#and i *never* thought i could make them myself... but here i am!!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Five days, Five bouquets

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talk of a fake marriage for the sake of a mission; fluffff

Author’s Note: This is written for the writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I wasn’t planning on writing something so soon because I’ve still got a project going on right now, but your prompts and everything were just so alluring, I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, my dearest. And I am almost entirely certain that this won’t be my only entry to your writing challenge, because I've got some more ideas lol

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Masterlist

“Again, Bucky?”

You don’t even try to mask your breathless laughter, the warmth of it slipping through as you rise from your seat.

The front door clicks shut behind Bucky and he scuffs off his boots half-heartedly on the door mat. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. And an even larger grin on his face.

The table before you is still cluttered with the remnants of your cover - documents, notes, a meticulously crafted facade of a life together.

A life that isn’t real, except for moments like these, when the borders become smudged just enough to make you wonder.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling so wide, but his tone does not hold a trace of irony. “What kinda guy d’you think I am? Four days in a row and I just stop?” He scoffs as if the mere thought offends him. His voice is honeyed.

He stalks over to you standing at the table and holds the bouquet out for you. It is an understatedly beautiful arrangement of dusky pink roses, fluffy ruffled carnations, ivory lilies with petals curling slightly at the edges. Wisps of silvery foliage peek through, adding a breath of frost to the warmth. And then there are the deep inky leaves interwoven among the blooms, like something divine pulled from the shadows.

You take them with fingers that begin to tremble just slightly. His hand brushes over yours. A blush makes its way up your face just like every time.

You have been undercover for five days, posing as a married couple by orders from Nick Fury. And every day, even though it’s not at all necessary for you both to keep your cover, Bucky brings you a bouquet when he gets ‘home’ from his fake job.

He is embedded in a high-profile consulting firm, shadowing a suspect deeply tangled in covert operations, while you take a closer look at his wife. She’s not at all innocent. She manages high-stakes charity galas, the kind that funnel money into places they shouldn’t be. You play the devoted wife, hosting brunches, attending yoga classes she goes to, letting cautious friendships lead you to the information you need.

Five days. Five bouquets.

Each one different, but all of them hold some unspoken thing. Something that makes you shiver.

The choking in your throat is disguised with a roll of your eyes. “You do know we’re supposed to be laying low, right? Kinda hard when you’re single-handedly funding the local florist,” you tease rather lightly.

Bucky chuckles, low but bright, and you swear you feel the sound more than you hear it. “Oh c’mon, doll. Long as we’re playin’ house, I gotta keep my wife happy.”

This is a joke. It is all a joke. But your pulse is not laughing, only speeding up, tripping at the way he puts emphasis on wife. As if the word fits too well in his mouth, as if he could get used to it.

Bucky has always been a gentleman to you. Even outside of missions. But since you started this one, moving into the same house on the outskirts of town for the sake of your cover, the grumpiness and stoicism that usually surround his aura at the compound are completely lost here with you. You’ve never seen him smile as much as you have in the last five days.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter, take a closer look, and take in the many appealing colors and scents. “Thank you, Bucky. I love those,” you say warmly.

His expression falters just a fraction like it does every time, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude when it’s meant for him. Although you show it to him all the time. A flicker of something unguarded passes over his features before he covers it with a scoff that only makes it out halfway. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight. “Well, can’t have my wife thinkin’ I'm slipping already now, can I?” he laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit of pink.

You turn with a huffed laugh and perform the task of putting away the flowers. Shaking your head, you start to get highly aware of the wedding band around your finger, a piece of fiction Tony gave you to wear. It looks so real, yet it is a lie. And you hate it.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not actually married?” The words fall with amusement but they sit heavier in the air than they should.

The ring fits perfectly, Tony made sure of that. But it still somehow presses against your skin. As if to remind you that Bucky is not truly yours.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat. You see him tilting his head from your peripherals as you reach for a vase. His smile is softened. “Don’t matter, sweetheart. Might as well treat you like my wife.” His voice is quieter now, less teasing. But sure.

The kitchen and living room are already brimming with the past four days of his affections.

One arrangement graces the coffee table, another stands by the window, and two more are carefully nestled between books on the shelf at the wall to your left. A home suffused with color, with life, with something neither of you dares to call by name.

You feel the warmth of his gaze on you. He doesn’t say anything, standing there relaxed, still with that proud and fond smile on his face, watching you as if he is engraving in his memory the way you fuss over where to place this latest offering.

And maybe you take just a little longer than necessary because if you turn too soon, you’ll have to meet his eyes.

And you don’t know if you can right now.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to look away.

But you know you should. Because this is not real.

But maybe - and this is the hope speaking - it could be someday.

“Imagine someone thinking of you and buying you flowers.”

- sleepyurl

[navybrat817]

Hi lovely! Thank you so much for Valentine's day ficlets ❤️❤️❤️

Could I please have "Go ahead, lock your doors, change your phone number. I’ll still find you.” with Lee Bodecker, pwetty pwease? Thank you!!!

Oh, this man! @perdidosbucky-yyo , since you had also requested Lee.

Late Night Visitor

Pairing: Dark!Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Summary: The sheriff pays you a visit one night.

Word Count: Over 710

Warnings: Possessive behavior, implied noncon, abuse of power, Lee Bodecker (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You were getting ready for bed when someone knocked on your door. You hadn’t invited anyone over, and it was a bit late for a surprise visitor. Grabbing your robe with a nervous breath, you tiptoed toward the front of your house. Times like this you wished you didn’t live alone. 

Maybe if you had someone looking out for you, they’d keep you safe from-

“Open up, sugar! I know you’re in there!” you heard from the other side of the door. “Ain’t polite to keep the sheriff out in the cold, so show me some hospitality and lemme in.”

You swallowed. Lee Bodecker. People either feared or respected him, or both for some. He thought he ran the town just because he had a badge, and maybe he did. 

But he never inflicted any kind of power over you. He was kind when he stopped into the diner at the same time and day every week. Used his manners with you, always left you a nice tip. So you started bringing some pie you baked from home and gave him a slice to go with his meals. You were just being polite. Nothing more.

You should’ve known he’d take your kindness as some form of courting.

“Bet you’re sweeter than any slice of pie, sugar,” he once said, lust in his eyes that he didn’t bother to hide before he tipped his hat and left.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, resting your hands against the door as if it would keep him out.

“I was hungry and wonderin’ if you had any of that pie for me to eat,” he said. Your stomach rolled as you imagined him licking his lips. “I know you bring ‘em from home just for me.”

“I was being nice,” you said, shrieking when he slammed his fist against the door.

“So was I. ‘S’why I kept them boys off your tail. Smart girl, don’t tell me you forgot?” he snarled. “Time to pay up.”

You closed your eyes. Some guys were giving you a hard time one night during an already painful shift. You mistakenly asked Lee if he could politely ask them to leave. He did. And while they didn’t care to listen to you, they shut up pretty quickly when Lee showed his gun. He made sure they all left you a nice tip, too.

“You know I’ll always take care of you, sugar,” he promised, leaving just a few moments after the group did. 

You found out the next day that Lee arrested them. Something about open alcohol containers and harrassment and resisting arrest. None of the guys around two looked at you twice anymore. You heard the whispers and saw the sneers from some of the women. Everyone thought you belonged to the sheriff.

That was the problem. You weren’t anyone’s property, and Lee would own anyone who ended up with him. That couldn’t be you.

“I didn’t forget. It’s just…” you tried to come up with an excuse. “It’s late, and I’m going to bed.”

“Just lemme in, sugar.” You froze when the door handle jiggled. The unamused chuckle that followed almost made you run. “Open the door and open them legs for me. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You backed away when the handle jiggled again, your heart leaping to your throat. “Please, just go, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Call the cops? I am the law, Sugar,” he reminded you. He was right, and none of the deputies would help you. “Will you run? Hide? Go ahead! Lock your doors, change your phone number. I’ll still find you.”

You covered your mouth, but it did little to contain the scream you let out when Lee kicked the door open and stepped inside like he owned the place. You couldn’t back away or run as tears spilled over. Your body knew he was going to own you before the night was over, and you couldn’t fight even as your mind screamed.

“Makin’ me work for it? Not very nice, sugar,” he rumbled, strolling forward and gripping your arm. 

“Please…” you prayed. God wasn’t listening. Not today.

“Wasn’t gonna use the cuffs on you ‘til later,” he smirked, digging his finger in until you whimpered. “But I guess we’ll start tonight.”

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[re-termination]

✿ From Myself, To You

Cosmo + Toon handler! Reader

Note: Valentine's day post that ended up being platonic cuz I suck at romance!!! If you don't like cheesecake you can imagine the dessert Cosmo makes as something else that you like!

Tags: platonic dynamics, Sam and Sprout banter

In the main lobby of gardenview, in the late hours of nighttime, a lone toon could be found sitting under the tree seemingly pondering about something.

With Valentine's day being tomorrow, Cosmo really wanted to show his appreciation to his favorite toon handler. You treated him with so much respect and were patient enough when he kept messing up in the kitchen so naturally he would hold you close and dear to his heart. You even held him when things got a bit too hectic for his liking.

As for what to do to show his appreciation? Hmm, maybe a cheesecake would be perfect for you! Cosmo was now determined at the thought of making you smile, so he immediately got up from his spot under the tree and dashed to the dining area.

Making his way to the dining area's kitchen, he was so caught up in his imagination that he didn't realize his best friend was calling out to him. “Cosmo! What are you up to at this time?” Coming to a screeching halt, Cosmo could only slowly turn his head at the voice of his friend.

“Ah- nothing nothing! Just making sure you turned off the oven yk? Ehehe…” The swiss roll could only feel his face growing hotter by the second. Why was he getting so worked up over getting caught baking a cheesecake for his favorite person?

“Cosmo, we haven't used the oven all day today.” Sprout could only scratch his head and chuckle, trying to figure out Cosmo's actual intentions for coming to the kitchen so late at night. Brimming with curiosity, Sprout decided to simply lean against the nearest wall waiting for Cosmo to pull himself together.

“Not leaving till you spill the beans bud” said the strawberry toon amusingly.

Patting his rose colored cheeks, Cosmo only sighed realizing there was no way around hiding anything from his best friend. It wasn't all that much of a secret, it's just Sprout for sure was going to tease him relentlessly for days to come now. With an exasperated sigh, Cosmo finally decided to face his friend properly.

“Wellll, yk how Valentine's day is tomorrow right? I was thinking of bake-”

“You were thinking of baking something for the toon handler that you always cling to, right? That makes sense. Kinda expected you would wanna bake something for them. You always have this certain look in your eyes when you're with them, after all.”

Cosmo's jaw dropped. His friend had him figured out and even pointed out his behavior regarding you. If the swiss rolls cheeks weren't red before, they most definitely were now. “You knew??? Why ask then!?”

Sprout could only try to hold his laughter, failing horribly, as Cosmo's face went through a multitude of emotions. Cosmo's reactions when teased never failed to make him laugh.

Finally calming down and deciding he teased his poor friend enough, Sprout started nudging Cosmo towards the kitchen area. “Well bud times ticking, let's get you started on baking!”

-

“Alright! Now that you have your apron on, what were you thinking of making them?”

“Wait, you're not going to help out, Sprout?”

“Nah, this is something special from you to them. No way am I getting in the way of that!” Sprout said matter of factly as he patted his friends head. “But, if you do need help, I'll be here as an extra set of hands.”

“Oh Ok! Anyway uhm, I was thinking of baking them a cheesecake…” Cosmo trailed off as he wondered if this was really what he should bake for you. Would you like it? Do you hate cheesecake? What if he fails and it doesn't taste good?

Sprout only deadpanned as he recognized that face on his friend. A face full of doubt. “Bud, I'm sure they'll love anything you make them. Stop overthinking it!”

Cosmo snapped out of his small stupor and chuckled in an apologetic way. “Ah you're right! You're right!” The swiss roll with newfound confidence, immediately went to gather the ingredients and utensils needed to get started baking, occasionally asking Sprout for help if he couldn't reach something that was way too high for him.

“Oh by the way! I think I'll use strawberries as decoration for the cheesecake so could you please go fetch those from the fridge?” Sprouts eye twitched as he heard Cosmo say that in a mischievous tone. Knowing he had no say over that decision he went to grab the strawberries… as well as grabbing raspberries in case his friend changed his mind!

-

With a yawn, you made your way to your post and got ready to round up your assigned toons to give them a run down on what the day would look like. Making your way to the lobby, you spotted Sam looking more irritated than usual. You decided to check up on your coworker and see if you could be of any help.

“Morning Sam! Something the matter? You're looking quite rough for this time of day.” While Sam wasn’t mean to coworkers, their resting face and sudden outbursts when Sprout stressed them out did unsettle you a bit.

Fortunately for you, Sam seemed to brighten up a bit at hearing your voice. “Ah hello there, didn’t notice you there. And yes, something is the matter. I couldn’t find Sprout in his room even though he’s SUPPOSED to stay there till I can escort him to where he needs to be.”

Anddd, just like that, Sam is back to looking irritated. It’s rather comical, really the dynamic between Sam and Sprout. You couldn’t help but giggle sometimes when you saw them bicker for the most childish things. Sprout was always dragging Cosmo into some sort of mischief in the kitchen, which only led to Sam getting stressed. You wouldn’t be surprised if Sam started growing grey hairs anytime sooner because of the toon's mischief.

“Well have you looked in the diner area yet? That seems like the most probable place Sprout could be if he isn’t in his room. I could come with you to search more if he’s not there.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled as they grabbed both of your hands. “Yes please! The more help, the better! When I get my hands on that strawberry, I swear I'll strangle him.”

“Ok maybe don't go that far!” You know Sam didn't mean it, but it's still funny to think of.

You and Sam started making your way to the dining area in hopes of finding Sprout, but you wondered where Cosmo could be. Cosmo was always up and early waiting on your arrival to gardenview, so it was surprising not to see him waiting. Quite the adorable toon and not to mention your favorite outta the whole bunch.

Sam seems to be thinking about Cosmos whereabouts too with how they call out to you. “By the way, it's odd that Cosmo isn't with you. Every time I see you, he's not that far behind, it seems. Wish Sprout was as still and quiet as Cosmo. Maybe then I wouldn't be as stressed hoping this place doesn't burn down from his antics.”

At that, you smiled. The dynamic between you and Cosmo was wayyy different than what Sam and Sprout have going on. While you and Cosmo could be napping somewhere peacefully, Sam could be trying to prevent Sprout from causing the building to go up in flames from an accidental baking failure.

Arriving at the dining area, it seemed pretty quiet, but you smelled something good in the air. Glancing at Sam, you two nodded and headed to the kitchen area. Lo and behold, the search for the strawberry toon was over, oh and Cosmo is with him! The two toons were sleeping soundly… with the kitchen being a mess.

“Sprout Seedly!”

“What!”

Oh boy, Sam decided yelling Sprouts full name to wake him up was a good idea. While those two started their daily banter, you spotted Cosmo slowly stirring awake and felt bad. The commotion obviously waking him up.

“Care to explain yourself, Seedly? What is the meaning of this mess!?” Sam demanded answers.

Cosmo, on the other hand, now on high alert realizing the situation, got up from his spot and ran to approach Sam.

“Sprout didn't do anything! It was my idea! I just wanted to bake a dessert for uhm- well- I'm sorry for the mess!!!”

The swiss roll wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and crawl into it. Well, at least he was able to clear his friend's name from any trouble, hopefully. What he didn't like was that you were here, in the kitchen. You weren't supposed to be here and see the mess. Better yet, you weren't supposed to know why there was even a mess in the first place. His plan was to wait for you at the lobby to surprise you with the cheesecake, but he overslept.

Stepping up from behind Cosmo, Sprout approached his handler with newfound vigor and a smug smile. “Cats out the bag. As you can see, dear handler of mine, I played no major role in this mess. Therefore, I think I deserve to be spared from being punished.” Sprout boasted proudly.

Sam's eyebrow twitched while you only stood there dumbfounded. Wasting no time, Sam glared at Sprout, and the strawberry knew that was his sign to walk out with them. Sprout held his hands up and flashed Cosmo a smile before following Sam out the kitchen, leaving you and the poor toon alone.

“Sooo wanna properly explain yourself? No pressure!” You didn't want to stress the toon out more than he already is, so you decided to take an easy approach. You also decided that crouching down to his level would probably be a good move, which proved to be right as Cosmo approached you slowly to hug you.

The toon clung onto you and buried his face into your chest for comfort. Out of habit, you started to pat his head so he could relax more.

“There there, I'm not mad about the mess- well, maybe Sam is, but I'm just curious! Promise!”

Face still buried against your chest, you could hardly make out what Cosmo was saying. “It's for you. I baked a cheesecake to surprise you today since it's Valentine's Day. I made it to show you my appreciation for you…”

This tugged at your heartstrings. Your favorite toon? Made you a cheesecake? For Valentine's day! How cute! With this, you squeezed Cosmo in a tight embrace.

The toon in question, now patting on your arms to let him go. As much as he loves the affection that he's receiving he can hardly breathe with how hard you're squeezing him.

“Aww aren't you just the sweetest! Y'know, if you wanted to ask me to be your valentine you could've asked earlier” You were semi-joking about the second part but the whole action was so sweet of him you just had to tease him. Cosmo, not aware you were joking, blushed intensely. You? His favorite toon handler? Be his valentine!? The thought has his mind spinning.

Getting up to observe the mess the kitchen was, you smiled. “Hey Cosmo, why don't we enjoy the cheesecake you made and clean later? I'd love to share what you made for me!”

Cosmo, now beaming with joy at the aspect of sharing a dessert with you, immediately agreed. He quickly ran to the fridge to grab the now ready to eat dessert and followed you to a table in the dining room. While he could always spend time with you any day he wanted, today was special. Any day with you was special but he felt like he got closer to you more than before just with this day.

---

“Get to cleaning Seedly, the job isn't going to get done itself y’know.”

“...I should get you fired.”

[accidentalmistress]

Snzfic - Sparks of Something New

I'm planning to post a Zayne snzfic soon, but I realized that I never posted the first Zayne fic on Tumblr. So, here's the first snzfic I've written with my OC Zayne: a six and a half foot tall nerd with a PhD in immunology and the worst allergies on the planet.

Word count: 2852

Content and warnings: male allergy sneezing; mild swearing

------------------

No one uses the cubicle next to me. Or the one in front of me, for that matter. I'd say no one uses the one behind me, either, but the only thing behind my cubicle is a wall painted in a hideous dark orange color that some far-removed executive probably thought would be "fun" or "invigorating." There's no one in the cubicle on my other side, the one that shares a wall with mine. The ones diagonally in front me are empty, too. In fact, no one else sits in my row, or in either of the adjacent rows. This entire section is empty, excepting little ol’ me, of course.

When I requested moving my desk after that whole incident with my supervisor Greg, HR claimed that this deserted patch of cubicles that sits down a short flight of steps in the half-sunken ground floor of the lab building was the only area with open seats. I know that's bullshit. The Boys' Club of Upper Management wanted to shove me somewhere out of the way—in a whole separate building, even. Joke's on them: I thrive in solitude. I love having this quiet corner all to myself, without the dull drudgery of small talk or people bothering me with inane questions. I put my earbuds in, get in the zone, and focus on my work without distractions.

Which is why it's super weird when I hear someone in the cubicle across from mine.

I've been so engrossed in what I'm doing that I didn't notice anyone coming back here. It's only because of a lull in the music playing through my earbuds that I notice anything at all. It sounds like… heavy breathing?

"Heh… heEHHhh! … Hh'xcht! … h'gnKT! Heh-hahCHT!  Ugghh…"

Someone is sneezing like crazy in the empty cube next to me. Or, rather, they're stifling an onslaught of sneezes. Do they not know I'm here? I unlock my phone and touch the pause button on Spotify. Oh, I am so glad I didn't start jamming out when “Careless Whisper” came on, because when I get really into it I do the saxophone parts and everything.

Still, I'm honestly a little surprised whoever it is hasn't noticed me yet, or at least the clicking of keyboard keys beneath my fingers. From the sound of it, though, they're probably focused on their own problems with, y'know, breathing. Besides, if they're expecting this area to be deserted, it may not even cross their mind that someone could be back here.

I slowly push my office chair backwards and lean so I can look into the cubicle across the aisle to my right. Sure enough, someone is sitting at the desk. Well, more like slumped over it. Looks like a guy. I watch his back spasm a few more times.

"Gh-CHT! CHT! hhCHT! heh-EHssht! Mmmhh…"

Capping off another string of stifles is a pathetic-sounding whimper that tells me this is not the beginning of his suffering. I have no idea whether he's been back here for a while now or if his problems started somewhere else and he only snuck back here moments ago. Man, why’d he have to come to this section for his little sneeze attack break or whatever? I know I have no claim over these rows of empty cubes, but even so it feels like he's intruding on my quiet sanctuary of productivity.

I could try to ignore him—turn up my music, pretend he isn't there, and refocus on my work. Maybe he'll remain blissfully ignorant of my existence and leave quietly whenever he's done, uh… getting whatever it is out of his system.

Yeah, right. Refocus? There's no way I'll be able to refocus as long as I know he's there. His mere presence will loom like an unseen specter and eat holes in my concentration. Which means my only real choices are to sit quietly and hope he leaves, or make my presence known and hope he leaves. One of those options will have far more immediate results, so I sigh lightly and remove my earbuds.

I get up and go peer at him from the relative safety of standing partly concealed behind the cubicle wall next to the doorway. Do cubicles have doorways? Whatever, the opening entrance thing. He's facedown on the desk, forehead resting on his arms and a box of tissues close at hand. I can't see his face, but I don't think I recognize him. Dark brown hair that’s on the longer side and messy in that tousled, “I just woke up like this” way that I can never achieve when I try to do it intentionally. Slim build. Wearing a white coat. Lab coat means lab guy. His whole upper body tenses up every time he sneezes.

“Heh-chxt! EhCH’nx! Huhh… God, it won't stop…”

"You all right there?"

I take a kind of perverse satisfaction in the way he jumps. His head snaps up, and he fixes me with a wide-eyed stare behind round-rimmed glasses. I'm struck by just how blue his eyes are. It's a deep blue, like a sky just beginning to darken. Now that I can see his face, I know I definitely don't recognize him, but something twitches in my gut all the same.

"Wh-wha-!? Oh n-no- heh-hehh- hhx'ch-TIEW! Heh-ts’CHIUHH! heGH’SHiuhh! HAH-GHSHIEEW!!"

He tries to keep stifling, but I guess I startled him too badly, because he quickly breaks down into a full-blown sneezing fit. It sounds pretty harsh, too, and I have to admit that I feel a little bad.

"Uh… sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"N-no, no, it's- heh-tchiuhh! I, um… I di-hihdn't know anyone was o-over heh-here."

I point across the aisle to my cubicle.

"My desk is right there, my dude."

His face is already flushed from sneezing, especially across his nose, which has a prominent aquiline shape and Roman bump at the bridge. I can just barely make out that he has freckles beneath that blush. He gets a few shades darker before my eyes.

"Wh- R-really? I- oh, hh'chnxt! Nguh… I-I'm so sorry, I ha- hah-shiew! h-had no idea anyone even s-sat over here. Oh, God, then you've been here this whole t-time?" He groans and puts his face in his hands. "Oh man… this day can't get any worse… heh-chtt! Nnhh…"

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had headphones on, so I only just noticed you were here… So, uh… you sick or something?"

He shakes his head and his eyes screw shut as he grabs a handful of tissues, then he draws in a deep breath and buries his face in them.

"Hehh-GSSHHT!! … Allergies."

“Oh…”

I’m not the best conversationalist, but I feel like I should say something else, so my brain spins a roulette wheel of possible responses that apparently lands on: “To what?”

He looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and sniffles miserably.

“Everything. Dust, mold, the pollen of every flower and tree you can think of, cats, dogs, fragrances. I swear a light breeze will set me off… -snfff- I th-think what’s really geh-getting me now is the- the- heh- the r- ragweed- heh! HEH-CHSHIEW! ESHyuu!”

He blows his nose into his wad of tissues with a wet honk and a slight moan. Part of me says I should just say a quick "welp, hope you feel better", go back to my desk, and really crank my music up. And yet…

There's something about this guy that glues my feet right where I’m standing. I don't know if it's instinct or empathy or the fact that, despite the streaming eyes and red, sniffling nose, he's actually kind of cute. In the same way a scraggly, wet kitten is, I guess.

"Wow, that… sucks. Bless you."

"Thanks… Um… I-I'm Zayne, by the way. Zayne Reynolds. -snndf-"

I nod, slowly. I'm pretty sure I remember there being a Dr Reynolds in the immunology department. Guess this is him.

"Lynette Sparks. So, like… do you take medication or anything?”

He nods and looks away to the side with a slightly uncomfortable look.

“Mhmm. B-but this morning, I um… Heh'ISSHiuh! -snf- I-I was running late, and I… I forgot.”

“Oh. Uh, well… Can I do anything for you? Or get you anything?"

He regards me with some surprise, eyebrows raised.

"You… want to he-help m- heh-hehh- HIH'chgdt! Nngh… -snfff- You want to help me?"

"Is that weird?" I say the words slowly, second-guessing myself. Maybe he'd rather be left alone.

"N-no, I didn't mean— It's just the guys I work with don't usually… Th-they don't, uh…" He sniffles, nose scrunching with obvious irritation. "Oh no… I-I'm gonna… hehh…"

His chest jumps with hitches of increasing urgency, and I can't help but notice the way his reddened nostrils twitch. His voice quavers and rises in pitch as his breath catches.

"G-gonna h-have a f-fit. Oh God- hehh! HhheEHH!"

He stifles a sneeze. Then another. And another. And another. The next he tries desperately to stifle as well, but the outburst breaks through his efforts to contain it, and from there it's all downhill. A dam has broken. His body is wracked by more and more powerful sneezes, and all he can do now is grip the bundle of tissues tight against his face to catch the expulsions and muffle the sound.

"HEH-TCHIUHH!! EHHSHHGHT! EHHSHHGHT! HEHH-EHH'SSHHIUHH! Ehsht!-Ehsht!-Ehsht! Ehh'SHHIUHH! Oh God- heh'CHSHIUHH!"

He goes on like that for what has to be at least a full minute, and I can think of nothing I can do but try not to stare. By the time he's done, his entire face is cherry red, and his breath comes in labored pants. He moans.

"Oh my God… I'm- I'm s-so sorry. I can't h-help it- Hah-gghhssiuh! Oh man… now I'm lightheaded… I-I’m really sorry…"

My face pinches into a scowl. "What? You- Why are you apologizing?" I sigh and smooth my features. "I was gonna ask if you're okay, but… you're obviously not."

Any irritation I harbored at having my workflow concentration broken feels insignificant and petty now. I may be antisocial, but I'd have to be pretty friggin heartless to just go back to my desk and leave this poor guy on his own.

"Give me a minute." I point a warning finger at him. "And don't go anywhere!"

He looks up at me with confused and bleary eyes. He doesn't even need to speak: his expression screams, "Why would I?"

I duck into my cubicle and grab my bag, hauling it up onto my desk. Rummaging through, I find a small zipper pouch, which I toss lightly into the air and catch with a smirk. Then it's off to the opposite side of the room where a water cooler sits plugged into the wall. I'd heard the phrase "water cooler talk," but I didn't think offices still had actual water coolers until I started working here. Not that there's anyone around for me to talk to, but the water cooler is genuine enough, and I fill one of the little paper cups.

I find the ailing Dr Reynolds much as I left him: hunched over the vacant desk with tissues attached to his face like a diver with a SCUBA mask. I plunk the water down next to him before unzipping the pouch and rifling through until I pull out a small, neon pink pill in a plastic blister pack.

"Here. Benadryl. Might make you sleepy, but I figure that's preferable to… this."

Zayne raises his head and stares at the pill in my outstretched hand for a few silent seconds. I clear my throat when it gets awkward.

"Uh, you don't have to take it if you don't want to."

That at least spurs him to respond. "N-no, I don't- I mean- heh-chhzhiuh! I-I'll take it if… you're sure?"

I raise an eyebrow. I don't know why he's making it sound like a question.

"I wouldn't be offering it to you if I wasn't."

"R-right… sorry. Thank you."

He extends a hand, and I drop the pill into his open palm. He sneezes twice while trying to get the blister pack open, and I'm about to offer to open it for him when he finally gets it himself. I watch the tiny pill vanish as he downs the water and sits back with a sigh. He looks exhausted.

"That should… eh… heh'chgt! Guh… Should hopefully kick in soon… -snfff- Um, thank you again… You said you're, um, Lynette?"

I nod. "Yeah. Sparks. Lynette Sparks. And please don't say something like, 'sparks flew' when we met. I've heard it a bajillion times before, and it's not a great pickup line."

"Huh? P-pickup line? Why would I… try to… um… heh-heh-hehh! HEHTCHIEW! Nnh. -sndf- Excuse me… Um, I-I wouldn't do that… T-try to hit on you, I mean. That's not, um, work appropriate."

Wow, this guy's a dork. I fight a giggle that threatens to bubble up, but it's not that I want to laugh at him. His timid stammering is actually oddly endearing. Maybe this is what people mean when they call someone "adorkable." I cross my arms as a smirk creeps across my face.

“Well, I appreciate your professionalism."

I'm not lying. I genuinely do appreciate that he's being considerate of me as a coworker. Yet, there's something else, too: a twinge of disappointment. Well, that's… new. I chew on my bottom lip for a second before I decide to take a chance.

"So… what if we got to know each other better first?"

I think that makes him short circuit, because he just stares at me for a good five seconds before he can speak again.

"I… What?"

"I'm just saying, if we got to know each other, that would maybe, y'know, open an avenue towards things happening outside of work. Where flirting might be more appropriate. I mean, if you actually wanted to. It's okay to say no; for all I know you're not even into women."

"N-no, I am! Uh, interested in women, that is. I just- I- oh, h-hang on- ah-hahh-HAESHIUU! Nguh, excuse me… I mean, um…"

His gaze rests on the desktop for a few more moments. I can't tell anymore how much of the flush in his face is from allergies and how much is from how flustered he is. I don’t know what it says about me as a person, but I can’t help but think it’s cute. He takes a breath. When he looks back up at me, though, there's something strange at the back of those deep blue eyes.

"Are you messing with me?"

My eyebrows twitch upwards for a moment. In retrospect, I can see how he might think that, what with my rather flippant tone. I’ve never been good at any form of socializing, let alone flirting, so I end up hiding behind sarcasm and humor. That way any screw ups I make can be passed off as a joke, no harm done. Of course, it doesn’t always pay off, like right now. In fact, I may have just blown my chances.

I clear my throat with a somewhat embarrassed cough.

“That was not my intention, no. I’m sorry if I offended you or made you uncomfortable. Maybe we should just, uh, forget I said anything?”

I take a step back with an awkward chuckle, not really intending to return to my own cubicle yet, just wanting to offer a little more space between us in case he is uncomfortable. He must think I'm leaving, though, because he stands up with such abrupt force that the chair he was sitting in rolls and hits the wall behind him. I can’t help but stare for a moment with slightly wide eyes. What I could not appreciate while he was seated (and, furthermore, hunched over), is that Zayne is tall. Really fucking tall. Like, he must be at least six foot six, which means he’s over a foot taller than I am.

Well, shit. He just got a heck of a lot hotter in my book. I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit: I have a thing for tall guys, and the taller the better.

He doesn’t seem to notice my reaction, though, or maybe he’s used to people gawking at his height.

“Wait, I didn’t mean- H-honestly I just… couldn't understand why you’d be interested in me. B-but I would, um, l-like to… ah… ahh-hahh-AESCHIUUH! S-sorry! I-I’d like to get to know you better… if that’s really alright with you.”

The corner of my mouth twitches into a smile that blossoms wider by the moment, and I nod.

“Yeah… Yeah, that's definitely alright with me.”

No one uses the cubicle next to me, and suddenly I'm finding myself even more grateful for that fact than usual. I don't know why Zayne chose this area of the building to hunker down and suffer through his allergy attack, but it seems those dickheads in HR did me a greater favor than I realized when they moved me here.

After all, this could be the start of something very interesting…

[factual-fantasy]

24 Asks! Thanks ya'll! 🐼

@holly-opal-2 (Sorry for the late reply!)

Aw <:( I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope that doesn't happen again.

Also of course they are! :}} I have always considered them as such 💞

Thank you! Happy (late) Valentines day! :DD

@stargirldrawsx3

Man, I feel you there. I'm sorry you weren't able to study. I hope things go well for you 🙏

@narrator-girlart

I saw Markiplier play it some weeks ago, but mostly forgot about it.. I was surprised to see it gain such traction on Tumblr. Maybe I'll have to go rewatch those videos and figure out why people love it so much :00 (I cant remember the events of the game 💀)

@dreamweave01

That could work!! :DDD

(ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!😭😭💞💞💞 )

Yeahhh.. I have been battling some health problems for almost a year now. Trying my best to work on it but thing's aren't going so well. <://

Thank you very much though, I hope the same for you! :))

@milk-powrit

Tom Nook is an angel, the "only good landlord" he's been called. And I agree! This might explain why though I didn't read all the way through- just skimmed over it and thought "yeah I think this has the right points"

@necropencil (Referencing this post)

AAA THANK YOU!! :DD

(I am also slowly going insane thanks to Wheeljack XDD)

@badlyblurry

XDD Well its like they say, great minds think alike! Also thank you so much!! :DDDD💞💞💞

AAAAA thank you!! :DD Or- you're welcome? <XDD

@shyzonkstudentlawyer

Oh wow, welcome back! :DD And thank you! I'm trying to try to work on my health and make improvements where I can manage it.. so far things have uh.. Well, it could be worse I suppose!😅

Also AAAA THANK YOU THANK YOU!! :DDD I'm so glad to hear you like what I've made! :DDDD

Now for you questions...

When it comes to the Welcome Home stuff, just imagine our world through a puppet/sesame street style show lens. They have the same food but its all colorful and has silly names. Their trees are like ours but they're crazy colors and grow fantasy fruit. Their technology develops like ours but its all colorful and silly. Etc, Etc-

Now for TADC... I hadn't actually thought about it <:0 maybe Sneemos jester hat things would flail around :0 I haven't thought about it otherwise though😔

Lastly, PFFF XDDD

(Item-dying woes post in ask)

😔You feel my pain.. I feel your pain........

@wolfie-777

:000! You heard it here folks! I'm silly!

She always looks lovely! :))

@tearsofsolace

AAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! :DDD🥰🥰💞💞💞💞

@eggswastaken

XDD That I did!

..Well, I actually got into it back in 2020-- but recently I have dragged myself back into the fandom a bit. 😂 The biggest obstacle I have to rejoining the fandom fully is just making time to sit down and rewatch the show.

I have such a hard time switching tasks and just doing something 💀 but hopefully I'll get there soon! <:)))

@minnesotamedic186

@little-goober

Oh yeah, sorry! I have very bad memory 😅 I can only really remember people by their profile pictures.

Also thank you so much! :)))

Thank you so much!! 🥰🥰

@bluetootsiepop

My advice is to study references closely. When it comes to making faces up/drawing faces without a reference? Like if its an OC? I'm afraid I cant think of any advice <:( I struggle with that a lot too. 😔

(Also thank you so much!! :DD )

@ourlifestooshort

I have drawn them, but I don't feel comfortable sharing my ref sheets.. Sorry! <:/

I looked up Tailgate with no mask and I will never sleep well again 💀

Also feel free to tell me anything you want about the comics! I don't plan on reading them 😔 I only plan on rewatching Transformers: Prime.

@bitesyoubitesyouchomp

SCEAMSSSS THANKYOUUU 😭😭 THAT'S ALL SO SWEET IM IN TEARS💞💞💞

@beryl-shade

Imagine if my blood was blue XD I'd be a transformer!

[earthlybeam]

Hi, I saw the post about how the elves would be during an argument and I was wondering if you could do one for Elrond and Glorfindel too?

Elrond, Glorfindel version below

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The halls of Rivendell were quiet at this hour, save for the flickering torches casting golden light against the stone walls. Outside, the moon hung heavy in the sky, bathing the valley in a silver glow, but the serenity of the night did nothing to ease the growing storm between you and Elrond. “You never tell me anything,” you said, arms folded tightly across your chest, your voice sharper than you had intended. “Not when it truly matters.”

Elrond, standing near his desk, slowly set down the parchment he had been reading. His expression did not shift immediately, but there was a flicker in his grey eyes, a tightening of his jaw that betrayed his thoughts. He had expected this conversation for some time—perhaps even dreaded it. “It is not a matter of secrecy,” he said, his tone measured, controlled. “There are burdens I must carry alone. I do not wish to place them upon you.”

You let out a sharp breath, frustration rising. “But that is not your choice to make, Elrond. I am not some delicate thing to be shielded from the weight of the world. I am your partner. How can you claim to love me and yet shut me out like this?” His gaze lowered slightly, as if he were weighing his words carefully. “Because I do love you,” he answered, voice quieter now, though no less firm. “And I would not see you burdened by things you cannot change.” The words stung. “Then you see me as weak.” He exhaled sharply, the faintest furrow creasing his brow. “No. That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you challenged. “Because from where I stand, it seems as if you do not trust me enough to share in your troubles.” Elrond’s frustration was not something easily seen—it was subtle, woven into the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides as if reining in emotion. “It is not a matter of trust,” he said, carefully enunciating every word, his voice still composed, but edged with something deeper. “It is a matter of necessity. You speak as if I do this to wound you, but you do not understand. There are things I have seen, choices I have made, that I must bear alone. If I were to share them, would you sleep easier at night? Would the weight lessen for either of us? No. It would only bring you sorrow.”

“That is not your decision to make!” Your voice rose now, the hurt breaking through the frustration. “You assume that shielding me is some kind of kindness, but all it does is push me away. It makes me feel like I am alone in this, when all I have ever wanted is to be by your side in all things.” Elrond closed his eyes briefly, inhaling slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but laced with exhaustion. “I do not wish to argue with you.”

“But we need to argue, Elrond,” you pressed, stepping forward. “Because if we don’t, nothing changes. You will keep carrying the world on your shoulders, and I will be left standing here, wondering when you will finally let me in.”Something flickered across his expression—guilt, perhaps, or regret—but it was gone as quickly as it came. He looked away, his fingers pressing against the edge of the desk as if grounding himself. Then, finally, he sighed. “I need time.” You frowned, taken aback. “Time?” His gaze met yours then, weary but unwavering. “To think. To understand what you ask of me.” A pause. “And to calm myself before I say something we will both regret.”

You could feel your heart pounding, the frustration still burning hot in your chest, but you knew him well enough to recognize the warning signs—the way his restraint was wearing thin, the way his hands clenched ever so slightly. He was not angry, not in the way that mortals were. But he was disappointed. Perhaps even hurt. So when he turned and walked toward the door, you did not stop him.

The door closed softly behind him, leaving you standing in the empty room, your breath still uneven, your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to chase after him, to demand that he stay and talk this through, but deep down, you knew this was not something that could be solved in the heat of the moment. For now, you would both need space. But this was not the end of the conversation. Not by a long shot.

…

The night stretched long and quiet, but the silence was anything but peaceful. It pressed in around you, thick with unspoken words, heavy with lingering tension. The argument replayed over and over in your mind, each sharp word an echo that refused to fade. You sat alone in the dim glow of the lanterns, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could shield you from the ache of frustration and heartache. You had always known Elrond was a man who bore his burdens in silence, but knowing did not make it easier to accept. Tonight had been proof of that.

You had tried—tried to make him see that he did not have to carry everything alone, that you wanted to share in his struggles. But he had resisted, deflecting your concerns with the quiet, composed rationality that so often concealed the depths of his feelings. And when you had pressed, when your frustration had finally broken past your restraint, he had pulled away, the lines of his face drawn tight with disappointment. Not anger—never anger—but something colder. Something distant.

And then he had left. Now, the hours stretched between you like an unbridgeable chasm, and though you knew he needed time to gather his thoughts, part of you feared what that distance meant. Would he return? Or would this become another unspoken thing between you, another wall built brick by brick, even as you longed to tear them down? A soft knock pulled you from your thoughts.

You looked up sharply, breath catching in your throat. The open balcony doors let in the silver glow of the moon, casting elongated shadows across the floor. And there, framed by the night, stood Elrond. His usual composure was frayed at the edges. The elegant drape of his robes was slightly looser, as if he had run his hands through the fabric absentmindedly. His hair, always so meticulously kept, had a single loose strand that had slipped from behind his ear. But it was his eyes that held you still—the cool, unreadable mask from earlier was gone. In its place was something softer. Wearier.

Vulnerable. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with deliberate care. Not hesitant, but careful, as if he was navigating something fragile. You watched him in silence, unsure whether to reach for him or let him speak first. The tension between you still lingered, but it was no longer sharp. Instead, it had settled into something quieter, worn down by time and reflection. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then Elrond exhaled, a slow, measured breath, and met your gaze.

“I have spent many years carrying burdens alone,” he admitted at last, his voice quieter than before. “It is not because I do not trust you, nor because I see you as weak.” A pause. He seemed to search for the right words, and that hesitation—the care with which he spoke—made your chest tighten. “It is because I do not know how to do otherwise.”

Your heart clenched at the honesty in his tone, at the sheer effort it took for him to say those words aloud. “I should not have dismissed your feelings,” he continued, stepping closer. “You were right.” His voice was steadier now, but there was something in his expression that made you think the admission cost him something. Not pride—no, it was not pride that kept him distant—but fear. “And I am sorry.”

The words settled between you, soft but heavy. Your breath hitched, the frustration from earlier fading into something more fragile—something aching and tender. You swallowed hard, your fingers curling slightly at your sides. “Elrond…” you whispered, reaching for his hand. He did not hesitate. He let you take it, his fingers cool and steady against your palm, but there was tension there—an uncertainty, as if he was still holding something back. You turned his hand over, tracing slow circles against his skin, trying to soothe the weight neither of you had spoken of yet.

Gently, you guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, never letting go. He followed without resistance, though his posture remained rigid, as if bracing himself for something unknown. “You do not have to carry everything alone,” you murmured. “Not anymore.” A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you. Then, slowly, something in him relented. Without a word, you moved to straddle his lap, guiding him to lean back against the pillows. He did not protest, though his hands came to rest at your waist—uncertain at first, as if unsure whether to hold on or let you take control. His breath shuddered slightly when your fingers found his temples, pressing gently against the tension that had settled there.

You could feel it beneath your fingertips—the weight of duty, of centuries spent carrying grief and responsibility alone. It was woven into his very being, into the slight furrow of his brow, the tightness in his jaw. You worked in slow, soothing circles, easing the tension bit by bit, watching as the rigid set of his shoulders softened under your touch. “Elrond,” you said again, softer this time. “Let me in.” His eyes fluttered closed as you began to massage his temples, your thumbs working in slow, soothing circles. “There is much I have not spoken of,” he admitted at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “Much that weighs on me still.”

You said nothing, only continuing the gentle motions, allowing him the space to find his words. And, slowly, he did. Piece by piece, he let down his walls, sharing with you the burdens that had kept him awake at night—the worries for Rivendell, the grief that still lingered from ages past, the impossible choices he had made in the name of duty. For the first time, he did not carry them alone. And for the first time, he let himself be held.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

The warmth of the evening fire crackled softly in the background as the two of you sat together, a rare moment of peace after long days filled with duty and responsibility. Glorfindel was in one of his usual playful moods, his golden hair catching the flickering light as he leaned back, smirking slightly. He had been teasing you about your latest sparring session—nothing serious, just lighthearted banter. But then, with a chuckle, he made an offhand remark. “Perhaps that scar of yours is proof of your questionable fighting skills.”

It was meant as a joke. Just an innocent jest, as so many of his comments were. But the moment the words left his lips, he saw the shift in your expression—so small, yet unmistakable. Your body tensed, your eyes darkened, and the air between you, once warm with companionship, turned cold. For a moment, you sat in stunned silence. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting creeping up your throat, the way your stomach twisted. He didn’t mean it like that—you knew that. But knowing and feeling were two different things.

The scar. That wretched mark upon your skin, the reminder of a battle hard fought, of pain endured. You had spent so long making peace with it, learning to carry it as a testament to your strength rather than a flaw. But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, there was always a small, nagging voice that whispered otherwise. And now, the one person who meant the most to you—he had made light of it.

Your voice came quiet at first, but the weight behind it was anything but. “What did you just say?” Glorfindel blinked, confused by the sudden shift in your demeanor. “I was only teasing, meleth,” he said, his tone still laced with amusement, though now touched with uncertainty.

Only teasing. The words rang in your ears, and something in you snapped. “You think that’s funny?” Your voice was sharp now, edged with something raw. “You think my scar is something to joke about?” His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, his golden hair spilling over his shoulders. “It was not meant to wound you,” he said carefully. “You know that, don’t you?”

You let out a breathless, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, Glorfindel. I don’t know that. Because, for you, it’s just another jest, another moment of amusement. But for me? It’s not just a joke.” You motioned to the scar, your fingers briefly tracing over it. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve carried this? How much I’ve struggled to not see it as a failure every time I look in the mirror?” His expression shifted then, the confusion in his eyes warring with something else—guilt, perhaps, but also frustration. “I did not mean—”

“But you did say it,” you cut him off sharply. “And the fact that you meant nothing by it makes it worse.” Your voice trembled slightly, though you refused to let it break. “You, of all people, should understand. You should know what it feels like to carry the weight of battle.”

Glorfindel exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his golden locks. “I do understand,” he said, his voice firm now, laced with an edge of his own emotion. “I understand more than you know. But you are letting this—this one moment—define me as if I would ever intentionally hurt you.” You let out a bitter scoff, shaking your head. “It’s not just one moment, Glorfindel. It’s the fact that you said it.” The weight of that truth hung between you, thick as a storm rolling in.

For all his wisdom, for all his grace, Glorfindel had not expected this—had not anticipated how deep his words would cut. He opened his mouth, then closed it, struggling to find the right thing to say. But the damage had already been done. The pain in your chest was too much, too sharp, too unbearable. You couldn’t sit there and argue anymore, couldn’t stand the way his usually warm, affectionate gaze now held a flicker of frustration and regret.So you did the only thing you could do.

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the way Glorfindel instinctively reached for you. “I can’t do this right now,” you muttered, voice thick with emotion. And before he could stop you, before he could say anything else that might hurt or soothe, you turned and left, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence. And Glorfindel, for all his bravery, all his strength, sat there in the flickering light, staring after you, cursing himself for the wound he had just inflicted.

…

The night had deepened, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Glorfindel had spent the last hour pacing, his mind replaying the argument over and over, cursing his own carelessness. He had not meant to wound you—never that—but intent did not erase the pain he had caused. And the look in your eyes before you left, that hurt shadowed by frustration, gnawed at him relentlessly. He could not bear it.

So he sought you out. He found you outside, sitting beneath the vast expanse of stars, arms wrapped around yourself. The cool night breeze rustled through the trees, but you barely seemed to notice. Your thoughts were elsewhere, locked away in the sting of his words, the weight of old wounds reopened.

Glorfindel approached slowly, carefully, as one might when nearing a wounded animal. He did not wish to startle you, nor force his presence upon you if you were not ready. But leaving things as they were was not an option. Not when it was you. “Meleth,” he murmured, his voice soft, gentle as the breeze.

You stiffened slightly at the sound of his voice but did not look up. His heart clenched at that. He had never wanted to be the cause of your sorrow. He lowered himself to one knee beside you, his golden hair cascading over his shoulder as he peered at you with quiet remorse. “I did not see,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did not know.”

Still, you said nothing. Glorfindel hesitated for only a moment before reaching for your hand, his fingers ghosting over yours—but he did not take it. He would not force comfort upon you, no matter how much he longed to. “I would never wish to wound you,” he continued, his voice raw now, stripped of all his usual playfulness. “Even in jest.”

At that, your fingers twitched, though you still did not turn to face him. Encouraged, he exhaled deeply, shifting closer. “Please,” he said, quieter now, as if afraid of shattering the fragile moment. “Tell me—help me understand, so I do not make the same mistake again.” That made you pause. For the first time, you turned your head slightly, your gaze flickering toward him. In the dim starlight, you could see the sincerity etched into his face—the regret, the quiet desperation to make things right.

You swallowed, hesitating, but then the words came. Slowly, carefully, you explained—not just about the scar itself, but the battle it represented, the struggle to see it as anything other than a failure, a mark of imperfection. How it had taken so long to make peace with it. And how, even now, there were days when you still fought against the doubt.

And then, today, he had made light of it. Glorfindel listened. Truly listened. Not just to your words, but to the weight behind them, the years of struggle folded into each syllable. His usual playful demeanor was nowhere to be seen—only quiet, unwavering attention remained. When you finished, he sighed, his eyes closing briefly before opening again, filled with nothing but understanding.

“I should have been more thoughtful,” he admitted, his voice steady, firm. “I understand now.” His hand, still resting near yours, finally closed around your fingers—not to pull, not to demand, but simply to hold. “You are precious to me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “And I never wish to make you doubt yourself. Not for a moment.”

Something inside you loosened at his words, the tight knot of hurt slowly unraveling. And then, he did something unexpected. With exaggerated seriousness, he leaned back slightly, as if preparing himself for some great ordeal. “Would it help,” he began, tilting his head, “if I let you mock me in return?”

You blinked, caught off guard. His lips quirked up ever so slightly. “Go on—say something ridiculous about me. Tell me my hair is absurdly golden, or that I am far too proud of my own swordsmanship.” He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Or perhaps that I prance like a deer in battle.”

Despite yourself, the corners of your mouth twitched. Glorfindel saw it. And that was all the encouragement he needed. He gasped in mock offense. “Ah, you do think I prance!” A laugh—small, but real—escaped your lips before you could stop it. And in an instant, Glorfindel’s expression softened completely, the teasing fading into something far gentler. He reached up, cradling your face in his large, battle-worn hand, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke next.

“You are more wonderful than you know,” he murmured. “And if I must spend the rest of my days reminding you of that, I shall.” The last remnants of tension melted away, leaving only the warmth of his presence, the steady weight of his touch. And when he finally pulled you into his arms, holding you close, you let yourself sink into him, his embrace a silent vow—one he would never break.

[rosewcterdrunk]

"I had lovers, as did every man in the service and every man in London does," Thayer spat, trying to recall what these letters entailed but every accusation William spewed infiltrated any semblance of the memory of Elizabeth. "But precautions are made, and if this is true... I would not have— what is your purpose in this, William? A claim in letters without a real name, a concept of a child lost to the miscommunication of war? You strike with hear say, and it is unsettling, but what proof do you have? If I have a child, where are they?"

His voice wavered, softening ever so slightly under the protest of every grimacing detail William hurled his way. A plea swept in between words, dismissing whatever attempt at tainting him was here. Thayer did not care for reputation. It would not change that he was responsible for Cassandra, that there was a child aside from her roaming in ignorance of their parentage.

"You fool!" He snapped at him, growing more and more irritated at his rantings. "Do you not know of what my name holds, what lack of honor is thrusted upon anyone who utters it? I have a title from service alone, for following what could be the only right thing to do with what my father imposed upon this land and country. I do not care for the formalities of it all— spit on my name all you want, feed more rumors, I do not care."

He would not let a mere stable boy, however, rot the name Cassandra belonged to. A promise had been made to her mother, the only woman he thought he truly loved and could never forget— his savior.

"You bring shame upon her, you defile a reputation that a lady could not overcome so easily. It is the way our world works, and it is vile, but we cannot change it. You want to do some good, make yourself worthy?"

Thayer would come to regret it, but what lied in these letters was the only honor he believed in. This went beyond the right posture, the right amount of acres, medallions upon a breast pocket. If William could resolve this, would that be enough for all he'd done?

"Prove you are a kind hearted man, prove that you do not seek her out for vengeance," Thayer told him, letters folded and thrown against the other's chest. But he did not pull away, did not leave this in the woe of feeble violence until he had finished the last offer he would ever make to William Erwood. "Find this child, prove it is mine. You have until the end of the social season and I will pay for your efforts, double of what I gave you to leave Cassandra alone— but that rule remains. She will have the social season to find a husband that is suitable for her endeavors, and you will not interfere. If she is unsuccessful, overcome by true love that keeps her from participating— not because you place yourself in her way— then I will provide her a dowry myself for both of you. I will get Mister Lockridge's blessing for you, and a special license. You give her a chance, William."

The edges of the paper crinkle, roar as if to mock them both with every rustle.

"But if you interfere, this arrangement is null," He warned him. "You will not receive payments. Tell the whole lot of them, it does not matter. I will find this child with or without you, but I am making you an offer with those you care for in mind— Cassandra and your uncle Henry."

While the members of the British high society whispered amongst themselves, their disregarded servants conversed together with their own gossip of their employers. Those who had met Thayer were only too happy to divulge their gossip. One older man who had spent at least thirty years of his life serving in London had referred to Thayer as Lord Clare, only to quickly dismiss it as ramblings of an old man. “Do you deny that you had a woman practically every night of the week during your service?” Given the rumours, William didn’t doubt that Thayer was responsible for just one child.

“Reputation and standing are everything to you, how would it look if the honourable Sir Thayer Claremont had a child out of wedlock.”  It would have been different if the child was born from love, but it appeared that Thayer was incapable of such an emotion. “The letter is not enough to go on, I know, but people have been serving the noble families for yours, did you think they would not gossip or speculate on all of you?” And some relished in the potential scandals of those above them, not that William could blame them. 

There were questions that William had that had yet to be answered, but frankly, it was only his drive to bring down Sir Thayer Claremont that powered that, but his anger could only burn for so long. “Letters get lost all of the time, especially during wartime but there aren’t many Lord Clare’s about London.” William didn’t need that question answered. He’s done enough sleuthing to determine that fact, he just needed Thayer to hear him. 

Thayer knew nothing of Cassandra’s life or the sorrow that lived within the Lockridge estate. William couldn’t blame Thayer for continuing to bring up his shame. His jaw tightened and William’s whole body went rigid as he folded his arms, trying to keep his expression indifferent. “I was left with nothing while you took everything I cared about. You know nothing of my reasoning, only the vile assumptions you made about my character.” Guilt and shame were written all over William’s face, but it was nothing compared to the disgust he felt when he looked in the mirror.  “And if she agreed to marry me, would you allow that?” The choice should always be Cassandra’s, but William knew it wasn’t an option. He couldn’t offer Cassandra a fraction of what the men Thayer had lined up could, but that didn’t stop William from voicing such a thing. 

“I haven’t had a reason to look that far ahead.” William said, tilting his head at Thayer. He wasn’t going to do the man any favours but completing his dirty works and looking up the consequences of Thayer’s old actions. William had anticipated Thayer’s disbelief, and it truly didn’t trouble him. He knew the truth, this was just the man's denial speaking, not fact. “You have my starting point, do with it what you will.” William nodded at the letter, hellbent on reusing Thayer any aid in the matter. 

[necrotic-nephilim]

@sasheneskywalker i love when you enable me to ramble about things because oh my god do i have thoughts.

so recently, i made a post discussing the phenomena of DC x DP and DC x MLB crossovers and why they exist and part of that post was discussing how largely speaking, at least half, if not more of the Batfamily fandom doesn't read the comics. if they interact with canon DC material, it's adaptations that are their own sequestered universes and oftentimes not remotely comic accurate or seeking to be. the most obvious example is the Young Justice cartoon. i'm adding a cut to this post because it just got so long i'm so sorry.

a lot of times, when people are discussing the "why" of this oversaturation of fanon-only fandom, they blame Wayne Family Adventures. and i think, to a point, i agree WFA is responsible for a boom in this fandom. but as someone who's been in the fandom long before we had WFA, to me it's the other way around. WFA was DC's way of meeting the demand for this easy-to-get-into, easy-to-consume content about the Batfamily that predicates itself on the comics just enough to be vaguely the same characters, but has a more sitcom, slice-of-life sort of vibe so DC could profit off of this section of the fanbase that otherwise wasn't consuming its primary material. and well, it's definitely worked. not only that, but i have a weird theory that the decline in the MCU also led to the rise in the Batfamily fandom. when you consider the fan content that made the MCU popular within fandom, it's that 2012 "they all live in Avengers Tower and Thor is eating poptarts and Clint is in the vents and there are movie nights every Friday" sort of vibe. those were the fics that were a hallmark of the fandom. and as the MCU has strayed from well... quality content in general, but specifically well-thought-out crossover content where characters can have their own arcs but also exist in a wider story where they clearly care about each other, that fandom was sort of homeless. so where do you go, if you like a superhero found family where you can have villains for angst but also stick them all in one big family-like home for silly crack and have a plethora of options for gay ships? well. you go to the Batfamily. if you write a crack/fluff Batfamily genfic with silly vibes and low stakes instead of say, a fic about a very specific comic issue even if it's a popular comic, you're *going* to get more traction for the former. because the fanbase largely just isn't reading the comics.

and i feel... complicated about this. because on one hand, Don't Like Don't Read has been a tenet of my fandom experience. i'm very pro-fandom and that includes fandom content i don't like. and to an extent, i do think this sort of should apply to Batfamily fanon. i enjoy having my moments with other comic purists, giggling over exceptionally painful OOC headcanons or even facepalming in pain over some content but it is on me to not interact with that content. you don't make fandom a better place by being hostile to fans who engage with canon in ways you don't approve of. and frankly? we as comic readers are not going to get non-comic fans to read the comics by being asshats to them. no one is going to want to pick up any comic if we get a superiority complex about it. and also, i feel like we're all lying to ourselves a little bit insisting comics are so, so easy to get into. they're not. we can just all agree, they're really not. i've been single-handedly helping my sister get into comics, specifically Wonder Woman and no matter how simple i make it, i watch her get frustrated trying to understand what pre-Crisis and post-Crisis and New-52 and Flashpoint and all these things mean and what a retcon vs a reboot is and what a Crisis Event is and what the hell Diana's current backstory even *is*. sure, you can give someone a beginner list of comics to start with and slowly dip their toes in the water but sooner or later, *something* is going to confuse them. comics as a medium straight up aren't going to be everyone's cup of tea. and if someone *just* wants to read silly fluffy fanfiction about the Batfamily, i can't entirely begrudge them for not wanting to take the hours and hours out of their day to understand this medium. it's not an accessible medium to get into. "read this and this, but this run is out of print and this run wasn't collected in trades at all but also make sure you read that event in order and this is a good comic but the backstory in it is retconned and you *have* to read this it's so important but it's also really bad because the author kind of sucks" sounds. ridiculous for someone who like. just wants to read some stuff about Nightwing. sometimes, we all make reading comics sort of sound like a chore, not a hobby.

so my point is, i do extend some grace to Batfamily fanon for existing. i think my biggest gripe is, as i said in my other post, misuse of tags (if you're not creating content about comics, maybe you don't need the comics fandom tag on Ao3, just the all media types umbrella tag) and my far bigger gripe: when panels are taken out of context to support fanon only headcanons. if i could impart *anything* onto the Batfamily fandom as a comic fan it'd be this: if you haven't *read* the comic, don't spread the panel. if you don't even know what comic it's *from*, don't spread the panel. it's fine to use comic panels to discuss your headcanons, but so often i see someone spreading a comic panel from a comic they haven't read, and when asked where it's from, they can't source it. a silly example that comes to mind is a post going around, taking a panel where Dick, in his internal monologue goes "here comes the sun. do do do do." and the post is claiming it's from him getting buried alive. when that panel comes from Nightwing (1996) #140, and he gets buried alive in Nightwing (1996) #127, two completely different moments frankensteined together. if you're going to not read the comics, that's completely fine, but unless you're sure of the source and the context, panels shouldn't be spread around. i'm sick of this specifically happening to Red Robin (2009), with ppl claiming Tim has totally killed people because he blew up some of Ra's' bases, when those panels within context, make it clear he gave everyone time to escape. and in a later arc in that very comic, Tim grapples with the idea of murdering Captain Boomerang, and *specifically chooses not to*, because he doesn't agree with murder, even against the person who has hurt him the most. if you'd like to write fanfiction where Tim is pro-murder and has done some sketch things, i'm totally on board and would probably like to read it. but there's no need to pretend it's canon from a few panels you saw out of context.

beyond that, i think it's not *entirely* correct to say that fanon is harmless. whenever i see very WFA-positive posts, they often default to the argument that WFA is fun and silly, and comic fans are killjoys for not liking it. which. i think is complicated because the issue is, WFA and fanon don't exist in a vacuum. if you like WFA power to you, i don't think it's the worst thing ever, but i do think it's degrading to these characters because honestly? they feel incompetent in the webtoon. it's one thing if WFA was solely a slice-of-life sort of deal, just having silly episodes where Bruce is taking on a PTA mom or they're all fighting for the last cookie. but when WFA attempts to take on more serious plots with these characters, it *fundamentally* falls flat in understanding them. i get it, Bruce comforting Jason having a panic attack because a noise reminded him of the crowbar felt cute in a microcosm, but i'm so serious when i say that storyline destroyed how like. half of this fandom understands Jason Todd's relationship to his trauma. it doesn't understand how he reacts when he's triggered, what coping mechanisms he seeks out, and how he would handle Bruce comforting him. even if i can believe for a brief moment Jason *would* be triggered by something like that, him running and trying to hide and then getting a hug from Bruce to make it okay is just. painful. WFA needs everything to be wrapped up in a nice, neat little bow. so even when it starts to tackle interesting concepts, it makes them fall flat with its need to be soft, low stakes, hurt/comfort. there was a two-parter episode that dealt with the complicated mutual hatred/jealousy between Tim and Damian that *almost* really interested me because for once, it felt like the webtoon wanted to explore canon messy dynamics. but of course, it had to be fixed with one conversation and a hug. you don't mend the *years* of issues these characters have like that. WFA isn't in character because these characters are hyperbole cartoonified versions of themselves to fit within the medium and be a cute happy family.

because that right there, is the crux of it. the Batfamily fanon seeks to simplify the Batfamily and force them into a nuclear family. there are so many fantastic posts on here discussing how the nuclear family-ification of the Batfam is eroding decades worth of complex histories so i won't go too far into that. but what i will say is that there's this need, in the Batfamily fandom, for the Batfamily to exist as a unit. they are a *family*. (honestly i think calling it the Batfamily is a misnomer and has been for years but we're in too deep now.) they exist to each other first, and any teams or friends they have come secondary to this family unit. you can *specifically* see this demonstrated in what headcanons are becoming popular these days. i have an entire lengthy meta in my drafts about how i *loathe* the "the Batfamily meets the Justice League" genre of fanfic because it makes no *sense*. in order to have this genre of fic exist, you must operate under the assumption that no one in the League, or adjacent to the League, knows the Batfamily exists and are thus utterly shocked to discover Batman has kids. and to make *that* work, you have to strip *every single Batfamily member* of such important dynamics and friendships so you can lock them all in Gotham for their whole lives. Dick can't have the Titans, Tim can't have Young Justice, Duke & Cass can't have the Outsiders, Jason can't have the Outlaws, Damian can't have the Supersons, Babs can't have the Birds of Prey, and so on. because if they had these relationships, they would be known to the League. the Batfamily fandom doesn't care about this, it's just "silly fanfiction", it's not trying to be serious. but how can you say you like Dick Grayson as a character if you don't understand the Titans *are* his family? at some points of his life, moreso than the Batfamily even is. it is constantly repeated to us in most comics with Dick how much the Titans mean to him. he *needs* them to be who he is. the same extends to every other Batfamily member, most of which have been full League members at this point. but in fanon, that doesn't matter. the Batfamily are a sequestered unit first, and all of those side relationships are secondary and easy to toss away, if it makes your fanfic work better.

and because they have to be a unit first, you have these forced relationships that dump years of actual canon material for the sake of making them get along. the Batfamily fandom has its favorites and well. it's no secret it's usually the boys. Jason and Tim by *far* stand out as fandom faves so, their dynamic is a heavily explored one. it does matter that in canon they don't tend to get along and especially don't see each other as family. what matters is that you can push dynamics onto them. and so fanon gets all twisted up about which Robin Tim actually idolized as a kid (Dick) and what member of the Batfamily is pro-murder but still an older sibling figure to him and looks out for him (Helena, or if you want the dynamic of once tried to harm Tim but they've reconciled, Jean-Paul) in favor of who's the most popular. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are always going to be the standouts for popularity, but it's specifically Jason and Tim who are getting fanonized the most. and that's because really, we don't have much canon content of Tim that *isn't* the comics. for Dick you've got Young Justice (tv), for Damian you've got the DCAMU, for Jason you've sort of got the Under The Red Hood movie, but Tim sort of lingers in this limbo. (yes, he's in Young Justce (tv) and Titans (live action) but in neither is he the main character nor given much depth) so, he gets a *lot* projected onto him and has become fanonized. and even with Jason's animated movies, you don't see him interact with Tim, so people build it from the ground up how they want to see it, disregarding of canon comics. i think it's what makes him so popular in the first place- he's malleable into whatever you want or need him to be.

and of course, the fanon ignores other characters in the Batfamily it doesn't know about. i feel like you could create a tier list of Batfamily characters by their popularity, going from the fandom main characters: Tim, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Damian. to the underrated: Steph, Duke, Babs, Cass. to the forgotten about unless they're convenient for a story: Kate, the Foxes, Helena Wayne, Carrie, Selina, Harper Row, Maps, Minhkhoa Khan. to the absolutely unknown: Helena Bertinelli, Jean-Paul Valley, Onyx Adams, the Clovers, Julia Pennyworth. it's not lost on me that the ignored characters tend to be women and people of color. which is both a canon and fanon problem, DC will continue adding interesting characters to the Batfamily, play with them for a few years, then drop them to default to the "Batboys" again. and it's a vicious cycle of the fandom only caring about the "Batboys", and thus people entering the fandom via fanon osmosis won't have content about the other characters, therefore, they won't be interested in those characters enough to create it, and it's just this ouroboros consuming itself, no matter how much canon content we have of these other characters. and it's ridiculous just how large the Batfamily is becoming because of this, which is why i'm a pre-Flashpoint fan, because then the Batfamily was contained enough to actually feel like a family with every character having nuances relationships with each other, but i digress because those thoughts could be their own post.

and the thing about fanon is it doesn't exist in a vacuum. DC has started turning the comics to accommodate for what fans are asking for, because fans will beg and beg for content they're not going to consume. Tim Drake: Robin had Tim as a coffee drinker because that's the fanon accepted headcanon. and the resolution of the recent Gotham War arc was for Bruce to buy this new manor for everyone to move in and call him. nevermind that most of these characters have their own homes and have zero reason to be moving in with Bruce. Tim had his marina in Tim Drake: Robin, Dick has Bludhaven, Cass and Steph have their little side of town in Batgirls (2022), and so on. these characters are being forced together as a unit, as one big happy family living together, to appease what non-comic fans want and it's damaging comic relationships. Robin: Knight Terrors saw Jason and Tim team up and working together, which i've seen varying opinions on but i personally despised. their interactions made zero sense for any of their canon history, but it appeases them being this close sibling relationship that fanon acts like they are. also the fears they faced in their respective knight terrors didn't make sense for either character and *only* worked as a moment of bringing them together so they could reassure each other and have this weird dreamscape bonding moment. the canon is bending itself to the will of fanon rather than building on the pre-existing complex relationships. Tim barely even gets along with his most important team in Dark Crisis: Young Justice because it seems the only important relationships the Batfamily can have is with each other. and when we do see them outside of the Batfamily, it only seems to be to relive the glory days like with World's Finest: Teen Titans, instead of developing them as they currently exist. this isn't recent in the comics, it feels like you can trace it back to the New-52, but it does feel a *lot* worse over the recent years. WFA is fine when it exists in its own bubble, but the simple truth is, DC content never exists on its own. the adaptations will reflect back onto the comics. (the damage the Young Justice cartoon has done to some characters should honestly be studied) and so it does frustrate me a bit when fanon-only or adaptation-only fans act like we're being nothing but killjoys for being frustrated with this. since they don't read the comics, they don't see how the comics are suffering as a result of this.

people argue about what's out of character for the comics they don't even read. i'm sorry, but "bad dad Bruce" is consistently canon. that man is just kind of shitty. when you take someone who has the drive he has, who has this need for the Mission first, who needs a teenager in spandex next to him to keep him off the ledge, that guy is sort of going to be a shitty father figure. he just is. not on purpose or with malice, but when you compare him to any other dad in a big DC family, he sure takes the cake. it's why characters like Oliver Queen tend to *really* fucking hate Bruce for how he treats his kids. Bruce loves fiercely, but he doesn't do well with putting that love first. and his love is a controlling one, he is very particular about controlling how others in the Batfamily are "allowed" to operate. it's what drives the wedge between him and Dick, it's why Steph is never a true daughter to him. (besides the reason of her needing to be a love interest to Tim first, anyway-) i've never understood the massive outcry of people reacting to Bruce kinda being shitty in comics they're not reading. there are some moments that get ridiculously OOC with how cartoonishly evil he is (the whole Gotham War arc and that... complicated mess with Jason) but largely if you want sitcom loving nuclear father Bruce, you have to accept that is a fanon thing, not a canon one. the Batfamily being a nuclear family in *general* is fanon. most of the "Batkids" don't actually see Bruce in a particularly fatherly light and begging for moments where he calls them his kids or they call him dad outside of incredibly specific circumstances is just OOC.

it's getting harder and harder to exist peacefully in this fandom it feels like, if you don't comply to the standard fanon has set. i'm happy people are having fun with their blorbos, even if in ways i dislike, but that "harmless fandom fun" does ripple it's way back to canon, eventually. so i end up pretty tangled with my feelings because are fans at fault for DC making these poor decisions? probably not, but it certainly feels like an unfortunate cause-and-effect situation whether at the end of the day, nobody is happy. and of course, i know some fanon-only fans are striving to be more canon accurate and care about canon dynamics more than others, but for them it's always going to be an uphill battle with the above-mentioned out-of-context panels thrown around and ever-pervasive fanon overtaking anything that's truly seeking to be canon compliant. so really, it sometimes feels like we're all losing.

[medi-bee]

isat pokemon au, my liege?

my rambling in tags

[blizzardfluffykpop]

it's starting to hit me that i'm going to have a career soon and like... that is like a wild thing to try to comprehend?? like yes i've studied my ass off for the past twoish months- to pass a test. but that test means i have job where i can sit and do my job? it's still a very radical concept to me.

[rolandkaros]

holiday season sucks

[marshmallowgoop]

Thank you for the detailed and reassuring response! It's good to know I'm not that terribly slow at all of this!

I actually considered responding to the quoted part of the article in my tags, but I refrained because I'm always concerned about talking too much... which probably relates to everything I'm going to say in the rest of this post.

While I do consider myself new to video editing (editing with DaVinci Resolve for about a year), I wouldn't consider myself new to writing (it's what I got my degree in, after all). And with writing—particularly with fiction writing—I've often found that the more time and effort I spend on it, the worse it is. The work becomes stiff and overstuffed, and my ideas wind up not coming through.

But with video editing, I feel like this is rarely the case. Generally speaking, the more hours I devote to a video, the more I like it and the prouder I am of the results.

I fear that others don't feel the same, though. My second-most popular video on Tumblr is an "older" one of relatively little effort, and I unfortunately can't say that I care much for it myself. It took maybe 20 hours, tops, whereas more recent videos that pushed past the 50-hour mark—and that I'm far more confident in—have garnered maybe half the notes.

And of course, I'm really glad that my early edit has resonated with others, regardless of my personal feelings! It's a gift. But I'm absolutely terrified that I'm only getting worse here—that as I learn more effects and get more comfortable with my program, my work is actually degrading.

That's all maybe a very long-winded way of saying that much of my self-consciousness about spending so long on AMVs is that I worry the excessive time is actively decreasing the quality. I enjoy edits with lots of clips and effects... but are those kinds of AMVs just "bad"? Or is the way I'm executing them bad? Am I focusing on all the wrong things with my videos?

In the end, I realize that everyone's got their own tastes. And as stated in the "When fun has a time limit" article, "This is a hobby for most of us; why are we trying to cultivate a brand? Why do we obsess over this?" It's not like I'm selling my AMVs. If I'm pleased with my work, shouldn't that be considered success enough?

Probably, but it's still unpleasant to feel as though you're devolving!

And I probably should have made this a separate post! Most importantly here, I've enjoyed reading your thoughts about editing. As a new editor, it's interesting to see how others approach the hobby and what their experiences are with it. I liked your point about skipping over certain quality-related things because you don't care for them and would rather spend your editing time elsewhere, and I think that's where my ultimate struggle with editing lies. What should I spend time on? When—and where—do I need to stop?

I'm sure I'll always struggle with this; my fear of overdoing it is right in the tags of my first Resolve AMV, I'm hesitant to finish a WIP I've shared because it's performed better on Tumblr than any of my finished videos this year and I'm afraid that I'll totally ruin it, and while I don't think video editing ever exactly becomes unfun for me, there does always seem to be a point, at least lately, where I grow discouraged and hate my work.

(It's kind of funny and kind of sad, looking at Discord messages I send around the completion of a video. They say things like, "I added transitions and think I hate it now," "I was happy with it, but now I'm not so sure," and, "Should I be embarrassed to post this?" But going to bed and looking at it in the morning helps!)

Long ramblings aside, reading through your posts has really been reassuring! Video editing takes time, and my hours aren't all that unusual. That's good to know.

(Though, about the 30 hours versus 60—I mentioned spending over 60 hours on a 30-second video in one of my posts, but I also mentioned spending 30 hours on a 15-second video in the tags for the original post here. I know the 60 hours came from learning a lot of new skills, but the 30 hours is maybe kind of strange because I wasn't utilizing any new skills there, and I even had a good idea of what clips I wanted to use right away. Why that one took as long as it did, I really don't know!)

Originally posted 22 June 2022

[phagodyke]

in a hilarious turn of events my flatmate didn't even know I use any pronouns....

[cosmogyros]

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[girlcrushau]

[medicinemane]

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