answer

Q: What would you say the CGI to practical ratio is going to be? A: Tring to do as much in camera as we possibly can!

Q: How are you handling sword forms and their names? A: We have a for real sword master on the show who walks into every room and tests out everything as a weapon. He could most definitely kill me with any item in my office.

Q: How are the horses on set? Is Mandarb spectacular? A: They are so great. Honestly I love our horses. Mandarb and Aldieb are downright sexy

Q: When will we get more casting announcements to hold us over? A: I’ll try to get them to put out something soon. A lot of folks in all departments are affected by the state of the world right now though, so I can’t promise a timeline

Q: will we see the prologue from the Eye of the World on screen in season 1 A: You will hear that phrase

Q: What has been your favorite set so far? A: Fal Dara!

Q: Please tell me you’ve cut Narg!! A: Never!!

Q To what extent has Harriet McDougal been involved with the project? A: She’s a consulting producer so she’s been out to Prague to the sets and reads all the scripts and sends me her notes on them. She and Maria are hugely helpful for maintaining the truth of the series and always keep me honest when it comes to things that change too much

Q: Is any aspect of the show still in development, or has it all stalled because of the virus? A: A lot can be done virtually! I’m still doing VFX, editing and the Season Two Virtual Writers Room! And I can do it all in pajamas

Q: Will min, elayne, and avienda have to be combined into a single character?

A: Girl you crazy. I’m not going to combine huge characters like that. Maybe sometimes a minor character folded into a more major one to make better use of our cast but nothing nutso

Q: RJ created 1000’s of character. Given that did you feel the need to create new characters? A: Anyone “new” is inspired by characters in the books or a number of characters combined. If we paid to cast all speaking roles in the book we could only afford to have a radio play

Q: So far, what is your favorite prop in the show? A: Great Serpent Ring. We all want one.

Q: Will Loial portray the Ogier species, or will he be humanised for screen? A: He’s an Ogier!

Q: How involved, if involved at all, is Sanderson in the writers room? A: Brandon is hugely helpful. I talked to him before we started Season Two while he was in Prague to get advice and he reads all the scripts and gives notes. He’s incredibly thoughtful and understands the process of adaptation and what’s required from it. I feel so lucky to have him involved. I would have him do more if I could make him!

Q: What words of hope would you offer a fan afraid that the show will cut out a lot of content? A: I genuinely think we are cutting less than most people think. When I see people ask questions like “are you cutting Min?” It blows my mind. I don’t know how you do an adaptation without some of these characters. I think it’ll be more of the smaller stories you’ll miss. We can’t have Rand and May (sic) travel to many many inns on their travels across the countryside for instance. It’s just not producible. So that will be more of what you miss I think, and the books always exist to read for that 🙂

Q: I think Bella is such an important character, will the same horse play bella through the series A: We’ve already had to have two Belas. It turns out a horse for riding on film is not the same as a horse for pulling a cart and SHE MUST DO BOTH

Q: Can you please make sure you do a great job? Book are so great A: This is are a really good idea

Q: Now you’ve met them, settle the score: who’s better with women? Rand, Mat or Perrin? A: I think they’d all say it’s the other

Q: Will the show be understandable for those who didn’t read the books? A: That’s the idea. If there are little things they don’t get though, luckily google exists

Q: Who is your favorite Aes Sedai in the books? And you can’t say Moiraine/Siuan or the Wonder Girls A: So many rules. I honestly love all of them though (except Galina that bitch) Alanna Liandrin and Verin are probably my Top 3. And Siuan! There’s too many I love. Sheriam! Pevara!

https://www.wotseries.com/2020/03/22/show-runner-rafe-judkins-does-an-ama-on-instagram/

[kpophours]

A Walk Home (M)

➵ SF9: Rowoon x fem. reader / one shot, college AU / fluff, smut

➵ warnings: explicit mentions of sex (oral: giving, fingering), mentions of alcohol, slight cursing

➵ word count: 5.3k

A heartfelt laugh and shining eyes.

That’s what he notices the first time Rowoon sees you.

Tousled hair being impatiently pushed back over one shoulder and out of an open, attractive face.

Fluttering hands gesturing widely, more laughs until you throw your head back, giggling uncontrollably.

You're vibrant and energetic.

Warm and open.

You feel like a breath of fresh air on the stuffy afternoon Rowoon meets you for the first time.

Rowoon’s tall frame is the first thing you see out of the corner of your eye.

Tall and dangly, arms and legs that seem too long to fit anywhere properly.

A jawline sharper than any blade, dark smoldering eyes – and a smile so inviting and open that you can’t help but immediately feel at ease around him. 

He uses one hand to push his black hair away from the forehead, a hint of impatience to that gesture. When he sees you looking, he grins - he knows he’s handsome, but doesn’t seem to care about it.

“There they are!”, Jaeyoon says when he spots his two friends just entering the café, “Late as always.”

“Punctuality is a virtue.”, you sigh, taking a careful sip of your steaming coffee.

“One we do not own, I’m afraid.”, Rowoon says, having overheard the last bits of conversation and grinning apologetically at you and Jaeyoon.

“Yeah, I’m sure we make an amazing first impression.”, Youngbin sighs, slipping onto the bench beside you, the chair opposite you now the only available space left for Rowoon. 

You just grin. “Don’t worry, I have a lot of friends who hold other virtues, too.”

"Well without further ado, let me finally introduce these two – Rowoon and Youngbin, two of my closest friends and roommates. Guys, this is Y/N.” 

Both men smile at the you and you respond in kind.

“Nice to finally meet you.”, Youngbin says, while Rowoon nods in agreement.

“Likewise – Jaeyoon has told me a lot about you. So.... You will help us with our genius idea?”, you ask, propping your chin onto one hand and regarding both, curiosity sparkling in your eyes.

“Well, we will try.”, Youngbin quickly dampens your excitement, “We’re no geniuses on the programming side.”

“Speak for yourself.”, Rowoon jumps in, raising one eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“Are you telling me you’ve become a programming genius over night now?”, the older man with the bright red hair asks, grinning a bit condescending.

“Who knows - I have many hidden talents.”

“Dancing the Macarena while balancing a glass of beer on top of your head does not count as a hidden talent, just so you know.”, Jaeyoon intercepts, making you laugh.

“Oh, I’ve definitely got to see that!”, you say brightly, dimples showing.

“Well, we’re having a party at our place this weekend, come over and you might get to see it.”, Youngbin proposes.

“Sounds good. Is it alright if I bring my best friend along with me?”

“No need - I live there too, so I’m already invited.”, Jaeyoon says confidently, making you roll your eyes.

“You are not my best friend, Yoon.”

He fake gasps. “I’m not?! But what about us, what about everything we’ve been throu-”

“I swear to god, you need to stop watching High School Musical.”, you whine, punching him lightly on the arm and making him pout.

“But they are cinematic masterpieces!”

“They are not. Seriously, you are so weird!”

“That’s why you love me."

"I most certainly do not.”

“I know you do and I love you, too. So, back to business then.” And with that, he looks at his two friends, who observe your bantering with amused faces.

The jokes continue through the whole afternoon, which marks the beginning of a new, blossoming friendship.

The four of you manage to plan quite a few things for the app you and Jaeyoon envision for your university project. If everything works out (which it will) you will get a high, if not the highest grade for this.

You come with your roommate/best friend to the party.

There, you show off your skills at beer-pong, destroying the youngest of the bunch of men living together named Hwiyoung and Chani with the help of Zuho, another of Jayeoon’s roommates; you can’t help but laugh at their shocked faces.

After that, Dawon calls for a round of shots, making you even more drunk which finally results in you showing off your (non-existent) dancing skills. Taeyang and Youngbin rescue you from the dance floor before you can hurt yourself (or someone else) with your flailing arms and legs. Rowoon and Jaeyoon have tears in their eyes from laughing too much at you, but you don't even mind. You obviously already know about your poor dancing skills, but are way too drunk to care.

When the night is old – or the morning young? – you sit outside with Inseong, having dreamy talks about politics and a better society. By then, you have finally begun to drink water; thanks to that, the alcohol is beginning to wear off. Your best friend is already back home, having drunken a little too much too fast and therefore decided to sleep it off.

After the party, you quickly become a regular at the young men’s house: many game as well as movie nights are spent cuddled together on mattresses and under blankets with popcorn and wine, even more are spent with Rowoon in the kitchen trying to improve your cooking skills or with Inseong on the porch discussing politics; sometimes you just sit in their living room, quietly reading one of your novels beside Youngbin - and once in a blue moon you even try to play some computer games with Hwiyoung and Chani (you're really bad at those, making them laugh at you).

It takes a few weeks before the men begin to notice that they don’t seem to remember a time before you. Especially Rowoon, who - along with Jaeyoon and Inseong - is closest to you, doesn’t want to imagine his life without you anymore. He doesn’t know it yet (or maybe he doesn’t want to acknowledge it) but he’s falling for you, ever day (and night) a bit more.

It’s movie night again and you're currently in the kitchen, helping Rowoon to prepare different dips for the ridiculous amount of chips already waiting with the others in the living room.

“Something’s still missing.”, Rowoon complains, tasting the guacamole he’s trying to make again.

You chuckle. “That’s just because you’re a perfectionist. The others won’t notice anything missing, I promise you that. Their taste is not… refined enough for that.”

He grumbles something unintelligible, scooping some guacamole onto his finger to taste it yet again, but before he can put it in his own mouth, you beat him to it, quickly licking his finger clean.

His heart stops and you giggle at his shocked expression. “Some more garlic, that’s what’s missing.”

With that, you playfully wink at him, take some of the already finished dips and leave the kitchen – Rowoon still standing shell-shocked in the same position, not having moved a single muscle.

When you’re gone, he takes a deep, shaky breath.

This is not good.

He should not feel his heart beating this fast – shouldn’t feel the lust spreading through his whole body, making him ache for more, leaving him hot and needy.

”Hyung, are you coming or not?”, Hwiyoung yells, breaking the spell a bit. Rowoon quickly drowns a cold glass of water, before taking the now finished guacamole and entering the living room, where everyone else is already assembled.

“There you are. We’ve already decided on a movie without you, by the way.”, Chani says, already munching on some chips. Rowoon ruffles his hair, making the younger man flinch and complain: “Hyung, don’t!”

He just grins, plopping down beside you onto one of the mattresses laid out on the floor – it’s the only available space left, a fact that makes him frown. Jaeyoon sports a shit-eating grin and Zuho shoots him a wink, so he knows they did this on purpose.

So… they know.

Just to prove them wrong, Rowoon scoots as far away from you as possible without falling off the mattress.

You don't even seem to notice, too involved into a banter over who gets the last blanket with Dawon. After everyone’s finally settled (you having gotten the blanket from Dawon, who’s now fake-sulking beside you with his arms crossed), Youngbin shuts off the lights and hits play on the first movie.

All you can hear besides the munching of chips and popcorn is the opening music of “The Nun”.

“Why are we watching a horror movie again?”, Zuho finally mutters, blanket already pulled up to his nose with only his eyes left visible.

Hwiyoung snorts. “Because we voted for it, hyung. You know, democratically.”

“Starting tonight, I’m completely against democracy. Can I quickly install a regime of monarchy with me as King? And change the movie?”

“Nope.”

A deep sigh follows the denial of his request, but after that, Zuho is silent. You gently pat his leg (the only limb you're able reach as he’s sitting directly above you on one of the sofas). “Just close your eyes when it’s getting too silent during the movie. That’s where they always place some jump scares.”

“Wow, thanks. What great advice!”

You just grin and shrug. “Always happy to help.”

After that, no one talks, everyone silently enjoying the movie (or not completely silent in case of Zuho and Dawon, who seem to scream during every jump scare); all are happily munching on the snacks.

During the second movie (this one another genre thanks to Zuho threatening to leave the movie night early otherwise), the first ones begin to fall asleep; first Youngbin, then Jaeyoon and finally Inseong and Zuho. Chani and Hwiyoung complain about the older ones, making fun of their inner grandpas, but Rowoon shushes them with one look. Dawon is the first one to leave, having gotten a call from another friend inviting him to a spontaneous party only a few blocks away. Chani and Hwiyoung finally retreat to their shared room as well, preferring to play some video games over watching a third movie.

When the next movie begins, you and Rowoon are the only ones left - not counting the sleeping ones still sprawled on the mattresses and sofas.

A third of the movie has gone by when your eyes begin to droop, too. By then, Rowoon has long given up on keeping some space between you as you have offered him half the blanket to share. Your legs are pressed against each other, hands touching too often to still call it accidental.

When your head drops down onto Rowoon’s shoulder, he uses his chance and slides one arm around you. Your response is immediate: you sigh, cuddling even closer and burrowing both hands into his soft cotton shirt.

Your eyes are still closed, but Rowoon feels your fast beating heart thanks to your body being closely pressed to his.

You're not sleeping but are too shy to open your eyes, the closeness to Rowoon so thrilling and exciting – and so new. You don’t want to ruin this moment, afraid to shatter it with confessing you being actually awake. But when you feel Rowoon’s lips on your forehead, you can’t keep pretending anymore. You lift your head and look at him with curious eyes, noticing the soft, loving expression on his face. Time seems frozen with you gazing at each other, hearts beating fast, hands becoming clammy.

Then, Rowoon’s gaze drops to your lips.

Your breathing stops for a second, your heart beginning to hammer uncontrollably, making you dizzy. It’s been too long since you've felt like this, like a teenage girl being in love for the first time.

Weeks of stolen glances, not so accidental touches, casual nearly-dates (sometimes with, sometimes without the other men) and many stupid inside jokes have cumulated to this moment – Rowoon face slowly nearing yours.

Thoughts run through his head that this, THIS is the moment he’s been waiting and hoping for - for so, so long, for weeks – months really…

He sees you close your eyes, hands loosening the hold on his shirt and wandering upwards to curl into the hair at the base of his neck, but before he can close his eyes as well and finally kiss you – he hears someone yawning, blankets begin to rustle and limbs to move.

Both of you immediately jump away from one another, Rowoon quickly snatching his arm back from around your smaller frame and you taking both hands back into your lap, interlacing your trembling fingers.

Cheeks burning, breaths halting, both of you plaster your eyes to the screen in front of you, hearts hammering fast and unsteady.

“What year is it?”, Jaeyoon groans from above you, sitting up.

When Rowoon and you turn around to look at him, you can’t stop a giggle coming from you – he looks too adorable with his hair sticking out in every direction, remains of sleep and dreams still evident in his eyes. 

“It’s 2050, welcome to the future.”, you answer, making your friend groan again.

“Don’t make fun of me. I hate drifting off during movie nights.”

“Shouldn’t have stayed up all night playing Overwatch with the maknaes, then.”, Rowoon chides his roommate, one eyebrow raised.

“Thanks, mom.”, Jaeyoon grumbles, flinging a pillow towards the tall man. Rowoon quickly ducks, giggling at his friend’s antics.

“Just go to bed, Yoon.”, you simply say, but he shakes his head.

“And leave you two alone? Who knows what you’ll be doing! No, I can’t be that irresponsible.”, he counters, smile wicked when he observes you two, noticing your red cheeks and not so subtle looks towards each other. Jaeyoon knows you two are head over heels for each other, but he also knows neither has done anything about the more than obvious crush (obvious to him and the others at least). He loves teasing you, so he stays where he is - wouldn’t make it too easy for either of you.

You just sigh, turn around and gaze at the screen again. “I think I’ll head home after this movie.”, you finally murmur, eyelids getting heavy again.

“I’ll walk you home.”, Rowoon immediately offers. 

You smile sleepily at him. “Thanks.”

With that, silence falls over the room again, but this time it feels heavy – both Rowoon and you are way too aware of Jaeyoon watching you.

The kiss that hasn’t happened is hanging above you like the sword of Damocles.

Half an hour later, the movie ends and you immediately stand up – a bit too quickly apparently, as your head begins to spin. “Oof.”, you huff, trying to find something to hold onto and finding it in Rowoon’s arm.

“Careful.”, he murmurs in a teasing undertone, eyes sparkling with humor.

“Oh, shut up.”, you counter weakly, dampening your words with a soft smile. Jaeyoon stands up as well, stretching both arms above his head and yawns. Inseong, Zuho and Youngbin are still out like a light and you three are intending to keep it that way, tiptoeing out of the living room and into the dark hallway. You quickly grab your shoes and leather jacket and are almost out of the door, when two arms cage around you.

“Not so fast.”, Jaeyoon says playfully, hugging you tightly to himself, “You can’t just leave without saying goodbye to your best friend.”

You giggle. “You’re not my best friend, Yoon.”

You both know it’s a blatant lie by now, but it’s a game you both like to play.

“I know I am. Love you, sleep well, have sweet dreams and I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” With that, he releases you again, but this time you turn around and smile. “Same, same, same and yes.” You kiss his cheek and leave the house – Rowoon already waiting for you on the street, also clad in a leather jacket.

He looks way too good in a leather jacket, you conclude, burying both hands in your pockets so they don’t go wandering in search of others to hold.

Rowoon smiles sleepily at you, pushing his dark hair back from his forehead.

He looks way too good with his hair like this, you think again and groan inwardly. He looks way too good in every aspect, you're tired of lying to yourself – you're hopelessly in love with the tall, dorky man.

You walk in silence towards the apartment you're sharing with your (other) best friend, who's currently out of town visiting some relatives this weekend. You curse her for it; you could’ve really used her to talk about what happened but didn’t happen with Rowoon tonight. And you would rather eat a broomstick than talk to Jaeyoon about this – you can already imagine his smug expression. You know he knows about your crush. You have the feeling all the other men know about it – but Rowoon is too oblivious apparently.

Or maybe he does know about your crush as well, but doesn’t want to acknowledge it – because he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship.

Or because he’s just not into you.

Or because-

“What are you thinking about?”, Rowoon asks, voice laced with amusement, “It looks like hard work.” He points at the lines forming on your forehead thanks to the frown you're currently sporting.

You're silent, unusually so. Normally, your walks are filled with bantering or deep talks or - well, anything, really. You have a connection like this, where you always have something to talk about. Now though, you don't really seem to be here with him – and you’ve almost reached your apartment.

“Sorry, I’m just tired.”, Rowoon hears you murmur, smiling at him, but he sees right through it.

“Mhm.”, he just makes, continuing to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Five minutes later, you’ve arrived at your doorstep. The sky is still pitch-black, only a few stars twinkle lazily down at you. It’s cold enough for your breaths to form tiny white clouds in front of you.

Rowoon looks at you, but you’re pointedly not looking at him. “Y/N.”, he says softly and you finally gaze up at him. Uncertainty fills your eyes, something uncommon for one of the most confident people he knows.

“Thanks for walking me home.”, you finally answer, the corner of your mouth curling upwards into the tiniest of smiles. As if he hasn’t walked you home hundreds of times by now - but you still continue to always thank him.

“Well, you can walk me home again now. And then I’ll walk you home again. And so on and so on - that way we can spend more time together.”, Rowoon suggests jokingly, making you smile in earnest this time. And that does it for him – that beautiful smile he came to love weeks (months, really) ago, with the dimples in your cheeks and the small creases around your sparkling eyes.

He steps forward, arms sliding around your smaller frame, head lowering towards yours and then – finally – his lips are on yours.

You have thought about this moment for days, weeks – months by now. And when Rowoon’s soft, plush lips are finally on yours, your heart just stops for a few seconds before beginning to hammer inside your chest.

It’s a sweet, soft, chaste kiss.

... At first.

Because the months of build-up it had taken for you both to finally admit to this, apparently have an impact: you slide both arms around Rowoon’s neck, pressing your body even closer to his, moaning softly against this lips. That does it for him, his teeth sink into your lower lip, gently biting down and when you gasp a bit, his tongue slips into your mouth. Desire shoots through your body, hot and needy and you can’t suppress the shudder and louder moan this time. Rowoon groans at this, pressing you even harder against him and grinding against you.

At this, you break away from him, breathing heavily. “I-”, he already wants to apologize, but you don’t even let him finish: “We should take this inside.”

He stutters and looks at you with comically big eyes, before beginning to grin wickedly. “After you, then.”

Your hands tremble slightly while you search for your keys – why did you choose a bag this large for today?! – and Rowoon pressing himself against your backside, hands roaming your sides while his breath tickles your exposed neck, isn't helping at all.

Finally, you manage to find the keys, slip them inside the keyhole and then, you’re inside the house.

You somehow make it into the elevator without getting rid of your clothes, but as soon as the apartment door falls shut behind you both, your mouths are on one another again, teeth and tongues clashing, months of pent-up desire making your moves hurried and sloppy. Your hands slip under Rowoon’s shirt (his and your leather jacket are already on the floor beside your shoes), trembling fingers dance over his abs, making him groan and grind against you again, erection already hard and pressing into your hip.

“Bedroom.”, you just say, dragging the taller man with you into your room. Out of habit, you close the door even though your best friend/roommate isn't even here. When you turn around and gaze with hooded, lust-filled eyes at Rowoon, you see the same expression mirrored on his face, eyes roaming your body, teeth digging into his lower lip.

Lust shoots through your entire body and you feel too hot and needy to take your time. You simply grab him again - just when he pulls you back into his arms.

"You're still wearing way too many clothes.", Rowoon murmurs against your lips, making you smile.

"I could say the same.", you answer cockily, hands slipping under his shirt again and dragging it upwards. He quickly pulls it over his head and flings it into the darkness of your room, not caring where it lands.

"Your turn."

You release a deep breath at this, taking the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. Rowoon groans when he sees your bra - black lace, nearly see-through.

"Fuck.", he mutters, hands already reaching for you to press your body against his again. He kisses you, slow and deep this time.

Your knees get weak and all you can do is hold onto Rowoon's biceps, so you don't slip to the floor.

"Still too many clothes.", the tall man finally says, when he ends the kiss, a small smirk forming on his lips.

You giggle. "Well, we should definitely change that, then." With that, you open your belt, then the button of your jeans, wriggling free and stepping out of them. Only left in your black panties and bra, you look at Rowoon, a silent challenge in your eyes. He follows it, quickly getting rid of his pants as well. His dark briefs are stretched thanks to his erection pressing almost painfully against them and when your gaze begins to wander towards them, you suck in a breath, teeth digging into your lower lip. Then, you reach for the fastening of your bra, opening it and letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground.

Rowoon swallows thickly, eyes getting even darker with desire when he sees your breasts, nipples already erect. Quickly, his lips are on yours again, arms curling around you.

You're trembling slightly, a fact that makes him hesitate. "You're okay?", he murmurs against your lips, a silent question in his eyes - do you really want this?

But you smile quickly, nodding forcefully. "More than okay, actually. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this.", you confess quietly, kissing him once.

He groans. "Thank God, me too."

With that, he takes a few steps backwards towards the bed, pulling you with him and sitting on the edge of your mattress, your body between his legs. His hands wander over your stomach, making you tremble even more. Soft kisses follow the paths of his hands, before his mouths closes over one nipple, his fingers brushing over the other one.

You moan at this, hands coming to rest on Rowoon's broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your breathing gets louder and choppy, the waves of desire making you feel dizzy. More wetness pools between your legs and when Rowoon's free hand brushes the edge of your panties, you curse softly.

His dark eyes gaze up at you, hidden humor sparkling in them at his own teasing. This does it for you, you push him on the bed, his mouth releasing your nipple in the process. You shivers at the sudden lack of contact, but quickly begin to straddle Rowoon, kissing him deeply and grinding against his erection. He moans at this, hands digging into your hips. "Don't tease.", he murmurs, voice dark and rough, making you grin at him. "Says the right one.", you just answer, but quickly lower herself, pulling his briefs down and freeing his erection.

Seeing his length for the first time makes you gulp - his body seems to be... very proportional. He smirks at your reaction, but it quickly dies down when you take his length into your mouth.

Incoherent words leave his mouth and he closes his eyes, hands fisting into your white bedding. You're apparently very good at what you’re doing, his heavy breathing and moans telling you he's more than enjoying this. Finally, he grabs your shoulders, heaving you towards himself and kissing you hungrily. He's panting when he breaks away from you, lips swollen and hair a mess. "I- you... Jesus Christ."

You laugh at this, a mistake apparently - one second he's under you and then he's flipped you over, his tall frame hovering over you.

He kisses your neck, slowly making his way down, only stopping at your breasts for a short amount of time before pulling down your panties.

He teases the edges of your heat, before sinking one long digit inside you, making you mewl at the sensation. When his thumb lands on your swollen clit, you begin to pant, one arm thrown over your eyes, your other hand fisting into the pillow beside you. Rowoon grins wickedly at the sight in front of him, enjoying teasing you a bit too much.

"P- please.", you finally whimper, looking at him with hooded eyes, teeth digging into your own lower lip.

"Condom?", he answers almost immediately, just as impatient as you.

You open the drawer of your nightstand and seconds later, he has already rolled the condom over his length, positioning himself in front of you.

"You're sure?", he murmurs, one eyebrow raised, making you roll your eyes at him. That does it for him - he grins, rolling his hips once and entering you swiftly.

You moan at the sudden sensation of him filling you, nails digging into his biceps until he's bottoming out. He stays still for some seconds, letting you adjust to his length buried deep inside of you.

"Okay?", he whispers gently against your lips and you nod forcefully, kissing him hungrily. He begins to set a slow pace at first, but you quickly demand him to move faster.

Pounding into you, one hand slipping between your flushed bodies to rub your clit, he makes both of you moan in pleasure.

It doesn't take long for you to begin to shake and clench around him, making it harder for him to hold back, his movements becoming sloppier with every second. You’re both breathing hard and when you finally cry out in complete pleasure, he releases the hold on him as well, groaning and moving a few last times, before coming to a halt. 

Face buried in your neck, Rowoon is panting, eyes closed and heart beating frantically.

You slide your arms around his broad frame, gently caressing his bare back and kissing his exposed shoulder.

"That was amazing.", you finally murmur, voice tired but pleased.

Rowoon grins at that, gently pulling out of you and rolling off the bed. "More than amazing.", he confirms, standing up and tossing the condom into the trash bin.

You wrap the blanket around your naked body, eyes heavy and hair spilling over the white pillows. He smiles at you, gaze soft.

"You're staying?", you ask in a small voice, one hand reaching for him.

"Yes.", he simply says, slipping back between the covers, gently pulling you against him.

You fall asleep like this - legs entangled, Rowoon's hand softly stroking your back, your nose pressed into his neck.

You sleep deeply and dreamlessly. 

The pale morning light filtering through the blinds and into your room wakes Rowoon the next day; you’re still soundly asleep beside him.

Your eyelids flutter from time to time and you mumble something incoherent, but otherwise it's completely silent inside the apartment - time seems frozen.

The dark-haired man continues to gaze at you, eyes soft, a small smile playing on his lips.

He can't believe that last night really happened, but his and your naked body as well as the still fresh memory in his mind are more than proof of it.

You shift slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around your body.

Your hair is fanning over the white pillows and you look so breathtakingly beautiful, so vulnerable, that Rowoon wants to take a picture to treasure this moment forever - he doesn't though.

Instead, he silently slips out of bed and pulls on his dark briefs and white shirt, before stepping into the hallway. He quickly makes his way towards the kitchen and drinks some water straight from the tab, before going to the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror, noticing the smile he simply can't seem to suppress. He hasn't been that happy in a long time.

When you wake up, you're alone in bed. Still half asleep, you reach over to touch the other side of the mattress, noticing the still lingering warmth.

So Rowoon can't be gone for long.

You groan slightly, reaching for the water bottle you always keep beside your bed and take a few deep gulps of cold water. After you've satisfied your thirst, you tousle your hair and stretch both arms above your head with a deep yawn. You're still naked and shiver in the cold room, quickly pulling the thick blanket around your body again. At that moment, your door opens and Rowoon steps through; hair mussed but eyes bright and awake.

He smiles breathtakingly at you and you answer it a bit shyly.

"Morning.", he says, voice still rough from sleep.

"Morning.", you reply, stretching both arms towards the tall man, "Come back to bed?"

He doesn't even hesitate, quickly crossing the room with two large steps and slipping between the covers with you, pulling you against his own body. You shiver a bit, moaning slightly at the heat radiating from him.

"Slept well?", you ask, your breath tickling his neck.

"Like a rock. And you?"

"Same. I haven't had such a good night's sleep in a really long time."

"Well, you were pretty exhausted."

You hear the smirk in Rowoon's voice and decide to tease him a bit: "Oh yeah, three movies are a lot to take in."

He tickles your sides, making you giggle - the most beautiful sound in the world to him.

You gaze up at him, eyes sparkling with humor. He can't hold himself back anymore and presses his lips against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth.

A few minutes later, both of you are breathless.

"I had the most amazing night.", Rowoon finally says, the corners of his mouth curling into a soft smile.

"Me too.", you answer, giving him another quick kiss.

"I... Just so I'm clear - I don't want this to be a one-time-only-thing.", the young man confesses, holding his breath until you're grinning widely at him.

"Oh thank god, me neither."

He laughs at that, pulling you even closer and pressing his lips against your forehead. "So... can I take you out on a date tonight?"

You smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

[masterlist] | [requests] 

[pythosart]

A big ol 2019 end of the year update

I felt somewhat compelled to write my end of the year/decade thoughts, but a warning before you read: This one’s going to be heavy, intensely personal, and long. If you don’t feel up to reading that, it may be best to skip it. I promise I’ll go back to shutting up and posting art afterwards. I’m profoundly incapable of being concise, ever, so apologies for the length of this.

2019 was a nightmare.

Some background: In mid 2016, my mother was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer. She was given a few months to live. She was given weeks or months to live multiple times, for almost three years. In that time my mom was in and out of the hospital, but spent all her good days living life to the fullest, starting and finishing dream projects, and keeping all of us going despite her own situation. Even when she was bedridden, hooked up to tubes and bags and god knows what, she found time to prop up her loved ones and pursue her hobbies. She even managed to develop new hobbies and interests while otherwise imprisoned by her physical state, something I struggle to do at the best of times even in my young and relatively healthy form. If there’s anything I can make of this experience, it’s that I hope to grow into even half the woman my mother was.

I ended 2018 with my final quarter at SCAD. I spent the entire quarter terrified my mom was going to die while I was away from home. It was horrific, I barely scraped by my last few classes (bless my professors’ endless patience), and immediately left Savannah for home as soon as the quarter was up. I never had room to celebrate finishing college. Any other year it would be a huge milestone, but I barely even care.

This past May, my mother passed away, after three years of petrifying suspense. It happened in the dead middle of the night, while my best friend was visiting for a con, and it still feels like a bad dream. It’s also one of the only vivid memories I even have of this year. 

I wish I had more to say on that, but I genuinely think the drawn out suffering and fracturing of my whole world left me unable to fully unpack everything that’s happened. It’s hard to even think about for long, and at times I even half-forget she’s gone. I think of things I want to show her, or tell her, or cook with her. Just the other day I kept thinking I’d tell her how much I liked endive after she showed me how to make it. I found a historical Italian cooking channel that, every time I see it, I just think of how much she’d love it. I knew she’d love Hot Fuzz but never got to show her. Little, stupid things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. They just do.

My mother and I were close, much closer than I am with my dad. Especially towards the end of her life, we had gotten closer, and I felt like I was only just really getting to know her as an equal. I still want to share my life with her, but that chance is gone.

This holiday season has been especially rough in her absence, because not only was my mom the motivational and creative force behind a lot of holiday activities here, it’s the first everything without her. We had Thanksgiving with friends and a catered dinner, instead of spending several days cooking and polishing family silver and setting the table. I won’t be making handmade tortellini with her for Christmas like we did every year. It’s the little things like that.

We’re a tiny family, with over half of us in Italy and lacking much communication due to the language barrier. Family holidays were always small, but there’s just a huge hole how, much greater than the cold numeric value of “one fewer participant.” My mom was always a driving force and a keystone in our support networks, not to mention the main line of contact with the Italian-speaking side of the family, so now the family feels so much more scattered and isolated than ever.

My girlfriend was close to my mother too, and as she’s been living with me for years now and is practically part of the family, I think she took it just as hard as anyone. Cel saw everything I did, and dealt with many of the same uncertainties and traumatic experiences I did.

A month after I lost my mother, I lost my cat too. Galileo was twelve years old, a spry old man who yelled instead of meowed, and just a wonderful cat. I got him when I was in 7th grade, after begging my parents for years to get me a cat. It was my mom who eventually overrode my dad’s hesitations, and from then on Leo was part of the family. He went through a very sudden decline over the course of a week or two, and we learned it was cancer. Feline lymphoma, I think. I had to make the call to put him to sleep, and it ripped what was left of my heart out.

Not that it needs stating, but fuck cancer.

A few too-short months later, I cut ties with a “friend,” which despite how fucking much it hurt, was really for the best. At a certain point one simply can no longer afford to waste energy on a certain kind of person. Unfortunately I’m a persistently optimistic idiot, and it took me too long to cut my losses before deep damage was done. Done to me, my close friends, and even barely involved acquaintances this “friend” dumped on relentlessly and tried to harass into spying on me. Really, if any part of this is unforgivable, it’s that.

All this was, however, a valuable reminder that it’s no good to have any tolerance for habitually dishonest people, even if they think they’re doing it to look “nice.” Chronic liars will gaslight you whether they know it or not, and trying to navigate that in an already damaged mental state is inadvisable. It was an important lesson in picking one’s battles, albeit one learned too late. I’m still holding out hope I can find it in my heart to forgive this person, if only for my own selfish sake so I can move on. I have a lot of experience living on spite, and I don’t want to make a further habit of it.

Naturally all of the above did little to curb my already inflamed pessimism about the state of my country and the world at large, but I need not expand on that, I imagine.

I suppose it would be unfair of me to leave it all at that and only mention the negative, though admittedly positivity is hard to muster these days. A few bright spots of note:

Graduated from SCAD with my BFA in Sequential Art (technically last year, but I did the ceremonial bit this year)

Tabled at Animazement with Woods. We barely broke even, but it was a great time and I plan on doing it again in the new year.

Spent literally an entire month hanging out with my two best friends, which was amazing and exactly the kind of healing experience I needed around that time of year.

Properly did Halloween for the first time in years. I made a costume I’m proud of and we went out on the town… for like an hour, because it promptly started pouring. But fun nevertheless

Started therapy. As of writing this, I’ve only had an introductory session, but it’s a start. Should have started six months ago, but didn’t for reasons to be addressed...in therapy

Started volunteering at the local natural history museum, where I spent like half my childhood. I’ll be doing data entry in collections, but that’s still cool as hell

Got a start on figuring out what I want to do with my life. It’ll involve going back to school for science within the next five-ish years, but it’s nice to have a goal. More of a goal than I’ve ever had, in fact.

Played some extremely good video games (shout out to The Blackout Club and Control)

Made a shitload of unnecessary yet endlessly fun and good AUs with my friends and my one (1) OC

Got an iPad Pro and started learning Procreate, which has gotten me drawing more

Learned a bit of needle felting

2019 was a year of getting much closer to my two best friends, and I genuinely owe them my life at this point. I don’t know where I’d be without them. Nowhere good, certainly.

Woods and Dross kept me talking to people, kept me creating, told me when I was being unreasonable or needed to cool it, heard me out when I needed it but always kept me honest. They helped me keep some creative juices flowing when otherwise I’d have been at a frustrated loss and might have given up for good. If it seems like I’ve kept up my usual art output at all, and if you’ve enjoyed the Lou content (or not, whoops... apologies to everyone who followed me for monster content) you have both of them to thank.

Even moreso, I owe my girlfriend a great deal for being there for me through all of this while she herself was suffering similarly. She and I have had our ups and downs, and been through a lot in the five-ish years we’ve been together. We aren’t the most outspoken couple, but I think our mutual understanding and pain mitigated a lot of the damage this year has done. I don’t think I could have handled it alone.

Furthermore, I really need to thank a lot of other friends and acquaintances I’m not quite as close with, but still talk to. These people especially were willing to call me on my bullshit when necessary, or just talk to me at all, about anything. Even if these acquaintances didn’t know it at the time, there’s a good chance they were dragging me out of one of my frequent existential despair spirals.

I also, weirdly, owe a lot to helping my hen Julia recover from her dog attack. That was around the time that my mom’s health was in its final decline, when I felt the most helpless and despairing. I think having even some tiny something I could do to help was like, the only feeling of control I had in life for a bit there. Julia’s fine, by the way. Still queen of the yard, top chicken boss bitch, etc. Julia was always a kind of kindred spirit with my mom, in a way. Little but not to be underestimated, gray, big personality and commanding presence… Not to mention, she was one of the first in our flock and was always my mom’s favorite. 

It would be too much to say I have high hopes or plans of any kind for the upcoming year, but I do have a list of things I want to try and do. Some of which will involve art, and the posting thereof.

Big if on this one, but I’ve also recently started therapy (only took me half a year to work up to making a phone call after the first failed attempt took all the wind out of my sails) and I have…maybe not high hopes, but hopes, for that doing something to help. I should have started therapy two years ago, but the second best time is now, etc etc.

I have a lot of New Year’s resolutions, beyond the usual “get in shape, drink less coffee, blah blah” that I’ll try and write up a little list of separately. Most of them are art-related, so you all will be there to watch me swing and miss I PROMISED I’D TRY TO BE LESS NEGATIVE. New Year’s resolution #1: Maybe don’t make so many self-deprecating jokes.

Anyway, I don’t know how to end any wall of text, be it an OC worldbuilding screed or something serious like this, so... I guess, love yourself, cherish your friends, know when to put your own needs first and when to put your friends’ needs firster. One of the things my mom taught me in this past year or so is that relationships are what you make of them, and that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. Be generous, be genuine, don’t be a doormat and don’t lie to people you care about, even if it seems kinder in the moment. Savor the time you have with those close to you, and spend time doing things you love. Cliché, maybe, but cliché can still be true. Happy new year, everyone. I sincerely hope it will treat us all better. 2020 may just be an imaginary change of numbers, but I like to think it really does wipe the slate in a way, and make room for all of us to do what we can to be better. Speaking of which, vote. For the love of all that is good, vote.

--

A little bullet list of New Year’s resolutions, because it’s nicer to look at

Try to get back in shape (of course) - That 30 days of strength thing was good while it lasted, despite my joints hating me

Learn some new recipes, preferably with fewer carbs, you Italian ass

Keep a physical calendar and stick with it for at least a few months

Learn at least one new skill by the middle of the year, whether it’s art-related or something else

Start writing more. Don’t have to share it, but try. Write down ideas somewhere other than Discord where they’re easy to lose

Either reopen Patreon or figure out how ko-fi works. Even if it’s for no money, just to have structure and goals.

Do Animazement again and try out some new product types

Go to SCAD career fair with a decent portfolio

Get better about spending, by whatever method works

Attend some art classes at the local collectives, doesn’t matter what

Play more video games. I swear I only played like three new things this year 

Read more classic literature and nonfiction, at least one book per month. I’ve been really enjoying Agatha Christie’s works and am about to start Guns, Germs, and Steel

Read more comics. Basically just consume more media

Do Halloween again, better this time

See friends in person more

Practice accepting whatever shitty thoughts show up and then letting them go, rather than dwelling on them

[laufire]

Roswell NM 2x05

My thoughts of this episode could basically be summed up on “Extremely Mixed Feelings” lmfao.

Let’s start with Rosa, obviously. Gosh, I adore her. ADORE her. She feels so lively and real and colourful among... well, everything and everyone else xD. She did even in death. She makes this show better by being the point of contention in the narrative. The mixed feelings come when she interacts with anyone else, because though she remains her incredible self, (almost) everyone else isn’t and I keep chaffing against the dominant narrative :P. She’s also hilarious lmao. I love every one of her zings xD. The “bitch-ass aliens” was obviously the winner, but her calling Max & Isobel’s nonsense “psychic twincest weirdness” was close LOL.

Like, I don’t know how I feel about the show even JOKING about Rosa possibly forgiving Max & Co. The scene itself with Rosa DEMANDING her own room was perfect, but. Yeah. Don’t even joke about that xD. To add that, I actually really love her scenes with Max, both in previous episodes and this one, when he briefly convinced her of stopping his resurrection (I kind of love that the episode was so close to Easter, btw, it’s so on the nose xDD). The energy between the actors works REALLY well and I find myself suddenly paying attention to Max, which hadn’t happened so far xDD. However, I’d enjoy those scenes even more if I could be reasurred that Rosa is always going to have mixed feelings at best about him, and will never be reduced to prop him or Liz/Max (like in the moment where Rosa almost has to comfort Liz about Max loving her. Leave my kid out of this pls). But. Yeah. I also have some guesses as to where the Rosa vs. Max storyline will go now that a.) she has more control of her new powers, and b.) his resurrection is the one that’ll follow the Came Back Wrong pattern, but they’re half-formed/half-wishful thinking so far lol.

I love love love the physicality of Rosa’s scenes with Liz too, even if sometimes I’m bothered by other elements. I’m just amazed by how the actresses manage to make it come across that despite the obvious visuals, despite how ~youthful and reckless Rosa feels... she’s the older sister, still. That’s how she feels, and Liz gets ~swayed by this. Like how she bundles herself agaisnt Rosa’s chest for comfort (and in the second one, the transition to that after Liz holds Rosa’s face in her hands), or how Rosa talks about her “sweet little sister”, etc. It also helps making the relationship feel less proppy than it would otherwise --younger sisters doing something for their older ones feels different than the reverse, idk. I have Thoughts about this but they’re all tangled up with myself projecting stuff on them, so idk what I’m trying to convey here xDD

I’m less conflicted about Rosa/Isobel. STAY AWAY FROM HER ISOBEL. Seriously, I full on despise her now. Fuck her. At the beginning of the season it looked like I might start finding her interesting, but nah. That’s over. And in particular I want her as far away as possible from Rosa. I’m even surprised by the strength of my reaction lol, but I wanted to yell at her to take her dirty paws off Rosa xD (seriously, the scene where she puts her hand on Rosa’s chest felt so so creepy? Was that just me? Add that in Isobel’s comment about having a “threeway” and deugh. GO AWAY ISOBEL). And frankly, it’s hard to miss how Isobel is always at her worst with women of color (I’m wary of her attitude to men of color, after the blatant sexualization/mind control thing with Kyle or all her bullshit with Arturo, too). Her comments on Rosa’s addiction (let alone assaulting her or locking her body in a closet ofc) didn’t help her case. I really, really wish Rosa had chocked a bitch xD. BTW, I’ve seen people attribute Isobel’s shittiness to her connection to Max and his darkness when a.) we saw NO SIGNS of this, and b.) she’s been terrible from day one, okay xD. If the show goes there to absolve her of responsibility like it did in s1... ugh.

My connection was crappy af last week and I somehow missed Michael’s “help me move a body” scene until I saw the parallel done with the one this week and... did this bitch really joke about desecrating Rosa’s body in front of Liz’s face?? (who said nothing because she’s now completely on pod-people’s POV land, ofc. I had flashbacks to Delena joking about Caroline’s rape right there, too). Seriously, the pod-people, ALL of them, have an enourmous debt with Rosa (EVEN MORE NOW), and I really, really wish she collected.

I wish we’d seen Arturo & Arturo-Rosa stuff this episode. It’ll still be tainted by the circumstances (*hates Isobel even more*), but I’m very curious about them. And about how Rosa’s bio-father ties to this stuff --that side of Rosa’s family is being left out of things so far and I don’t like it, tbh. It seems to be simply because it’s too far from the pod-siblings circle of influence ¬¬. Or about how Arturo is processing all this (he still thinks Rosa drove and killed the two other girls and that Max is A Very Nice Boy *barfs*. I seriously resent the very real posibility that Rosa’s story will never be untangled, to her father and to the town).

Not-Rosa-centric stuff under the cut, I guess, because this is getting long xD

I also have mixed feelings about Maria’s scenes with Alex (and Maria’s scenes in general). OTOH, she looked amazing (this is important, js. It’s such a shame we didn’t see Michael’s reaction to that last outfit of hers *-*); I love the actor’s easy chemistry, too; and I think it’s very, very interesting, that Alex basically nudged Maria towards Michael and Miluca. OTOH, I dislike how the conversation immediately turned to supporting him, and especially the false equivalences between Maria falling for Michael and Alex contributing to the lies to her (though I don’t find him as responsibly for that as Michael and especially Liz --since it was Michael’s secret and he planned and struggled to tell her, while Liz was pretty comfortable keeping her in the dark except for her own emotional needs, and knew too well why those secrets could cost), or between looking at your mother’s search history and forgiving someone for keeping you in the dark and endangering your life, js. That he guilted her into forgiving Liz (and so fullfilling Maria’s prophecy about how Liz only struggled to tell her because she wanted support, and my own about how little her anger was allowed to last) made it worse.

I feel terrible for Kyle. You could feel the toll he’s taken smh. My heart broke a little when he told Liz “you called, I broke the speed limit”, too :/. His relationship with his mother is hanging on the balance after all his lies too, which doesn’t bode to well for him either. I liked the scene between him and Alex, at least, though I still don’t think I could ever ship them, given Kyle’s romantic history with someone that ALSO was hung up on another person, js.

Other people have talked about how Alex’s scenes with Michael often highlight his classism and how little it’s talked about in this fandom, but yeah. His comments about Michael’s “wasting” his life... I Felt that.

Related to that, Max’s comment about how someone “has to clean up [Michael’s] messes” is part of why the pod-siblinghood thing is never ever ever going to work for me, sns xDD. Sure, it’s mostly because I don’t like Max or Isobel at all, or Michael 40-50% of the time, but yeah, things like that, or Isobel assuring him of the BLATANT lie that Michael means as much to her and Max as each other... they make it harder to get into the ~spirit lol. Another issue is how TERRIBLE the editing to make them appear younger looks xDD

I had to, HAD TO, roll my eyes at Max’s martyrdom. Ooooh, he’s not doing this for HIMSELF, he would NEVER care about being in PAIN, he’s doing this for US. And the narrative conveniently doesn’t take him at his word and saves him, ofc, because’s he’s a lead and that’s what’s up. It was interesting seeing the other characters coming to acceptance at first, however --I hope it’s a Sign. There are other Signs (of Max’s narrative maaaaaaybe weak spots) that really *pop* in this episode. Like the fact that there’s doubt over who is more important to him, Liz or Isobel. In a show with a really strong male lead, the answer would unquestionably be Liz: she’d know it, Isobel would know it, we’d all know it. And sure, I know a lot of people would say that it’s “better” (?) for a show to acknowledge the ~importance of familial and platonic bonds~ and what not, but c’mon. I don’t doubt that if Liz had been white things would be different. But that’s not the case here. And there are strong arguments for Isobel being number one... like the fact that this amnesia plot in the promo seems to ONLY involve Liz? I mean, he seems to remember Isobel just fine. A male lead forgetting the love of his life is very, very tricky. OTOH this is good in the sense that I’m all for anything that makes Max take a fall... but his & Liz’s stories are too tangled up and I’d fear she’d surely go down with him :/

[alj4890]

For @krsnlove who asked for something for today, LOL.

(Thomas x Amanda) (Maxwell x Nadia)

@walkerinfolkvangr @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @fullbeaumonty @cocomaxley @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject   @krsnlove    @annekebbphotography @gibbles82   @bella-ca  @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry

"Must we spend the entire weekend with them?" Thomas asked as he buttoned his shirt.

"They came into town specifically to see us." Amanda called out from the bathroom. "They plan on doing other things, but they wanted the evenings with us."

He frowned as he tucked in his shirt and walked into the bathroom. Amanda was standing before the mirror finishing her makeup and looked at his reflection.

"Thomas, they love us."

"No, they love you. Since you love me, they tolerate my prescence." He propped his hip on the counter and folded his arms.

"You know that's not true!"

He sighed. "Yes, they consider me a friend, but...couldn't they consider me a long distance friend?"

She chuckled as she placed her makeup back in her bag. "You are a long distance friend. You just happen to be friends with two people who love to spontaneously travel and you reside in a very popular state."

"I suppose that's fair. I had wanted you all to myself this weekend." He took her hand and tugged her closer. "I had plans for us."

"Oh?" She said softly as he moved her closer.

"Yes, plans for just us. Plans that started tonight and didn't stop for days. Nights made for you and me. No one else." Each word was breathed against her skin as his lips hovered over her neck.

They both jumped when they heard the doorbell ring. "There they are." Amanda looked up at him and kissed him. "Perhaps you will have what you want."

He shook his head no as he followed her down the stairs. "Not with those two involved."

"Here we are!" Nadia squealed as she hugged them both. Maxwell in turn hugged Amanda, squeezing a yelp out of her then shaking Thomas' hand. Nadia produced a basket filled with sweets, cheeses, and wine.

"Let's get the night started!" Maxwell exclaimed.

The boisterous couple seemed to hold within them the very fabric of a nightclub filled to the brim with people having a good time. Thomas was amazed how between the two of them, they managed to turn his quiet home into one of skull thumping loudness.

Amanda encouraged them to sit down and be comfortable while she retrieved some glasses. Thomas followed her and pinned her between the counter and his body.

She began to laugh softly. "May I help you Mr. Hunt?"

He turned her around and kissed her. "Only if you can figure out a way for us to be alone." He thought of the long hours he had spent editing his current film and the need to be near her. That was what this weekend was supposed to be about.

Amanda let out a sigh and kissed his cheek. She handed him two glasses and gently nudged him back to the living room.

As they caught up on what everyone had been doing, they opened the contents of the basket and were soon sitting on the floor near the fireplace.

"Oh! Let's play a game!" Nadia offered. She looked expectantly at Maxwell who beamed at her way of thinking.

"Let's make it an interesting one. Amanda, we will need paper and pens please." Maxwell said.

"What are we playing?" She asked as she went to get the items.

"Two truths and a lie!" He announced.

"Oh! I love that game, pumpkin." Nadia wrapped her arms around Maxwell.

"I know you do, angel eyes." He kissed her nose.

Thomas rolled his eyes at their pet names and settled more comfortably when Amanda returned.

"Who's going first?" Nadia asked.

Everyone was silent. "I'll go first." Amanda offered.

Maxwell leaned forward, his blue eyes staring directly into hers. "Remember. Make them interesting and difficult. You have two of us here who know you very well."

"Okay, okay." She muttered as she quickly wrote out her two truths and lie. She put a star next to the lie and folded it up, setting it on the stone hearth.

"First thing is...I once threw my drink in a date's face when he accused me of inviting a tipsy guy to kiss me. Second, I once was a bartender for a hockey team's party. Third, I once changed my college major to geology and then changed it back to English the following semester."

Maxwell and Thomas sat there studying her while Nadia shook her head. "Has to be the bartender that's the lie."

Maxwell narrowed his eyes. "I know you collect rocks, I can't remember if you changed majors or not. I think I'm with Nadia on this one."

Thomas studied her. "You are much too sweet to become overly dramatic and throw a drink in a guy's face."

"Is that your final answer?" She asked with a grin. They all nodded. She opened up the paper and they gasped.

"You really were a bartender for a night?!" Nadia exclaimed. Thomas shook his head. "I can't believe you threw a drink in a man's face."

"Wow. Okay, clearly we did not hang out as often as I thought. Now who's next?" Maxwell asked.

"I'll go next." Thomas replied. He quickly wrote out his three and marked the lie before folding the paper and setting it on the table. He cleared his throat. "First, I once moved to San Francisco and developed a business plan for a local smoothie franchise. Second, I was an assistant manager at an electronics store. After closing, I would kill all the lights and project movies on the blank wall inside. I charged friends and friends of friends two dollars a person to come in and watch them. Third, I was once an underwear model."

Amanda snorted and choked on her sip of wine. "Thomas! An underwear model?" She had tears falling as she laughed. No one else laughed. She looked at them all surprised. "Are you serious?"

Maxwell and Nadia shared a glance. "Everyone knows that was his job before directing."

"I didn't know!" She said, her voice getting defensive. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. "Honestly, I thought you knew. I assumed you knew all about me before coming to work with me."

"I didn't! I had no idea that everyone had seen you naked!" Her tone was now a mixture of hurt and anger.

"I wasn't naked! I had on underwear!" He responded, a bit touchy at how she was acting.

She turned toward the other couple. "Have you seen my husband in his underwear?"

"Well, yeah. I mean it was a pretty big ad campaign of Calvin Klein's, so..." Maxwell trailed off as her eyes narrowed. Nadia slumped down Maxwell's side as she confirmed she remembered the ads.

"That's just great. Everyone has seen my husband naked." She nearly yelled.

"Oh for the love--I wasn't naked!" Thomas yelled.

Amanda glared at him. "I can't believe this."

"Come on Amanda. Isn't Hollywood filled with folks that have seen each other in their underwear?" Maxwell asked, trying to help out.

"He is not an actor. No one should have knowledge of how he looks in his underwear, except me! I bet Nadia just loves the fact that on Google Earth, when you zoom in on Ramsford, you are seen naked in the window."

"What?!" Screeched Nadia. "Maxwell Percival Beaumont!"

Maxwell covered his face. "Why? Why would you reveal that?"

Amanda suddenly stood up. Her anger rolled off of her in waves as she stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.

Thomas got up to go after her, when Maxwell stopped him. "We're going to get out of here and give you guys some privacy." He glanced at his own shocked wife and groaned. "I think we both have some things to work out."

Thomas walked them to the door and apologized at how the night had fallen apart. He locked up and turned out the lights, delaying the moment when he had to face his wife. He squared his shoulders and walked up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom. He raised his hand to knock and then decided to try the door handle first. It was unlocked.

He slowly came in and saw Amanda calmly flipping through channels on the bed. He paused in surprise.

"Are they gone?" She asked quietly

"Yes." He said slowly. "Um, about the modeling, I--"

She started laughing. His shock kept him immobile.

"I already knew all about it." She said after wiping her eyes. She grabbed her phone and opened up her calendar app before tossing it to him.

"April first." He muttered as he raised his head to look at her.

She chuckled. "Sorry. I had to trick you too if I was going to empty our home of company."

"So you knew all along about my past career?" He asked as he stood before her.

"I did. When you offered it up as the last during the game, I'm afriad I took it as a way out. It would have been hard to get upset over your business plan in San Francisco." Her eyes twinkled with humor.

He shook his head in amazement of her trickery and it resulting in what he wanted. "So? Did you see those ads?"

Her cheeks turned red. "Um, yes. I might have been a big fan of them"

"Really? Is that why you agreed so quickly to come here and work with me?" The look in his eyes made her nervous.

"What? No! I mean they didn't hurt my making the decision." She began to scoot over to his side of the bed as he advanced on her.

"Thomas!" She squealed when he pounced on her. He smoothed the hair out of her face and kissed her.

"I know I shouldn't still be in awe each time you manage to give me what I need, but I can't help it." He said softly.

She smiled and gently pushed him off of her. "I know a way you can thank me?" She winked suggestively at him.

His smile was mischievous as he began unbuttoning his shirt. "And how long am I supposed to pose in my underwear?"

"Hmm. One shouldn't rush art."

[spytap]

A Eulogy For My Mother

“I love you madly.”

Those weren’t the last words my mother spoke to me, but it was how she ended the call where I found out about her cancer. It was what she wanted me to remember.

And it worked. I really only remember about half of that call, but that particular phrase stuck with me. It wasn’t one she’d ever said before, but it somehow felt familiar. I knew then, that no matter how long the treatment would last, or how optimistic she would pretend to be when we spoke, that was the moment she said goodbye. That was how she wanted me to remember her. She loved me madly.

My mother was a wonderful study in contradictions. She reveled in surprising people and subverting expectations. Witty and independent and opinionated and kind, she was 5 foot one half inch of firecrackers and feminism, equal parts wild horse breaking country girl, and subdued suburban matriarch, trying so desperately to raise her rambunctious sons with some amount of decor and grace.

When I think of my mother, I think of her love of words. While Shakespeare always had a special place in her heart, words were sacred and storytelling was a gift from the gods. We were taught to read early, and our house always had thousands of books. And if we were really really good, we could go to the library later and get some more.

But I also have a very distinct memory of her gleefully singing along to Eric Clapton’s song “Cocaine” as we drove to church. She told me this was perfectly okay because it was - and I’ll quote her - “good music” - as if that settled the manner, and was the only question a nine year old could have about that particular situation.

My mother had the soul of an artist and the heart of a rebel, and I’m pretty sure she would have loved that I told that story at church because she reveled in counterpointing punk and proper - which is as appropriate a metaphor for Sandy as I can think of.

My mother was born and immediately given up, an aspect of her life that would defy her attempts to understand, reconcile, and identify it, even as she sought to never let it define her. Her adoptive parents considered the topic off-limits for discussion, so much of her life would be lived with a question mark overshadowing her experiences. Who am I and where did I come from? Are these interests and choices mine, or part of my mysterious biology? Why won’t anyone tell me? Most of her life would be spent in the search for her biological family, for answers to questions that could never be answered in absentia, and for a place in the world that was more than just existence. For a family. And a place. And a past.

Her childhood in rural Oregon was spent in contradiction as well - with a prim and proper southern mother and a grease-monkey father whose reputation was built on being fair and honest to everyone, regardless of their race, gender, or religion - an uncommon trait at the time, but one that she chose to absorb and uphold her entire life, proudly talking at length about his reputation for fairness even just a few months ago.

Her mother’s dream was for Sandy to grow up to be … a secretary. I’ll hold for wild uproarious laughter from those who knew her. Much to her mother’s chagrin, Sandy’s nature was drawn to wilder and more independent pursuits than her mother’s nurture. In grade school she tested at a genius level, and was school president by fourth grade. By twelve she was helping her father run his service station. In high school she was the only girl in chess club. In college she challenged her professors, and drove a bright yellow convertible named Chiquita Bug, and lived alone with her dog, and for a very brief period of time, was a bouncer in a British pub.

Throughout it all there were horses. Wild horses that no one else could ride; broken horses that no one else could fix. The occasional untrainable horse that she secretly trained out behind the barn for six months before her father found out. And Saber the pony - who she described, with a slowly widening grin, as “a very naughty pony.” Because when they brought him home, Saber immediately got into the horse’s feed, ate everything, and then broke out of the yard entirely to wander off and have his own adventure, which immediately put him in Mom’s good graces.

You see, my mother also loved naughty things.

After college, she and David married, and they moved to San Francisco. She described the time fondly, speaking of working in finance, being surrounded by artists and musicians, wearing fabulous platform shoes, and dancing in the streets. But the city wore on that part of her that missed a more country life. So they moved to Sacramento - the city she would call home for the largest part of her life - in search of something more.

What she found was something she never expected: kids. I remember a conversation I had with my mom as an adult, when I told her that I didn’t think that Beth and I would have children. It just wasn’t what we wanted, and I hoped she would understand. She took a long sip of wine, and told me “I understand.” And then a long pause before a small, mischievous grin and “Yeah, your father really had to talk me into that one.”

But our childhood was full of learning and science and creativity and love. We got lost in the woods until dark, and spread a thousand legos out on the carpet, and played soccer on the weekends (with mom yelling at the referees or the coach from time to time) and built things in the garage. We read and wrote and sung and danced. We learned independence and broke rules and occasionally raised hell exactly like she did when she was growing up.

And she loved us madly.

In her thirties, sick of being overlooked and under appreciated in the private sector, Mom got involved in nonprofits - something she would continue for the rest of her life. From politics, to women’s groups, to the arts, she wore her beliefs on her sleeve, and was happy making a difference one person at a time.

Sandy was a strong, smart, confident woman before those were compliments - wearing proudly the scars from battles of what women should and should not do, say, or think - and she remained so her entire life - an example to all of us. My mother was also fiercely intelligent and curious, and challenged us to be the same. She never stopped learning, always collecting new hobbies and passion projects, and her stacks of interests and intentions always made our house feel like it was a mad scientist’s laboratory full of undiscovered treasure, uncompleted projects, and academic wonders.

She also collected people. From Portland to San Francisco, to Sacramento, she built her own family. From friends. From my father. From children. From the countless other surrogate children who were taken up under her wing and offered food, protection, culture, and knowledge.

As I became a teenager, friends of mine became new children of hers; treated no differently from me, and given both love and chores when around the house. Then there were exchange students, first a trickle, then a flood. Age wasn’t a factor either, as friends of hers often became new family to us. When someone she knew needed a home, or advice, or just a kind ear, she offered up hers without question, judgment, or reservation. And our home was always full of art, and love, and dancing, and wine, as needed. Somehow, her nature encouraged those around her to trust her, to confide in her, and to welcome her sometimes pointed opinions, suggestions, and advice.

The woman who was talked into children ended up with dozens, spread all across the world, all of whom loved her dearly. The woman who grew up without a family, built her own. All of whom, she loved madly.

And then, in her late fifties, and after decades of searching, Sandy finally found her biological family. She found her mother first - who was petite, opinionated, smart, and adventurous. A few years later, she found her father - a pilot and a professor. And through him, she found dozens of new relatives. Visiting this family and getting to know them was one of the joys of her life. She finally had an answer to so many of her questions, and she found those answers within, as she once wrote, “a bunch of creatives and storytellers.”

High praise indeed, because my mother believed in the power of art and creativity above almost all else. Her knowledge was deep and her tastes were eclectic. She loved The Beach Boys and Queen and David Bowie and The Doors … but also Metallica, and the occasional dubstep mashup. She loved old Katherine Hepburn films and modern indie movies … but also had a genuine love for dumb comedies such as her perennial favorite, Dodgeball. And as a brief sidebar - if you ever watched Monty Python’s Flying Circus on Sacramento’s PBS station, you have Sandy to thank for that - she loved it so much in San Francisco that she forced David to make PBS bring it here.

Growing up, Mom taught us early the power of stories, and art, and culture. And having left her mark on both of us, the second half of her life was also marked by her work with arts and theatre programs. She spent several decades performing with Junior League Children’s Theater, and working with various other programs to bring arts and culture into the classroom. But in the last seven years, appalled that no one else was taking on the task, Sandy took a more direct approach and began teaching and directing Shakespeare at local grade and high schools. She would spend months planning, weeks scouring local thrift stores for props and costumes, and talk for hours about the amazing transformations her kids had undertaken.

She loved them madly.

I miss my mother with all of my heart. I miss the way she laughed freely and often. I miss the way that she somehow, throughout her entire life, always found new ways to surprise me with scandalous tales or unexpected interests - often responding to my shock with a glint in her eye and “You know dear, I was a real person before I was your mother.” I miss the way she would get excited about something and hop up and down just a little bit, as if her vigor was literally bursting out of her from head to toe. I miss her voice, and her smile, and her presence every day.

Sandy valued intelligence, creativity, kindness, and hard work, and all of her friends exhibited at least one of these traits - often several. She was proudly rebellious. She was resolutely fair in a firmly unfair world. She was a fierce promotor for second chances and for finding the good in people. She was a champion for curiosity, and an advocate of the idea that art could change the world.

My mother loved horses, Shakespeare, champagne, and Lake Tahoe. She loved sports cars, Paris, and fashion. She made us put napkins in our laps at McDonalds, but owned a purple baseball cap that read “Got Wine?” - and wore it frequently. She considered leopard print a neutral color. Movies were always too loud, but “good music” could always be turned up “just a hair.” She talked about Oregon as if it was a heavenly place, and her dogs as if they were people. She hated surprises, but loved surprising others. She treated strangers like friends, and friends like family.

Sandy touched a thousand lives. Perhaps tens of thousands. Young and old. Near and far. And I expect every single one of them would say that in her own special way, she loved them madly.

[justpeachyshua]

vocal unit theater au - seungkwan

seungkwan as the assistant director

“passion. so many people in this world are filled with so much passion. passion for writing, for dancing, for painting, for performing. passion moves us to pursue our wildest dreams and achieve our highest goals. but, what about when one’s biggest passion is also their biggest weakness?”  (warning/tag: angst-ish?)

part 3 of the vocal unit theater au

read below the cut!

as soon as you met seungkwan, you knew what kind of person he was

when you were both juniors, you were paired together for an ice breaking activity in your literature class, the only class you both shared

you were supposed to learn a couple facts about the other person and then present about them in front of the class a few minutes later 

you were super hesitant at first, not really wanting to talk to anyone in class

but when you were paired with the nice-looking kid sitting a few desks away you were a little less nervous

you introduced yourself and discovered his name was seungkwan

as you guys shared memories from summer break you cracked a few jokes and somehow actually?? enjoyed ? a school ice breaker???

when he ‘presented about you’ you got a feel for the kind of person he was

he threw some clever remarks in and got the class laughing and you realized

ah, he’s definitely an attention-seeker

not in the bad way of course!!!! you could just see that he enjoyed the spotlight 

you were actually pretty confused as to how you had never met this guy before,, i mean, he was so vibrant and outgoing and he seemed to know just about everyone

a few months into the school year and you guys were regular seatmates and great friends

you had pretty much mastered the art of discreetly passing notes to each other in class lmao 

(chaewon asked this guy out to homecoming in my science class. i felt so bad for her, she was flat out rejected) 

(how did she ask him out?) 

(full on song and dance TT)

(yikes) 

as you guys were super close, you shared pretty much all of your after school activities with each other, to the point where you had his schedule in your planner and vice versa

you always tried your best to support each other in extracurriculars! 

you were involved in model un and sca while seungkwan was balancing chorus and theater (ofc) 

that’s something that was really important for you two:

as different as you guys may have been - him the more exuberant type, you the more reserved and studious type - you always made sure to be there for each other

you know what they say, opposites attract 

so

when spring came and it was time for musical auditions, seungkwan made it very clear how excited he was to audition

and you were here for it! 

in the few weeks leading up to auditions, you spent countless hours helping seungkwan prepare his monologue and audition song

he was absolutely perfect ofc but he was dedicated and kept nitpicking his skills

even though you knew next to nothing about music, he would still always come up to you asking if something sounded right

“you think i should sing it more like this” “or like this”

“i.. i didn’t really hear a difference”

“do you think i’m too flat on this note?” 

“you know i don’t know what means” 

 you couldn’t quite explain it, but hanging out with seungkwan those few weeks made you feel all jittery inside 

especially moments when he was so involved in acting out his monologue and he had a passion in his eyes that made him look like he truly was in a fictional world

although he could be a bit obnoxious when he started humming, or worse, singing, in class, when he was in his element it was mesmerizing

as these sessions progressed, these jittery feelings persisted and eventually evolved into a more heart-pounding sensation

when seungkwan practiced his monologue in front of you, you spent less time listening to what he was saying and more time staring into his eyes and counting all of the moles on his face

you told your mom about what you were feeling

“it sounds like you have a crush on him!” 

oh

o h 

OH 

you had NO idea how oblivious you could’ve been to your own feelings if you hadn’t been able to see that you did, in fact, like seungkwan 

from then on, you desired to be closer to him

you wanted to get more involved with the musical

so, in a spur of the moment decision, you ended up auditioning for the musical with seungkwan

while seungkwan was effortlessly amazing, you,,,,, weren’t so great

you didn’t have high expectations necessarily

you’d never really acted or sung before and you definitely messed up the lines to your monologue

but when the callback list came out and you didn’t see your name anywhere, you were a little let down

you then searched for seungkwan’s name on the list and saw that his name had been starred

was he a potential for the lead character? did they want him to have a massive solo? what did that little star mean? 

you set your disappointment aside to celebrate with seungkwan when he heard the news himself

when callbacks were finally over and the actual cast list had come out, you were surprised to see,,,,

seungkwan wasn’t on the list at all

“oh, yeah it’s fine!” 

“what do you mean it’s fine?! couldn’t they see what an awesome actor and singer you are?!?! who do they think they are, turning a star like you down” 

that was when he told you he was actually chosen to be assistant director for the show 

“oh.....” 

seungkwan explained to you that the director of the show, the theater teacher mr. choi, was really impressed with his dedication to the class and to the show that he employed him as assistant director

his job for now was mostly to check up on the cast and crew to make sure things were getting done on time and to coach people on their acting/singing

he took it seriously, making sure to be friendly but stern when needed, and always helping out wherever he could

but, as the weeks past and opening night was fast approaching, he started taking it,,, too seriously

at first, when he attended after school rehearsals, he would ask you to join and help with building sets or organizing boxes of props

but soon enough he was so busy with the show that he was no longer inviting you 

lunches that you two used to spend together became lonely when he had to go to the auditorium to run scenes with the cast

while you would normally have seungkwan quiz you to help you prepare for model un competitions, you had to start asking for your parents’ help instead when seungkwan began spending long nights at dress rehearsals

you couldn’t blame him for being dedicated, after all his job was crucial for the success of show 

but it still hurt

there were a few times where you tried to reconnect with him

you tried calling him on nights when (you assumed) he wasn’t busy

but it would go to voicemail and later on you’d see his snapchat story updated with videos of him singing with the ensemble 

on nights like those you decided to shut your phone off entirely

bc it seemed like all at once seungkwan was dropping you for the musical,,,

when you realized your feelings for seungkwan, you made such an effort to stay close to him, even going out of your way to audition for a musical you didn’t really care to be a part of and taking time out of your days to help with the set up

and now it felt like all of your work had gone to waste now that seungkwan barely wanted to hang anymore

so, when your birthday came around, you tried not get your hopes up

when your classmates gathered to decorate your locker with sticky notes, you tried not to look for seungkwan’s handwriting

when you checked your social media and saw a few birthday comments from close friends, you tried not keep refreshing the page, looking for one from him

when your parents brought out the cake and candles, you tried not to imagine him singing happy birthday to you, his voice as boisterous as he was 

when you were about to head to sleep, you tried not to check your phone, waiting for a message or a phone call 

and by the next morning, you had zero new notifications

you walked into school that day downcast

you were assigned a new project in your literature class that day and, to no surprise, you were paired up with... seungkwan

“alright! ready to get to work?” 

“....”

you just nodded, lips tightly pursed

“okay.. well, let’s divide the work up. I can do this half of the research and the works cited if you do the other half and maybe make the note cards for our presentation?” 

“sure” 

it was unlike you to be so un-talkative, especially with seungkwan, so he was obliviously confused but he decided to let it go until you guys were out of class

he approached you in the hallway

“hey are you ok?” 

“i don’t know, seungkwan” 

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” 

“i don’t wanna talk about it” 

“please, you were acting strange all class. clearly, something’s up”

“well you know, maybe i’d be acting more normal if my project partner and closest friend hadn’t completely forgotten my birthday” 

seungkwan’s face dropped

“i’m- god, y/n i’m so sorry. i-i didn’t realize.. shit i’m so so sorry”

“i’m just tired of this, seungkwan. we barely talk anymore and i’m the only one that’s noticed”

"i..what do you mean”

“i mean you spend all your time with the drama department, so of course you don’t feel lonely like i do. you’re always so busy with them that you forget to check up on me, to say hey every once in a while. what happened to calling each other every friday night just to tell each other we don’t have plans over the weekend? what happened to our study sessions? what happened to us?”

“i’ve just been so busy-”

“yeah i know you have. but you can’t just drop your friends like that. i know your job as assistant director is as important as it gets, but you can’t let it take over your life. god, forget the fact that i even have a crush on you, i just want my best friend back” 

“you- what?” 

in the heat of the moment, you seemed to have spilled something you never thought you’d say 

your face was heated with frustration and embarrassment and seungkwan was equally as shocked

“just forget about it”

you sped off to your next class, not wanting to spend another second standing in front of seungkwan

the rest of the week was silent

if you thought seungkwan had forgotten about you before, then he was actively avoiding you now 

you opted to stay home the day you had literature rather than face another awkward class period 

although a part of you didn’t want to leave seungkwan to work on the project alone, you couldn’t possibly face whatever rejection you were anticipating

the day seemed to drag on forever without anything to do or anyone to talk to 

you wanted to be productive, but all you could do was lay in bed, swaddled in at least three blankets

about halfway into the afternoon, you were close to drifting into your third depression nap when your phone began to loudly ring next to you

picking it up, you saw it was seungkwan who was calling before you hit decline

he called again and, again, you hit decline

he called once more

you hit decline again

he call-

“what do you want, seungkwan?” 

“god thank you for picking up. i wasn’t about to keep trying until my phone died”

“what did u call for?” 

“well, i’ve been thinking a lot lately and you’re right, i’ve been spending way too much time on the musical and i’ve been neglecting our friendship. i fucked up so bad that i forgot your birthday and i ended up pushing you away. that’s.. that’s not what i want. i don’t like where we are right now”

“..neither do i”

“no, i-i really don’t like where we are right now. i want to make it up to you, y/n.. let’s go on a date” 

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

“............are you still there?” 

“yeah i am. i’m still here. i just.. don’t know what to say” 

“that’s alright. you don’t have to say much. but i do hope you’ll say yes, because i did just ask a sophomore to fill my spot as assistant director for tonight’s performance in order for us to go out” 

you couldn’t help but lightly chuckle 

that sounds like seungkwan

“well, it’ll take a lot for me to completely forgive you..... but ok. let’s go on a date”

“oh thank god! again, i was really betting on you saying yes. i can stop by yours at maybe 6 later? if that’s alright by you, of course. unless you think you need more time to get ready. not that that’s a bad thing! but i did buy tickets for a movie at 6:40 so-”

“seungkwan, you’re rambling” 

“you.. you’re right, i am. sorry about that”

“that’s alright. i know we’ll have a good time

....as long as we’re not seeing a musical, of course”