#professortennant

https://twitter.com/artsygiu/status/1679187503935258640

Howd'y yall!

I know this is kind of racy, but like. If Jason won't give it to me, then it's fine, I'll do it myself.

yes! I’ve uploaded most of my critical role arts to my redbubble --> here ~

I plan on adding more stuff in the future too :)

brad’s fingertips ghosting the curve of claire’s waist as he ties her apron bc she’s wrist-deep in dough and the knot’s come loose

claire pouting, slumped and discouraged at her worktop, until brad bounds into the kitchen, quickly knocking over a stack of sheet trays, which go clattering to the floor, and suddenly she’s hiding a smile against her shoulder

(her day seems brighter, after that)

brad pretending to be bad at folding sourdough so she can reach around him and guide his hands

filming a video together, side by side, inching ever-closer. at some point claire notices their shoes are touching, but the camera can’t see, and neither of them move

(he probably didn’t even notice, she thinks)

(he did. of course he did.)

sourdough disaster. claire put the stand mixer on a too-fast speed -- again, even though he warned her -- and flour is all over her. he brushes some of it from her cheek with his thumb before he realizes what he’s doing. claire bites her lip and looks up at him from beneath her lashes, and, oh...

(he realizes it, in this moment, and feels so stupid that he didn’t put it together before)

(like seriously, he knows he can be dense sometimes, but this is on a-whole-nother level, even for him)

(because claire’s cheeks are turning pink beneath their flour coating, and brad is in love with her)

I actually feel really bad about writing a whole bunch of eight snippets for the 100th fic project and then getting derailed by work. So have this, quite literally the last thing I wrote:

T4 (or, A College!Sam(TM) AU)

Sam dropped the armload of books she was carrying in the middle of the road bringing traffic to a stand-still. This time of day, Front Street was heavily traveled and the people trying to get home for dinner were impatient enough to lean on their horns as she tried to get all the books back in her arms – a feat she knew would require superhuman concentration as they’d had to be deposited a few at a time in the first place. 

Another blast of a car horn made her jump, but she managed to hold on to the books she’d already collected. 

“Take it easy, Henry!” The voice behind her was half amused, half irritated and completely intriguing.  

She twisted around to find out who was standing up to traffic on her behalf and was confronted with a handsome, silver-haired man in a flannel, jeans and work boots. The closest car, Henry’s apparently, honked again and she turned quickly back to the books. 

The work boots appeared in her line of vision. She scrabbled faster as he knelt down. “Need a hand?” But he was already grabbing an armload of his own. 

“Thanks.” Together they managed to get her out of the roadway in another thirty seconds but Henry punched the gas as soon as she was clear of his bumper with enough force that she knew it hadn’t been quickly enough for his taste. She grumbled under her breath. It’s not like she’d tried to be an inconvenience. 

“You have much farther to go?”