#your pen game is immaculate

[briliantlymad]

I'D TELL THEM PUT ME BACK IN IT

DAR-DARLING, I WOULD DO IT AGAIN (ah-ah, ah-ah)

IF I COULD HOLD YOU FOR A MINUTE,

DAR-DARLING, I'D GO THROUGH IT AGAIN

[flurry-of-stars]

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈- 𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, fluff. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.8k (A/N:  I genuinely was not expecting such a huge response to the first part of this fic. Literally, all the comments and tags have made my week ♡♡♡ ) ⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉⋆｡°✩ 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ An elegant melody fills your ears, your body trembling in response as the tune tickles your brain in a way nothing else can. Your shoulders seem to relax as each precisely, passionately played note soothes you down to the depths of your soul. The purrs of the old tabby on the other side of the table seem to grow louder, making the table tremble softly as he sleeps. You close your eyes for a moment, laying your head back, gold and black ballpoint pen gently laid on the dining table as you take the time to appreciate the song echoing through the small cottage fully, the scent of peppermint tea and the variety of flowers in the nearby vase teases your sense of smell. But something was missing from the melody. Of course, you were no musical expert. In your personal opinion, the cello was played immaculately. Elegantly. If allowed, you would sit here all day, warm cup of tea in hand listening to it being played. You can picture yourself lying in the grass, listening to the rustling branches overhead as the wind carries the melody. But something was missing. And for the life of you, you couldn’t put your finger on what that something was. Your eyes flutter open as you hear the piece coming to a graceful end. Scooting out of your chair, you head through the cozy candlelit cottage, and down towards the living room. There was no television. No radio or game consoles. A fireplace crackles nearby, warming the room up to a pleasant degree.

There are dustless spots on the mantle where it looks like a few picture frames or other treasured items once sat, along with an old Russian Orthodox cross hanging above said fireplace. An antique piano is against the wall, closest to the archway leading into the room. There’s a window seat to your right, but the curtains are drawn today. The author sits in the middle of the room on a padded, upholstered cello chair, facing the entry way. The fire crackles to his right, illuminating his figure in a warm yellow hue, the deep mahogany sheen of his cello reflecting the soft glow as he draws out the last note, pleasantly tickling your brain once more. You carefully step into the room, waiting for him to finish. His eyes are closed, his long lashes gently resting against his pale cheeks, shadowing his already dark-rimmed eyes. You offer a very gentle applause, his eyes slowly opening to gaze up at you through his long lashes. You notice a strong emotion in his eyes for a moment, but it’s gone too soon for you to recognize what emotion it could have been, hidden beneath his strands of raven hair. “That was beautiful,” you compliment, standing a few feet from Fyodor. He turns his body, gently propping his cello up on the stand to his left as you speak, “How long have you been playing the cello?” You notice Fyodor clenching his jaw momentarily as he looks away, a flicker of uncertainty filling your heart. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, “Since I was six. I wanted to play the cello as soon as I could.” Your eyes widen a little, “You did?” Fyodor still doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes never leaving that of the cello at his side. He holds his bow as he nods softly, his voice much softer than you’re used to hearing from him, “I had a lot of time to dedicate to it as a child...” His fingers touch his bow softly and when he finally turns to look back at you, you see the warm nostalgia in his eyes. For a moment, it almost seems he wants to say something more.

But like a candle being puffed out, it’s gone in a millisecond. He gives you a stern look, his voice returning to that serious tone you’re used to, “Did you finish translating the chapters I gave you yet?” “Ah, I’m halfway done with chapter five…” Just like the second chapter, his writing had begun going on a long tangent again. It was already spanning on twenty translated pages, with many more left to go. On the positive, at least it was the male lead’s mother rambling on this time. That was some form of improvement, right? “I just needed to rest my wrist for a little while, carpal tunnel and all.” You held your wrist as if to demonstrate your point. Fyodor eyes you suspiciously but eventually, he huffs softly, “Very well then. But do not slack off too much. We have a deadline to meet.” You’re momentarily surprised. You’re almost tempted to ask why he allowed you to rest but out of fear of losing your break, you bite your lower lip, silencing yourself. Your gaze turns away from his as he focuses on tuning his cello. That’s when your eyes fall on the dusty white door against the far wall, almost hidden in the corner by the shadows cast by the looming fireplace and Fyodor along with his cello, only revealed now by him turning his body to the side. You could see the dust etched into the crevasses, in the complex door engraving that resembled a floral design. It is stunning that someone carved something so intricate and beautiful into a door. You chew the inside of your cheek as you squirm from foot to foot; that door looked important. Tucked away in the darkness like that, like a hidden treasure. You can feel the door practically calling to you, singing like a siren, begging you to just take a peek inside. Or maybe you were just overworked. 

But it tickled that child-like curiosity in the back of your mind. You could feel a part of you practically giddy at the thought of what could be hiding inside that door. 

What hidden secrets could it hold within? Was it filled from floor to roof with all of Fyodor’s other novels Vivian had told you about? Was it full of all his royalties from his previous books? What if it was the door to another world, full of wizards and dragons and–!

You shake your head, an amused huff leaving you; you were letting your imagination run too wild today. Maybe you shouldn’t have reread all those fantasy novels over the weekend. You sigh, walking towards the grand piano. Sliding out the dusty bench from beneath and patting away a fine layer of dust, you sit down, hoping to strike up some form of conversation with Fyodor. Your mind reels back to what Vivian had said.

He's been through a lot recently. 

You stare at Fyodor as he tweaks the strings of his cello carefully, tuning it without sparing you a glance. And as you do so, you begin to take him in fully. The way his large cloak practically devours his lithe form. He looks so fragile. His pale complexion. He's as pale as you imagined a vampire would be.

His eyes look more tired than usual, the dark circles seeming to have darkened further this past week. You wondered if he was taking care of himself. Was he eating right? Sleeping well? 

You had seen the Russian brew many pots of tea with nothing but the utmost of care and witnessed him enjoying each cup he drank. But you couldn't recall ever seeing him eat anything. ….He must be eating something, right? 

“What do you like to eat?” You blurt out suddenly. Fyodor blinks, looking back at you with narrowed, confused eyes. You sit up straight, thinking of an excuse surprisingly fast, “Sorry, I feel a bit peckish but I'm unsure what I feel like so…” 

You gaze at the cream-coloured floral patterned wallpaper, grimacing, a wave of embarrassment flooding through you. You can still feel Fyodor's eyes on you as if he was trying to peer into your being and pull out the true intentions behind your words.

Maybe you should just go back to–

“There is some fresh fruit in the refrigerator,” Fyodor's voice makes you look up. He's turned away again, back to fiddling with the strings of his cello, “If that does not suffice, there should be half a loaf of bread and some cheese you can have.” 

Maybe it was just because you were so used to Fyodor scowling and scolding you, but even this simple gesture felt really pleasant. You nod, standing up and straightening out the folds of your embroidered skirt.

“Ah…thank you,” you take a few seconds to compose yourself. The carpet muffles your footsteps as you move out of the living room, and back towards the kitchen.

The old tabby is sitting up, licking his paws as you step into the small, open-plan kitchen. He looks up at you, fading blue eyes cautious but fascinated as you move towards the one item in this entire cottage that couldn't be any less Fyodor if it tried.

The pastel pink fridge. It looks fairly new too, possibly only a year old. It was an anomaly amongst the smell of old books and the soft burning of candles. Even Fyodor’s work phone looked like it needed a senior’s discount card. But maybe there was more to Fyodor than you first thought.

Maybe he was the type of guy who loved cats and pastel pink. Perhaps he had an all-pink outfit that he was just dying to show off to you. You giggle softly at the thought, images of your stern boss dressed all in pink, scolding you for not completing your translating making you almost burst out laughing. As you open the fridge, your amusement quickly dies. 

It's almost barren. Considering your fridge is only home to a two-day-old Chinese takeaway box, a half-eaten block of cheese you found on special and some bottles of water, that’s saying something. The bright red apples catch your eye first. There's also a tub of margarine, an almost empty bottle of milk, a punnet of blackberries and not a half, but a quarter loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. Now you seriously had your doubts that Fyodor was eating much. This looked like it wouldn’t feed a mouse, let alone a grown man. But this would make do for the moment. Taking out the last of the bread, margarine and cheese, you make two simple cheese sandwiches. Placing them on a plate, you move on to washing a pair of apples and some blackberries. Once you’ve sliced the apples and added them and a few washed blackberries to the plate, you serve them in the middle of the table, moving Fyodor’s draft and your translations into the leather bag he usually kept them in. You refill both teacups with the still-warm peppermint tea before calling out, “Mr. Dostoyevsky, can you come here for a moment please?” As you sit at your place at the table, you listen to the sound of Fyodor’s footsteps as he approaches, his steps surprisingly light on the wood floor of the hallway and kitchen. His tired eyes lift in surprise as he takes in the sight before him. His gaze turns cautious, “What is this?” “It’s lunch,” you offer him a small smile, picking up your warm cup of tea. The tabby cat purrs, brushing against Fyodor’s arm the moment he steps close to the table. “I figured since I’m eating, I’d make you something too.” Fyodor scoffs, his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches tightly, as though he is holding back the words he wants to say. You hear him inhale through his nose, his eyes closing for a moment. Then, he opens them, shaking his head. His Russian accent comes through much thicker as he mumbles, “You didn't need to do this.”

“I wanted to.” You say quickly once more without stopping to think. Your teacup clinks against the saucer as you place it down, backtracking quickly as Fyodor looks at you with a raised brow, one hand patting the top of the tabby’s head absentmindedly. “What I mean is I figured you would be hungry soon as well. So I figured why not kill two birds with one stone?” Once again, Fyodor stares at you as if trying to pull the truth from your eyes. You begin to shift, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze before he sighs. He moves towards the table, the legs of his chair squeaking against the floor as he pulls it out, sitting down, “Thank you.” You smile softly, an ember of warmth flickering in your heart as you watch the author nibble away at an apple slice. It may not be an extremely nutritious meal, but at least he was eating something. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, “You’re welcome.” ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “What about something like this?” Trixie spins around, showing off the beautiful emerald green dress she's selected for you. It’s short with a thin ribbon around the waist. Her smile is wide and bright as she twirls around a little, showing off the way the fabric sways, causing her teal jacket tied around her waist to sway with her movements, “I think it would look cute on you!” “Mmm,” you hum, clutching your coat tighter around your body. An earworm of a pop song is playing quietly over the speakers of the shopping centre. A few other customers around you, all going about their day as you eye the dress presented to you.  Although the dress was cute, its price made you hesitate: "I'm just browsing today. Maybe next time when I get paid." "But think about it!" Trixie insists as she follows you towards the sweaters that you've been eyeing, which are half-price - what a steal. She sways the dress once again and says, "This dress, along with that little black coat I have at home, would look great on you. A little bow here and there, and you'd look absolutely darling!" You chuckle softly, smiling at Trixie's excitement. She was a fashion connoisseur, always encouraging you to splurge a little if you could. “I do think it would be an adorable outfit,” you begin to reply, that dangling price tag and those frightened numbers printed on it preventing you from agreeing. You shake your head, resisting temptation. You pull yourself away before your resistance crumbles any further, “But I need to spend my money on something else this fortnight.” Trixie pouts, frowning a little before she puts the dress back. Her smile quickly returns as you gather a few of the reduced sweaters you had been eyeing since walking in. As you approach the cash register to pay, Trixie questions, "Is it wise to spend all your money on Mr. Grumpy after only knowing him for a week?" You let out a chuckle at the nickname. "Mr Grumpy". It certainly suited him well, given how often he scowled and scolded you. As you pay for your items, you respond, "Maybe it's true that he comes across as a grump sometimes, but if I cook for him, I can also cook for myself. It's a win-win situation." You thank the cashier, grabbing your bag as you and Trixie leave the boutique. As you and Trixie walk through the crowded mall, she reminds you that you don't know what he likes. It's a typical busy weekend, so you both have to navigate around other customers and head towards the food court for lunch. You can't help but worry about the possibility of the groceries going to waste if he doesn't like what you serve him. You frown, your eyes trailing down to the cold white tiles beneath your ankle-high boots. That was something you were very nervous about. Especially since you lived on a diet of microwave meals and fast food. You attempted to bring up the discussion about his preferred foods again when you finished translating the fifth chapter. He had given you a side glance, telling you not to bother him while he was writing.

The next day, you both were back outside, despite how cold it was beginning to get. Throughout the period, Fyodor was engrossed in working on the drafts for the upcoming chapters. You could still hear the sound of his pen scratching on the paper in your mind.

Meanwhile, you struggled to translate with trembling hands and chattering teeth, yearning for the comfort of his cottage. You felt like he’d done that just to stop you from asking again. As you slowly look up, preparing to scan the food court to decide what to get, your eyes catch the bold letters of a familiar bookstore. You gasp, your eyes twinkling a little, and a smile breaks onto your face as you nudge Trixie. "Hey, you didn't tell me they opened a larger store." Trixie gives you a playful side-eye, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to spend your entire first paycheck on books. I thought I’d convince you to get a cute outfit first, some make-up or shoes for your new job–” She follows you as you begin making your way towards the store, an excited hop in your step. You hear her give an amused sigh as trails behind you, mumbling, “--But I guess we can say au revoir to your pay now.” "I just want to take a quick look," you insist, feeling irresistibly drawn to the store despite knowing how much money you've spent there before. You start walking faster, leaving Trixie trailing behind, until you finally step inside. The various smells and sights overwhelm you, sending waves of nostalgia through your body. It’s a lot busier compared to the smaller store you typically go to closer to your apartment. A few children are running around and playing between the isles as their mother tries to draw their attention in with a book, flipping between colourful pages as she tries to catch their eyes. You notice a small group of young women in one section, holding books and debating which ones they should get quite loudly as they flip through each book, fanning the pages with their fingers. Meanwhile, there's an older gentleman near the back who's struggling to read the blurb on the back of the book he's tugged off the shelf. He's patting his pockets for his glasses. You can hear more people between the other isles and for a moment, murmuring and giggling. Some even excitedly discuss the books they’ve found. You’re almost tempted to come back later. But the moment the smell of new books hits your nose, along with a hint of a coffee-inspired fragrance from the oil diffuser, you’re drawn back in. Maybe Trixie was right to not bring you here. You could already hear your debit card screaming for mercy in your purse. Speaking of, she sighs as she catches up to you, looking around with a click of her tongue. “Look at that. Books. Almost as many as you still have stored at my place.” She teases, making you nudge her with a grin. "I'm just here to browse," you insist, but your best friend gives you a sceptical glance. You scoff and reach into your bag, pulling out your purse and handing it to her with a smug smile to prove your point. She pockets it, but she still doesn’t seem to believe you, “I give it five minutes.” You scoff again, shaking your head as you begin to move about the store. You slip between other customers, making sure to not disturb anyone as your eyes scan every shelf, every book, new and old alike. This is like your own little piece of heaven on earth. Your own perfect paradise. Though your eyes do linger on the latest releases just a little longer. You move closer to the nearby bookshelf, your heart aching the moment your hands glide over one book in particular.

It looks like a short story for children, judging from the pastel sky and the cartoon unicorn on the cover. The stars in the unicorn’s mane glimmer faintly. On the front of the book there is a sticker that informs potential buyers that every dollar from each sale will be donated to a foundation for abused children. You are about to open the book when--

“You said you weren’t purchasing anything,” Trixie playfully comments, causing you to jerk your hand back as though the book had burnt you. She gives you a playful grin as you shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with admiring the covers!” You insist, grinning back at her as you slide into the next aisle, placing your hand over your aching heart.

As you round the corner, you were expecting to find the Young Adult section right ahead of you. However, to your surprise, you walked straight into the non-fiction aisle instead.

There were all sorts of books on display, from true crime to language books to history books. Although you have dabbled with non-fiction just as much as you have with fiction, you still have a preference for the latter. As you walk the aisle, you scan the shelves, keeping an eye out for any interesting covers when one does catch your eye. You’re passing by the cookbooks when you see a book with the title ‘Classic Russian Meals.’ At once, your promise is tossed out the window as you grab the cookbook, flipping through it swiftly. This…yes, this could be just what you need! Triumphantly, Trixie tells you "I knew you'd cave, bookworm." You plead with her, your eyebrows furrowed. “I have to make an exception for this.” You reply, closing the book and holding it tight to your chest. Trixie’s look becomes more curious as she listens to you. “This cookbook is just what I need." Trixie gives you an unsure look, but you know she’s never been able to resist your pleading. She sighs, reaching into her bag and passing you back your purse.

You grin widely as you hurry away to get in line to pay for it. She joins you a few moments later while you scan through the pages until it’s your turn. You hand the book to the owner, who smiles warmly and asks if you'd like a bag. "That will be $90," she says. You are taken aback as you hear the price. Ninety dollars? It's more than what you had budgeted for. You feel disappointed and disheartened as you realize that you won't be able to buy the book. It could have been a great boon to have, but unfortunately, you have to pass on it. You apologize and inform the seller, "I'm sorry but I can't afford--" Suddenly, a hand with freshly manicured and painted teal nails brushes past you as Trixie places her debit card on the reader. A small green tick appears on the tiny screen as she beams brightly, grabbing the heavy cookbook and passing it over to you.  “No bag today, thank you.” You hold onto your new cookbook tightly as she leads you out of the store. You look up at her with gratitude, and say, "Trix, thank you so much for doing this for me. You really didn't have to." You give the book a tight hug, a warm smile on your face, although you feel a little guilty. Trix waves her hand dismissively, smiling kindly at you. She warmly replies, "You know you're like a sister to me." Then, she grins mischievously and adds, "And who knows, if you master that cookbook, maybe the words on the back of the book will come true~" You frown as you flip the book over to read the blurb. You scan each paragraph until you find it. It’s right at the bottom in bold, white letters, “The perfect gift for any wife!” You can’t help but grin in amusement as you teasingly bump your hip against Trixie’s. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Trix.”

She giggles and nudges you back. Her voice is playfully mischievous as she replies, “What? I happen to think Mrs. Grumpy suits you~" ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

There was one problem with your entire plan. You hadn’t taken into account transporting all of these groceries to Fyodor’s cottage. It was close to sundown when you caught the bus that would take you from the mall to the bus stop closest to the woods where Fyodor’s cottage was located. During the initial bus trip, you noticed that some people were giving you odd stares. Some young children who were below the age of four approached you to see if you had any sweets to share. Additionally, an older woman started to badger you about why you didn't take your husband along with you and ended up lecturing you about your lack of spouse. The bus driver sends you a worried glance as you leave the bus carrying an entire fortnight’s worth of groceries for two and a very thick, heavy cookbook, the heavy scent of diesel causing you to cough and shake as you begin your trek to the cottage. You hoist them along the familiar forest path you’ve taken many times now as the birds seem to stop singing the moment you enter. Perhaps even the little sparrows and drongos were shocked to witness you heaving several bags of shopping along by yourself. The trees rustle, causing a cascade of orange leaves to shower upon you. You felt like the tree was supporting you in your struggle. Or maybe it was mocking you. Either way, a few leaves weren’t going to get these bags to Fyodor’s. As you continue on your way, you catch a glimpse of the orange tabby cat as it disappears over the old, rickety fence and up a small flight of cobblestone steps, brushing against the legs of an old, heavy-set woman. “Oh, dear!” Her voice is thick with a heavy Russian accent. It’s thicker than Fyodor’s. She turns her head back inside of her home, calling out to someone else in Russian. A few moments later, a balding older man appears by her side. You’re a little surprised as they approach the rickety fence separating their small cottage from the cobblestone path, warm smiles on their aged faces, though the woman looks a bit more concerned for you. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be dragging all this uphill by yourself dearie.” She looks towards her husband as she fixes her glasses, nodding, “Dima, help her, will you? Where are you going with all these bags?”

You shift a little awkwardly, smiling politely as the elderly gentleman with a greying beard approaches you, preparing to take a few bags off your hands. You appreciate the help but you didn’t want to strain this poor old man with your heavy bags. So you give him the lighter bags, “Oh thank you so much, you didn’t have to,” you reply gratefully, handing over a few bags before adding, “To the heart of the forest. You know, that little cottage near the lake.” The elderly woman gasps in delight. “You’re taking them to Fedyka? Oh isn’t that lovely, Dima?” Her hazel eyes gleam with the joy of a mother hearing that her child has made a friend. Her husband, Dmitry, gives a huff of approval. He doesn’t seem like a very talkative man. She clasps her hands together, smiling widely at you. “I hope he isn’t making you do all the cooking dearie. You make sure he helps out a little okay?” Your smile relaxes a little as you giggle, fixing your grip on the last shopping bags you’re holding while clutching the cookbook closer to your chest, “Yes ma’am–” “Oh sweetheart, there’s no need for that,” she gives a hearty laugh as she straightens out her apron over the top of her dress, giving you a polite nod, “You can just call me Olya dearie. Now you tell Fedyka to come and pay us a visit! You can both come along! We would be more than happy to have you, wouldn’t we Mitya?” “Yes Olya.” Dmitry finally responds. He turns his light blue eyes towards you, nodding softly with a smile, “It would be lovely to have both of you around.” You squirm in place, smiling politely. While you were a translator and you knew how to translate written Russian, you still couldn’t understand it very well when it was spoken. More so, you still struggled to understand people whose accents were a bit thicker, like Dmitry’s. You give a small smile and nod, “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Olga looks at the sunset sky, then back to you two, “We’ll work something out. Now you two best be on your way; it’s almost nightfall. Take good care of her and Fedyka, won’t you darling?” You give a very polite bow as you continue on your path, Dmitry at your side. You smile happily as you hear the birds around you starting to sing again as they fly for their nests for the evening. Fyodor didn't mention his sweet neighbors. Dmitry was friendly but hard to understand when wound up, his accent coming through much heavier the more passionate he got. As you proceed along the cobblestone path, dusted with what was likely one of the last batches of Autumn leaves, he talks to you. A grin on his face is vibrant, despite his age. His voice is slightly raspy as he speaks poetically to you about the nature surrounding you both. You offer smiles and polite nods, not daring to mention that you have no idea what he’s saying outside of a few words here and there. He turned out to be more talkative than you initially expected. Passing through the white archway, you notice a pair of doves on the outdoor table, cooing loudly yet beautifully to one another. A bonded pair, it seemed.

Your heart warms at the sight as yours and Dmitry’s approach sends them fleeing the scene, white feathers standing out boldly against the vivid kaleidoscope of warm colors draped beautifully overhead. You approach the cottage door, placing the groceries you’re carrying down to rasp your knuckles against the wood delicately. You wait a few seconds, expecting Fyodor to open the door.

But he doesn’t. Huh. That’s odd. You look around, listening out for any movement when you hear an upset cat for a heartbeat. You gasp quietly. It must be the tabby. So, you knock a second time. Maybe Fyodor had just been wrapped up in his writing and didn’t hear you the first time. Maybe he even fell asleep on his draft. He did look quite exhausted when you were last here. You shift from foot to foot as you chew the inside of your cheek. You were starting to worry now. This wasn’t like Fyodor at all. You considered the possibility that he had gone somewhere. Fyodor seems like a homebody but surely there are people he visits from time to time? Or maybe he goes on walks to get ideas for his novels? You consider asking Dmitry if he knows where Fyodor could have gotten to, but you’re worried about stressing the elderly man. Nor do you want to let on that you have no idea where he could be.

You consider calling his phone but knowing him, it’s likely still sitting in his drawer on silent after Vivian called on Friday. “It’s a needless distraction.” You’re getting close to trying to find a back entrance. Or maybe trying to break in through a window. But as they say, the third times the charm right? You lift your hand, your knuckles rasping against the wood once, twice and then, the door finally opens with a loud creak. Your eyes widen in surprise; Fyodor looks like death. His bloodshot eyes turn up, meeting your gaze as you stand before him, hands clutching tight back around the bags of groceries. His arm seemed to hang by his side like it was weighted down by bricks, his hand barely keeping its grip on the door knob. It’s been a day. How does he keep looking worse and worse? He almost seemed to be leaning against the door frame as his messy hair clings to his face, his typically distant eyes look at you apathetically as they slowly scan you and Dmitry by your side.

His eyes seem to widen faintly at the sight of the elderly man with you. His lips turn upwards in a small smile that seems to lack energy, “My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His dark eyes penetrate your gaze as you look up, offering a half-hearted smile as you lift the shopping bags off the ground, making them rustle faintly. “Your fridge was empty when I was here Friday, so I figured I’d fix that for you Mr Grumpy–” The name leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Mr. Grumpy…?” Fyodor repeats your words slowly as if taking the time to digest them. You freeze in place, clutching the shopping bags tighter as your heart drops. You swallow roughly as you try to think of a good response. You can’t tell how Fyodor feels about you calling him that as his brow quirks curiously but his eyes remain blank. You wanted to find a hole and bury yourself in it. You seemed to love testing fate and risking your employment, it seemed. Suddenly, a raspy chuckle comes from your right. Blinking in surprise, you turn towards Dmitry, noticing the amused grin on his face. His light blue eyes fill with amusement as he speaks to Fyodor in a warm tone, “Mr Grumpy! That name suits you when you go around scowling all the time, Fedyka! But my, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Not since–” “It has been a while yes,” Fyodor gently interrupts the older man as the tabby cat curls between Fyodor’s legs, stepping out of the cottage with an old meow. Dmitry chuckles, placing the shopping bags he’s holding down as he crouches, scratching the cat’s chin. "Итак, Господин Толстой наконец-то добрался до дома, не так ли ?" He scratches behind the tabby cat’s ear and under his chin as he speaks to him, scratching the elderly cat’s greying chin fur, "Уже давно пора. Я уверен, Федька скучал по тебе" You pause, frowning a little as your mind reels, trying to understand at least some of the words Dmitry had said. You purse your lips and slowly look towards Fyodor, a curious look in your eyes. “The cat’s name is Tolstoy?” You ask. Fyodor gives a muffled chuckle, a near-praising look in his bloodshot eyes. "That's correct," he confirms with a nod, his lips curling up into a small smirk. "You seem to be getting better at understanding spoken Russian. Maybe if you keep it up, we'll soon be able to have full conversations in Russian instead of English."

Your brow raises; did Fyodor just tease you? His smirk grows as he steps out of the cottage, walking closer to you, “Allow me.”

He reaches out, taking a few of the bags you’re holding. You slide the handles for a few of the bags into his fingertips when he suddenly murmurs, “--Experience the flavours of Russian cuisine–” You gasp, quickly pulling back. A small chuckle escapes Fyodor’s lips, his smirk growing. Though it doesn’t stretch as wide as you’re use to, “A Russian cookbook, hm? Now why would you have that Огонёк​?”

You step back, holding the book to your chest like it was the most valuable treasure you owned. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Your secret surprise had been foiled. Dmitry chuckles again, replying for you, “You know what they say. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! That’s how my Olya hooked me!” Fyodor chuckles, turning his gaze towards Dmitry. There’s a look of familiarity and a twinkle of warmth every time his gaze crosses the old man’s, “I believe she is just trying to make sure I don’t expire before I can finish my novel.”

Dmitry laughs a little harder at Fyodor’s words, a chilly breeze brushing past the three of you. Tolstoy gives a small, upset sounding mewl as he scurries back inside. Fyodor watches him as he steps aside, allowing access to his cottage to you and Dmitry, “Come. The wind is beginning to pick up. And I do believe it is time for dinner.”

You allow Dmitry to enter first before following behind him. You hear Fyodor almost whisper behind you in a tired tone, "You couldn’t have chosen better timing if you tried, Огонёк." ✩

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?” “Yes.” Your response comes quite quickly. Fyodor gives a huff of amusement as he finishes tucking the last of the groceries away in the fridge. He knows you’re lying. Not just by the way your nose is scrunched up or by your annoyed tone. But because you’re holding the knife backwards. You're attempting to cut into a carrot with the dull side of the knife. He finds it amusing but fascinating. He closes the fridge door as he approaches you, watching as the knife slides off the sides of the carrot as you huff in annoyance. “Are you certain?” He asks again, his voice calm and curious, despite the amusement in his eyes. He reaches out, gingerly grasping the knife’s black handle. You look up at him, a look of stubborn annoyance on your face that reads ‘I can do it.’ He turns the blade around, the sharp end now facing the carrot as he places it back into your hand. His hand slowly curls around yours as he nods, his voice serious, “Curl in the fingers on your other hand or you risk not just cutting the carrot.” He watches as you do so before gently guiding your hand, his cold fingers wrapping around your warm hand, the blade slicing cleanly through the carrot with his guidance, removing the top. He guides you twice more before pulling back, satisfied that you can handle it from here. He moves back towards the pink carnation teapot, filling it with boiling water from the kettle, and dropping the tea infusion cage inside.

He turns his head faintly. He can hear Dmitry talking to Tolstoy in the living room along with the papers of his draft being shuffled and likely read, he assumed. He turns his gaze back to you. You were more observant than Fyodor had first predicted. That was good. For the sake of his novel at least. But he worried how far your observant eye had led you. Did you really just notice the lack of food in his fridge, or did you also take in the way he held himself like his body was forcefully being dragged down by invisible hands?

Did you notice how sloppy his handwriting was? How weakly he was holding his pen? Did you see the ink blots on the pages where he had held the pen too long?

He narrows his eyes, watching as you scoop up the carrot chunks, dropping them into the broth boiling on the stove top before you speak up, “That’s the carrots done. Now the chicken.” Fyodor continues to observe you as you go about slicing the chicken next, tossing the chunks into a small bowl. Although the pieces are much too thick, he doesn’t mention it. He would help correct the mistake soon. Instead, he asks in a serious voice, “Were you not taught the basics of cooking as a child?” He sees you bite the inside of your cheek. You’d taken offence to his question. Perhaps he should have worded it differently.

You’re quiet until you finish slicing the first chicken breast, “I was taught how to make instant noodles and coffee.” You reply, grabbing the next chicken breast. He watches the knife glide through it as you speak, “My father was normally far too busy to cook. So we lived on takeaway and instant noodles most of the time.” Fyodor blinks. You had no experience cooking? And yet you had gone out of your way, purchasing a cookbook and the ingredients just to feed him? He goes silent, processing this information. You were strange. A puzzle he couldn't decipher. He feels a sensation rising in his chest, that familiar warmth flickering in his heart, like a lighter trying to ignite but unable to get the full spark. “Let’s focus on making your first home-cooked meal edible then,” Fyodor replies as he steps closer to you. He slides open the cutlery drawer, grabbing a second knife to slice the chicken chunks into smaller, bite-sized pieces. He nods at you, “Make the rest of the pieces smaller too.” He sees you nod as you go about correcting your mistake, making the pieces more bite-sized and manageable. Once he’s sure you have that under control, he begins working on the onion. Cutting off the root and peeling the skin back, he begins cutting the onion when he hears your question, “What about you? You seem to know what you’re doing so I assume—” “Yes, I was taught how to cook growing up,” he replies softly but quickly, interrupting you, the sound of his knife tapping against the cutting board filling the silent spaces in between, “Mother and I always cooked together, from the moment I was old enough to help her.”

He feels a wave of nostalgia rushing through his tired body before it coils around his heart like a string of barbed wire, cutting so deeply into his heart he almost winces physically. He breathes in, deeply but silently as he keeps cutting the onion, sliding the pieces into a container nearby. He notices you finishing up with the chicken pieces before you pause, hands pressed against the countertop as you mumble, your tone sounding melancholic. “That sounds nice.” Silence seemed to fall over the room as you double-checked the cookbook, adding the necessary herbs and spices into the broth as he stepped back, giving you space to work. He knows you have to make mistakes to learn from them, but he feels a tug in his chest to guide you. He gives a silent huff before turning his attention to the teapot. Right. He’d almost forgotten to serve Dmitry some tea. After checking over your progress one last time, he gathers the hot pot of steaming black tea, along with two teacups on an antique silver tray before he heads for the living room. Dmitry is sitting on the window seat, near where Fyodor had set up a fold-out table to work on his novel for the afternoon. The last rays of the setting sun illuminate the older man’s form as he gives Fyodor a warm, fatherly smile. He puts Fyodor’s draft to the side so he can place the tray down on the table, “I apologise for the delay, my assistant needed me. Will you be joining us for dinner, Mitya?” “I would love to,” he replies while Fyodor begins filling the cups. “But I have a meal waiting for me at home. My Olya too.” He chuckles as he lifts the teacup, taking a slow sip. Fyodor turns, grabbing the upholstered chair from nearby.

He sits across from the elderly gentleman as a raspy chuckle rolls off his tongue. “I was starting to think we wouldn’t get the chance to sit like this again.” He looks up at Fyodor, teacup clinking against it’s saucer as he places it back down, his light blue eyes carefully looking Fyodor over for a few moments, his brow furrowing with worry, “But my, you’re looking a little worse for wear. Has your manuscript been keeping you that busy?” “You could say that,” Fyodor replies, sipping gently on his tea. The warm liquid soothes his aching body as he sighs softly, holding the teacup carefully. Dmitry keeps a close eye on the younger man, a look of sympathy on his face.

Fyodor knew he was starting to put the pieces together. The true reason for his exhaustion. Dmitry was a smart man after all. But rather than pressing, Dmitry nods towards the archway, his smile growing a little, “I have to say, Olya and I were surprised when we saw that young lady. I thought you would never need an assistant?” Fyodor scoffs slightly when he's reminded of his previous statement, causing Dmitry to chuckle. “This is a different situation.” He takes another sip of his tea before speaking once more. “She is merely here to help translate the book for an international audience. Nothing more.”

“But you’re writing a romance novel, yes? Haven’t you thought about asking for a woman’s opinion on love and romance? It may prove beneficial to your novel.” “No.” His reply is short and blunt as his teacup finds it’s place back on it’s saucer. “Because she is here just to help with translations. I do not need any help when it comes to writing my novel.”

He sits back, getting comfortable as Tolstoy begins circling his feet. “I have written enough novels to know what I am doing.” “Ah but our Fedyka has never been in love, has he?” His smile grows softer, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Writing about love is no easy task. Not when it is such a complex emotion. Writing the words is one thing, but experiencing it is something entirely different.” “Then I should come to you and Olya for help, shouldn’t I?” There’s a pause. Then, Dmitry starts to chuckle. He rises slowly from his chair, using the wall nearby for support as he stands, grinning in amusement at Fyodor. “I thought you knew what you were doing, Fedyka?”

A huff of amusement leaves Fyodor as he smiles faintly. Giving one last hearty laugh, Dmitry reaches over, patting Fyodor on the shoulder. “Don’t give the girl too much trouble, you hear?” He gives his shoulder a squeeze before he takes his leave. Fyodor stays in his seat, watching as Dmitry leaves, a hum on his lips. Tolstoy leaps onto his lap, purring, his hand instantly moving to scratch the cat’s chin. He hums quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he dwells on Dmitry’s words, his eyes transfixed on the honey-coloured liquid in his cup. A complex emotion, huh... “Hey.” Your voice shakes him from his thoughts. He looks up at you, standing in the archway of the living room with a smile that causes that flicker of warmth to glow in his heart once more, “I need a hand with the soup. Um...do you mind?” He pauses. Then he offers a faint smile in return as he stands. Tolstoy gives an annoyed mewl as Fyodor walks towards you, following you towards the kitchen.

He was a little worried about how your first homecooked meal was turning out but a part of him had some faith in you. You just needed a helping hand.

⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘⋆｡°✩ * Огонёк: Little Light * "So, Mister Tolstoy has finally made it home, hasn't he? It's long overdue. I'm sure Fedyka missed you." Dividers: @/saradika

[glowinggator]

Hi!! Could I request a platonic Mordecai Heller and GN reader where the reader helps Mordecai calm down after a stressful day, as well as dealing with reoccurring memories that hurt him to think about? Thank you so much! <3 <3 <3

A/N: Wowie, thank you for the patience on this! I might make a part 2 if people are interested since this was so short (and in the "earlier" stages of a Mordecai friendship,) but I had a lot of fun with this. He's such a good character, and while I think it'd take him a long, long time to ever open up... I think he'd really appreciate just having someone there in the moment. Enjoy!

Pairing: (Platonic) Mordecai Heller/Reader. Could be read as pre-relationship if you really believe in yourself. Content Warnings: Canon-typical implications of violence, vague allusions to comic spoilers (but nothing explicitly stated).

The halls are cold as you pad through the winding maze, kept warm only by the steaming teacup in your hand. Despite the immaculate condition Mordecai keeps his home in, it's damn-near impossible to keep the chill out when Winter rolls around. You pause in front of Mordecai's door, listening intently. The faint light trickling through the cracks in the door seems to be the only sign of life tonight, though.

You'd be lying if you said today wasn't a hard one. It seems like one too many things went wrong on today's run -- guns jamming, crowd panics, the usual. All small grievances in the grand scheme of things, albeit annoying ones. You've learned to look past the inherent danger in these little slip-ups -- to worry is to suffer twice, after all. But that's not what threw you off your game.

No, the issue was that you hadn't expected Asa's target of the week to have kids… and neither did the rest of your quartet. The argument on what to do with him lasted for longer than it should have -- it's not the first time Marigold's made you weigh your safety with your morality, but you've never had to do it like this. You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. It all worked out as it was meant to. 

You knock quietly on the door, calling his name. One beat passes, and then another. 

Silence. 

Anxiety brews quietly in your gut -- it's not particularly unusual for him to get absorbed into his work, but tonight feels different. You recall the lingering chill that surrounded Mordecai, long after the four of you split ways.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door, walking inside. 

Mordecai sits at his desk, bathed in the light of the lamp. His paperwork sits discarded, with a red marker sitting in the middle of his desk. It's such a bright object, so different from the rest of his office that it stands out like a bleeding wound in the wood. His eyes are closed, ears folded back with a furrow in his brow. If he's noticed you enter, he doesn't comment. Instead he rubs the bridge of his nose, before tracing harshly along the path of his pale white brows and landing at the creases of his lids. 

You pad over quietly, just loud enough to be heard. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

He sighs. "Not…" he pauses, pulling his hand away from his face. He opens his eyes, but they remain locked on the desk -- or more accurately, the pen. "Not particularly." 

"That's alright."  You hum quietly, taking a breath and placing the mug on the table. You turn, striding across the room to sit on the couch in his office. You pull a book from your bag, opening it to where you left off before casting another look at Mordecai. It's only then that his eyes move, glancing at the cup, and then at you. He blinks owlishly.

"Earl Grey," You smile, "Four minutes, and not a moment longer." 

For a moment you think you see his own lips perk up, too. But more than that, his shoulders drop some of their tension. He picks it up gingerly, raising it to his mouth before casting a look over the rim. 

"Thank you," he murmurs, taking a sip. 

"Of course."  

The silence is comforting, simply coexisting in the presence of one another. In the few short years you've known him, he's never been one to talk about his past. Although, you can't blame him for such a thing. It'd be dangerous in this line of work, after all. But you know him well enough to know that the quiet company is both more than he expects, and exactly what he needs in moments like these. You can't know what part of today hurt him this much, but you can be there when he needs you. The minutes tick by peacefully before he speaks up again. 

He clears his throat, drawing your attention back unto him. 

"Would you leave, if you could?" His voice is low, but steady. Unwavering. And yet it carries a weight with it, hinting at some deeper meaning beyond. You can surmise that part of it is about Marigold, but the other half...

"Beyond a doubt." 

You're not sure what compels you to say it, so confidently at that. It'd mean certain death if you left, and you know it. Whether it be at the hands of Asa himself, or from the retaliatory action from other gangs… it wouldn't be a wise decision. But when the words come out, you know that you've never meant anything more. 

He huffs quietly to himself, pulling his eyes away from yours. He picks up the marker and places it in a drawer before pulling his abandoned papers back into his workspace. "Good," he says. "It's good to have an open mind." 

You might not know everything that's led up to Mordecai being here, and you're sure that you'll likely never know much of his past. But you can be here in the present, and you'll be damned if you're not gonna be in his future, too.

[joocomics]

MOOT GAME: " make up a trope for your moots and their biases. doesn’t need to be romantic. can be crackfic/funny/anything you want ^ㅇ(๑>◡<๑)ㅇ^ "

a/n: this is sooooo cute!!!!! thank you for sending it in <3

bee and oh seungmin - friends to lovers

♡ @xhfics

they would meet through a mutual friend and with time they’d begin to slowly develop a really special bond over many shared interests, passions and their lovely silly friend group. they’d have multiple moments where they would finish each other’s sentences and giggle like “wow, we’re the same person!” and their friends would only grin at each other cause they already know exactly what’s happening. both of them value friendship a lot so when one day they realise they have more special feelings towards each other they’d be cautious about it, however, once seungmin confesses to her, that would be the best day in both of their lives and suddenly everything would make perfect sense.

eli and junhan - college au w/ slow burn

♡ @elllisaaa

their story would feel like a best selling young adult novel with a prettily illustrated cover. eli studies literature, he’s an art major and fate brings them together when they’re both doing their own thing in the library, but one of them runs out of pens. the truth is both of them have secretly already observed the other because of their regular study sessions, but they didn’t have enough courage to go up and introduce themselves because “they look too cool…”. it wouldn’t take them long to get to know each other and soon enough they’d start meeting in the near coffee shop sharing about their lives outside of uni too. junhan would be smitten with eli’s beauty and artistic personality, she’d quickly turn into his muse!

ki and hendery - love at first sight

♡ @teasteeper

hendery would turn so animated when he meets ki for the very first time - in the best way possible! he’d be so enchanted by her beauty, her lovely personality, there’s no way he wouldn’t fall for her after he starts a conversation with her while they wait in line somewhere (he’d let her go before him). he’d confidently ask for her number and a few days later he’d ask her out on a date. he’d want to do it immediately the next day, but he’d prefer to not look like a weirdo and blow his shot. literally everyone around him will know he’s in love, because he’d be all smiles and heart eyes, but if someone asks him about it, for a while he’d be really secretive, cause he’d think it’s too good to be true. but little does he know ki is head over heels too!

bunny and beomgyu - soulmates

♡ @lunicho

they would literally meet in a way that you think would happen only in the movies. a silly accident where one of them bumps into the other and immediately falls to the ground to pick up all their stuff with multiple awkward sorry mumbles, or they get stuck in an elevator (hopefully none of them fear elevators lol), or their orders at the coffee shop get switched or something like that… but actually that was just fate doing their job cause they’re meant for each other. they both have an immaculate talent of storytelling so every time they’re with friends everyone would love listening to them talk about their experiences, but especially about the cute story of how they met that never becomes boring!

dee and jeongin - neighbours au

♡ @jeongin-lvr

they’d keep meeting in the elevator, at the front door and the grocery store across the street and every time it would get harder and harder to separate. their conversations would flow perfectly and they would not realise how time flies when they stay in the middle of the hallway, keys in hand, talking on and on about different things. till one day jeongin realises he wants to spend more time with dee and asks if she wants to come over so they can watch the movie they talked about the previous week while he cooks something delicious. of course, he ends up paying more attention to dee than the actual plot of the film.

lili and park jisung - forced proximity

♡ @kgyam4

they’d have to work together on something which will result from them just knowing each other’s faces and names because of a mutual friend, to them suddenly feeling like they’ve known each other their whole lives. maybe they were left alone with the task to pick a movie in the living room while their friends are preparing drinks and popcorn in the kitchen. they wouldn’t know when and how but from discussing different titles suddenly they’re sharing random stories about their lives and what first expressions they had of each other which makes jisung a bit flustered but more than that - intrigued and attracted to lili. he’d hope next time they see each other to be left alone with her again.

julia and theo - coworkers w/ a bet

♡ @sunnyyangie

they’d be each other’s favourite colleagues and they wouldn’t hide it - not from one another nor from the rest of the company. what they would hide is their attraction though (sometimes very poorly), until randomly out of boredom during their breaks they bet on something that would force them to communicate even more with each other, even outside of work hours. they’d have so much fun competing with each other, and when the bet is over they’d be looking for excuses to start a new challenge until taeyang decides to just shoot his shot cause julia looks just as whipped as him!

[aurumacadicus]

Hmmmm need more Tony picking up skinny!Steve at the bar because he’s cute and awkward and he likes that in a man only to be fucked within an inch of his life. He is in love with Steve by the end of the night because of his immaculate dick game and the praise Steve whispers into his ear as he coaxes him through yet another orgasm and the way Steve carefully wipes him clean instead of just leaving him to sleep in their mess not that Tony would have actually minded. Steve is gone in the morning and Tony is despondent because he wanted to return the favor and wake Steve up with his mouth and maybe ride him until Steve was just as ruined for everyone else as Tony was and this was why he preferred to be the first to leave in the morning. :(

JARVIS tells him that Steve let a note and Tony scrambles for it and about faints when he reads “got a business meeting with you today so don’t let your ceo know I fucked you stupid.” Oh god. The meeting with the top advertising agency that they’d been trying to get for months and hadn’t managed until the owner had seen they’d started destroying the weapons they’d recollected from illicit sources. Pepper was going to kill him.

(It’s fine, they get the contract, Steve doesn’t even look like he remembers their night of debauchery and Tony is too impressed by his team’s mock-ups to be upset about it, even if he is sad that he can’t ogle Steve in his beautifully tailored suit without Pepper stabbing him with a pen under the table.

They finish up the meeting and everyone’s feeling pretty good about it, Pepper leads them out and Tony is tidying up the conference room until she comes back so they can touch base before he heads down to R&D for a surprise inspection (he likes seeing everyone scramble to hide how many coffee cups they have at their tables) when he hears the door open and close again, and he’s about to babble on about how great the mock-ups were so that Pepper can’t tell he wanted to crawl under the table and suck Steve’s dick when a hand lands on his bruised ass and squeezes until he whimpers.

“Let’s have dinner,” Steve says, and Tony is nodding before it registers that it’s an order and not a request, and it lights up something inside him. “I know this really great diner. Very casual. Dress down. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Okay,” Tony squeaks, flushing, and then watches as Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket, turns to the door as it opens again and Pepper steps in, asking if he found it.

“Right on the table,” Steve lies casually, gives Tony and Pepper a smile like he didn’t just grab Tony by the ass and ask him out to eat, and breezes out with a cheerful wave.

I’m in trouble, Tony thinks, hoping that Pepper doesn’t notice how flustered he is.)

((“Hey so uuuh, what the fuck?” Tony splutters when Steve shows up to pick him up for dinner. “You were awkward at the bar, not this… tiny, controlling Dom or whatever. What gives.”

“I’m really bad at picking up signals on whether people are making fun of me or if they really want me,” Steve says with a shrug. “Figured you were earnest when we actually made it to your bed. So of course I didn’t hold back when I realized you liked it when I was bossy.”

“I did not,” Tony lies, and Steve just slants him a fond smirk and roll of his eyes. “You are being mean to me. I’m going back up to my penthouse.”

“You liked when I was mean to you last night,” Steve purrs, reaching out to tuck his hand into Tony’s back pocket, and he can’t help the little yelp that escapes his lips as Steve takes the handful of his ass and squeezes, using the grip to lead him over to the doors. “Hope you don’t have any early morning meetings tomorrow. I cleared my schedule.”

It wrankles Tony something terrible, because he’s a brat at heart and he wants Steve to know it. On the other hand, he’s so horny at this point he doesn’t really care, so long as Steve keeps his hands on him. It’s all very confusing.

On the bright side, Tony gets to wake Steve up with his mouth the next day.))

[chronotsr]

Pre-G1 Modules, part 3 - Lost Caverns of Tsojconth

That's Tsojonth, with the O. Many early adventures debuted not in published form, but in home games and tournament modules, and Tsojconth is the most famous example. This will actually be a super brief post because we'll be talking about Tsojcanth later in more detail, when we're in the full press of the TSR module era. Tsojconth debuts as a module for the tournament at WinterCon V in 1976, and it's a Gary Gygax number. That's right, G1 isn't even the first Gary module to make it to public consumption! Anyway, WinterCon was set up by the Metroi Detroit Gamers. You *could* actually buy this module, although it wasn't "official" TSR fare.

Again, I kind of miss the hand-inked era of TTRPG art. A lot of people are fans of that pre-big money TSR look that is very evocative despite being not very proficient, and I feel like this hand-penned look is the prototypical example of this. This is literally just a road with some guys walking into a cave in the mountains past a graveyard, and yet the vibes are *immaculate*. Side note, I am personally very fond of Tasha (Iggwilv), so I'm always happy to see her earliest depiction is super early here, even if she is a contextless name.

In a nice little touch, all the parallel games of Tsojconth at WinterCon V were all canon to one another. That is, Tsojconth is a "nexus of probability", meaning that you can conceivably meet other players playing the same pre-generated characters in your session. It's cute!

If you are not somehow aware of the concept of a tournament module (especially if you're a 5e player), here's the quick rundown. The high lethality and unforgiving nature of early DND meant that "winning" DND was still considered a thing you could do. Remember, DND was born from the wargaming scene. Consequently, they would compete in tournaments at conventions to see which group of people could clear a dungeon, and among those who could clear it with the most treasure, least mistakes, and least casualties. This is part of where the "impartial judge" mindset comes from that you often see in graybeard gamers, its got its genetics in the competitiveness of wargaming. That's not to say your uncle Joe *only* believes this because he played tin soldiers in 1970, but that's part of it. Damage did average damage, wandering monsters were disabled (their game design utility doesn't really matter if the players are already trying to go as fast as possible and there's no campaign after this), healing was standardized, et c. Points would be tabulated at the end.

Interestingly for Tsojconth specifically (I don't know how generally true this is), at the halfway point survivors of the lower caves would be integrated into new groups for the next level, Survivor-style. Again, it's very cute.

Eck. I don't know if it's the old xerox job or what but this looks like shit! I'm not much of a paper map person, I usually use mapping software, but my few on-paper dungeons look....a little less slapdash than this. Maybe it was in a rush?

I get that they're trying to conserve paper because this is for a tornament but the font is killer on my eyes. Anyway! There is not much to report that will not be covered eventually in the S4 post, so I will instead leave you with a quick collage of illustrations, and finally a *vintage* character sheet. Cya later!

[flowerprose]

HEADS UP, 7 UP 🌷💀

thanks for the tag, @cljordan-imperium! i think this is the fastest i have ever responded to a tag game, but i actually did some sprinting tonight!! trying to smooth out the kinks in the first encounter/confrontation between kore and hades.

“Grow me something,” Hades says, his shoulder lifting uncaringly. “Anything you like, but do it here, and now. Show me your command of spring, princess, and I will consider your desertion here unbecoming.”  Kore looks across the lampshade floor, not unlike the bright marble halls of her father’s home. The gardens were her playground, rife with overgrown, golden trellises, fountains bursting with sweet ambrosia, and an orchard of seeded fruit, always sweet and ripe. She could grow any flower she desired, any crop her stomach hungered for, but her play was confined to the fenced courtyard of the Eastern wing, overlooking the briny valley of the sea. She’d never dare to stray soil indoors and tarnish the immaculate reception of Hera’s palace, of which she was always a guest, not a resident.

tagging: @bebewrites, @samplewriting, @sam-glade, @lady-grace-pens, @moondust-bard, @authoralexharvey, and @cream-and-tea!

[rollinwiththepunches]

Some Zern things

- Zern does not like fiction, he almost exclusively reads history books. He can be coaxed into consuming media if it’s framed as historical fiction.

- this means he would only like games like Civilization and Europa Universalis.

- He has an ungodly spice tolerance and loves very spicy food and snacks. His favorite snack is fruit sprinkled with chili powder and salt.

- doesn’t like coffee, he only drinks hot mint tea.

- Wears slippers indoors. To be loved by Zern is to have him keep a pair of slippers at your place.

- Loves sitting on the floor with pillows and blankets. Does a majority of his schoolwork on the floor. As part of his customization of his dorm space, he requested a futon on the floor and a low table with pillows in the main room.

- Flies everywhere when he can. Has hopped out of his dorm window when he was in a hurry.

- Has the most immaculate handwriting. His lecture notes are so fucking beautiful.

- Loves fountain pens.

- His favorite areas of history is agriculture and homesteads, the greatest joy he finds in history is feeling that connection through the ages where he can see people acting like people. Graffiti, personal objects or the evidence of people caring for each other. He doesn’t super care about historic wars.

- is an incredibly skilled technical caster. He has a very strong grasp on the Weave and how to manipulate it to the point even Mordenkainen has called him a first-class abjuration caster.

- A bit of a know-it-all, and can come off as a bit rude and crass in discussions of arcane theory but in reality he forgets himself in his excitement.

- a bit disappointed becoming one with occulus was such a nothing event given how much he built it up in his head. He’s pretty happy about it regardless.

- Is a polyglot and speaks very many languages with interesting proficiency. Loves languages.

- won a pestling stuffed animal during his first day at Strixhaven, and still has it, at year 3, that he sleeps with. It’s gotten pretty flattened because he uses it as a pillow.

[retphienix]

Not to regurgitate the same "the nerfs have not been healthy or reasonably considered in Helldivers 2" talking points but man.

In isolation, just one thing among a sea of things, I hate what they've done to the Eruptor so much.

So I'm gonna vent it for my own sake and nothing more.

That thing was the shining point of success from its warbond- a warbond that has the immaculate grenade pistol of all things- and this STILL took the spotlight for me because it felt so good, different, and fun.

It was a weapon that traded ergonomics and ROF and safety (can't shoot close targets etc) for AMAZING stopping power, hitting many breakpoints that no other weapon has in the entire game!

You could one shot scouts from the front! Just tap em, no need to go around or shoot from 'slightly' above to hit their head!

You could one shot devastators TO THE CHEST!

You could take out MULTIPLE berserkers with ONE SHOT! Or guarantee a one-shot by hitting their stomach!

You could dent groups of enemies with the AOE, often wiping all the fodder enemies with one well placed explosion of shrapnel!

You could severely damage many objective style targets like turret towers!

ALL THIS- WITHOUT BEING OVERTUNED OR THE BEST OPTION! IT HAD GIVE AND TAKE IN ITS PERFORMANCE!!!!!!!!!!!

But some random exploit (that I never heard about until AFTER the nerfs, conveniently enough) let it hurt Chargers a "little too much" (reasonable, fix that then- without nerfing it to garbage). No real word on how it's pretty garbage against bugs otherwise- it hurt chargers too much, nerf it to hell I guess.

And out of nowhere the balance team starts claiming that people were "Upset about friendly fire" ??????? So they remove the unique shrapnel that did like 80% of the damage and then buffed the weak piddly baby explosion damage a tiny notch up from "nothing" to "still nothing".

The fucking thing is gutted.

It had purpose!

It was REASONABLE in its strength!

It had UNIQUE USE CASES that you PAID FOR through its various WEAKNESSES!!!!

It wasn't magically the strongest and best thing in the entire game! It just had PURPOSE!

And now it's a garbage version of the dominator, a weapon I bet they'll nerf to trash tier soon if they don't fully reconsider their balance direction.

Between the buffs they keep slapping on enemies the second we find a way to uniquely interact with them-

(like scouts- you used to be able to manage your loadout to include explosions to more easily take them out, but that's not the Arrowhead Balance Team Approved method of going around and shooting from behind so take a slap on the wrist and a buff to their explosive resist- wouldn't want weapons like the scorcher having purpose now would we)

-and the countless times anything that works better than the starting pistol gets nerfed, we just don't have fun stuff that works differently anymore.

Just "Here's the med armor pen rifle equivalent or the Sickle for fodder. Here's the autocannon. Here's the AMR. Bring your EATs." yay

Hell, this is a post about the gutted Eruptor but there's another thing- we lack variety in how to approach so many targets since every weapon that hits different break points or handles differently in an interesting way gets nerfed to shit- but EVEN THE BORING BASIC OPTIONS get nerfed if they become too reliable- like the quasar getting a nearly 20 second round turn around adjustment because they were upset people were choosing the "Slower rocket that doesn't take a backpack" over the "Backpack rocket that has such a fucking terrible ROF without team reload (a mechanic they severely need to adjust to be actually worth doing and not a built in nerf) that you might as well take the quasar even with the huge nerf because you at least get a backpack slot with that thing".

Cool >:(

At least the flamethrower is finally good. It's still a support weapon that can't take out a ton of units that our primary weapons ALSO can't take out requiring you to rely on strikes that a lot of missions will punish you for relying on through modifiers or weather effects (I like the weather but failure to let our loadouts serve themselves does shine a flaw in them) so woops to that but at least it's finally serving a purpose by taking out groups and chargers fast.

[idontlikeem]

I have to admit when I first got into the pens (thru the Sid’s-Fantastic-Ass pipeline) I didn’t think much of Geno at all.

Yeah he’s skated pretty but why was everyone all over him? Why does Sid like him so much? Also how the HELL did he land that bombshell of a wife? This guy is mid, lame, weird.

Now that man is the light of my life and we are all so lucky to witness him. He’s a bastard and he’s out of everyone’s league.

anon, i will forgive you your early sins, because you've since seen the light and now can bask in the truth:

HE'S HOT

also yeah he's definitely out of everyone's league this season 💅🏻

the dick game has got to be immaculate have you SEEN those gifs

[hentairobot]

i remember seeing a post on here not too long ago that was something along the lines of "saying disabled people who are using ai to generate art aren't artists is bad" (paraphrased of course). it still, absolutely confounds me, the fundamental misunderstanding as to why it sucks

it making you "not a real artist" or whatever isn't the point. the fact of the matter is, when you are prompt generating a piece of art using whatever machine learning system, it's not turning your immaculately thought up scenario into art out of thin air. there's something it's pulling from: thousands and thousands of other peoples' art work. that they drew, by hand. its closest anaolgy would be tracing, which has classically been kind-of a no-no without permission. and an especially big no-no trying to pass it off as your own. (not to mention, to even get most models to churn out anything that isn't complete shlock unintelligable garbage you need prompts like "featured on artstation" or hell, actual artists names)

i'm sorry to say, but if you can't make art traditionally, because of motor function impairments etc then unfortunately you are just kinda out of luck. "oh i can't be an artist because i can't hold a pen/brush/mouse/use a touch screen then?" well yeah, i kinda am saying that, but also that you should explore every option available to you.

my hands and wrists kinda suck for the movements required for drawing and writing (and aiming in games lol) and have done since i was a kid, to the point i had to have an english test re-graded cuz i failed it cuz they couldn't read it lmao. but, i started making 3d art a couple years back for stuff for my vrchat avatar and i made stuff i actually enjoyed looking at. there are options.

[cyarskaren52]

“Thinking of a master plan…”

Rakim. Just saying his name evokes a certain image. He is Hip-Hop personified, and forever the standard by which emceeing is judged. Rakim Allah has been shaping and reshaping the artform for more than 35 years, and across his career, both with and without Eric B., he's revolutionized what an emcee can do with their pen. 

It's almost taken for granted that Rakim has one of Hip-Hop's strongest catalogs. Alongside Eric B., "The R" delivered a four album run that few artists can say they're able to match; from the groundbreaking and virtually perfect debut of Paid In Full to the stellar home run of Don't Sweat The Technique five years later. As a solo artist, Ra never pushed too hard for mainstream validation, opting instead to remain the rap game's most devout purist. That's who he has always been. Rakim is Rakim. 

So we had the unenviable task of putting together the 25 Dopest Rakim Songs. Here they are. 

#26

"ADDICTIVE" - TRUTH HURTS FEAT. RAKIM [BONUS SONG]

Our BONUS SONG pick is a celebrated classic guest spot! A smash from the late great Static Major and superproducer DJ Quik, it features one of Rakim's most smoothed-out verses. 

#25

"WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND"

This gem from the "House Party II" soundtrack was also one of the singles released from the final Eric B. & Rakim album "Don't Sweat The Technique."

#24

"WALK THESE STREETS" FEAT. MAINO

Rakim relishes in his elder statesman status on this track with Maino. Making it clear that funds and floss are just not who he is, Ra re-establishes himself as a voice of the people.

#23

"KEEP 'EM EAGER TO LISTEN"

An album cut from Eric B. & Rakim's third album, it shows just how much Rakim was continually pushing himself forward as a lyricist. It's also an early showcase for the brilliance of Large Professor. 

DROP YOUR EMAIL

TO STAY IN THE KNOW

SUBMIT

#22

"MY MELODY"

One of the standouts on an album that's damn-near ONLY standouts, this is one of Eric B. & Rakim's best early tracks (ghostproduced by Marley Marl)

#21

"LOVE 4 SALE"

The Sue Raney sample is sublime. Mature Ra speaks on relationships vs materialism. The production is rugged but smooth, as Rakim breaks down the importance of a shorty finding love. 

#20

"CASUALTIES OF WAR"

Recorded just as George H.W. Bush was invading Iraq amid the Persian Gulf War, Rakim addresses the conflict of being a Black American soldier tasked with treating Muslims like the enemy. 

#19

"IN THE GHETTO"

Moody and melodic, Rakim's flow never sounded more immaculate than it does on this introspective track from "Let The Rhythm Hit 'Em." Props to Rudy Ray Moore.

#18

"HOLY ARE YOU"

Rakim's reputation as "The God MC" comes from two things; his stature as a rhymer, but also his penchant for weaving knowledge of self and mathematics into his rhymes. Example A is right here. 

#17

"WHEN I B ON THE MIC"

Rakim's solo career has been somewhat low-profile compared to his heyday with Eric B., but this is one of his best solo singles--from his underrated sophomore album, "The Master." 

#16

"NEW YORK (YA OUT THERE)"

A shout-out to his home city, this remains one of Hip-Hop's best odes to the Big Apple. With DJ Premier on the beat, it's a victory lap for classic NYC boom bap. 

#15

"LYRICS OF FURY"

Ra leans into the aggressive production and lets loose. Chris Rock once called this track "probably, lyrically, the best rapping anyone's ever done," and it ain't hard to see why he holds it in such high esteem. 

#14

"GUESS WHO'S BACK?"

It had been five years since Eric B. & Rakim's final album, and in the 1990s, that felt like an eternity. But the God MC came roaring back with his first solo single, announcing his return.

#13

"MOVE THE CROWD" 

It's somewhat ironic that a song about getting the crowd moving is so laid-back, but Rakim makes his point effectively. No mistakes allowed. 

#12

"MAHOGANY" 

Who says Rakim never raps for or about the ladies? A seductive ode to a mysterious woman, Rakim flows smoothly over a winning sample of "I'm Glad You're Mine" by Al Green. 

#11

"THE 18TH LETTER (ALWAYS AND FOREVER)"

One of the purest showcases of lyricism ever put to wax. Rakim breaks down the mathematics behind his famous initial as only he could do. A master class in rhyming. 

#10

"LET THE RHYTHM HIT 'EM"

The title track from Eric B. & Rakim's third album is a masterpiece. One of the most inspired flips of "Nautilus" by Bob James, it also features some of Ra's most innovative lyricism. 

#9

"IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME"

Another track released after Ra's five-year silence in the mid-1990s, it was another moment for the R to let anyone who didn't know exactly who he is as an emcee. 

#8

"MICROPHONE FIEND"

It's an emcee's mantra. Rakim made an absolutely brilliant parallel between loving the microphone and being addicted to dope; and highlighted the rush of one as compared to the other. 

#7

"DON'T SWEAT THE TECHNIQUE"

The "Rumpshaker"-esque video was the first appearance of Wyclef Jean, but beyond that, this is one of the greatest (and last) slices of classic brilliance from the game's greatest emcee/deejay duo. 

#6

"I KNOW YOU GOT SOUL"

We admittedly don't always think of the dancefloor when we think of great Eric B. & Rakim tracks, but this is the most party-ready groove the duo ever released. 

#5

"FOLLOW THE LEADER"

The second album from Eric B. & Rakim let you know that they were upping the ante in every way. Sonically, this is where those Coltrane comparisons become more apparent. 

#4

"ERIC B. IS PRESIDENT"

Have the votes been tallied? Rakim nominates his deejay in one of the duo's most beloved songs. Deejay tributes were a mainstay of 80s rap but none raised the bar quite as high as this one.

#3

"I AIN'T NO JOKE"

He let you know what was up from Day One. The first music video from Eric B. & Rakim also serves as the first music video appearance from none other than Flavor Flav. 

#2

"KNOW THE LEDGE"

The theme song to beloved 1991 hood thriller "Juice" is a lyrical tour de force. Rakim's flow is ice-cold and razor sharp, as he details a life of crime doomed to end in violence. 

#1

"PAID IN FULL" 

It's on the short list of greatest rap songs ever made. The sample of Dennis Edwards and Siedah Garrett's "Don't Look Any Further" would become a Hip-Hop staple, and Rakim's opening bars are embedded in the very fabric of this rap shit. Calling it "classic" is an understatement. Uber-essential.

Sent from my iPhone

[samspenandsword]

1. Idk how I missed your follow celebration but i hope not too late!! It’s the 29th where I am! First of all congratulations on the follow count! Second can I please request a ship request and a bestie request? I’m bisexual so either gender is fine! Here we go:

2. I go by she/her and am 20 so I don’t mind some nsfw!

3. Appearance:

As for looks, I’m 5’1, average build, tanned olive type skin, dark brown eyes, full lips, dark brown shoulder length wavy/kinda curly hair with curtain bangs. I also wear glasses with a slight cat eye to them.

4. Personality:

For personality I’m creative, introverted, and individualistic. Though I’m introverted, around my friends I can be quite talkative, humorous and outgoing. However I definitely treasure my alone time the most.

5. Hobbies/Interests:

As for hobbies escaping to new worlds while reading books/comics, watching movies, and playing rpg video games. My favorite genres are fantasy and sci-fi, though I do love a good classic from time to time. Apart from that, I love working out.

My interests on the other hand are art focused. I’m currently in art school working with both digital and traditional mediums. I love my practice and everything from interaction design and digital illustration to graphite drawings and inking.

6. Likes/dislikes:

Likes: coffee, chai tea, dark chocolate, rock/blues/jazz/ music, cafe art shows, arcades, comic book stores, purple, thai/Indian/Chinese food, roller blading to classic rock with the wind in my hair, quality alone time

Dislikes: people i am unfamiliar with and have to make small talk with, the biting cold, rain, non fiction, staying too close to reality and not being allowed to daydream/imagine/roam freely in my thoughts, physical touch, overly crowded areas

Random stuff

My favorite planet is Dathomir. Don’t ask why but I love the aesthetic and the witchy spookiness. Also maul and ventress yes pls. Idk if I’d want to live there but the vibes are immaculate.

If I had to live on a planet tho it’d prolly be Naboo, Alderaan or coruscant (pre empire ofc)

Thank you and congrats once again!

Hey there!! You're absolutely fine, your request was before the deadline (I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this out I'm such a flake oml lol). Thank you so much for participating, and I hope the week has been treating you well so far!

Sam's Pen and Sword Follower Celebration (Closed)

Danzalladagger's Follower Celebration Request

Ship request 👄

Okay, okay, okay, okay, listen. The sequel trilogy I know is pretty polarizing, especially here on Tumblr (I don't write for them most of the time), but you and Rey would be so CUTE!!! She sees your art and she literally had no idea that something could be so beautiful. You get a bit bashful because it's just a rough sketch and the dimensions are all off and tbh it was really just a warmup but Rey falls in love with it and it warms your heart so much you give it to her. She scrimps and saves money to get it properly matted and framed and she just adores it. Also, pls get this girl some healthy emotional relationships she would just flourish on Naboo. The water!! The greenery!! It's warm enough for you both but it's not a desert! HUGE plus. The war ends and Rey just wants to come home with you, to a peaceful place where she doesn't feel weighed down by her past and her powers and her responsibility. She wants a place where her friends came come and go and enjoy being there. She loves that her friends can become your friends. But the both of you also get overwhelmed with too much social interaction, and quiet nights in together, ones where Rey sits and tinkers with some mechanical bits and bobs. Ones where you've ordered takeout and you're sitting working on a new piece of art or reading Space-Dracula with Space-Ella Fitzgerald playing quietly in the background. Peaceful nights. A peaceful life. It's everything Rey didn't realize she wanted until you came along.

"It wasn't that bad." You were a bit pale in the face. For all your interests and talents, a pilot you were not. Your beautiful, powerful, pure partner, however, was a pilot of extreme skill. But every time she flew it was like she was in battle, and the ride had gotten a bit rocky there. You'd think you'd be used to it by now. "Rey, my love, you fly like Poe was on your ass." "Poe could only hope to keep up with me." You giggled a little. Poe was also a fantastic pilot, and he and Rey had had a few "friendly" competitions to see which one was better. And every single time, they asked you and Finn to judge. And every single time, you and Finn stayed the fuck out of it and were happy to let your partners be competitive little flyboys. You and Finn were quite happy to gallivant off towards a coffee shop with pastries and laugh at their antics. "Good thing he's not here to hear that," you said. "He'd be squaring up right now." "Again, he could only hope to keep up with me." You laughed again, with a fond little roll of your eyes, and reached up to kiss her cheek. "Come on, Reybird, home's awaiting." Rey smiled, that beautiful, radiant smile of hers. The one that made your cheeks warm and stomach flutter. The one that had stolen your heart. The one that you did not want to go a single day without seeing. And it felt like you were already home.

Bestie request 😎

I came this 🤏 close to putting Sabine Wren down as your ship request, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought you two would be better suited as besties. (Also I hope you're okay with me putting down a Rebels character 😊). You two would bond so easily over art. Sabine is also well-known for her individuality, creativity, independence, and introversion. Sure, she loves being with her friends and family, but sometimes Sabine just needs some goddamn alone time. And you just have to do, "same lol." I think Sabine and you would also love meeting up at your favorite (space) Thai joints cause you two can handle spice and no one else on the Ghost Crew can lol. You and Sabine would also love working out together, giving each other shit for being out of shape lol, griping and being dramatic about how tired you are.

You could hear the gentle hiss of Sabine's paint gun somewhere around the corner from you. You wondered if she was leaving behind her trademark starbird or if she was leaving something a little more detailed. The longer the paint gun went, you knew she was painting something a bit bigger than her signature symbol. Your own piece was coming along nicely. A smirk curled at your lips as the details and colors came together, a mural of pure beauty materializing and giving the drab slate durasteel wall a bit more character. Your didn't use a paint gun yourself, only for linework. You preferred a classic brush to blend and apply the colors of your work. Even if it took a bit longer. You weren't worried. You and Sabine had yet to be caught. A few more flicks of your brush brought the piece together. And with a quick arc of some black paint with your gun, the piece was done. "Nice." Sabine had finished her own work and was now sniggering at your mural. You smirked over your shoulder at her. Your mural was a wonderful rendition of one Grand Admiral Thrawn being strangled by that chimaera he seemed so fond of. You were quite proud of it. "Thanks." You slapped up a stencil and sprayed with your gun, leaving your own symbol to sign your work. "What's yours?" Sabine's was as comical and poignant as your own. It featured a figure cloaked in black, a figure you recognized as The Emperor, with a lightsaber through his ass. You sighed a little dramatically. Oh, if only. "Come on, I've still got some ideas to get out that will get me grounded if Kanan or Hera sees." Sabine flourished her paint gun. You barked a laugh. "Then I want to see it!" Sabine grinned, and as the two of you darted through the city to find your next displays, you left behind nothing but fresh paint and the knowledge that rebels had been there. Rebels were everywhere.

[jamminvroomvroom]

unfinished business. part 2

GR x fem!reader

find the other parts on my ✨masterlist✨

george russell has me in a chokehold. that’s it’s. that’s the premise of this. enjoy lmao <333 yk i couldn’t leave my boy suffering like that in part 1. thank u merc admin, my beloved, for the immaculate timing of that pic i am literally unwell.

in which george gets his revenge and you get what you’ve been waiting for.

warnings: 18+!! it’s just smut. there is SOME plot but it’s smut fr. so much smut. pls take care when engaging with the sexiness of GR. language, the teeniest eeniest hints of fluff?? sure??

4.3k words

avoiding george had become a sport for you, a game of cat and mouse.

you had spent the better part of the weekend in baku giving him fuck me eyes from across the media pen, mentally undressing him with your lip caught between your teeth. of course, you never let him get close enough to do anything about it, turning on your heel anytime he came within ten feet of you. you didn’t think that your producer was particularly happy that you seemed to be ignoring the mercedes driver, but you managed to convince them that one weekend wouldn’t hurt, indulging a bit more with drivers you didn’t usually speak to.

george didn’t like that.

you’d been laughing away with pierre after sunday’s race, congratulating him on his best finish of the season, when you’d noticed a very tense george russell making his way towards you, bypassing a long line of journalists that were itching to speak to him after his third place finish. he stood awkwardly, lingering behind pierre. he had countless other places to be, people to speak to, but he would not move, not even swayed to speak to another outlet by his press officer. it’s not exactly like you could get away now, you just couldn’t let him gain the upper hand.

just as you were finishing up with pierre, you heard the brit behind him clear his throat and you rolled your eyes, not missing the way pierre smirked, obviously feeling the rise in tension. you thanked him for his time, suddenly eager to get to george. the very least you owed him was a quick chat. you plastered on a smirk, one that only he would know the meaning behind, and got to work.

“so, george, lovely to see you. you’ve been hiding from us this weekend!” you were far too over enthusiastic, and also blatantly lying. he’d tried his hardest to speak to you all weekend.

“have i? i think you’ve been too busy for me.” he leaned in against the barrier, doing that thing where he’d bring himself down to your level. you wondered how low you could get him to sink, preferably onto his knees.

“oh, george, i’m never too busy for you.” you upped the ante, unabashedly flirting with him now, no matter how playful your tone was. “back on the podium this weekend, maybe you are making a habit of it after all?”

“after all of that motivation you gave me in monaco, it was bound to happen.” so that’s how he wanted to play it. he quirked his eyebrow, as if to say game on.

“well, you’re very welcome. are you going to get another one for me in canada next weekend?” yeah, you were definitely getting called into someone important’s office once the weekend was over.

“i think that depends.”

“on what?”

“how i… prepare myself, maybe you and i can discuss all the ways i unwind.” he smirked. you narrowed your eyes.

“and what of the rumours about a wet race next weekend? does that make any difference to the way you plan on… preparing?” you tried to move on, not liking how flustered he’d gotten you with just a few words. george just shrugged at you.

“you know how good i can be in the wet.”

you watched the bastard lick his lips, the most arrogant smirk on his face, and you made the decision that the rest of this conversation should not happen on camera. or in front of people, at all. unless they were paying for it.

“good to see you, george. congratulations on another podium.” you said through gritted teeth, thighs squeezing together beneath your sundress.

fuck george russell, you thought, as he breezed his way to the next reporter, watching you subtly from the corner of his eye. that was the problem, all you could think about was fucking george russell. as much as it had satisfied you, leaving him on the yacht to handle the problem that you created, you’d desperately craved more of him since you’d stepped off of the boat.

you thought about the way he must have ached after you’d left him, rushing back to his hotel room to take care of himself. you’d done something similar. you thought about him every time you were alone, every single night since, when you let your hands wander your body to the thought of the way he looked with his head thrown back. you knew that it had to happen again, you knew that you had unfinished business. you needed more and you had a feeling that he did too.

you didn’t have to wait too long for him to get you alone.

-

you’d been walking through the paddock, finally done with your interviews and ready to go back to the hotel when you caught sight of him. a tilt of his head told you everything you needed to know, and you were blindly following him into the mercedes hospitality suite, somewhere you definitely shouldn’t have been. luckily the paddock was emptying out, and you were somewhat shielded by his tall frame and the fact that he was george russell; no one cared who you were.

as soon as he’d lead you into a dark enough corner, he had you up against the wall, hand wrapped around your throat.

“so nice of you to join me.” he said lowly, face only centimetres from yours.

“it seemed wrong to keep you waiting even longer.” you bit back as best you could with his fingers tightening around your neck. his knee slotted between your legs which you happily spread.

“have you enjoyed playing your little game, my love? enjoyed teasing me?” he ground his knee against your clothed cunt, your hips rolling to meet his movements.

“mhmm…” you trailed off, eyes fixed on his blue ones.

“words, sweetheart.” again, his fingers squeezed harder at your neck.

“i need this.” you groaned.

“this?” he scoffed. “think what you mean,” he pressed his forehead against yours. “is that you need me.”

he kissed you, full lips battling fiercely with yours. his body was pressed completely against yours now, hand dropping from your throat to run over your body. he grabbed your waist, tugging you into a room behind him, which you quickly realised was his drivers room.

“get on the table.” he gestured to the massage table in the corner of the room and you quickly obliged, spreading your legs. your dress fanned out across your thighs, riding up over your skin, and you watched with hooded eyes as his darkened ones trailed up your exposed legs.

“why don’t you show me what you did when you got back to your hotel room that night?” he murmured, stalking towards you. “bet you regretted it, leaving me there like that, having to take care of yourself.”

“i think i did a pretty good job by myself.” you retorted, dragging your hand up your thigh, your dress coming up with it.

“still pretending? come on, love, i think we’re past that now.” his eyes were fixed on your panties, now on display for him.

“don’t think that i’m the one pretending,” you slipped your fingers into your panties, “you’re a bit too demanding for a guy who’s desperate for me.” you teased, smirking at him. your fingers circled your clit, hips bucking up to meet your hand.

he closed the gap, standing over you now, making you lean back on the table as he hovered over you.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asked, as condescending as ever. as much as it pained you to admit it, you did, nodding frantically. he slipped two fingers into your mouth. “then be quiet and show me what you do when you think about me.”

you sucked on his fingers eagerly as you sped up your own fingers, dipping them into your wetness and bringing it up to your clit. you moved faster, drunk on the way he was looking intently between your face and your underwear, which were undoubtedly soaked through. as you edged closer and closer to your end, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, pulling your hand from your panties, which were swiftly torn off of your body.

“want my fingers? seemed to enjoy them last time.” he muttered, going in for another kiss, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip.

“yeah.” you gasped, panting as you pulled away from his lips.

“yeah?” he sneered, mocking you deliciously.

“please, george. please.” you whined, eyes wide, head thrown back. that seemed to do the trick.

he didn’t even waste any time teasing you, long fingers pinching your clit before they thrusted inside you, your pussy already wet enough for him to go straight in. you moaned pathetically, hips bucking wildly as you rode his fingers. your hand reached up blindly to cup his face, overcome with the need to ground yourself. he shivered under your touch, something animalistic snapping inside of you at the sight.

“want a taste?” you whispered seductively, bringing your other hand up to his lips. he groaned, opening up his mouth for your soaked fingers. he kept his eyes on yours the whole time, moaning around your digits as he felt you tighten around his.

you were teetering dangerously close to the edge, spurred on by the lustful way he was staring at you so intensely. your legs were shaking, skin flushed pink, panties in a tattered pile of the floor, and all you could see was blue eyes. mischievous blue eyes.

when he pulled his fingers out of you, with no warning whatsoever, you had hoped, prayed even, that you had fallen into some kind of sex crazed hallucination. but as you watched him back away, readjusting the bulge in his trousers and the fingers he’d been so delectably fucking you with just moments before being licked clean, you came to the shattering realisation that it was real.

george russell had one upped you in the most torturous way: by giving you a taste of your own medicine.

“i have a meeting to go to, darling. you can find your own way out, can’t you?” he asked so casually that you wouldn’t have believed that he’d almost made you cum, just seconds ago. the only thing that gave anything away was the evil, evil smirk on his face. you just sat there dumbfounded, trying to catch your breath in disbelief. he snickered. you felt rage blossom across your chest, replacing the heat that he’d left across your skin.

“you fucking prick.” your voice was hoarse, reminding him perfectly of the way he’d just had you writhing beneath him.

“see you in canada.” he winked, and then he was gone.

-

you arrived in canada with a vengeance about you, strutting into the paddock out for blood.

perhaps this was all your own doing, the frustration you felt. in fact, it absolutely was, but you were an ambitious woman, used to getting what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. last weekend, you’d ignored him, but this weekend, you would be so unbearable that he’d just have to fuck you, teach you a lesson or whatever. you would take anything at this point, and you’d do whatever you needed to get it.

however, as the weekend progressed, you realised that he’d taken the games you played in the paddock into his own hands. you’d barely seen him, only catching flashes of him as he smiled deviously at you and ran away. you were getting a bit sick of him, to be honest, and if you weren’t so pathetically horny, you would never have chased a man like you were chasing george. you hardly even liked him, but you knew his endgame and he knew yours, and hopefully, it would include a bed.

the race came and went, a chaotic strategic mess that proved to be highly entertaining. you ignored the little celebratory butterflies you felt when george had finished the race in p4, and quickly did your media rounds in the pen. when the end of the scheduled press was nearing, and you still hadn’t seen him, you took matters into your own hands. you began to wander the paddock, followed by your camera crew as you rounded up the weekend, eyes peeled for the driver that had been on your mind nonstop for a week.

when you caught sight of him, slyly attempting to leave the merc suite without drawing your predatory attention, you sprang into action, not ready to let him get away that easily.

“george, a quick word? give the people what they want?” you tilted your head to the side persuasively, widening your eyes just the way he liked. translation: give me what i want.

“anything for you.” he replied, tone light and jokey as he fell into step beside you. your stomach twisted. you would let him do anything to you.

“not quite the podium you promised me last weekend, but a good weekend nonetheless?” you smiled coyly, trying to keep your cool, at least while you had a camera crew following you.

“guess i’ll just have to make it up to you,” he turned to look at you as he spoke, your eyes not missing the way his darkened. “we had a good weekend, couple of small errors but good progress overall, especially with lewis.” he carried on as normal, as if he wasn’t flirting with you in 4k. you were definitely going to be hearing from your bosses.

“how did it feel yesterday when you put the slicks on? do you think that compromised your session or were you looking at that kind of grid position anyway?” you asked the questions you were hired to ask, wondering how he’d undoubtedly steer the conversation back to the inappropriate territory that you’d led the pair of you into.

“it felt very wet, slippery. i enjoyed it a lot more than you might realise.” he grinned and you felt yourself throb. “sometimes the position that you’re in doesn’t matter, it can still feel good… to race from.” he cleared his throat, trying to hold back laughter at your agape mouth and glazed over eyes. “sometimes taking a gamble pays off.” he raked his eyes over your body and you felt a blush spreading across your face, leaving you pink and dazed.

“thank you for your time, george, good luck at silverstone.” you said quickly, a tight smile painted on your face, desperate to wrap things up so that you could find out what his mattress felt like beneath you. you knew that by now, you were both too far gone, pushed too far and desperate for more.

you wrapped up your segment, closing the show and ending your broadcast, enduring a quick debriefing with your team before you were released and sent on your way. your flight wasn’t until tomorrow evening, so you had plenty of time to kill and you knew exactly how you were going to spend it. when you arrived back at the hotel, you didn’t even go back to your own room, making a beeline straight for his on one of the top floors. you knocked furiously on his door, relentlessly tapping away at the wood until the door swung open and you were being dragged inside.

his lips were on yours before the door had even clicked shut, teeth clashing and tongues battling. his hands were everywhere, your hips, your waist, your ass, pulling you impossibly closer.

“you better fuck me, george. need it so bad.” you muttered, lips brushing against his as your hands pulled at his t shirt.

“always knew that you’d be like this, such a needy slut for me.” he replied. you moaned at his words.

“i just want to see if you can actually make me cum.” you whispered. he froze. you’d hit a nerve and it filled you with excitement.

“oh, darling, i know what you’re trying to do.” one hand grabbed harder at your ass, pulling you tightly against him, while the other gripped your jaw between his fingers. “i made you cum so hard on that yacht you couldn’t even stand without my hands all over you.” he peppered some kisses up the other side of your jaw between words.

“couldn’t do it in baku, though.” you breathed.

“didn’t want to. you didn’t deserve it.” your pussy was definitely soaked by now.

“of course you’d say that.” you scoffed.

something within him snapped and your tight dress was removed in a flash, thrown dramatically into a heap on the floor.

“take your underwear off.” he demanded, his hands completely leaving your body. you just stood there for a second, trying to catch your breath, whilst also trying to anticipate his next move. “now.” you quickly did as you were told, body tingling at the way his voice dropped. you were left standing completely naked, panties strewn carelessly, your bra thrown calculatedly at his head. you should have felt shy, maybe even a little bit embarrassed, but that was impossible, the hungry look in his eyes making you feel more powerful than you ever had.

“get on the bed.” he commanded, your body quickly moving of its own accord. “spread your legs, sweetheart. wanna see how wet you are for me.”

you quickly obliged, arranging yourself how he wanted, body aching for his touch. he gazed between your legs unabashedly, watching the way you squirmed on the mattress with sheer need.

“george, do something.” you demanded, trying to usher him along. he sighed, making his way onto the bed until he was slotted perfectly between your thighs.

you reached out a hand to thread it through his hair, only to be caught off guard when he swatted it away, slapping your outer thigh. you gasped, not expecting the jolt, which had definitely gotten you even wetter.

“don’t know what gave you the idea that you were in charge, my love.” his fingers massaged your thighs, working inwards until he was spreading you apart for him. “why can’t you ever just behave for me, hmm?”

“wanna be good for you, george.” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingertips skimming your folds, body relaxing into the mattress as the sounds of your wetness filled your ears.

“but you’re so bad for me, darling. so,” he ran his tongue over your cunt, “so,” he repeated the action with his tongue, kitten licking at your clit this time. “bad.” and with that final word, he buried his face in your pussy, tongue moving rapidly through your wetness. he moaned into you, sending your eyes rolling backwards in your head. his tongue worked through your folds over and over, special attention paid to your throbbing clit, which he sucked into his mouth.

you could feel your orgasm beginning to build, doubting whether or not he’d actually give it to you. his actions got sloppier, messier, the brit pulling back briefly to spit on your cunt, before nibbling at your clit with his teeth. you were getting louder and louder, moans tumbling uncontrollably from your swollen lips. finally, he allowed your fingers to thread through his hair, your grip firm, keeping him close.

“george,” you whined. “i’m gonna- i need to cum, fuck.” you cried out. somehow, his mouth sped up, but only for a second. he pulled away, barely any centimetres between his lips and your centre.

“say please.” he looked like the devil, grinning at you from between your legs. his mouth was covered in you, hair a mess, he was so pretty.

“fuck you.” you could feel tears building in your eyes as his breath fanned over your heat, your thighs trying to close but his grip on you didn’t allow them to.

“i know that’s what you want,” he winked, “and we will get to that, my love, but first, you need to say please.” he kitten licked at your clit a couple of times, before pulling himself away again. you shuddered at the sensation, but still, you held out. he sighed. “i’ve got nowhere to be, i’ll happily spend the rest of the night edging you.” his lips moved to the crease of your inner thigh, running the tip of his tongue across the sensitive skin. “i know you want me, darling. i know how desperate you are. so just,” he placed a kiss on your thigh. “say,” his tongue swirled over the skin. “please.” his lips closed and he sucked hard, marking you up for him, where only he would see.

“please, please, please.” you chanted. there was no use toying with him anymore, not when you were the only one suffering. he might have ached for you too, but he was enjoying this enough not to care. “george, please make me cum. please.”

he stood from the bed and you almost burst into tears, until you took notice of his belt buckle clinking as he quickly removed it. his trousers were gone only seconds later, and he was left in his boxers, a wet patch painfully noticeable. your hips bucked into nothing at their own accord.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’m gonna give you everything you want.” his boxers dropped to the floor and he was on top of you, barely giving you the chance to salivate over how ready he was for you. he was so hard, dripping and pink, all for you. you reached down between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock. a couple of pumps and he was hissing, slapping your hand away. he lined himself up with your entrance, head of his cock slapping against your clit a couple of times. you were so fucked out, so needy for him, arching your back to try and get him inside of you.

when he finally sunk in, your entire body went slack, eyes fluttering shut as a loud moan tore from the back of your throat. you’d been waiting for this for over a year, and god, was it worth it. he felt perfect, the weight of him resting hotly; you could feel him everywhere. he’d moved slowly at first, eyes trailing over your face, carefully searching for a tell as to how you were feeling. he quickly deduced that you felt good, the way your eyebrows creased, mouth slightly agape, the corners of your lips slightly upturned. he sped up, hips hitting yours. his thrusts were hard, hitting places deep inside of you that had never been touched. you were boneless beneath him, aside from your arms wrapped around his back, your nails digging urgently into his pale skin.

“you’re so good.” he mumbled, dipping down to kiss you. it was messy and untameable, passion flowing like champagne. he never slowed down, as desperate to fuck you as you were to be fucked.

everything tightened, your stomach, the grip on his back, your eyes. the pressure was building so quickly that you barely had any time to react to his fingers pressed to your clit, rapid circles being traced into the nerves. you thrashed helplessly, held down by his warm body thrusting restlessly into you, and you were cumming, pussy clenching around him as you unravelled. your moans were met with his own, but he wasn’t done quite yet. he kept going, fucking you further and harder into the mattress.

“george, i can’t,” you cried. “too much, too good.” you slurred your words, your orgasm leaving you fuzzy.

“too good?” he laughed. “i think you’ve got another one for me.” he pulled out of you, quickly flipping you onto your stomach. he arranged you just as he wanted, pushing one of your knees up the mattress until you were spread out and ready. he lined himself up once again, his warm skin pressed firmly against your back making your head spin. “you can tell me to stop.” he whispered into your ear, pulling the hair away from your face. he kissed your jaw, awaiting your response, giving your hip a squeeze. you were melting.

“more. please give me more.” your voice was as quiet as his, and you saw him nod from the corner of your eye, a sweet kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

he was inside you again in an instant, the delicateness of the moment fading away as he rammed himself into you. with his body covering yours, he was so incredibly deep inside of you that you felt every single twitch, pulse, drag of him, and it made you shake. you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

you ground your ass back to meet his thrusts, chasing your second orgasm, and he got the message, speeding up slightly. his lips moved over your neck, your shoulder blades, anywhere he could reach, leaving soft kisses and harsh bites that reminded you that you’d started this. you could feel him faltering, his rhythm changing, thrusts shallower. you were so close to another orgasm and the change in pace sent you over the edge, quickly spiralling. you clamped down on his cock and he was ruined, burying himself inside of you one last time as he came.

you were both exhausted, one messy, intertwined heap on his mattress. he chuckled breathlessly, and you could have sworn you heard him mutter a finally under his breath. as you both recovered, he slowly pulled out of you, flopping beside you on the mattress, brushing your hair off of your cheek again.

“so was it worth it?” he asked cockily, sitting himself up against the headboard, hands folded behind his head. you glared up at him playfully, still laying on your front, trying to keep your smile at bay.

“was alright.” you half shrugged, rolling your eyes. “not like you need me to over-inflate that ego of yours.” you teased. he laughed again, a joyful sound as you relaxed.

“are you gonna keep giving me a hard time in the press?” he asked, keeping up his banter, that you gladly returned, enjoying this lighter side of your relationship. there were no stakes right now, no cameras, no cruel jabs. it was easy.

“if you’re gonna fuck me like that, i think i’ll keep it up.”

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppetangelika @wmaximoffz @starlightoctavia @japanesekel @stardustinggold @vinvantae @chaoticallypan @ashleyo1611 @ggaslyp1 @poofy-baby-unicorns @dr3lover @smiithys  @turningxstrange @lees0015 @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @1missglum1 @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @shinydragondelusion @alexk2002 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @f-1-fan @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @f1thirsttraps @canyouseethesainz

i am once again reminding you that my taglist is a big ol mess!! happy to add you or remove, all you gotta do is ask ;)

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

i want to baby trap nanami so bad. LOOK i know he’s a careful responsible guy but 1) i love the challenge 2) bebby!! :)

it would take fuckingn mission impossible level planning to milk this man’s magnum dong. I want to seduce him every day for my fertile days continuously. And meanwhile I want him to think it’s just fun flirting game this cat and mouse chase and just enjoy having a chubby babe prancing around the office, biting on pens and looking at him.

I want to go up to his desk at work lean down to put down a folder and secretly stuff my soaked panties into his suit pocket, not saying a word and just letting him shakily pull out the lacy fabric before stumbling to shove it back into his pocket once he realises what it is. I want that man to pull me into an empty conference room and just rearrange my guts, i want him to pound so hard into my pussy i forget my own name.

I want to mold him to crave me, i want to ruin sex for him, he will never think of anyone else. His every waking thought? plagued with me. And when the moment is right? I put down the positive pregnancy test on his desk with a smile and this man is pulling out the marriage forms he printed out months ago

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa no no no but Nanami wants this too!! He loves having a dominant partner, he loves when someone else takes the lead and he gets to lay back and relax!! He wants nothing more than a gorgeous chubby angel to appear before him and milk his cock for all its worth :(

Oh god, he would be so into you the minute you started working at his company. You're so pretty it makes him sick, if he knew how much you liked him he would muster up the courage to actually ask you out :( wants to wine and dine you a few times before taking you home and worshipping every soft plump inch of your immaculate body :( he's such a simp ong

But then you flirt with him?? And tease him?? And stuff your soaked panties in his suit?? Oh GOD, he's never wanted anyone so badly in his entire life 😩 he really wanted to do things properly but you've forced his hand, he can't control himself 🥺 he just has to pull you into a spare room after hours and ravish you the way he's been dreaming about :( he's so addicated to your taste and feel, you're literally perfect he can't stand it :( he's already figuring out how to ask for your ring size when you give him the pregnancy test. You have no CLUE how ecstatic he is about this, he's so happy 🥺 not only will he get to have the most beautiful wife on the planet but he'll also get to have a little bundle of joy with you 🥺 he couldn't ask for a better life 💕

[tizzymcwizzy]

hello master mctizzles!! 28 & 29 for the artists ask pleae, since i know you do a fair amount of traditional? also 10! (and if u say anything other than HELL YEAH, all caps, i will have many hype words to say at you<3333)

28. For traditional artists: what medium do you like the most?

OHHH INK DIP PENS MY BELOVED

god i miss her, i haven't done an ink peice in so long this is making me yearn

for those of you who are new, i used to primarily use a dip pen and watercolors for my art, you can see a general look at all the materials in this old drawing i did for class

the bottle is way fancier than need be, but i like it so i use it lmao (the ink is winsor & newton india ink and the pens are just the general dip pens you can get at michaels or hobby lobby) the water colors where the masters touch fine art studio watercolor set with 24 colors, they're the pan kind.

also i just generally like using pencil, ik very basic, but nothing will ever beat the feel of using a 6B pencil on drawing paper, immaculate 🤌

29. For traditional artists: How do you usually start on a big piece?

I usually start with a thumbnail in my sketchbook or on a scrap piece of paper to get a general sense of the composition, and do some bigger sketches if i want to map out specific poses that might be difficult later

then I do a light sketch with as much detail as i can on a taped down peice of watercolor paper, then i ink it, erase the sketch, clean up some of the lineart with a white gel pen (sometimes white paint if I bungle it enough) and then go in with watercolor, going from dark to light, then shading over everything after the first layer is dry.

(I KNOW I KNOW, ur supposed to go from lights to darks in watercolor, and I do if I'm doing like a painting, but it's much easier for me to fill in all of chat's black and marinette's hair before i go back in to work on the grey's, and by that point im using less and less pigment the more I paint, as my little puddle of black gets smaller and smaller in my palette.)

I took a lot of process photos when i did traditional but i haven't done it in a while so these are a tad old,,

some examples of thumbnails,,

some examples of sketches

and then some lineart photos

(i usually take photos of just the lineart when im scared to start the watercolor, so theres not a lot of them)

10. Are you confident about your art?

aaahha... eh.... i answered this ask in another post, so you'll have to go there to read it,, love you maryssa, hdhdhdhf 💙

thanks for the ask!! these questions are from the artist ask game, send me some and I'll do my best to answer them!