#it doesn’t look quite like how an artist posts fanart

[saintbleeding]

do you have any advice for writing image descriptions? I’ve been wanting to add some to my art but I don’t know how to go about it

hello anon!!! that’s a wonderful thing to want to do and im happy to offer whatever help i can :3

so because image descriptions are very much a community effort, that does also mean there isn’t really a style guide or anything, which can be freeing but also quite intimidating! here are some kinda off the top of my head suggestions:

If ur comfier putting the ID in alt text than the post body, that is still much MUCH better than no ID at all (and side note, if someone copy+pastes ur id into a reblog, it’s not a suggestion that you did anything wrong, they’re just trying to make them maximally accessible. while a lot of ppl who need IDs will use screenreaders and will prefer alt text, there are ppl whose preference is plain text in the body of the post (i personally fall into this category))

similarly, if you are struggling to write an ID/don’t have the energy/etc, i cannot recommend People’s Accessibility on discord highly enough. there are some wonderful folks in there who can give you pointers or even write IDs for you! likewise, i can’t speak on others’ behalf but i’ve gladly written IDs for ppl’s posts before they’ve put them up before, and i’m happy to do so, even if we havent interacted before! you can shoot me a DM with the image you need described and i’m glad to assist

more specifically:

it’s good practice to include the name of the fandom and the characters, assuming it’s fanart. altho it’s likely that fanart will stay broadly within a circle where people are familiar with the source material, there may be ppl who encounter the post and wouldn’t know this detail without it being laid out explicitly

you’re welcome to mention whichever details you like, especially if you are the artist, because you know what’s important to the image as a whole. it’s also perfectly acceptable not to get super detailed on things like clothing/hairstyles, especially if they aren’t relevant to what’s going on

a good rule of thumb is to ask yourself, if you didn’t have the image in front of you and just had the description, would it be a true representation of what the image looks like/portrays? would your mental image be accurate? that’s what you’re shooting for.

the best advice i can give is to just dive in and start, bc it gets a lot less intimidating once you’ve done a few, and it also gets easier the more you do it :3

also, i think trying to follow ppl who describe images helps a lot, because you will get more passive exposure to descriptions and what you think works/doesn’t, which can improve your own ID writing! on that note, highly recommend @princess-of-purple-prose/@pathos-logical (kay is a pillar of this and every community tbqh), @ryutarotakedown, @lucky-numberme, @fox-guardian, @squeeneyart, @hotdrinks, @samwise1548, and @rq-described (a breadth of interests represented here, but also if you’re asking me i presume you have at least a passing interest in audio drama and adjacent :3 )

thanks so much for asking and as i said i’m always happy to help however i can!!! happy describing, i believe in you!!!

#asks #anon #i hope this is a little helpful!!! #i just try to follow as many folks who do ids as i can and learn by osmosis tbqh #this also delighted me very much :3

[primaverabutitalreadyexists]

“I really don’t care being « called out » on something that isn’t true, but I have the right to defend myself. I will keep drawing him as I see fit and using his cane/crutch, and brace when the setting call for it. Have a nice day!”

It was when you said this that did it for me. Only willing you include a disabled characters disability aids when it fits your aesthetic? I know you have quite a few followers and for some reason that makes you think you’re above taking criticism but my god that was a shitty way to respond. I know someone else said that we are more than our disabilities which is true, but it’s also something we can’t just turn off whenever we feel like it. That’s why when an artist decides that it just doesn’t ‘fit the piece’ they’re drawing it kind of sucks.

Having « few followers » does not make me above anything or anyone else, I would say it’s quite the opposite actually. And I gladly take any criticism, as long as it is constructive, and done with the desire to help people improve in a field they lack experience/knowledge. That person was straight up agressive in the first place, already assuming things and straight up went for a confrontation that could have been easily avoided. And let me tell you, I’m at fault as well, I shouldn’t have matched the same tone, and that’s why it escalated this way, I’ve been super dumb in my phrasing. Maybe it was a clumsily written criticism, maybe they didn’t meant to make it looks like an assumption, idk and most likely will never know.

Including a character disability has nothing to do with aesthetics, a disability ISN’T an aesthetic to begin with. You can’t just say « oh no it’ll ruin my piece, go away crutch » and if you ever find a tweet or anything from me saying this, please send it to me, because it just never ever scratched my brain, not even once. Like a lot of artists out there, sometimes I draw things in a way that makes me feel good, that I think look okay. And if they offend some people, it isn’t in my intentions, I would never willingly do something as mean and stupid as that. I use Viktor for a lot of male body studies, like that shirtless one, that was just a primary version of an other with one with the merged brace and robot parts that isn’t even finished. That person picked 3 fanarts I’ve made of Viktor without his crutch or his brace. Does that make me a fucking ableist?? I would love to post all my fanarts, sketches of him featuring them, because I have a lot of these, and future projects, unfinished pieces that now I’m just too fucking self conscious to even finish. I love drawing him and now I feel like I do not deserve it. It was a bad way to answer them, and I totally agree with that, but I won’t stay here, being called a disgusting term and say nothing.

When I said when the setting calls for it, I was talking about wether it’s a portrait, a certain pose, if he’s seen entirely, or not, or if it’s Act 1, 2/3, machine herald or even the post shimmer augments design non canon thing a lot of artists are imagining. We still don’t know how he will turn out in s2, and a lot of people are making fan design (amazing I must say, I’m so happy to see a fandom coming with such wonderful and original ideas). I’m not saying I draw things like « oh what if I included his crutch this time? Would be so cute and cool 🥰 » It’s all about the way I’m making the piece and the setting he’s on. Currently I’m working on a piece where he’s using his crutch to get up from his bed, for exemple. Idk if it makes sense, it’s frustrating.

Anyway, I’m glad you’ve reached to me to talk about it, and to speak your mind on the matter.

[shadydigress]

Hello, ShadyDigress. We meet again. I have since then changed my name on here to match my fiction account and just made my whole Tumblr account for fanfiction.

I will have you know, by the way, that I’ve been wanting to join Tumblr for a few years but just never did. And the desire to share my silly fanart with you a couple months ago pushed me over the edge. That’s right! “What I Wouldn’t Do” MADE ME join Tumblr!!!

Now. On to business. A deal is a deal! I said I would give you fanart to celebrate Chapter 20, and I’m a degenerate of my word!

Truth be told, I actually did this like two months ago. I just didn’t send it to you because I figured I’d send it as a “thank you” the next time you updated. So here it is.

Btw, you can thank Pinterest for this. I was not planning on doing another fanart, but then I stumbled on a drawing template and was just like: “Oh my god. It’s them.” And so, this adorable shit happened.

As you can see, I changed up my style quite a bit since the last artwork I sent you. I have done some more experimenting and I got a whole set of markers just for portraits recently. So I was grateful to have the opportunity to try those out with this. One of the biggest struggles of being an artist: not knowing wtf to draw. 😆

By the way, there IS space on this page for another drawing. No promises but if I find a template I like (or if you have a suggestion I latch onto), you just might get another one of these. To be clear tho, I do NOT do NSFW art. My asexual ass doesn’t have the courage to WRITE smut, much less draw it. 💜🖤🤍 Though, as you can probably tell, I have no such qualms about READING IT. 😆

At the time I drew this, your last updated chapter was Chapter 19, so I drew Sabrina in her scrubs (the most common color I saw online was like navy blue, so I just went with that) and Fisk in his button-up shirt. And I really love the resulting image because to me, because of the angle you wouldn’t know those were scrubs unless you knew they were scrubs, so it looks like they’re just in their casual clothes and that to me just gives this just such an air of love and intimacy.

Anyways! I really hope you like it! Happy Holidays!

I AM SCREAMING AT THE ABSOLUTE TOP OF MY LUNGS AHHHAHAHHAHHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

There are seriously no words to express just how much it means that you love this little fic that I started. I knew I was taking a huge risk posting it because it's a female OC shipped with a character that nobody gives a rip about lol. And also Sabrina is friggin weird. But you found the fic and you love it and my heart literally omg <33333333333333

You're one of the main reasons why I kept writing, and it means so so so much that you enjoy this fic cuz I literally almost gave up after my first chapter literally got like ten hits.

[flailing-feathers]

I got a stream to do this afternoon so fuckit I’m letting out my negativity demons here now ‘cause they’ve been weighing me down.

Been feeling like shit every time I’ve poked social media lately, idk if it’s because it’s December or what but I’m back in another one of my ‘I’m a loser who can’t make rent with the one thing I’m any good at’ modes. Yeah the economy’s in the shitter but I am thirty four years old, have an art degree from a decade ago, and spent most of last year redoing my portfolio after I quit my day job over their handling of the pandemic (and only because I had a bunch of money saved up to give myself time to restart my art career doing remote work). Spoiler alert, that wasn’t nearly enough. I opened commissions in August 2021. I started job hunting in January 2022. It is now December 2022, and I’ve made less than 3k all year, no job, the feds paying for my food since March and my bf paying my rent since September (we don’t live together, he’s just helping me).

I’m too damned old to suck this hard. I can’t come up with cool ideas people would want to buy, I’m an unhireable schmuck that doesn’t have 3+ years industry experience in anything, and as much as I know part of it is that the market is objectively worse, I still feel like the biggest loser for taking more than twice as long to find work as I did when I graduated college. I’m so much more skilled now but I still don’t know how to make money. There seems to be no light at the end of this tunnel where I can actually make progress in my life.

Maybe it’s cultural programming but I hate having to be propped up financially (though I am equally in favor of UBI, and wish that was even remotely possible in the US). I hate being useless. I hate knowing that I’m intelligent and skilled but not the right kind of intelligent and skilled to not be living in a shitty little cold-ass apartment that I now can’t even pay for by myself. Art is the only thing I’m any good at, and yeah this is privilege talking but I can’t go back to regular dayjobs because nobody around here has trustworthy policies for protecting their minimum wage peons from health risks. I was uninsured even when I had a job.

Back to the whole social media thing - I’ve been a lot less active lately, not because of anything going on with platforms or the AI debacle or any other large scale dramas, it’s just that I look at it, and it makes me feel bad that I’m not posting new art or have cool promos or merch and there’s no demand for my work whatsoever. I’m still the kind of awful little shit that when I see other people posting comms, even though they’re probably just barely scraping by, too (and likely undercharging), I feel like a loser ‘cause I have barely gotten any comms and can’t even come up with merch ideas. I haven’t done anything for Studio 252MYA in ages while other artists are pumping out banger after banger. It’s great for them, of course, they deserve any boost they can get. I guess it just hits me right in the Impostor Syndrome. I don’t feel like I belong there, I’m not one of those paleoartists that are actually cool.

In the fanart world, I have an even stupider problem - I only hyperfixate on one thing at a time, and I’ve drifted away from Star Trek and back to Pokemon. I don’t stop liking a thing if it stops being my fixation, but it is a lot harder to want to choose to work on stuff relating to it over other things. My fixations tend to last around a year, no more than two. It’s fun while it lasts, but objectively ST64 is going to be much slower going now and other things are going to be chosen to be worked on instead more often than not. But there’s a little voice in the back of my head that most of the people who followed my fanart Twitter were in it for the Star Trek and I’m going to disappoint them by having less and less of it.

Lately I haven’t been doing anything for social media at all. Just making stuff for my bf and futzing about with my Neocities. I love how small and focused that community is. No room for expectations and disappointment and feeling like shit, just fucking around with silly ideas and exploring other people’s. A happy little island getaway where I can scratch a creative itch with no stakes.

#text dump

[animanication]

Rules / byi and DNIs!!

Interaction rules:

No hate directed towards me will be tolerated here! Any anonymous asks will be deleted, and blogs will be blocked AND reported if you do not choose to leave me alone.

If you continue to try and harass me in any way (trying to reveal my location, spreading false rumours about me, trying to bash me with hurtful comments) I will expose your blog. If you think this is overkill, think twice before you make me do this.

Please be respectful of my space. Asks are ALWAYS welcome, but don't ask me anything personal or harass me (asking about where I live is an example)

Anyone is free to interact with me, just keep the good vibes going! If you're uncomfortable with minors interacting with your content if you ever do find my blog and interact with my posts, I'll respect your boundaries and I won't make you uncomfortable in any way.

Fandom rules:

Imma be frank here, I don't fuck with fandom discourse ok

It's a mess and I'd like to try and stay away from it as much as possible. If you try and attack me if I talked about a certain ship or character that I like (and that you dislike), bitch scroll.

Don't try to start drama in any of my posts. I like to keep my blog as positive as possible, and I hope that anyone who views my posts and blog will do that as well.

No character hate is tolerated here! The most I'll do is playful slander towards characters that aren't my favourite (or my favourites as well, for that matter) but that's as far as me being character critical will go.

^^^ So I ever do make a post regarding a certain character and I talk shit about them, please don't get mad and try to bother me through the post, anon, or DMs.

^^^ I don't mean any harm towards anyone, and I'm just here to have fun. The post isn't meant to attack anyone who likes the character in any way. You like the character? Good for you! You don't? That's perfectly fine. You do you, I do me. No breath wasted, much time saved.

Same goes for ships. Like/dislike the ship? Good for you.

I really do not give any fucks about what you ship, just as long as you consume critically, you're good to go.

I personally feel a bit uncomfortable with ships that have incest and large age gaps, but like I said, you do you, I do me. Just as long as you don't shove it down my throat, I'm chill with you.

No time (and breath) should wasted fighting over what is right and wrong in a goddamn non-canon ship (I have seen this alllll the time, and so I ask of you to kindly look for something else to occupy yourself with, instead of getting mad about a pairing that is not real, in a STORYLINE that ain't even real as well)

My rules regarding my art:

Ok my art is only above average at best (I'M SELF TAUGHT OK I'M STILL TRYING TO LEARN) and I apologize in advance for my very poor quality art

I don't do requests at the moment, because I have school and my procrastination and lack of attention span make my progress really slow

So if I don't update for a month or something it doesn't mean I quit the app, I just got lazy and was taking a break (and running away from responsibilities)

And please don't hurry me to finish anything, because I really don't do things quickly even with encouragement or continuous requests, so please no heckling!!

But, I may take inspiration from posts or comments, because some of y'all brains are so thick n juicy with ideas and when I see it I must run with it ok

I don't draw NSFW art, not that I'm against it, but I really don't know how to, and I don't really want to at the moment. There are many other artists to choose from, with much better art, so please don't pester me to make it. I ain't the only one here, yanno. Thank you.

Even if I don't make NSFW art, I may age up my characters in fanart/comics, so if you're against or are uncomfortable with it, leave. Don't interact with me, OR my posts. I won't stand for any hate, and I will say this every time.

With most artists, this rule applies. DON'T REPOST MY ART WITHOUT PERMISSION!! I'm not really into reposts at all really, but if you really want to, ask me for permission first, and tell me where you're reposting my stuff. Tiktok, Pinterest, Wattpad, etc.

You steal my art without permission, I steal your kneecaps and internet access rights in the night you have been warned

DNIs: (I know that they're kinda pointless, but I just want to make it VERY clear)

Homophobes

Transphobes

TERFS

anti-LGBTQ+

porn blogs

Xenophobes

Racists (anti-BLM, anti-ALM)

Ship bashers (they're mentally exhausting, please don't test me. I'll bite you back if you bite me first)

Supporters of cancel culture

Supporters of cringe culture (it's either be cringe or die, fellas. There's no other way around liking different things)

I will add to this list as time goes on, be a respectful person on the Internet if you don't want the likes of your type of people to be put in a DNI

I might update and change stuff from time to time, so things are going to keep changing at very unpredictable intervals throughout my time here (sorry)

[freakdog]

instagram users are like “retweet? reblog? all i know is screenshot other people’s fanart i like and post it with no credit!”

#i see some cool fanart #it doesn’t look quite like how an artist posts fanart #i look at the caption #‘i really like this fanart i keep seeing on my feed it’s so good’ #nO CREDIT????? of course not silly it’s instagram!!!!!!! /s

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around...   word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni.   a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3   —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand​ also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’) 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break���you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland fluff #hockey!tomfic #tblr....please let me in the tags...? please?

[rq-described]

hey is it ok if i ask for a bit of advice with writing ids? /gen. i've seen quite a few posts about people over-describing in their ids, and i have a feeling that i do that (i tend to overcomplicate everything i do skdsksjd). what kind of information is unnecessary in an id that i can try to cut out in future? thank you so much!

Hello! It’s totally okay to come to us with questions, we’re always happy to try and help!

To be completely honest this topic is something that a lot of us are still working on. The line between under and over-describing can be a bit hard to place, especially since it differs depending on the piece, and the person using the IDs. It’s impossible to make it perfect for everyone, but here are some tricks we’ve found helpful.

1) Ask yourself what the purpose of the piece is.

Art showing off a character design will have very different priorities than a comic or a meme. A drawing of a character just standing in a cool outfit suggests more in depth descriptions of their design whereas a long action filled comic should center the action or dialogue. Trying to describe characters and actions in the same part when a piece has multiple characters and/or significant action will often bog it down.

For example writing:

"X enters the room. They have blonde hair and pale freckled skin, and they wear a sweater vest over a white collared shirt and a pair of dangly cherry earrings. They are drawn from the waist up. They say to Y, 'What’s up?'"

doesn’t flow as well as writing:

“X enters the room and says to Y, 'What’s up?’”

Understanding the purpose of the piece often means being succinct for the sake of comedic timing, too. Putting the punchline of a comic in the middle of a paragraph of description makes it less impactful than saving it until the end, and breaking up dialogue with several sentences describing a background or outfit means people may lose the thread of the comic.

This doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t describe the character design if you can find a way to significantly shorten the description or include it separately. We’ll go over one possible way of including them in the line breaks section.

2) When dealing with complex settings, backgrounds, or clusters of items, ask yourself what needs to be described individually, and what can be generalized.

Complex and/or cluttered surroundings can get incredibly wordy when describing each component as it’s own thing. If certain components are not individually important to the viewer’s understanding the piece, generalizing or sometimes even leaving them out can significantly cut down on words. For example, writing:

“A mahogany shelf sits above his head. On it sits a blue mug with a spoon sticking out, a ceramic container filled with utensils, and a set of salt and pepper shakers.”

is significantly wordier than writing:

“A shelf holding various utensils and kitchen items sits above his head.”

Sometimes you can bear to cut individual details entirely if they aren’t particularly relevant to understanding the image. For example, if describing a drawing of characters at the beach, and there’s a buoy in the ocean way out in the distance, you probably don’t need to describe it unless it plays an active role in the piece.

3) When describing the appearances of characters, keep in mind what features are important to understanding the artist’s depiction.

Certain aspects of a character’s appearance can say a lot about how the artist wants them to be interpreted. Things like body frame, hair and clothing style, and especially race can vary drastically by artist, and in result change how the character is understood.

Other things like eye color, nose shape, or specific body proportions often do not change the general understanding of the character, and can cause the character description to become bloated. They typically should not be included.

There are certainly exceptions to this however, for example, if a character has unnatural features like glowing eyes or a snout, it changes how the character is meant to be perceived and should be described.

4) Play around with line breaks.

Sometimes pieces are just too complex to avoid having a long description. In order to make sure all important details are included while also including action, consider breaking the description up into chunks. Putting the action first and then writing out the character designs allows the people who want to know what’s going on in the image but don’t particularly care about designs to skip to the next post after the first paragraph, while still providing the descriptions for the people who do.

5) Be aware of what your audience already knows.

When there’s a reasonable expectation that your audience might already know something, it’s okay to use some shorthand. This comes up often when describing memes.

For example, writing:

The Spiderman pointing at himself meme, where one Spiderman is labeled X and the other is labeled Y.

is much more succinct than writing:

A screencap of a cartoon. Two people in identical Spiderman costumes are standing in front of an NYPD vehicle, with one facing away from the viewer and one facing toward the viewer. They are both pointing at each other in identical poses. The Spiderman facing away from the viewer is labeled X in white text. The Spiderman facing toward the viewer is labeled Y in white text.

You’re writing for an audience of Tumblr users, so you can assume most Tumblr users are familiar with the meme. If they aren’t, you’ve given them enough information to look up more about it.

This is also something to consider when describing fanart. Most podcast characters by nature don’t have canonical appearances, so the choice of how to portray a character is often intentional on the part of the artist and something worth paying attention to when considering the purpose of a piece. This isn’t the case for all media, though, and re-describing characters with canonical appearances over and over again isn’t necessary unless those appearances differ significantly from the norm.

-

We hope this was able to help! If anyone sees this and would like to add anything, please feel free to do so, and as always, if you have any more questions, feel free to reach out.

~The Mods

#not rq #not id #accessibility resources

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Tues 8 June ‘21

Harry recorded a message that was played at the Stoneman Douglas High School graduation; SD is the school in Parkland Florida that in 2018 became the site of the deadliest school shooting in US history. Harry has consistently been a vocal supporter of the student activism to curb gun violence that followed the shooting (it was when he added the Stop Gun Violence stickers to his guitar and he spoke about it before when playing near there on HSLOT, for example, as well as signing on to things and donating money and talking about the bravery of the young women leading the effort in particular). “You are an incredibly strong group of people and I have no doubt that you’ll all do incredible things whatever you chose to do in the future, so good luck, love each other and be nice to each other and I hope at some point I’ll get to see you guys,” he said in the video.

A blurry blob in a blue hoodie in London last night was said to be him, out for a stroll, Don’t Worry Darling was announced to be set for release next year, and some fans literally chased Harry and Olivia down the street while filming them against their wishes (recently, not today, seems like she might be back in the US with Jason now that his filming is wrapped) and then people tried to blame their behavior on... larries?? UM did larries possess them and force them to literally chase a person asking to be left alone I DON’T BELIEVE SO, I am BEGGING you guys to quit listening to anything anyone on twitter says. My Policeman is filming in Hitchin, at a location reported by local media to be “shrouded in mystery”, but I’m pretty sure the hordes gathered to peep at filming have killed any aura of mystery at this point. They are working on location at a pool in Butts Close (YEAH I KNOW) and are apparently besieged with fans, some of whom managed to get more pictures of a blurry blob said to be Harry- this time in tiny yellow short shorts (2021/1950 version)!

Niall and Anne Marie’s Tonight Show performance aired! Anne Marie’s black and white cheetah print lined three piece outfit is amazing, like Niall is pushing the envelope a little with shapes and fits but her look takes center stage I’m afraid; anyway also they sound great and are cute, yes yes.

Liam has been in his discord lots, commenting on things and polling people. Current polls, yes no or wtf about NFTs, which landslide result (wtf) got him to say yeah okay I’ll make an explainer, and should we rename my fandom which resulted in a chat for people to make suggestions. About front runner Paynedora’s Box (Liam’s own amazing suggestion) he said “it came to me as I thought it meant every type of fan is a possibility, never know what you’re going to encounter.” Yes plus Pandora’s Box was full of demons! Apt indeed though Liam’s fans are sweeter than some, it’s true. He gives a little love to Champaynes too, which is good though given our boy’s struggle with alcohol addiction I’ll stick with my vote for the first one. He posted from an “impromptu night photoshoot” (about which his hair guy said “bringing the grit back, prepping for a very exciting launch…”), followed NFT co-creator Gabe Damast who later posted some behind the scenes talk about the making of Lonely Bug (with glimpses!) and the page for animated film Ron’s Gone Wrong, which he commented about (“this looks amazing!”), liked a Lonely Bug fanart of the bug with his face on it, and signed on to a UNICEF letter, along with 28 other celebs, asking the G7 (rich countries) to donate vaccines for distribution where most needed. And he was seen today at a Top Golf! An employee posted a distanced pic with him. Also btw those necklaces he’s been wearing all the time lately are apparently diamonds and are £50k each, but he wasn’t wearing them for golf time at least.

And additional bits from Liam’s interview from yesterday because it’s REALLY LONG, one recap wasn’t enough-- Liam said he definitely has not yet figured out what makes him happy (which makes me sad although also, normalize not having it all figured out in your 20s I don’t think that’s unusual) and talked about the difficulty of figuring out what to do when you’ve already accomplished your life goal so young, he mentioned the people speaking out against the X Factor and that he thinks there needs to be a care system for people in those shows, and said “find you a man who looks at you like Russell Brand looks at you when he’s listening to your stories, he looks into your soul,” and when host Steve talks about meditating naked says “now that’s what I want to think about!” (they’d been talking about what to focus your thoughts on for meditation). He said he wants to experiment with the way he does promo, specifically to wait to see if a song is doing well before doing press tours that might not have any point and that he thinks the industry is in a place where they need to throw out the old molds, and he talked about the industry wasting money on things they don’t need to do for promo. “You have your fanbase, grow it organically, properly,” he said, which is so much more true for any one of the 1D boys than anyone else, for sure, and it makes sense he’d say this stuff not just for the obvious reasons- we’ve all seen how badly labels have fallen short with post 1D solo stuff- but also because the 1D fandom always has been in a position out at the forefront of new ways that fan engagement work (as Liam points out, he talked about the perfect storm of the rise of twitter trends and of 1D) and modeling what will be next for other artists, so trying to fit it into old boxes doesn’t make sense, and it’s still true. Other solo artists simply DON’T HAVE the same kind of fandom these five do, and trying to market them the same way you would any random artist is just throwing away money and engagement! So it is exciting to see these guys take the lead on their own stuff and experiment with new ways of doing things, and Liam is smashing it at that.

#harry styles #niall horan #liam payne #tw gun violence #tw shooting #drag we down #my policeman filming #butts close #there's a very short shorts/butt's close joke to be made but eh #his butt is... close to the bottom of those shorts?? HEH? idk you'll just have to imagine it #something pretty much like that only actually funny #can anyone come up wiht good Liam fandom names I WANNA HEAR THEM #8 jun 21 #tw alcoholism

[gatheringfiki]

Introducing: Trick or Treat!

Hello,

We’re back with another exciting, brand new event! Broadly speaking, between the 1st and 31st of Oct we’ll be going around your houses and asking for a Trick or Treat*!

* Some imagination will be required.

This time we welcome headcanon and meta-chatter, as well as fanfic and fanart, for all those instances when you have good ideas, but you just don’t feel like developing them into a full story.

This event requires no sign-up.

Step 1: Pick 3 of your own Verses. (Verse = the universe, setting and a particular version of the characters, as shown in one of your stories/series). Usual pairings apply. These are now your children - They will be relevant later.

Step 2: Declare your Verses. By this we mean: re-blog this post with the 3 Verses you’ve chosen in the reblog. That way you don’t go switching your children on the quiet, it’s all out in the open, and you get a bit of a challenge.

Step 3: Every day, there will be a brand new post going up, saying: “*Knock knock* Trick or Treat?” They will be dated (01/10, 02/10, 03/10 etc.). Please always go by the latest one, as the old ones will not be monitored any more.

Step 4: When you see the post you may choose to open the door*. If you do, it means you’re ready to play. To open the door, simply reply to that post with either ‘Tirck’ or ‘Treat’ and the number for that day (e.g. Treat 07). There is a new ‘Trick’ and a new ‘Treat’ prompt every day, hence why the new post every day and the numbering. Generally speaking, ‘Treat’ prompts are nice and ‘Trick’ prompts are not so nice. You decide which one you want. More about this below.

Step 5: We will then contact you on Tumblr chat and give you the prompt of your chosen type for that day. Once given the prompt you can’t change it for the other type.

Step 6: You now have to create something, using that prompt, specifically for one of the Verses you chose (or 2, or all 3, if you wish). You can take however long you want (but remember, there will be a new post tomorrow) and there are no word limits.

Step 7: Post the thing you created on your Tumblr.

Step 8: Register your response here. This is so we can reblog it on GF. Tags are garbage, but if you wanna use it, it’s #GF’s Trick or Treat 2021

Step 9: If you wish to play again, simply look out for the next daily post and choose the type of prompt you like.

About types of prompts and info for Artists wishing to take part below:

Prompt types:

Our prompts for this event are generally autumn- and Halloween- themed.

They come in two different ‘flavours’ (’Trick’ and ‘Treat’) and two different ‘formats’.

‘Trick’ and ‘Treat are quite straightforward: 'Tricks' are bad things / scary / hurty / problematic. 'Treats' are fluff / humour / nice things.

As for ‘formats’, there are two: “Which one of them -” and ‘situation / setting - based’.

This will be easiest to explain with some examples:

Format 1:

Which one is the one that opens the door when the entire audience screams at him not to, and which one is the audience screaming not to open the door? (’Trick’)

Which one would rather take care of his injury himself, even if he doesn't know how to, and which one must be rushed into the hospital and will probably pass out from the sight of blood? (’Trick’)

Which one will fight you to be the little spoon, and which one has mastered yoga and tantra to be able to accommodate them? (’Treat’)

Which one has a secret hobby they'll die before they reveal it (and what is it?), and which one texts the other random links to things they are not familiar with, but clearly are a passion of the texter, at 3 am in the morning? (’Treat’)

The format above is specifically designed to promote headcanon and meta-chatter. It’s supposed to make you think about your own Verses, make yourself at home in them and maybe inspire you to pick them up again. You don’t necessarily have to write a fanfic based on such a prompt (but you can if it inspires you to), you could just, well, answer the question.

For example: “Kili is the one who bounces towards the clearly omnious-looking door, while Fili is desperately scrambling after him to try and stop him. He might even succeed in hauling him back by the belt loops, if he’s quick enough. Of course, chances are - etc.”    would be a perfectly valid response.

Format 2:

One or both locked up in an asylum and there's more than one thing wrong with it (’Trick’)

Fighting for their life during an alien invasion, with little chance of winning (’Trick’)

The characters from your Verse, but... a Pattisserie AU! (’Treat’)

They've won the lottery - how will they spend the money? (’Treat’)

I am an Artist and I would like to take part in this event!

Great! Fantastic! Join us, we have cookies! Please read the instructions above so you have the gist of this event.

Now, as a fanartist, you are unlikely to have ‘Verses,’ so don’t worry about steps 1 and 2 (or maybe you do, in which case - great! Pick 3.)

Steps 3, 4 and 5 for you will be exactly the same as for anyone else. Pick either a ‘Trick’ or a ‘Treat’ and receive a prompt.

Step 6 will be similar for you, just less prescriptive. Simply draw (or edit) something inspired by the prompt, for a pairing of your choosing. For example, for that first prompt you may draw Kili reaching for the door and Fili scrambling to stop him. Or for a Patisserrie prompt it might be Anders and Mitchell making scones with varrying degrees of distress visible on their faces. Now, because you might get a prompt that would be hard to draw (or edit), unlike the writers, artists CAN switch to the other flavour of prompt for that particular day (so if you had a ‘trick’ and it isn’t working for you, you can swap it for ‘treat’). This is to give you more options. Just message us.

Steps 7, 8 and 9 are the same for you as anyone else.

Hope it all makes sense. As always, any questions - give us a shout!

Remember, we start playing on the 1st of October, so next Friday!

Good luck,

~gatheringfiki

#GF's Trick or Treat 2021 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit #Mitchers #britchell #DarkHawk #IoLuke

[breitzbachbea]

The Hetalia "Cell Block Tango" AU/Scenario

This idea left my brain last saturday and, as usual, has already completely spun out of control two days later. Much thanks to Riva (@fireandiceland) for their open ear and grandiose input, all of the following bullshit would not have been possible without them.

This is essentially an update to this post about a "Cell Block Tango" Performance for Hetalia ships that at some point could be construed as partner exercising foreign rule over the other. We've talked about it as a show that the countries put on for fun, so it's not really an AU. We're here to be horny and have fun, not to be dramatic and edgy, okay. (Or at least not "actual murder" dramatic).

Here's the list of the couples and their corresponding parts that we settled on. (I'll use the names of the characters from "Chicago" & their iconic little cue).

Liz/Pop - SuFin, with Tino as Liz. The ship was Riva's suggestion and I like them for this part not only because the triviality of the murder motive suits their domestic vibe, but the violent solution fits Tino's wilder/more darker side that sleeps under that friendly exterior.

Annie/Six - Spamano, with Lovino as Annie. Look, Riva agreed that loose lover Antonio seems plausible, I think poisoning is a good way to murder for Lovino and I also. Really. Just love the image of the "deathkiss" and then Lovino kicking Antonio two meters across the stage. And I am sure that Antonio feels the same way as I do.

June/Squish - DenNor, with Lukas as June. I mostly settled on them because I can see Matthias be somewhat possessive and I can see him thoroughly excited for the choreography. (Maybe also for the fact that he gets to wear no shirt). Riva also said that the scenario itself and the ambiguity about whether or not June actually cheated meshes well with Lukas' more elusive nature.

Hunyak/Uh-Uh - LietBel, with Natalya as Hunyak. (Natalya? Natasha? I'm sorry if I misremembered her name, use whatever floats your boat). We both agreed that we needed Natalya in this, but I couldn't quite find a ship with her quickly that worked well with my original definition of Empire/Territory. Giving her Hunyak's innocent part solves that problem, subverts her often arguably pretty meh canon/fanon interpretations and she gets to have a beautiful dance number with Toris. Toris, who is just really happy for his girlfriend and resigned between the hotblooded, horny chaos that is the rest :).

Velma/Cicero - TurGre, with Herakles as Velma. I thought the cheating situation suited them, as I have a weakness for Herakles being Sadık's favourite, but certainly not only bedfellow at all times and the intensity of the rage is one Herakles well-deserves (if only for show these days). Plus, their performance required a third person and lemme tell you, they do not lack options in my brain. I considered Mohammed (Egypt) at first, but then thought he'd probably politely decline but would surely love to watch the show for "moral support". So instead I went for my Sicily OC Michele as Veronica, because mom said it's my turn on the self-indulgence machine.

Mona/Lipschitz - AusHun, with Erzsébet as Mona. I was sold at the "a real artistic guy, sensitive" part (even though Roderich is rather a musician than a painter) and Riva pointed out that the cheating also could be a great reference to the Habsburg marriage politics.

Further Thoughts (& Thots) for this under the cut, because I knew if I had this post uncut on my dash, I'd murder someone too:

- Mads is really excited about the choreography until he realizes that he has to basically throw half a bridge and hold it for most of Natalya's part. Mads: "Oh. So I gotta keep this up for the whole number now?" Lukas: "Quit whining ..." One of the others: "What, is the viking already folding?" Mads: "Pfft, as if, no problem for me!" He looks up at Lukas. "Besides, the view from down here isn't that bad either." Lukas threateningly lifts his foot with dangerously high-heeled boot. Mads: 'Don't say Step on me, don't say Step on me, don't say - Ah crap, I already did, didn't I?' Practice has to be paused and Natalya chews them out for ruining her practice!

- As Riva put it and I then expanded upon:

How we imagine Hetalia Cell Block Tango: Intriguing, dark, erotic.

How it actually is: Antonio, Mathias, Berwald, Sadık about to cream their pants while Lovino, Lukas, Tino, Herakles live their dreams. Natalya fighting everyone who makes a single wrong step during her part of the performance, Toris trying to calm her down. Erzsébet pulling Roderich off stage to do a private tango. Ex-Imperial dick measuring contests between Antonio, Sadık and Roderich, although the latter of course tries to not to get dragged into any thing so undignified. However, there are still ties with Antonio and also, a bitch (Roderich) may not start a fight, but a bitch is sure going to end one! Or at least attempt to do so. Endless South Italian Bickering, because Lovino and Michele may get on marginally better than Lovino does with Feliciano, but unlike Feli, Michè pays back in kind.

- Here's my two cents on the nature of the horniness of the "murdered lovers": Antonio and Sadık are unapologetically gawking and can't imagine anything better than being 'mistreated' by their darling. Being kicked across, shoved nearly off the stage is part of the fun and they don't hide it. Rest in rip everyone else who has to witness this. Matthias tries to half-heartedly hide how turned on he his, but as we saw above, he isn't very good at it. Maybe it also just looks like he's trying to hide it because he is North European after all, so it looks tame next to the two other horndogs. Berwald's extremely flustered, which is either clear as daylight to everyone around him or he tries so hard to stay 'professional' that his hands shake and he can barely talk. (Which I'd personally find hilarious when contrasted with Antonio one number over). Roderich acts as if he isn't as affected, but his façade also cracks often enough. He's got it just as bad as everyone else for his Erzsì, but he doesn't want to show it in front of other people.

- I also wrote a Minific yesterday, mostly concerned with Michele being asked to participate & some bitching between him and Lovino. If I find the time, I'll clean it up tonight and post it some time.

That's it! Thank you for reading and if you any additions, I would love to hear it (and I am sure Riva would love so, too!). I'd also love it if you wanted to share any fanart, fanfic or anything else based on this - even if you just take the basic premise and change things from how I described them because you think something else works better for you.

#hws #hetalia #aph #beablabbers #fireandiceland #sufin #spamano #dennor #lietbel #turgre #aushun #aph finland #aph sweden #aph spain #aph romano #aph south italy #aph norway #aph denmark #aph belarus #aph lithuania #aph turkey #aph greece #aph austria #aph hungary #aph sicily #hetalia oc #tag limit means no hws tags sorry y'all #i just have to hope this gets to the masses somehow

[accio-victuuri]

The BXG Starter Pack / Life of a BXG 🤍

This is an expanded and updated version of a post I made before about things I have to live with as a BXG. it’s based on my experience and what I see, so what I write here may not be identical to yours. some of these may be applied to c-ent fandom in general.

• Using Apps and sites you don’t fully understand -

Whether it’s Weibo or streaming sites like Tencent or Youku, it is where firsthand information comes from. Weibo to check the supertopic and the boys’ accounts daily. Even if you don’t get it all, give it time and you will find blogs that you wanna follow. Fan sites that you watch out for. Even with the language barrier, as long as it’s about GG/ Web, it doesn’t really matter. You get an understanding of what’s on it one way or another. Google translate is there, tho not always reliable. As time passes by, you will get the sense of what accounts to look at for unbiased translations.

I’ve been using Wb for quite some time and tho there is alot of information, you have to careful in what you take out and bring to international platforms. Even if alot of people are posting/sharing it, it doesn’t mean you have to.

• Spotting a BXG from a mile away with what they eat and wear -

Being that person with the white nike bag and GG’s red bracelet. Wearing the signature gray/orange cardigan or the blue/white striped shirt. VLONE hoodie. Or drinking the Love drink. Eating 3+2 crackers and wonton. Using a black portable fan similar to what they used that summer. A cute Boxiao Keychain attached to your bag. All the little things will cue you on what fandom the person is from.

Even trying things you know they like. Coriander. Trying spicy hotpot even if you can’t tolerate anything spicy. Getting that green tea brewed and ready for you. lol. Becoming a fan of their favorites singers like Stefanie Sun and Li Ronghai. Just absorbing it all. You are what you love so it’s natural to check out the things they love.

• enjoying the creative content by the fandom -

the amount of content generated by this fandom, from c-fans and international alike is astounding. you will never be bored. If the boys are quiet and it’s a slow day, you can always look at this. From FANART/ FANVID to FANFICTION. There is a lot. Some artists even have their own following. You have characters like Bobi and Zanbi becoming our favorites and gaining some popularity of their own. The fictional child Suo. All the BoXiao Cinematic Universe pairings. lol. ChenWei or Xie yun x All characters by GG. the possibilities are endless!

If you look at fan merch for BoXiao — you will cry. Everything is beautiful and you know it’s made with love by BXGs. It’s one of my absolute favorite things as a BXG, is to look at the art and buy if I can. 🤍

• normal things having a different meaning to you -

I mean this in a way that red and green does not equal to Christmas to you anymore. It’s now LGLR. It’s now a representation of GG/Web’s favorite colors. A pig? Oh that’s Bobo! A lion? A panther? That’s him too. How about a rabbit? That’s GG. Do you see the time? Let me interpret that into a Kadian that totally favors my CPN. Is it summer and the heat is sweltering? Oh. This must be what the summer of 2018 felt like for them.

• melting from all the cuteness -

I’ve always liked cute things but this fandom just brings out so much cute art? And can we talk about the dolls? 🥲 I am especially fond of photos where they take the dolls to events. idk. Maybe it’s just me and I know this stuff is not for everyone but i think we can all agree that these gives you good vibes. 🤍 i know some of you prefer to collect standees and those are amazing too.

• enriching your “attention to detail” skills -

The people in this fandom can be detectives with the things they pick up in photos and videos. Tho sometimes it can be overanalysis, I gotta hand it to them for going that far. for researching. The amount of galaxy brain. There are things you also immediately pick up because of the past candies you consumed. The jewelry. The clothes. What they say. The people around them. There are times you don’t even have to that much and it will click.

Accounts here and other ones that do analysis/candy posts can literally eat up your day. I remember lurking here very early on and losing alot of time checking bxg sites. 😂

• multi tasking like a pro -

This is happening more and more for the past months. Mid 2020 to now cause they have alot of projects going on. The hardest? When they have appearances in the same day — in different stations. Hello NYE show! Or even if they are in the same event, you have to keep up with the two of them.

There is never a dull moment cause sometimes one of them is quiet and one just dumps all content on us. It’s a common misconception from outsiders that all we care about is CPN and sexualizing GG/Web. lol. It’s not. You are basically stanning two separate people. Two of the hottest stars in CHN who have alot going on in their career. We do what so/os do basically, in terms of supporting them. Watching their shows. Posting and talking about what’s new with them and so on.

• having so much content you have to save alot -

all the photos. all the videos. all the content. There is just so many. How will your phone memory survive? lol. Do you all keep folders neatly organized or you just keep them all in one place? I personally keep a list of links and oftentimes save things that I feel like will be deleted at some point.

• knowing what you can post or not -

It’s something I have learned specifically with this fandom. It is a tough learning process and sometimes you are just so excited to share but you have to check first. If you find someone posting a possibly harmful information, you can tell them in a nice way. We are not some reporting cult out to get people. A simple message is enough.

I wanna add here having some background politically in what’s going on in CHN. Or what is the reason why some things are the way they are in C-ent fandoms. It’s not required ofcourse. But it’s very helpful. I started not caring at all but I find that it helps you in anticipating what will happen or why things happen.

• learning to be smart about things you read and what other people tell you -

This is not limited to fandom but life in general. I’ve talked about this in detail before but it bears repeating. It is hard to distinguish what is true and not in this space. You have the language barrier and antis to make things hard for you and it’s really tricky if you’re new. So ask, ask people in this space. You don’t have to believe us 100% but it’s never a good thing to just look at one source and run with it. Especially shady youtube and instagram accounts who also post drama leaks and videos of them leaving and entering their hotels. EVEN IF IT’S CPN CONTENT. You have to be careful.

• living a life outside of the fandom and taking a step back -

Once in awhile this has to be done. Enjoy other things. You are allowed to have other fandoms and stuff that bring you joy outside of GG/Web. There is really no checklist of how to be a true fan. No one is in the position to tell you that you are not good enough as a fan. If you don’t like a particular piece they are doing because you are not comfortable with it’s theme — go ahead. You don’t like the song because the message is against your values — sure, don’t listen to it. These two always promote not being too caught up in your online life that you forget the real one. And it’s something I’ve always appreciated about them.

This also ties in with having to pick your battles and letting things go. You don’t have to engage in each and every person who is obviously just trying to get a reaction out of you. Block accounts who blatantly insult you. We are BXGs, if they don’t like the content— well, it’s not for them. We are not making it for them.

• meeting lots of cool people -

I won’t name people on here incase i miss someone but i genuinely interacted with cool people on here. It’s very easy to reach out to fellow bxg just to chat or if you have a question. It’s a good time! Or even if you don’t end up interacting cause that’s not your thing and you just want to lurk— that’s cool too.

I like looking at posts of people randomly seeing a bxg IRL and getting along because of shared interest. I have yet to meet one in real life.

• attending fandom events -

This may not be your thing but I’m interested in events that fans organize. Especially c-fans. The amount of offline support they do for the boys look like so much fun but tbh i will not thrive in social situations so I will just observe from a distance. Seeing them attend events together and support the boys. The art exhibits. Meet ups. Literal BXG events to showcase fan merch and everything. It’s a whole world of it’s own.

C-BXGs just coming together for a good time and even charity work is really one that i love to post about and bring to my space.

• adding China to your must visit place -

Before CQL and BoXiao, I didn’t even have China on my must visit place. Tho I love Taiwan and visited HK quite a few times for Disneyland, I didn’t actively add it on my list. Great wall of China? Sure. That would be cool, but I had other places in Asia I wanna visit or just go back to. BUT NOW. Oh now. I really wanna go to Chongqing and Luoyang. Go to Beijing. Go to Shanghai. Changsha. Visit and have a tour of Hengdian studios!😅

• buying endorsements - This is optional. I always say to support them if you can. Not everyone is a rich jiejie who can buy 850 copies of their magazine. Plus some live far away and costs to ship are so high. But it’s not a secret that a fan’s spending power matters in C-ent. and this is something that some of us have adapted. If it’s one you like and you can use, why not right?

The struggle of getting things before they sellout. Of hoping your packages don’t get lost and you won’t have to wait so long. Discovering new things to enjoy because they endorsed it. Consuming alot of yogurt. lol. 🙃

======

There is alot of going on in the life of a BXG, so we don’t have time to actively look at the negative and pick fights. It’s the good life we got going on. 🌈 I hope whoever is reading this will continue to have fun in this fandom. 🤍

#bjyx #yizhan #personal

[nobodycallsmerae]

Hello, Hello!

Soo, a few days back, I had shared a post asking for some BBRae AU fanfiction recommendations, so, let's put the fact aside that it didn't really help... but now, I'm here to share some stories that I've read, and I recommend reading!

So, this list only consists of AU (Alternate Universe) stories where they aren't superheroes, so you can skip it if you want ^^

So... I won't rank them, because I think every story is amazing, (and I'm pretty easy to please,) so, I'm just assorting them as I keep collecting the links :) Also, I'll try my best to review the stories without giving away any spoilers...

Firstly, there are too many good fics to count, but here I am mentioning the ones which stood up in my mental folder. (Also, it only includes completed stories.)

This list includes all types of stories, high school, co-workers, roommates and all... the ratings are between T-M.

(Links lead to stories on Fanfiction.net.)

The Butterfly Effect -by Light NS | Rated M for semi-sexually explicit material and topics of depression and suicide.

This story definitely comes in my top-5 list blindly, and it deserves so much more! The story is about Gar and Raven, who are adults now... and let's just say there are far too many coincidences in this one! It's a lovely story with also a healthy amount of tension... because, I personally believe it can't be BBRae without some arguments *shruggs*. You should definitely check it out if you haven't already!!

Broken -by LightNS | Rated T

Oofff... okay, so this story is actually one of the first BBRae stories I've read and it's really close to my heart...

First of all, I want to say that the characters in this story are freakishly accurate. I mean, the personalities are on-point. In this story, the Titans are high schoolers, but this isn't exactly a high school romance kinda book. To be honest, this isn't exactly a romance book..(?) It's more like an action/thriller... And... it isn't heavily a BBRae book... I mean, yeah, it is based on those two characters, and Gar spends most of his time crushing on her... but, y'know, it's a book that shows both of them growing... and learning about each other -and themselves.

The writer does an amazing job to portray the character's feelings and personalities, and I'm sure her writing won't disappoint you.

The only drawback this story has is... well, it has a discontinued sequel named "Glass", so, it's kinda sad that, I mean, I've fallen in love with those characters... but, they don't really have a happy ending soo…

This writer is also on Tumblr, @lightns881 , so you can also visit her blog and support her!

By the way, there're also really great BBRae communities to be found on Fanfiction.net and you can check them out for more fun stuff to read. The ones I thoroughly recommend are:

"Best Of BBRae" which basically has all the goodness, IU and AU (but, it's a bit old so... you might not see newer fics there.); and

"Best Of BBRae AU's" which is a collection of one of the best AU stories.

Moving on...

Everything Has Changed -by Chibi 1309 | Rated M for Mature themes and language.

This story also comes in my beloved top-5 list!!

I don't really know what to say about this story without ruining it, but if you're on the lookout for an adult Titans BBRae fic, this is definitely your stop. Well, let me just say that, Gar and Rachel are best friends, a troupe I personally adore, and they live together in an apartment in Jump City.

This story has a lot... I mean, A LOT of feels, and the writer... *chef kiss* She really knows what she's doing. May it be the setting, the characters, the emotions... the author could deliver it wonderfully.

It also has a lot of other Titan members, so I like the fact that it also gives us an insight on what's going on in their lives too, rather than just Gar and Rachel.

Hands up in surrender, I won't say anything else, because I don't trust my mouth (or fingers), but this work is definitely a must read.

"Spy vs Spy" by Caitastrophe8499 | Rated M for mature themes, violence, and adult situations.

This... is a masterpiece people. You should definitely read it... like RIGHT NOW!

In this story, Gar and Rae are from rival agencies, Doom Patrol and Titans, and as fate has it, they're forced to work together. Neither of them are happy about it, because of each other's cocky and standoffish attitude and as both of them work best solo... and also... both of them hate each other... at first. This book, it includes lots of action, and if you knew me, you'll know that I am a sucker for crime and thriller. I mean, this story in itself is so great, it could be adapted into an ACTION MOVIE!! Or maybe a graphic novel to start with. :)

And what's best about it is, it doesn't only show two people romance each other, it shows a group of people working together to catch a deadly villain. I won't say much more to build suspense, but all I'll say is, it's entertaining, spicy, and the character dynamic fit perfectly with their relationship and situation, and if you haven't read it, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!! CHECK IT OUT NOW!! This will probably be one of the best recommendations of your life.

Assuming -by magisterquinn | Rated T

This is a feel good, light-hearted BBRae story that I very much enjoyed. So, basically, it's about Raven (or is it Rachel, I forget), and how the (dashingly handsome and) annoying employee won't leave her alone. She also gets a series of mail that sparks her interest, and I don't trust myself to say more without spoiling it.

Magisterquinn, the author, has an amazing collection of the BBRae (AU) stories they've written, "Chivalry Isn't Dead", "Making Mr.Right" (a must read) and "In Paris" to name a few, so, I definitely recommend checking out their profile for amazing and clever reads.

The Malchior Widow -by beautifulpurpleflame | Rated M

...this story...all I wanna say is... if you haven't read it, you're missing out on something wonderful in your fangirl(/boy) life.

This story is based on my favorite troupe, which is where all Gar wants is for Raven to open up to him. It's like, Raven is a reserved, "untouchable" person, and Gar, being Gar... feels an urge to talk to her. After many, many attempts, when Gar finally talks to her, his friends are like, "How'd you get her to talk?" or "How's she open up to you?" and the response is, "No one's ever even tried before."

"The Malchior Widow" goes at a satisfying, feel-good pace... and it's one hell of a journey. I mean, as the title suggests, Raven's a widow, and she isn't exactly open to the possibility of loving... or trusting someone else yet. It shows not only both of them falling in love... but also understanding, knowing, and learning to trust each other.

Another good AU story by Beautifulpurpleflame is "The Beach House", so you can also read that.

Honorary mention::

"How To Save Her Life" (Rated T) by "Beautifulpurpleflame"

If you're looking for a wholesome, toe-curling good, filled with feels, amazing, awesome, family Titans BBRae story... this book will give you everything... or any of Beautifulpurpleflame's stories really...

I mean, that girl... is a legend... Her stories are so great.. just... I'm speechless

Don't forget to check 'em out.

You can also follow this amazing writer on Tumblr, @beautifulpurpleflame , and show her some love and support.

Okay, another story... Now this may be considered cheating, as I'm only including completed stories... but I couldn't stop myself from not mentioning this story...

Nevermore Records -by LilyTimbers | Rated T

According to the author, only one chapter and an epilogue is left... so, I guess we could wave it off with a yellow flag?

I, myself, can't go on a single day without music. And the idea of my favorite team of superheroes... being a Rock Band..? Boy, ya' don't gotta tell me twice!

This is a slow burn story, which includes Gar in his mid-twenties, along with the other Titans (except Raven), being a part of a Rock Band, which plays gigs at different places just as a side hobby. But, as they have real talent, they get a once in a life-time chance to be an officially labeled band, they're ought to be super hit. Here, we also see some other Titans, which is a real sight for sore eyes sometimes... But, just being good doesn't mean that everything's out for them in a gold platter. The team itself faces lots of challenges which is, truth be told, really entertaining. And the fact that Gar's love interest is his own manager? Oooh... you're up for a real good ride...

I'll keep the rest of the reading to you... and believe me, the story is waaay better than my small review.

The author is also an amazing artist, and has many beautiful BBRae fanarts on her Tumblr profile @lilytimbers , so you can follow her for updates! (though tbh I think you already do... but I felt like saying it, soo...)

If you're also a sucker for musical band based BBRae story, don't forget to check out

Harmony -by Kid Walker | Rated M

Here, Raven joins a singing group which does covers, and quite willingly, she can't seem to keep her eyes off of their leader/director, Gar Logan... and looks like he can't either. It's an amazing story, and I believe you'll really enjoy reading it!

(The story itself is complete, just some extra bonus chapters that the Author posts are yet to be updated, so I guess this story qualifies.)

.

There is also a huge collection of amazing BBRae AU stories on Wattpad, too many to count, but here are two stories that I remember... and had a good time reading...

(On Wattpad only: (and only completed ones.))

High School -by anssoftball94

Soo... as you might've guessed from the title, here Gar and Rae are high schoolers. They live together with Rick (Dick/Robin), Kory and Vic in the Tower. I guess we could call it a slow burn, and what I enjoy is it also has the other Titans in a satisfying amount.

What I love about this story is that Gar and Rae don't just jump into a romantic relationship (like most teens do, I'm just sayin'!) and start a romance, no. In this story, first, they understand each other... and in a subtle manner, fall for each other. It's a really sweet and practical story, and I really enjoyed it... (even though I had to wait for the ending for decades!!)

Just one thing that makes this story a bit weird is that instead of "Gar" or "Garfield", Beast Boy is mentioned as "Logan" throughout the whole story... so... it was a bit... y'know? *shruggs*. But otherwise it's a must read.

A+ -by NikolaDabrowska

This story, to be honest, will definitely qualify as a cliché high school romance, "popular basketball kid falls for introverted bookworm nerd", but I really enjoyed reading it.

I mean like, you know what they say about Disney Classics, right? Even though we've read Beauty and The Beast or Snow White, we still like to watch the movies..? This story's like that.

Even though the troupe is kinda cliché, the story itself is executed in a very engaging manner, with interesting character dynamics and some original plots, so, I would definitely recommend reading it. (I, myself, have read it more than five times...)

.

.

.

So, that was a list of the BBRae AU stories that I highly recommend! There are more amazing (and incomplete) stories out there to read, but these are just the ones I've thoroughly enjoyed (and remembered.)

Also, feel free to share your BBRae story, if you have written any, and I'll happily read and support your story!!

Happy Reading!

Quick endnote, if you've read this post till here, do me a favor and check out my stories too! ;)

On Fanfiction.net and Wattpad.

All of my stories are complete, instead of "Tease Is Just The Cover" on FF.net (which I don't think I'm gonna work on any time soon), so feel free to check 'em out!

Sorry for the advertising, but I also want an audience y'know?

THANK YOU! And I hope you have a good day/evening/night ahead!

#bbrae #garchel #garrae #teen titans #fanfiction #au #alternate universe #recommendations #fanfic recommendation #titans #raven #rachel roth #raven roth #beast boy #changeling #gar logan #garfield logan

[bakugouisabitch]

Ahhh your fanart of yb and malik in hoodie/sweater and squishing made me thing: they are very touchy-feely with each other. Yb likes putting a hand on malik's shoulder or leg as he talks, he'll thread his fingers through malik's hair as malik lays his head in his lap. Meanwhile malik MUST ALWAYS touch yb. He's playfully slapping his arm, he's hugging him, he's holding his hand. Just they are always touching in their own ways.

omg this is so cute sgsksg yes they deserve this ;_; okay i also have my bakumali cuddling HCs ig it's time to share them:

bakura is very clingy. Being a thiefy boy he is very possessive over what belongs to him. That’s what makes him unexpectedly affectionate like in the most random moments he would just go and hug malik. Malik would be watching tv or cutting his vegetables or reading something and bakura would just come out of the blue and hug him from behind or from the side and would like nuzzle his face into his hair or shirt. Almost like he can’t believe the luck he has in having the pretty boy all to himself. And with malik looking almost always top notch and gleamy and adorned with gold, bakura can’t resist to be all grabby for his treasure. THIS FANART on twitter showcases that mood perfectly! pls look at it i’m,,,, ;_; they are so cute

When malik has to leave and says he has to go bakura would still cling to him and it always takes some time to get him off of him. (The best way to remove him, malik figured, is to give him lots of kisses until bakura gets too distracted by them and malik can plan his escape but sometimes this escalates the situation and makes bakura even more grabby and touchy )

Malik is always more cautious over who touches him where (mostly because of his scars and his trust issues) but for bakura he’s like my body is free real estate ;)) And being the little brother he actually loves being cuddled (like you mentioned, he would rest his head on bakura’s lap and love it when bakura plays with his hair), but it just takes some time for him to admit it and bakura knows best how to make him yield.

When Malik touches bakura he always masks it as an excuse like “wait let me fix your shirt” or “your hair is a mess let me fix it” but his touches would be all lingering and soft and he’d almost unconsciously caress bakura’s cheeks whenever he is done fixing whatever excuse he used. And ofc he can’t resist stroking his fluffy hair

In his euphoric happy moments tho’, malik won’t give a damn abt anything anymore and he would just lunge at bakura, hugging him full force or just straight out jumping on him. He would even be as bold to do it in public places making bakura grumble like “didn’t you say you wanna be discreet in public?” and malik would be like “shut up and kiss me”. But only if the mood fits him. They bicker a lot even when cuddling as the old married couple that they are. Otherwise he’s always nagging Bakura about behaving more decently in the open (who actually doesn’t give a shit where they are he could always pda with malik)

THIS is what they look like when they are completely comfortable with each other in the open (i swear this artist has the best hc/drawings of them)

they are also pretty clingy and attached like two magnets when sleeping in bed. and both being pretty lithe they kind of fit into each other like ying and yang. they’d fall asleep in a cuddled position and wake up the next day still tangled up like that. for malik to let bakura touch and kiss his back is the biggest act of affection/devotion and the literal prove that he is finally comfortable/at peace with another person and this is why he’s mostly the lil spoon

Now talking abt them individually, they are both touch starved so they both go like !!! whenever smn touches them

Malik is only used to his siblings touching him, pampering him almost because he’s the baby brother (but that depends on what time we talk abt because during the time leading to battle city they weren’t really what i’d call an affectionate family poor bbs ;_; but i figure post canon they grew closer together ofc) but that’s exactly what makes him quite cautious whenever strangers put their hands on him. He thinks it’s some for of manipulation first before actually seeing it as affection. He’d lean more to be like “don’t touch me!” first, but once he’s sure there are no bad intentions behind it he’d almost give in completely feeling like he’s finally being treated like the princess he longs to be

Bakura is also completely touch starved (and if we have to mention tkb in this i hc that he, being older and all, had his share of experience back then but mostly for having short fun and nothing really that involved him emotionally/affectionately). bakura almost forgot what a human touch feels like so it makes him quite alert too when someone touches him. But he’d see a touch more like an invitation leading him to see it as some kind of deal= if you can touch me i can touch you. The thief in him makes him almost treat every situation like something he could profit from and he tries to see where he gets the benefit in it and if it’s really convenient for him. It’s quite funny to imagine how he’d react in a post-canon reality when he’s put in a situation where someone puts their hands on him.

wow this got long shdfghj i swear i could talk abt them for hours but thanks for the ask 🙋

#bakumali #thiefshipping #yami bakura #malik ishtar #bakura #malik #ygo headcanons #marik #marik ishtar #yugioh #ygo #ask #icouldbesus #* #ziggy talks

[motherstone]

Your comic is awesome, feast for the eyes. How did you develop your skills for it? Did you have certain references and resources that helped you make it?

Ohh hmm umm it’s a bit of a long answer, but to give you a sum, it’s a combination of all the media I’ve consumed throughout the years, be it something I’ve invested in or just heard in passing.

Some of inspirations for me:

Comic composition:

Mp100 – yeah, be surprised but this goes on the list! ONE may draw crudely sometimes, but his panel composition is quite good in clarity and not very difficult to follow the flow. In fact, you probably won’t realize how smoothly it flows until you encounter a comic where it doesn’t. Therefore, the emphasis on CLARITY , PACING, and FLOW as a priority on panel composition, instead of shoving too many events in one page at once (Kazu actually suffers from this)

@sandflakedraws – They used to draw mp100 comics, and there was a boatload of symbolism in well, everything, I wouldn’t have noticed if he hasn’t made a post that explains all of it. It’s amazing!

@/stil_lindigo – (IG) the artist and writer of Pulse, which is a marvel fancomic I used to follow faithfully back when it was updating. They usually post a scene breakdown after they post a chapter, and tbh I was most inspired by that. Like the prev one, they also put a lot of work into panel composition and symbolism.

Webtoon – I was invested in a couple of Webtoon comics back then, and when I tried to upload a comic of mine, I was dismayed it looked janky. It made me realize that Webtoon composition is wildly different from Book composition, and it made me wonder if I could challenge myself into drawing a comic that seamlessly scrolls down.

Witch Hat Atelier – Check the link. It’s a damn good video, very informative. In fact, this was the cincher to me and opened my eyes to the possibilities of storytelling through drawing. You’ll learn a lot!

The content:

Watership Down – I haven’t really read or watch it (although I’d love to if I could!), I did see some fanart and a few excerpts here and there. This, especially, if you see it is the crux of why it intrigues me so much. There’s a lot of connection between what I want with the comic and what Watership Down is about (emphasis on El-ahrairah), so I had to incorporate it somehow.

Journey – Been obsessed with this game, but especially with the architecture and environment design. It is also about a fallen civilization, and a Hero’s Journey, except I put a bit of a twist on it.

So those were the inspirations. I had a very concrete idea before I started, but even then, it underwent three drafts, various research before I could fully finalize it. The first one was one paper, which I had to put down before I forget, and these were the two digitized drafts:

A Bride’s Story – Like Journey, I also based the cultural design here somewhat, especially in terms of architecture.

Before I start a page, I had to think while I draw. Drawing this def wasn’t effortless, and a lot of brainstorming and redrawing occurred, hence why it took months to finish in comparison to my other comic, which took less than a week 😭

I hope this helped you out anon! Yeah, admittedly my thought process is extremely unhinged and not connected with one another. That’s the ADHD for ya

#asks #motherstone tutorial

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Why Cullen?

Today I bring you a post I’ve been in the process of mentally drafting for a while, a post that essentially analyzes the age old question in the Dragon Age fandom: Why is there always something with Cullen?

To do this, I am going to go through different “phases” of Cullen discourse. My thesis and answering the titular question: It’s complicated, and I don’t think I can answer “Why Cullen,” but “there’s sometimes recycled discourses made about his character through the years, maybe there’s a pattern.” When it comes to Cullen’s detractors, I understand the fact that it might be frustrating to see much content for someone so “boring” when there’s more “interesting” and “well done” characters (though interest is of course relevant) so it leads to a lot of vitriol from both new and old fans who think the man had too much screen time already. Furthermore, he is highly complicated man dressed as a Disney prince, and the “Disney-esque” feel of his romance creates a dissonance between coming to terms with his problematic past and reveling in the romanticism. We can have a happy medium everyone,  but because of what I can only describe as “tik tok thought” it’s become looked down upon to have problematic favorites, which leads to guilt in liking something problematic, or outright revisionism.

But liking things with problematic elements doesn’t make you a bad person.

Alright, let’s begin: 

The first phase truly began of course with DAO with Cullen’s crush on the female Circle Mage Warden. Some were endeared, others not so much. I cannot speak to this phase too much as I was around 15-16 and pretty preoccupied with my high school drama instead of fandom, though I played both DAO and DA2 upon it’s release and followed updates for DA2 before it came out. Despite not being an active fandom member I was what they would call, a lurker. I knew some people liked Cullen and thought he was cute, wishing for more screen time after the game and hoping he’d be in DAI through IMDB message boards (remember those?) and YoutTube comments. When news broke he’d be an advisor in DAI and a romance option, I remember seeing a lot of people in those same spaces rejoice. I’m sure there were also people who weren’t so pleased, but from what I saw, people were happy. When Inquisition did release, I actually did quite a bit more lurking on tumblr despite the fact I didn’t have a blog, because I played the romance route, really gravitated toward it, and wanted to see fanart and such. People liked the romance, liked his arc and how Bioware handled his struggles with lyrium; and found it realistic. Even in my lurking days I did see some blowback on Cullen from detractors, those who didn’t think he should have been the military advisor (which canonically it makes total sense to me why he’s where he’s at, but I won’t get into it here however.) But likely because I wasn’t fully “in fandom,” my surface level understanding of how tumblr felt about Cullen was relatively positive and there was only standard fare discourse.

Phase 2: I can speak about this phase better because I established this blog in 2017. Two years after DAI was released, you still had a lot of fans who loved his romance and character, but you also saw a lot of those fans really dive into his flaws, insisting even that just focusing on the Disney Prince aspects of him reduced his character. There were also more internal debates. Would realistically Cullen be a good father was one. One thing however was for sure, there was a strange them and us line between detractors and fans, and to many fans, myself included, oftentimes the Cullen blowback would extend beyond the valid, “hey I don’t think his characterization was handled well” or “his redemption arc isn’t that great” to outright vitriolic hate that blatantly ignored his PTSD and lyrium addiction, and even sometimes “you just like Cullen because he’s white.” As a POC fan it was a fantastic thing to be accused of. I used to be more involved with discord during this period and I remember a few discussions about this as well. Even those indifferent to Cullen didn’t get it.

Overall, I have to say the air was one where people in Cullen fandom enjoyed all aspects of him, from delving into this troubled past to indulging in the Disney prince aspects of him. It was a happy medium I think, even if occasionally I would see a Cullen fan feel bad for liking him, and feel like they needed to justify it. Heck I even did and still do feel that way sometimes, like I need to justify what I like. But we all come into fandom for different reasons. I come into fandom some days for different things. Sometimes I want smut with my favorite character, other times I want more intense thought pieces and challenging fics. Great thing about fandom is that it’s a bakery that has cherry tarts, cinnamon rolls, or all kinds of pie depending on your mood. Craving a different sweet treat, you can make your own. Or you can commission an artist or writer for something you fancy.

*(sexual assault mentions here late in the paragraph****)And now I’ve been warped back into Cullen/DA fandom through what I am calling phase three, where the general air on Cullen reads as….very different. After having one foot outside DA fandom for a while coming back and reading the air has been different. There was the bizarre nuggetgate and other things with Cullen. Now, instead of accepting his flaws and exploring him there seems to be a lot of revisionism going on, as if his past never happened or we’re supposed to ignore he was a templar. A sexually active Cullen is looked down upon but in a different way from before. Instead of smut works with him “reducing his complicated character.” it’s distasteful to write smut with him where he’s sexually dominant or even just a lot of smut because he was sexually assaulted. (***Now, it is implied that he was, if you are a female Circle mage in DAO, with “sifting through my thoughts, tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have” but this is an implication. I will be honest, it is what I have implied. However, it’s not there if you’re not a female Mage. He was however canonically sexually harassed in the Winter Palace, something I will always argue, even if canon treats it like a joke, even if Leliana tells him to “just look pretty.” Just because he is a man doesn’t make it funny that someone grabbed his bottom, and if you take Cole he flat out says “Cullen is afraid.”***)

So here I am, wondering what changed and what’s going on. Here’s what I believe: Cullen is a complicated character and his flaws and his past make him interesting to me, and they are interesting to explore. However there is nothing wrong with wanting to just explore a romantic, sexual Cullen. He’s a character with many facets. He’s romantic, determined, nostalgic, stubborn, unrelenting, loyal, driven, all things that made him seem so real. Here we get to my theory: in today’s media “criticisms” I see people—particularly younger people—beat themselves up for liking something problematic. It’s like every time you engage with media that’s potentially problematic you have to write essays to yourself why it is so and hold yourself accountable. I see this on tik-tok a lot and why I refer to it as “tik tok thought.” Look at the way some young Hamilton fans talk about the musical, or heck even here, and you may see what I mean. It’s like if you don’t acknowledge the problematic aspects of the historical figures behind their fictional portrayals in the show you’re a bad person. Same thing with nostalgic Disney fans my age in younger, if you don’t clown on Ariel for “choosing a man over anything” (SHE LIKED THE SURFACE WORLD BEFORE SHE MET ERIC) you don’t get your brownie points.

I want to make it clear: being critical of media is good. I am glad I see young people and people my age think about the messages we are given in media, but somehow this is turned into ANALYZE EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Ya’ll I’m a grad student. I’m critical most of the time, when I come to my tumblr blog’s lawn I’m here mostly to have some fun, and hey sometimes my fun is being critical. But sometimes it isn’t. You do not have to always be critical. You do not have to beat yourself up for liking something that’s problematic or write an essay about why it is as if that’s your due diligence in stanning a fictional character. I’m going to be honest I used to kind of think I had to justify my likes once, especially because of the Cullen vitriol on tumblr. I worked overtime in my early fanfic efforts to try to prove to the world I knew Cullen was problematic for fear I’d be perceived as just an idiot horny fangirl. Well, let me tell you: I largely don’t think that way anymore. If I want to just enjoy writing some smut or reading some smut with him, I am. But I think there is a second part of this in Cullen fandom currently, a revisionism of his problematic elements. Now, if you have to do mental gymnastics with a character in an effort to ignore problematic elements, perhaps you don’t like the character that much. That’s totally okay. DA has many awesome characters to write about and stan.

So, why Cullen? For so many reasons a bit of a shit show has always followed this character. There’s a divide between fans and his detractors and sometimes there’s a divide within the Cullen fandom. What I can extrapolate for now is the need to keep him squeaky clean and safe and away from anything “problematic” because his of past, his templar roots, or the fact that he’s white when there are POC characters with less content. It reads as a guilt associated with liking him. But please, do not be guilty. He’s not real. Templars aren’t real, mages aren’t real, Cullen isn’t real. Here’s my advice, something I learned while in my directing class in college. What my teacher always said was direct what turns you on, direct a story that gets you thinking, gets you excited. What gets you thinking and excited in a fictional world may be tons of conflict and dramatics, or it may be peace and love. Sometimes it can be both or more. Don’t shame others for coming to a bakery and wanting blueberry when you want cherry, and the baker has both, especially if the baker labels each pie, especially if the recipe for the pie has some salt in it and people like the salt. We can have it all and enjoy it all. What we want in our fiction doesn’t always align with something we may want real life. Lots of people write Modern girl in Thedas stories. Ya’ll if that actually happened to one of us it would probably suck. I’d probably get killed and not even get to meet Cullen and pose around the desk to get things going, so I’d rather it not happen. However, it is fun to read about.

Again, don’t be guilty for liking Cullen, please. But if you have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to like Cullen, maybe you don’t like him at all. To that I say, there are many other amazing characters, or perhaps you could write your own.

#fandom critical #I spent too long on this #deleted a lot #but now it's written and I can move on #Cullen rutherford