#but i have a to-draw list a mile long. looking to get back to it soon

[fakakta-art]

SO excited for the tiny little remarque of Jason I got from Dan Mora at NYCC!

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[obvithe-bestsoph]

85+98 w pau plsss🤞

No. 98 | "You have got to stop distracting me so much while I'm trying to work." PC2

masterlist requests a/n: #85 is here!

prompt list (if you request a prompt, please request a player for it as well!) warnings: suggestive, but nothing graphic.

The couch isn't that comfortable, not really. Your laptop is half-balanced on your thighs, your notes are a mess beside you, and your eyes are doing that thing where they glaze over every third word you read.

You shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you’re working from Pau’s place. You already knew what you were getting into.

“You’ve been typing the same sentence for like… five minutes,” he says lazily from the other end of the couch.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s sprawled across the cushions, one foot nudging under your thigh, the other dangling off the edge. Shirtless. Of course.

“I’m concentrating,” you lie.

Pau grins like he knows exactly how hard that’s become. “On what? Your keyboard? Or my abs?”

You scoff and flick your pen at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He catches it with zero effort and looks smug as hell. “I’m just saying, you were doing better before I sat down. Maybe I should leave you alone.”

But he doesn’t move. If anything, he leans further into your space, chin propped up on one hand, eyes fixed on your face. The kind of look that makes your skin hum.

You try to stay focused on your screen, rereading the last paragraph for the fourth time, but it’s hopeless. His hand slides over your knee, fingers drawing slow circles that make your breath hitch without permission.

“Pau.”

“Yeah?” His voice is a whisper now, far too close. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your shoulder.

“You have got to stop distracting me so much while I’m trying to work.”

That gets a laugh out of him, low and full of satisfaction. “You’re blaming me for this?”

“You literally just dragged your foot under my thigh like I’m a human blanket.”

“You’re warm. And I like touching you.” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Is that a crime now?”

“Only when I have deadlines.”

He shifts closer, not backing off like a normal person would. Your laptop slides off your legs as he plants one knee on the couch between yours, his face suddenly way too close for coherent thoughts.

“You’re always working,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. “And you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“Pau.”

“Just five minutes,” he says, like he’s making some kind of noble sacrifice. “Five minutes of distraction. Then I’ll let you work, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes, but your hands are already on his hips like traitors. “That’s what you said yesterday.”

“Yesterday it was ten. I’m improving.” He dips down and kisses the corner of your mouth like he’s testing the waters.

It’s not fair. He always does this. Shows up when your to-do list is miles long, all sleepy curls and soft eyes, and somehow convinces you that the world can wait.

And maybe it can. Just a little.

“You’ve got a problem,” you mumble against his mouth, kissing him back before he can gloat.

“Yeah.” His smile ghosts over your lips. “It’s that you’re too hot when you’re serious.”

You swat his chest half-heartedly, but he catches your hand and laces your fingers together like he’s sealing a deal. The kind that’s impossible to walk away from.

“Three minutes,” you bargain, letting your laptop slide onto the coffee table.

He raises an eyebrow. “Two minutes and thirty seconds.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I’m highly motivated.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time, like he’s not in a rush to win. Like the whole world could stay paused right here on this couch, with you half-working and him half-clothed and both of you tangled up in the kind of quiet chaos that makes everything else seem less important.

Eventually, you pull away with a breathless laugh, forehead pressed to his.

“If I miss this deadline, I’m blaming you.”

“You can blame me for a lot of things,” Pau says, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, like he’s got nowhere else to be. “I’ll take it.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for him again, your work completely forgotten for now.

Maybe being productive isn’t the point tonight.

Maybe Pau is your favorite kind of distraction.

[beholdthebangs]

🍒 Cherry Chapstick 🍒

Alex x F!Reader

~ 18+ ~

Synopsis: Smut - Alex corners you and talks you into lending him a hand when he can’t get his fix from Haley.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: dirty talk, minor degradation, grey-area cheating, dubcon, unprotected sex

A/n: I’ve thrown myself into Stardew Valley for the 50th time and consumed so much fanfiction that I figured I might as well write some.

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The list of tasks on your plate on any given day never seems to be short of a mile long. It’d be hard for anyone to keep track of, but with a few months of it under your belt, you’ve grown more accustomed to the processes you need to go through to ensure nothing is missed. Early mornings turn into late nights, and any free time is spent planning your next moves. This brings you to the outskirts of Pelican Town past sunset, heading back from the forest where you’d had a fairly successful haul of foragables. From there, you’d need to decide what to sell and what you might need later on.

You’re so lost in this thought that when you collide with a sturdy figure, you do so with such force that your body bounces back, nearly hitting the cobblestone beneath your feet. Before you do, your arm is abruptly pulled and you regain your balance with the help of the person you just ran into.

Letting out a heavy breath, your eyes follow the strained hand on your wrist to the veiny forearm, bulging biceps, all the way to the green eyes of Alex. “Sorry,” you finally say. He lets his grip go, your skin showing a brief remnant of his touch before the blood flows back below the surface, now red from the hastiness of his attempt to save you from a bruised ass.

“Pay more attention next time. Not everyone has the reflexes to keep you from injuring yourself like that,” he snaps, crossing his arms as he looks at you.

As you gather yourself, you glance at your watch: 10 pm. “Hanging out at Haley’s so late?” you wonder aloud, quirking an eyebrow as you look between Alex and the blonde girl’s front door behind him, having only closed moments before you’d run into him.

“And what’s it to you?”

You shrug. “Makes sense, Emily works nights so you’ve got the house to yourself.”

Alex rolls his eyes, gazing off toward the river. “Yeah, you’d think it’d be of use.”

You can’t help your wandering eyes. Scanning down his body, you take in his arms exposed with his white tank top, but your eyes linger lower. He’s wearing his usual sweatpants, the athletic ones that hug him a bit closer than normal ones, and the bulge below his stomach is far more prominent than you’d ever noticed.

Alex registers your silence, finally looking back at you. Even though your eyes snap back to his almost instantly, he catches on. Either he had noticed your gaze or your look of guilt is clear, or both. He chuckles lowly, locking his fingers behind his head and stretching his arms out. “Farmer,” he tsks, enjoying the power you’ve given him by so outwardly examining his body. Even now, it’s difficult not to focus on his arms flexing, chest peeking out from the fabric of his shirt. Even his armpits, sporting dark brown hair in the divots, are drawing you in. He finally relaxes his body, arms dropping to his sides as he looks back at the front door of his girlfriend’s house. “I hear you’re good to talk to. How about you invite me over.”

This is clearly not a question, but even if it was, you’d likely do so. You take off up the stone street toward the dirt path leading to your farm, Alex easily matching stride next to you. No words are exchanged until you open the door to your house, lingering, giving Alex just enough space to enter and closing it behind him.

He examines the inside, the quaint kitchen and dining room, leaning back slightly to peek into your bedroom. “Decent place. It’s come a long way since you moved in.”

“Thanks…”

He rounds the corner of the couch, plopping down on it with his back resting against the armrest as he waits for you to join him. When you hesitate, he pats the other cushion on the couch expectantly. You cautiously join him, turning your head to look at him as you sit.

“I’m so tired of dating Haley,” he finally says. “I mean, I’m not, it’s fun, but she has these crazy mood swings and phases and I just can’t be bothered to keep up anymore. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve fucked her, but now she says she doesn’t want to do that anymore and she wants to be single.”

“So you’re not dating,” you say, as if asking for clarification.

“We’re not, but we are. She stills wants to hang out alone and go to dinner together and do the same shit we did when we were dating, except I don’t get a blowjob at the end of the night. She wants to do whatever she wants to do, and the only thing that changes is the benefit that I get out of it.” Alex groans, using his hand to adjust himself as he shifts in his seat. “She can make out with me for half an hour after I buy her dinner and dessert, but I’m the bad guy for unhooking her bra or touching my dick.”

You clear your throat. “That sucks,” you finally settle on responding, blindsided from the way this conversation has gone and still unsettled at the fact that Alex is sitting in your living room at almost 11 at night.

He flashes a grin at you. “It does suck, thank you. How does she expect me to be the perfect boyfriend if my balls are blue every day?”

“You could jerk off, I guess.”

Alex squints, gesturing broadly to himself. “Me? Jerk off? I’m not a fifteen year old boy, and I’m hot. Why would I do that?”

You lean back, starting to mirror him more as you pivot to face him. “To avoid this. Have you always had Haley at your beck and call?”

He shrugs. “Pretty much, yeah. The real issue though is that there’s such a clear solution, but I haven’t tried it out yet.”

“I feel like I just offered you a pretty clear solution,” you retort.

“Clearer,” he insists. “When this stuff with Haley happened before, she was the only hot girl in the valley. It was easier to just bite the bullet and nut in a sock or whatever. Now there are two hot girls here.” You eye him as he stares at you. “So why not just fuck the other hot girl when Haley stops giving it up?”

“That would require you to be appealing to both of them.”

“I think I have that covered,” he replies, stretching his arms over his head and using the armrest to lean back, tank top lifting past his belly button and giving you a brief glimpse at shape of his abs pressing tightly on his tanned skin.

Alex then reaches over, his hand on your knee as he lowers his head, looking into your eyes intently. “What do you think, Farmer?”

You lean forward, matching his intensity. “What’s my name, Alex?”

He smirks. “It doesn’t matter what your name is, baby. You want to fuck me whether I know who you are or not.” His hand moves to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb, brushing a piece of hair back at the same time and giving it the gentlest of tugs as he does so. “You’ve been eye-fucking me this whole time and you know it. I know it. Stop trying to hide it.”

“I’m not going to help you cheat on Haley.”

“‘T’s not cheating,” he practically slurs. “We’re not exclusive anymore.” You feel yourself breaking down, leaning against his large palm as he strokes your cheek. “Come here, Y/n.”

Your name slipping from between his lips is your final straw as you close the decreasing gap between the two of you, pressing your lips to his lightly. He allows you only a moment to take in the feeling of his plush, warm mouth against yours before pulling himself to his knees and wrapping his fingers in your hair, keeping you tight to him. His teeth gnaw at your bottom lip, sucking harshly for a moment before his tongue seeks entrance. You allow it, tasting the remnants of his spearmint gum and cherry chapstick, your mind wandering to the fact that he had been in this position with Haley only an hour ago.

Alex groans against your mouth, pushing you to lay on the couch as he props himself above you, bodies flush. The bulge in his sweatpants feels bigger against your stomach than it had looked before, and your insides twist in excitement as you allow his tongue to explore your mouth. His lips wander to your jaw and down your neck, nipping but never lingering long enough to leave physical evidence of the event.

Slipping down to the neckline of your shirt, he tugs at the hem and sneaks his fingers past it, snaking up your back to undo your bra. You’re impressed by his quickness helping you tug the straps through your sleeves before ridding of it altogether as he pulls it down your stomach and throws it over the back of the couch. He replaces the fabric with his hands, kneading your skin and pinching at your nipples as you watch his motions from over your thin t-shirt.

“Your lips look so cute when they’re swollen,” Alex groans, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip once more. “Need to see ‘em around my cock, babe.”

He pulls you by your hands, tugging your shirt over your head as you sit up. He grabs at your right hand once more, turning it over to examine your wrist which now sports a light purple bruise from the force with which he’d tugged you to keep you from falling earlier. His eyes grow the slightest bit darker as he smirks. “Sensitive? I guess you bruise easy.”

Alex stands before you as you sit on the couch with your legs folded below you, heels touching the skin of your ass peeking from your jean shorts. Your top is bare now, tits exposed to him as he looks down at you admiringly. His fingers prop your chin to look up at him and he smiles a sickeningly sweet smile as he uses his other hand to pull down his sweatpants, kicking them to the side.

He remains in his tight boxers before you, bulge only a few inches from your face as your eyes flicker down to view it as best you can. “You want it, hm?” he asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin tighter. “Yeah,” you breathe out. He gives you one last rough grab before pulling his hand away completely, pushing your face down as he does so. Alex rubs his length through the thin stretchy fabric, letting out a soft groan as he watches you bite your lip, eyes trained ahead of you.

He slowly pulls down the front of his boxers, revealing his length one bit at a time until the tip is freed, allowing it to spring out and nearly hit you in the face. He runs his hand over it a couple times, getting the blood to pump through it as he positions the tip near your lips. “Open,” he demands, and you do as instructed. He slides the head in slowly, rubbing it up and down your tongue and watching intently. Once he’s satisfied, he releases himself. “Go ahead, baby.”

You grip his base in your right hand, taking his head in your mouth and closing your lips tightly around the ridge, sucking and swirling your tongue around the sensitive pink skin. Alex lets out a moan, hands running through your hair, but he lets you take it at your pace for now. Finally, you relax your jaw and begin to pump your head up and down on his cock, lips brushing against the trimmed stubble at his base. He can’t help but meet your tempo with his thrusting hips, pushing his head down your throat just enough to need to fight the urge to gag each time. Once you grow comfortable with taking his full length in your mouth, he grips your hair close to the scalp and begins to pull you into him faster, his hips speeding up to keep pace. You let out quiet gags at the force of his tip bullying its way to the back of your throat, allowing him to have his way as drool leaks past your lips with each thrust and coats his cock, dripping with the mix of spit and precum.

Holding your head to his base for a few seconds, he finally releases you and pushes you back against the couch. Alex is breathing heavy, but so are you as you catch your breath from his final thrust. “Yoba,” he moans, “You’re going to make me cum before I get to feel that tight pussy.”

Alex kneels down, gripping your thighs and pulling them so your ass is on the edge of the cushion, slouched against the couch to give you a good view. He tugs off your shorts, leaving you in plain, grey cotton panties. “So practical, babe. Next time, I want some lace and frills, mmkay?” he requests. His index finger traces from your pussy to your clit. “I like seeing this wet spot though. How long has this been here?”

You moan, squirming to communicate that you need more friction between your legs. Alex slaps your inner thigh. “How long, babe?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Since we kissed?”

“That’s it?” he hums, hooking the fabric with his finger and pulling it to the side. “You didn’t get wet when you were checking me out in town, staring at my hard cock through my pants? Right outside my ex-girlfriend’s house?” Alex firmly presses his finger against your hole, dragging wetness up to your clit. “You didn’t get wet when I told you to invite me over when I caught you looking?” His thumb begins to rub circles over your clit, harsh but exactly what you need with how horny you are now. “Not when I said that I should just fuck the hot new farmer instead of wasting my time jerking my cock by myself?” Alex dips his fingers into your pussy, curling upward and making you moan loudly, bucking your hips as he plays with the textured skin of your g-spot. He pulls out and holds his finger to your mouth, glistening with your wetness. “Taste this and tell me if it’s worth trying for myself.”

You open your mouth and he wastes no time shoving his fingers in, pressing them to your tongue as you suck. Pulling out, he resumes his work on your clit and stares up at you. “Y-yeah, I think so,” you breathe.

He nods, lowering his mouth to latch onto your clit, replacing his thumb. You grind your hips against Alex’s face while he grips your thighs tightly. “Good call, baby. Your cunt tastes so sweet.” He hums against your clit and prods at your pussy with his fingers, entering two once again and pumping in rhythm with his swirling tongue.

You begin to near orgasm, Alex providing relief you’d been dying for and allowing you to hump his face and fingers as he works. “Alex,” you whimper.

“Mmm, babe?” he responds, not taking his lips away from your core.

“Gonna cum,” you squeak out. His licks turn to harsh sucks, his fingers no longer pumping as he presses on your g-spot, rubbing it expertly. His other hand goes to your lower stomach, just above his head, pressing down as he coaxes your orgasm out. You cry out his name strung together with curses, gripping his hair and the couch cushions for dear life as you sink into him, coating his chin in wetness.

Alex helps you ride it out, pulling away as you quiet down. He pulls off his tank top, wiping his face before tossing it away. He rids himself of his boxers completely, bearing himself to you as he stands. “Can you stand?”

You nod, slowly climbing to your feet. You’re shaky and nearly stumble, Alex having to catch you once again, earning a low laugh from him. “So clumsy, it’s a wonder you’re not covered in bruises.”

He guides you to the side of the couch, your back to his chest, before pushing you down over the armrest. Your face is pressed only inches from the wet spot your orgasm left on your couch, eyeing it as Alex’s cock runs along your cunt, collecting the wet it has to offer. With only a moment to prepare as his head lands at your entrance, he pushes inside and gives you no opportunity to adjust to the size of his cock.

He thrusts harshly, the sound of his hips hitting your ass echoing around your farmhouse, accompanied with moans from the both of you. Alex grips your hips tightly, but quickly moves on to squeeze your ass and give it light slaps as he fucks you. “This is exactly what I’ve been missing, babe. Yoba, it’s even better than I imagined. Cunt so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan out Alex’s name, reaching back to run your hand along his tight six pack as he fucks you. He gives you a quick feel before pinning your wrist behind your back, your face pressed tightly against the cushion as he pushes you into it with each thrust.

“Greedy,” he mumbles. “I know you like these muscles, but how am I supposed to make sure you keep letting me use you if I let you touch them right away?”

“Fucking me so good,” you cry into the couch.

“Yeah babe? Gonna let me in every time I get blue balled by Haley? Gonna be a good girl from now on?” Alex asks. His pace slows but he takes the time to push into you deeper, rolling his hips on your ass.

“Yes!”

“Give me your other arm,” he says. You remove it from the couch, reaching back. He presses your wrists together, keeping them pinned behind you with one hand as the other snakes around to rub harsh circles at your throbbing clit.

The transfer of full control to Alex and his calculated movements with your body have you nearing your second orgasm. Before you can say anything, he tells you, “Cum on my cock, babe. I want to know what you feel like when I’m making you cum.”

You let yourself unravel, cunt squeezing around his thick length as he shortens his thrusts, keeping most of his cock inside you but moving just enough to hit that perfect spot while he attacks your clit. “Fuck, Y/n, cunt feels s’fucking good right now.”

Alex fucks you through your orgasm before pulling out. “Lettin’ you choose tonight, where d’you want me to cum?”

You push yourself up as he releases you, turning to face him and kneeling down in front of him as you point to your chest. He hums, stroking himself fast as he aims his tip to your breasts. You place your hands on Alex’s thighs, gripping them for added balance as you look into his eyes. As he makes contact, his cock immediately begins to spurt out thick white ropes of cum, the warm liquid landing on your chest. As some of it hits your hardened nipples, you squirm at the feel of the hot cum in contrast to the cool air in the farmhouse.

Squeezing out the last drops, he lets go of his cock and places a lazy hand on your head, rubbing your scalp as he comes down from his high. You take his moment of weakness as opportunity to lick the last bit of cum from his tip, and his fingers pull at your hair. “Yoba, babe, can’t do that to me,” he breathes, trying to hide a smirk.

“Sorry,” you reply, not bothering to hide a grin as you rise to your feet. He puts a hand on your waist to steady you as you rise.

“Thanks for your help tonight.” He scans your body. “You look even better with my cum on you, so you might want to keep doing that.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Sure,” he winks. As he pulls on his clothes, he says, “I’ll let you get cleaned up. Don’t mention this to Haley or anyone, obviously. Just a little secret for us.” You nod as he pulls on his tank top. “I’ll see you soon, babe.” He gives you a quick kiss and heads toward the front door.

“Alex,” you call out suddenly. He stops, looking over his shoulder. “Do you use cherry chapstick?”

“No, but Haley does.” Alex grins. “Goodnight, Farmer.”

[revelboo]

I just wanted to let you know, that post about Waspinator, Tarantulas and Grimlock and how they have more animal like instincts than other bots (which i can't find in your masterlist, btw) inspired the realization in me that this same truth would apply to ALL the characters in Beast Wars.

(This is not a request that you add Beast Wars to your ever expanding list unless you really want to. God knows you've got enough on your plate right now.)

Oh, yeah- they’d love hunting and pred/prey play

Sure! Sorry it took so long to get to it! 18+ 🌶️

Save World Get Girl

Silverbolt x Reader

• Head pounding, your eyes open and all you can see is green. Struggling upright and fighting off a wave of confused nausea, it all comes rushing back. The siren and the gate malfunctioning. Someone screaming. Turning to look around, your stomach sinks as you realize you’re alone. There’s no gate. You have no idea where you are and you’re alone. Eyes focusing on your helmet and the giant crack spiderwebbing the plexi, you at least know the air is breathable. Otherwise you’d be dead by now. Clumsily fumbling with the helmet until you get it detached, you stagger to your feet as panic begins to claw at you. Turning slowly in a circle as somewhere in the jungle you’re standing in, something screams out.

• Patrolling through the thick underbrush, there’s an unfamiliar scent on the breeze. And unfamiliar is rarely good. The Predacons? Growling softly he draws a feathered blade and stalks forward, wings drawn close to his body. What is that scent? Some trap laid by Tarantulas? A lure to draw them out, because it’s a curious smell. Servos carefully pushing a palm frond out of the way, he spots the small shape and he’s not sure what to make of the little biped. Watching it struggle with its round, bulbous head until it pries it loose and drops it to go bouncing and he sees it’s only a helmet. But the creature underneath is even stranger. A little organic, looking around with worried eyes. What are you?

• Skin crawling, you pick up a stick because you’re unarmed and it’s better than nothing. Wrapping the severed end of your tether around your arm, you’re not sure if you should stay put and wait on rescue or look for shelter. Because really? You seriously doubt rescue is coming. Had known when you’d signed up that you were risking your life. That you were expendable. You’d known and taken their money anyway.

• Whatever you are, you definitely don’t belong here. Watching you heft a pitiful, little stick and begin to walk, he scans for your ship and comes up with nothing. Keeping low, he follows you when you head into the brush. Doesn’t bother trying to trail you too closely since you’re making enough noise every predator for miles has to be alerted to your presence. Do you have no survival instincts at all?

• A branch cracks and you freeze, heart racing. And looking up, you stare at a monstrous, beaked, bird thing. That tilts its head to stare at you with a beady eye and you realize how big it is as it shuffles on the branch and makes a throaty croaking noise. Nope. As soon as it launches from the branch, wings flapping you drop your stick and run screaming.

Next

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Hangry

Word count: ~2,000

Pairing: Steve x reader and Bucky (platonic), no pronouns used

Warnings: Just a lot of fluff. Mild cursing.

It's been a year and a half since my last posted works! I'm VERY out of practice 😅 I'm trying to work on some smaller prompts on my list while I get myself back into writing and continue working on the Loki blip in the universe prompt. It's not my best, but I hope you enjoy in any case!

This was based on a Prompt for Steve x reader as well as a prompt where reader and Bucky bug Steve while he's making a public appearance.

“Tell us, Captain, sir - how did the Avengers manage to track down the villain’s hideout this time?”

“Well, good sir - we have state-of-the-art technology that allows us to track electronic signals from thousands of miles away…”

“Ugh, he is such a ham!” you muttered to Bucky under your breath as you observed Steve from a distance. “We’re never going to make it to the store if he keeps stopping every time a reporter tries to chat him up!”

“Steve can’t resist bragging about us,” Bucky chided, nudging you with his elbow.

“Yeah, well… some of us are hungry!”

You huffed and folded your arms across your chest in annoyance, trying to catch the reporter’s eye with your scowling face, but she was far too enamored by the star-spangled captain to pay you any mind. How had a simple grocery run for ice cream turned into a twenty-minute interview with the press??

“I swear, I’m gonna go drag him away from that reporter by the ear if he doesn’t stop talking in the next 60 seconds,” you grumbled.

“Why do that when we can mess with him instead?”

You turned to look at Bucky, who had a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Go on…”

He smirked, shooting you a wink. “Watch and learn.”

You watched silently as Bucky meandered casually toward where Steve stood speaking with the reporter and her photographer. Steve was none the wiser to his friend approaching from behind.

“… but the serum isn’t the only thing that makes us heroes. It takes a whole load of grit and determina-HAY-tion-!”

Steve flinched as his best friend subtly reached up and pinched his side mid-sentence, effectively silencing him. The captain recovered quickly, though, chuckling nonchalantly as he flashed Bucky a look. He continued on with his sentence after that, refusing to acknowledge what just happened.

“Wait - Steve is ticklish??” you whispered incredulously as Bucky returned to your side.

“Very. Why does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just assumed the serum eliminated weaknesses like that.”

Bucky chuckled. “Nah - if anything it made it worse.”

“Oh-ho, I’ve got to try this for myself!”

You quietly paced up behind the blabbing soldier, pretending you were casually walking past to avoid drawing attention from passerby. As you stepped by him, you reached out and swiftly dug your fingertips into his ribs for less than a second. Steve choked on his words and whipped his head around instinctively. You ducked out of his field of vision and prodded his other side.

“Excuse me,” Steve requested politely, turning around as nonchalantly as possible to find you standing behind him with a guilty grin on your face. “Can I help you?”

“I just came to remind you that we have somewhere we have to be,” you stated sweetly.

“Yes, but it isn’t urgent,” he muttered.

“Oh, I think you’ll find it to be very urgent, actually,” you whispered, shooting him a cheeky wink. With a long, drawn-out sigh, Steve turned to the reporter.

“My apologies, ma’am. Duty calls.”

You saw Bucky clap a hand over his mouth and nose to cover the snort that burst from his nares. Trying hard not to openly roll your eyes in front of the reporter, you nodded in the direction of the grocery store and began marching purposefully toward your destination, with Steve following in your wake.

“You two are infuriating,” Steve grumbled once you were out of earshot from the reporter.

“Excuse me - I just want to go get my ice cream and head back home to eat it,” you countered. “You’re the one who decided to schmooze with the first person who asked you about your superpowers.”

“I’m just trying to maintain good public relations. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Ugh, no. I hate talking about myself.”

The three of you bickered amicably the entire way to the store. It hadn’t ended by the time you’d made it back to the tower kitchen and dropped your grocery bags on the counter.

“I’m just saying - it wouldn’t kill you to wear a hat or something to hide your face from reporters when we’re just trying to go to the store,” you griped, shrugging your sweatshirt off your shoulders and hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen stools.

“It wouldn’t kill you to try to be friendly to strangers every once in a while,” Steve retorted.

“Excuse me - I am a very friendly person! I’m just selective about it.”

“Friendly as an angry porcupine, sure.”

You gasped indignantly. “Are you saying I’m sharp with people??”

“You’re just a little… prickly.”

“Ooh, now that’s an insult,” Bucky hummed sarcastically.

“You’re just as bad, you know. Forget porcupines - you’re like a venomous sea urchin or something,” Steve shot back at his friend. You snorted.

“Steve… you’ve really got to work on your teasing skills,” you chuckled. “A ‘sea urchin?’ Really?”

“I could just take your ice cream”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Steve held your gaze for a moment, eyes darting briefly to the bag on the counter between you with the ice cream inside. You lunged for the bag handle, but Steve predicted your move, snatching it out of your reach before you could get a hand on it.

“Damnit, Steve!! Give it back!” you whined, rounding the counter to swipe for the grocery bag. He turned his back to you, maintaining a barrier between you and the prize. “Bucky! Help me out here!”

“Nah, this is pretty funny to watch,” Bucky chuckled, snickering as you swatted at Steve’s arm.

“Yeah but your ice cream is in there too!”

Bucky sighed. “You make a fair point. Steve, buddy, give it back.”

Steve snorted. “You’ve been just as much a pain in my rear today! Why would I give it back to you either?”

You gasped dramatically, catching Bucky’s eye. “Are you gonna let him talk to you like that?”

“‘Course not!”

Without warning, Bucky lunged at his super soldier friend, tackling him to the floor. The bag of ice cream slipped from Steve’s grasp in his surprise, which you quickly snatched up before he could regain the wherewithal to take it back. With a triumphant shout, you tore the cover off your pint of ice cream and dug a spoon out of the drawer, swiping a scoop off the top layer and shoving it in your mouth with a contented sigh.

“Mm… finawwy,” you mumbled with your mouth full. Swallowing, you pointed your spoon accusatorially at Steve where he was currently trying to shove Bucky off himself. “You know, you’ve been a pain in my rear all day. You deserved this - it’s nice to see someone teaching you a lesson.”

“You two are pains in my rear every day!” Steve huffed as he grasped at Bucky’s shoulders and pushed.

“You did not just say that!” you gasped dramatically.

“Yeah, how dare you!” Bucky added, pinching at Steve’s side for emphasis.

“Bahah- Bucky, don’t start this,” Steve warned as he grasped his friend’s wrists to still his hands.

“Ooh! Wait!” You set your ice cream and spoon down on the counter beside you. “I want a go! Bucky, hold him there for a minute.”

“Whahat??” Steve laughed in surprise, a nervous edge to his voice.

“Sure!” Bucky offered, ignoring his friend’s protests as he maneuvered his wrists from Steve’s grasp and swiftly pinned his arms to the floor a few inches from his sides. “Quick, before he gets free!”

"On it!" You crouched down beside the super soldiers as Steve tugged against Bucky's grip. Without waiting to listen to Steve's protests any further, you began to scribble your fingertips into his exposed sides and ribs rapidly. You heard a thump behind you as Steve kicked his heel against the floor in protest, now pulling more frantically to escape his best friend's hold.

"HA-HEHEY! Cut it ohout!!"

"Nah. I deserve a little reward for tolerating you all day," you snickered, prodding at his belly. "Hey, Buck - where should I get him next?"

"Ohh, definitely under his arms," he suggested with a smirk. You pinched your way up his ribcage before slotting your hands into the narrow space between his biceps and his upper ribs. Bucky adjusted his grip to pry his friend's arms away from his sides as he attempted to clamp them down to limit the space under his arms.

"BUCKY!! Let me go-HO-HO this I-HI-INSTANT!" Steve demanded.

"No can do, buddy. I'm enjoying watching you get taken down a peg."

"DAHAMNIT BAHARNES!!"

"Oof, language Steve!" you teased, digging your fingers into the soft spot under his arms. "Where else is he ticklish?"

"The spot on his stomach right under his ribs - that'll really get him good." Steve nearly managed to slip his wrist from Bucky's grasp, but he quickly shifted his grip once again. "Better do it quick - I can't hold him much longer."

"Say no more." You pulled your hands free from under Steve's arms and danced your fingertips across the muscle-clad skin of his abdomen just under his ribcage as Bucky suggested. He threw his head back with a heavy stream of laughter at your touch, arching his back against the floor in desperation. It was only another moment before he finally succeeded in escaping Bucky's grasp.

Steve sat up swiftly, a playful but menacing gleam in his eye as his gaze immediately landed on you.

"Oh-ho, shit!" You scrambled to get to your feet to make your escape, groaning defeatedly when you felt a strong set of arms wrap around your waist and yank you backward.

“You really think I’d let you get away with that?” Steve asked rhetorically as he tightened his arms around your midsection to hold you in place.

“W-wait, Steve, we can- ahaha nohoho!” Your protests were cut short as Steve’s fingers kneaded into your sides. “Bucky! Hehehelp!!”

“Nuh-uh. You’re on your own, my friend.” The infuriatingly unhelpful super soldier waltzed over to the counter to retrieve his ice cream, planting himself atop the countertop and digging in while observing the two of you wrestling on the floor below.

“USELEHESS!!” you cried, attempting futilely to pry Steve’s hands off your sides.

“Nice try. You should know better than to mess with me by now,” Steve teased. He loosened his grip slightly to scratch at your belly. A rumbling laugh erupted in his chest when you screeched in protest and doubled over, suddenly much more frantic. “Oh, what’s this?”

“DAHAMNIT STE-HEE-HEVE!” Your grip on his hands was far too weak to even budge them now - not that you’d had any hope of succeeding before your muscles had weakened from his tickling. You leaned more heavily into him as you succumbed to laughter. He responded by lowering you down to lay on the floor beside him, freeing both hands to dart randomly around your sides and stomach. Weakly, you tapped your palm on the floor beside you in surrender. Steve threw in a few more exceedingly ticklish light scratches along your belly before relenting in his revenge.

“That’ll teach you,” he teased with a grin, offering you a hand to help you off the ground. You grasped your abdominal muscles that were now aching from laughter.

“I-hi… I’ll probably still mess with you,” you admitted breathlessly. Steve made a noise of protest in his throat and reached over to pinch your side, but you swatted his hand away. “Noho more! You’ll kill me!”

“So dramatic.” He rolled his eyes. “Here - here’s your ice cream. Hope it melted while you were tormenting me.”

“Harsh!” You snatched it from his hand and stuck out your tongue, then turned to look at Bucky. "And you - you were zero help, thank you."

"Hey! I held him down for you! I was very helpful, in my personal opinion."

The three of you went right back to your friendly bickering session, as though nothing had happened. Any outside might wonder how you could all be friends, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[naffeclipse]

I absolutely adore every AU you come up with, but I was actually curious if you had already or were considering writing a traditional DCAxReader? Hopefully I can kick this art block soon because there is so much fanart I want to draw of your stories :) Hope your week is going well! (besides the roof disaster ^^;;;)

On another note... AUs are my brainrot and I keep thinking about that post about the large bed... and spoopy ghosts. Clipgeist? No running away from something that can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Poor Y/Ns just can't catch a break lol

I have a few canon stories with the DCA x Reader on my Ao3 but nothing as grand or long as my AUs! I do have a 'canon' story plotted but I don't know when I'll write it. Hopefully one day!

Ah, that's so exciting! I hope you can chisel that art block down hehe 

It's going good (aside from the roof ;-;) I have this week of school before we go on break for Thanksgiving and it can't come soon enough!

Shaking your hand so hard rn!! I love AUs! And a spooky ghost one? Oh ho, I've always wanted to write a domestic monster scenario!

Perhaps Y/N moves into an old, old house with steep roofs, pointed arches above the windows and doors, and a lovely porch. It's two and a half stories tall (the half story is attic space under the roof rafters) with a four-story central spired tower! All dark wood and even darker interiors. You can't desire if it's Dracula's castle or a fairytale home for the happily ever-after-ed prince and princess. It's even got a secret underground tunnel! What more do you need when flipping a home? You love restoration and you intend to keep all its gothic charm while updating it to be, well, livable.

It's also incredibly cheap! Like, stupid cheap, for something that should be incredibly pricey for its prestige style and historical value. Not that you've ever looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even you have second thoughts before ultimately snatching up the house key.

The first night is always unsettling—maybe you hear a voice whisper in your ear despite it being dead silent and there's not a soul for miles, but you'll brush that off as getting spooked by old ghost stories your brain conjures up within the ornate decorated rooms.

From there, things get stranger and stranger still. Your paintbrush is moved and you know you didn't set it there because of the wet paint dripping onto the floor. The electricity is ever fickle, turning off at the most opportune moments during the night, like when you swear you saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway, all thin and scraggly with a ghostly smile and an inhuman head framed with wavering energy that almost seems to glow like embers in the dark!

Still, you continue your repairs and restorations, sometimes softly talking to yourself out loud and talking to the house like it's a wounded animal you intend to restore back to its fittest with all the love you can pour out of your heart. Places need love, too.

The most obnoxious thing is that you can't access the tower—the door is always locked, and no matter what key you try, it refuses to budge. You don't dare risk causing damage by prying it open, but you swear you'll get into that tower one day. There's got to be treasure inside with how mysteriously it stands, just out of your reach. Though, you've mostly put it aside for now. Whenever you jingle keys in the lock, you swear you hear a voice grow angry with you, and the hallway becomes so cold you can see your breath.

So, yeah, you're saving that for later.

The pivotal moment of you even considering a haunting is one night when you find yourself overwhelmed and stressed from the ever-growing list of chores and how everything is falling apart faster than you can fix it. You dissolve on the living room floor into thick tears. You're usually so put together, even when alone. You hate crying. There's no one to hold you together except yourself, so why fall apart in the first place?

Your little moment of getting it out is interrupted when a quilt falls over your shoulders. A soft, heavy quilt of midnight skies and dotted pale blue stars that was never in this room.

You leap to your feet, quilt falling away, and call out in classic horror victim fashion, "Who's there?" but no one answers. In frozen terror, you stare at the room, expecting something, anything to jump out or scream at you, but it's so, so quiet. All is still, like apologetic comfort.

That couldn't have happened. No draft, no forgetfulness could explain how a quilt was draped over you as if by a concerned friend.

You stare at the quilt and decide that you've had a long day. You go to your room, unable to relax even once you're under the covers, feeling something cold and misty above your bed.

When you wake in the morning, that starry quilt is draped over your lying form. You did not put it there.

Something or someone else tucked it around you.

[auxcordlawd]

Part Three: Wandering Thoughts of a Ravenclaw

Words: 1024

Summary: You continue your detention with Professor Snape, finding yourself thinking of him a bit too much.

Warnings: PG-13, talk of heavy petting, sexual fantasizing, drinking, 18+ student and professor

18+

Part 3

Tuesday morning instead of going to the Great Hall for breakfast, you went to the library. Your head was buzzing with your dreams from last night. Images of your professor looking down at you with his onyx eyes, with hunger. Straddling over you, kissing your neck with a light bite at the end. Feeling his large hands grab your waist tightly. You felt heat between your legs.

“Uh hello?”

You were startled out of your thoughts when Miles suddenly sat down next to you, tapping your shoulder. “How long were you sitting there?” You asked feeling embarrassed for your concealed thoughts.

“Not long, enough to say hello a few times, you seem kind of out of it. I felt like I haven’t seen you in days between Quidditch practices and detentions with Professor Sprout, thanks to that asshole Snape.” Miles stated with clear anger towards the end of his statement.

“I know, I’ve been suffering too,” you stated meaning it in a slightly different manner, “after Easter break I will no longer be in detention.”

“Yeah but I still have another week after we are back. At least I’m visiting my family over the break. Are you going home for break?”

“No, I would but my parents are on a cruise, so I didn’t see the point. I have studying I want to catch up on though, especially if I want that Potions position.”

“I can’t see how anyone in their right mind would stay here after we graduate.” He said, seeming to regret the way he said it.

“I have to get to class.” You stated before quickly leaving him in the library.

Classes dragged on, you wished you had a DADA (Defense Against the Dark Arts) today. After what felt like forever it was time for dinner. You thought about sitting down and enjoying yourself, but decided to grab a ham and cheese sandwich and a butterbeer and head to your dorm to primp yourself before detention. You decided to change out of your uniform top and put on a deep v-neck cable knit sweater, and decided on not wearing a bra, wearing a necklace to draw more attention to your breasts. You left your skirt as is, but put your hair up.

Professor Snape was waiting for you at his office door, with a hand full of empty bottles. “We’re going to the Potions classroom, grab the remaining bottles on my desk and meet me there” He stated before turning on his heel leaving you standing near his doorway. You walked into his office, and took a deep breath in. You saw his pensive sitting there on top of the potions cabinet, desperately wondering what a peak in his mind would be like. You found a cloak of his hanging on the back of his chair, and smelled in his stimulating scent. His smell led your dream to creep back in your mind, his lips on your neck, hands gripping your waist trailing down to your skirt, slowly pushing it up to reveal your panties soaked- “Miss (y/l/n).”

You quickly stood up straight to see Professor Snape looking at you impatiently yet with some question in his eyes. “Quickly now, grab those potions, we have much to do.” He stated grabbing a few of the potions leaving me with only a couple to carry. You followed him beet red in the face, grateful he did not question you, only hoping he did not use Legilimency on you.

He had two teas sitting on the teachers desk, one near him, the other in front of the desk. You sat down at the chair in front of the desk, and he pushed the other tea towards you without at word. He was writing down notes, ingredients for his potions you assumed. You sipped you tea in silence as he continued scribbling. After several minutes passed he handed you the list and instructed you to get the ingredients needed while he readied the cauldrons.

“Good,” he stated as you returned with the needed ingredients, “I want to see you create each of the potions. I will watch over you, of course, but I want to ensure you can successfully recreate even some of my most complex potions.” He stood back and allowed you to get started. He leaned on the desk behind you sipping his tea while you worked. You made several potions to his liking over the next hour. You came across one you had never seen. “Professor?”

He was standing next to you before you finished asking for him. “Mm yes, I tweaked that one myself.” He said with a proud smirk. “Care to guess what it does?” After a minute of you attempting to figure it out he announced it was a modified version of The Elixir to Induce Euphoria. He began walking you through it. You’d never seen him so relaxed and in his element. Your arms touched from time to time, as you were standing so close together, you could feel his heat. “I didn’t know how you take your tea.” Snape said in a surprisingly warm tone.

“It was very good professor, thank you.” You stated smiling up at him. He looked down at you, his eyes trailing down to your lips, and then your chest. You followed his eyes down. You felt his large hand on your chin, pulling your eyes back up to his. Your breath hitched in your chest. You thought you were back in your dream. His thumb traced your lip with your chin still in his hands. He leaned down until you felt his breath, close enough to kiss you. “Very good.” He said in a dominating tone yet being a whisper. Heat spread throughout your body focusing between your legs as you looked up at him doe eyed. After a few seconds he released his grasp, shifting his focus back on the potion. You attempted to gather yourself. As he began to bottle the potions you started to clean up. “Alright Miss (y/l/n), lets bring these back to my office, then you are free to go.”As you followed him to his office your thoughts were all over the place, all you wanted was to be locked in his office, on top of him. You didn’t want to be free.

Inside his office you took the liberty of putting the newly filled potions in their appointed places. He seemed pleased by this, but also noticed that you were in no rush to leave. “I have a bottle of red elf-made wine I am going to open,” Snape hesitated unsure of how to continue “if you'd like a glass..” he trailed off. “I’d love that.” You said a bit too quickly. He conjured up two long stemmed wine glasses that looked ancient as well as the bottle uncorked. He poured two healthy glasses, handed you yours, and swirled his around in his glass before taking a large sip. You followed in his lead.

You both sat in content silence sipping wine until he put on some quiet classical music. “Most applicants for the Potions position are atrocious. If I must train someone who has promise, I will do so.” He said staring at you, waiting for a response. You had none so instead you took another drink. “You show promise Miss (y/l/n).”

“Thank you, sir. It truly means the most coming from you. You’re truly the master, I’m lucky to be under you.” You spoke without thinking, realizing you finished your glass. You blushed deep red. He refilled his glass and walked around to the front of his desk and refilled yours. Snape sat on the front of his desk, looking directly down at you. His leg just brushing yours.

“However,” he said in a more commanding tone “I notice you are still distracted.”

“Sir, I have only briefly talked to Miles, he is not on my mind anymore, I pro-“

“I am aware.” Snape said looking down at you. He took drink of his wine as did you. “After your detention is complete I’d like to start tutoring you. But I feel certain things are getting in our way.” His gaze once again drifting to your lips, then chest, then thighs which were now exposed more than planned. You shifted in your seat. “Do I make you nervous?”

The alcohol seemed to fuel your words at this point. “Yes, but not in the way you make most students nervous.” He tilted his head as to let you continue. “I think about you in ways a student shouldn’t.” You look down, silently cursing yourself. Snape grabs your chin like before to look up at him. “I am well aware of how I make you feel Miss (y/l/n), I’d like to say I have no intentions of giving in to your desires.” Snape states slowly while his hand traces down your neck to your shoulder, pushing the sweater to the side revealing your bare shoulder. You get goosebumps.

“Alright Miss (y/l/n)” Professor Snape said in his normal tone standing up, turning to walk behind his desk, “tomorrow, as you know is your final for this term of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will need time after to grade, so you will be reporting back to be the following day to resume detention.”

“Yes, Sir.” You said breathlessly.

“Take the rest of the evening to rest, as I have kept you here late. I will send food to your common room. Goodnight Miss (y/l/n).”

“Thank you, goodnight professor Snape.”

You quickly made your way to the common room. Still unsure what happened, goosebumps still present, and a needy aching below your stomach. As you walked in you saw a delicious looking charcuterie plate, along with a folder. As you opened it you found something truly surprising.

Miss (y/l/n), I have taken study time you surely needed, although you found yourself in this predicament, I feel you shall find this useful. Tell no one - S.S

A study guide. After a few hours of studying the personalized guide and your wandering mind you found yourself quite sleepy. You dozed off thinking of the day, no need to fantasize.

[sillier-than-thou]

I’m not nearly good enough at drawing to be able to make animatics, but the editor in me keeps coming up with ideas for tma animatics and I need to get some of them out of my system, so I made a list (spoilers for tma obviously):

•Mikaele Salesa in season 5 to Private Life by Oingo Boingo. “Here in my humble room at night / I often wonder what goes on out there / what makes them run so scared. / I often stare at the people passing by / but they can’t see me through my window shades. / Just like I’m not even there!”

•Robert Smirke to Man-Made Object by Lemon Demon. “I have a vision of a man-made object / I have the money, I have the means / I have the strangest dreams!”

•Michael the Distortion to The Afternoon by Lemon Demon. “In the attic of this house / on the wall behind a propped up couch / is a door that somehow leads into / the basement of this house??”

•Jan Kilbride in MAG 106 to Falling Up by Will Wood. “Here comes the sun, am I falling up? /FAAALLING UUUUUUUUUP! / Here comes the sun, am I falling up? / FAAALLING UUUUUUUUUP! / Here comes the sun, am I falling up?” (Because in his statement he literally goes “I could feel myself falling up” lmao)

•Dr. David in MAG 177 to A Mask of My Own Face by Lemon Demon. “At all the people hissing, knowing I’m the one they hate / and at the big finale I would tear my face away / and smile as they grip their own and try to do the same!”

•Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood in season 5 to Aurora Borealis by Lemon Demon. “So, let’s take the night off! / Be joyful and joyously enjoy the moonrise / and let it destroy us. / See, it’s okay / as long as we believe we’ll be okay / as if anything could go wrong on Christmas Eve! / Okay, you know I’m glad you’re here / so I can show you this before I disappear. / Is this the first time that you’ve ever seen Aurora Borealis crush mankind? / A flashlight underneath my chin / a pretty winter night / your hand in mine.”

•Elias Bouchard talking to Jon Sims in season 3 to BlackBoxWarrior by Will Wood. “You’ve lost your mind and almost lost your life before / so you’ll be fine! / For what? For what? For what it’s worth / if it was going to kill you, boy it would have by now! / For what? For what? For what it’s worth / there’s no more looking back, and why would you want to look back? / I mean, it’s no good looking back, so time to look forward now! / For what? For what? For what it’s worth / if they were going to get you boy, they would have by now! / For what? For what? For what it’s worth / there’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking doooooooown!”

•Jonah Magnus throughout his entire existence (but especially season 5) plus Jon killing him in MAG 200 to No One Lives Forever by Oingo Boingo. “Let’s have a party, there’s a full moon eye in the sky / it’s the hour age of the wolf beholding, and I don’t wanna die! / I’m so happy, dancing while the grim reaper / cuts, cuts, cuts, but he can’t get me! / I’m as clever as can be, and I’m very quick / but don’t forget we’ve only got so many tricks. / No one lives forever!”

•Jonathan Sims (especially in season 4 and 5) to Laplace’s Angel by Will Wood. “We’ve all got evidence of innocence, it’s ‘everything’s coincidence’. / The difference twixt fate and free will is whether you’re singing / Ooh, could you take a look at me? / Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad? / And now we’re singing, ooh / whatever you think of me / if you were in my shoes / you’d walk the same damn miles I do!”

•The Archivist™️ in season 5 to The Passenger by Siouxsie and The Banshees. “Oh, the passenger. / Oh, how he rides! / Oh, the passenger. / He rides and rides! / He looks through his window. / What does he see? / He sees the sign and hollow sky / he sees the stars come out tonight / he sees the city’s ripped backsides / he sees the winding ocean drive. / And everything was made for you and me! / All of it was made for you and me! / ‘Cause it just belongs to you and me! / So let’s take a ride and see what’s mine!”

•Jonathan Sims in season 3 and 4 to Cotard’s Solution by Will Wood and The Tapeworms. “Cry my name, remind my brain of my identity! / I’m not gonna listen, I’m not my volition / I’m sha na na na na na free-will! / Am I to blame for riding this train right by my destiny? / Ah, prove I can crack, ah, loose from the track, ah! / Sha na na na na na free-will!”

So, if anyone on here likes to make animatics, could these ideas maybe possibly perhaps hypothetically be fun to do? :333 I’m probably going to add way more songs to this as time goes on!

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

[clownmoontoon]

HEYO LOVELIES!! \OUO/ <3<3<3!!! ive been itching to try a new art schedule i came up with so i dont end up drawing one character for two years straight again LMAO not that theres anything wrong w that ofc! its been fun! ;u; theres just SO MUCH on my "to draw" list im excited for and wanna get to work on and i think thisll not only make it easier for me, itll make it more fun for YOU! :D and to add a bit more consistency to my posting so its not 10 posts in a week and then months of nothing LMAO HELP from now on ill be posting on...

i may be working on a long form comic or animatic etc stuff that probably cant be finished to my liking in a week's time so the wednesday posts may be new photosets/edits etc of past art! either way ill be posting on wednesdays and following this schedule for my art from now on til i focus in on one of my specific stories! ((this doesnt impact how i reblog here or post to my patreon btw this is just for my art posting here specifically! ^^))

AND THE SCHEDULE WILL LOOK LIKE THIS! \OUO/

🤡MOON!! - anything off my draw list that stars my mascot, sona and fave oc MOON !! you've prob seen this rainbow, twintailed, fangy nonbinary clown monster around my blog at some point GET READY FOR MORE!! COMICS AND LORE AND ILLUSTRATIONS!! ITS CLOWN TIME BBY!! >:oD

🌈FANART - my fanart list is a MILE LONG LMAO and im so excited to dig into it!! lots of mini comics, long form comics, animatics and one off pieces scripted and planned!!! also if u followed me for a specific fandom chances are theres LOTS more of that coming!! theres so much on my list that, even after the hyperfixation passed, im like YEAH I STILL WANNA DRAW THAT

😈OC (not moon lol) - its about time i show off my other ocs who have been a bit neglected by me artwise ^^; I THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME THO!! HONEST!! AND IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY SHARE THEM AND THEIR STORIES W ALL OF YOU!! \QVQ/

🌈FANART (diff from prev!) - to keep myself from drawing for the same piece of media over n over in a row THIS fanart will be from a different piece of media than the last one i drew!! if i have multiple small ideas i wanna get out fast i may throw them all into one ⭐️Super Post⭐️ with illustrations and comics all contained! this isnt to say i will never do same media fanart again ofc, just not back to back!

AND THEN I !!!

I START BACK AT MOON! :o) im sO SUPER EXCITED TO GET INTO THIS LIST AND IM ALREADY TWO POSTS IN!! WOO!! LETS GOOO!!! RAAAHHH!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥

LOVE U GUYS!!! \QUQ/ THANK U ALL SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT THUS FAR!! I HOPE U LOOK FORWARD TO ALL THE NEW STUFFS!! <3<3<3!!!

[ahedderick]

End of the Week

I spent a good part of the morning trying to frame art, attach wire or hangers to the back of various pieces, and making a list of what I want to take to the Studio Tour next weekend. Doesn't seem like too bad a list, but - it was an anything-that-can-go-wrong kinda day. A drawing that was already framed - I noticed that the frame is chipped in two places. Try to get the round painting to hang at a certain angle . . but attach the wire in the back just a l-i-t-t-l-e off kilter. That sort of thing. I'll have to go back and look at my list tomorrow to double check it. I do not trust my work.

In the afternoon I met my daughter at a state park. She has been interested in a dog, Rose, that was in her school's kennel for quite a while. Two weeks ago I told her to bring Rose home for a weekend visit to see how our dogs would accept her. She, instead, filled out adoption paperwork, and called me to let me know that Rose Was Ours!!!

"W-aht?"

Hmm. We met at the park to try introducing the dogs on neutral territory. Chance loves everybody, no trouble there, but Lady is dog-aggressive and needs to be introduced carefully. We walked for about a mile, then headed home. This is going to be a Project.

Headline: Ball of dusty lint lands a cushy new home

Ball of dusty lint sees outdoors water for, possibly, the first time. She is terribly unsure of everything. Hello, Rose.

If we truly can't make it work, there is no fee or penalty for returning her. I'm hoping that, while K is home for a long weekend, we can make substantial progress on getting Lady acclimated and Rose 'farm trained.' She is small and timid. Hopefully Nutmeg won't bully her.

[half-baked-stories]

The Lesson (1,801 words)

An entirely unofficial little backstory for my current D&D character and her mentor.

Khorvid whittled as the girl below him lined up her shot, his gaze metronoming coolly between the tremble of her arrow and the white flesh of the wood as his knife carved and pared.  His thumb brushed away a loose curl of bark.

“Don’t overthink it, Ysette.”

She loosed the arrow with an elastic thwick, and he heard it vanish into the brush at the far end of his makeshift range.  Easily the seventh one she’d lost in the exact same way.

“Alright,” he amended, blowing away another pale splinter. “Maybe think about it a little.”

“This is hard,” she sighed.  It wasn’t a complaint but a statement of self-defense.

“Oh, I know.”

“You make it look easy.”

“I know that too.”

She could have gotten cross with him, impatient to be done with her lesson, but she didn’t.  Wouldn’t.  Therein lay the problem: without his intervention she would stand there, firing arrow after arrow after arrow at the distant target, until the sun dipped behind the trees and her broadheads glinted in high moonlight.  He didn’t know if it was fortitude or desperation, but this was all so much easier when they just didn’t care.

“Here,” Khorvid sighed, pocketing knife and wood, dropping down from his branch with an acrobat’s ease.  The girl looked at him forlornly, all dark hair and china-blue eyes.  “Give it to me.”

She passed over her bow, and he almost took it to hand before realizing how absurdly small it was.  She was barely drawing 12 lbs, and he was as like to snap the limbs as get off an arrow.

“Alright, never mind.  I’ll use mine.”

She stood aside, watchful as an owlet as he fingered an arrow from the quiver across his back and nocked it on his ebon bow.  He sighted down the range at full draw.

“What am I doing?” he prompted.

Ysette levered her weight from foot to foot, assessing his stance.

“Um. Elbow straight back, feet hip-width apart, leading with your dominant—”

“You’re quoting technique to me,” he corrected, gaze fixed on the distant target.  When she was silent, confused, he changed tactic.  “What am I not doing?”

Oh, that was the wrong question.  She was far too literal and exacting a child to be entrusted with so vague and broad a question.  Khorvid could feel her anxiously starting a mental list of exclusions a mile long.  He had to rescue her, or they’d be there all day.

“It’s not a trick,” he sing-songed.

“Yyyyou’re…”

“I’m not overthinking.”  His fingers slipped free from the string and the arrow flew, a silver dart across the sunstruck clearing.  It thunked into a neat bullseye.  “...which makes one of us.”

He faced her, but she spent a long, dismayed moment staring at the target before looking up at him again.

He said, “You have to get out of your own head.”

“Our Enchantments teacher said it’s super important to stay in our own head.”

He massaged the bridge of his nose, eyes squinted shut.

“Okay. Yes, that’s… your Enchantments teacher has a point, it’s vitally important that you don’t vacate your head and let someone else move into it, but that’s not… Gods. Alright. Let’s try this another way.”

He shouldered his bow, squaring her small frame up in front of him so that she faced the range.  He covered her eyes.

“Alright, now try firing an arrow.”

She didn’t want to object—she was patently opposed to objecting—but it was an impossible task.

“I’ll lose another arrow,” Ysette warned him.

“Right, because why?”

“I can’t see.”

“Becaaause….?”

“Because you’re covering my eyes?”

“Precisely.  There is a physical barrier between your eyes and the target.  And to correct this state of affairs, you would need to reach up and push my hands out of the way, clearing your vision.”  He let her go, dropping to a crouch alongside her, and plucked one of the arrows from her quiver.  Bopped her gently on the head with the fletching.  Pressed it into her hand.

“When I watch you line up a shot, I see phantom hands clouding your vision.  Not from outside yourself, but from within.  A million thoughts, a million fears, every possible thing that could potentially go wrong once the arrow leaves the nocking point.  You’re lining up and lining up and lining up your shot as if trying to navigate it around branches, and tree trunks, and hanging vines that aren’t even there.  There’s nothing between you and your target right now except you.  You must learn to filter out all the nonsense and noise.  Clear your mind.  Push away the thoughts as you would my hands, if I were covering your eyes.”

He gave her time to absorb all that, wondering briefly if he’d poured too much into too small a vessel.  After a few long seconds Ysette’s fingers closed around the arrow.  She nocked it solemnly and consulted the distant target at the range’s far end.  Khorvid stood, touching her shoulder before he gave her room to draw.

“Raise your bow.”

She assumed the position, textbook precise and extremely well-rehearsed for one who was so patently abysmal at archery.

“Breathe out,” he said, and she exhaled through the soft purse of her lips.

“Let go.”

Time itself could not have found space between the word ‘go’  and the faint twang of the bowstring, her elbow held so neatly back that it barely trembled when her fingers slipped free.  The arrow cleared the range like a silver dart, bow to target, thwicking into the straw with admirable accuracy.  Not a bullseye—not quite—but near enough that Khorvid clenched his fist in a small, silent, triumphant yes!

Ysette should have been thrilled.  And perhaps she was.  She breathed out hard, arms relaxing, and the faintest electrical tremor ran through her fragile frame.  She might have even stood just a hair taller.

Then she took it all back.  Withdrew into herself, as if the audacious misstep of pride hit her out of nowhere.  Her eyes darted, skating the mossy ground back and forth before upturning to him.  Hopeful of praise but fully prepared for reprisal.

His hand fell more weightily on her shoulder.

“Good.  That’s enough for today.  Go get your arrows.”

Ysette broke across the clearing at a happy sprint, or as happy as he ever really saw her.  While she rummaged through the brush for the deconstructed contents of her quiver, he slipped wood and knife free from his pocket and resumed whittling.  He had time… she’d lost a hell of a lot of arrows.

When she returned, at last, she wore a wild crown of brambles and leafy twigs in her hair, flush and a little breathless with the exertion.  He did a double-take, returning the knife to its sheathe to free up one hand.

“...there was a girl-child under here a moment ago,” he muttered, trying and failing to brush the entanglements from her hair.  Eventually he gave up and handed her the little whittling, committing both hands to the task.

Ysette took it, turning it in her fingers, marveling at the crude artistry.

“What is it?”

“It will be a crow, eventually.”  He flicked her a look as he worked, bemused by her wonder.  “You like that, do you?”

“What kind of crow?”

The question caught him off-guard.  As he worried a seed pod from the part of her hair, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“A boy or a girl?”  She found what were meant to be the outstretched wingtips and made it dance in a little pantomime of flight.  “Will it be young or old?  Does it have friends?”

And here he thought she’d meant toy or weapon.  It was clearly far more important to her that it had a story than a purpose.

Gods, but how could one child get so many stickers in her hair?  He pinned her still against his legs, pulling them out from roots to end, one by one, like carding seeds from cotton.

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  What do you think?”

Ysette hummed, as contentedly distracted as if her hair was being braided by a hearth fire.

“I think… he’s an old crow.”

“Hmm, I see. So a boy, then.”

“Yes.  He’s an old man.”

“An old crow?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t know that I’ve ever seen one of those before.”

“Well, he’s sort of grumpy, but he can be nice, too.”  She flitted it lightly through the air in one hand.  “...and he knows all sorts of things.”

“Mm.  Like what?”

“I don’t know. Crow things. They’re very secret.”

“Of course, they would be—listen, tilt your head…there, that’s better.  And what about these friends of his?”

“Oh, he has a little girl crow that he’s friends with, and they play in the woods together, and he helps look after her and teach her crow things.”

Khorvid stopped, breath catching.  Ysette looked up at him in confusion and he turned her head away again, soberly detangling another sticker from her hair.

“Ah.”  He cleared his throat.  “You said he’s nice, this old crow?”

“Yes, but sort of grumpy.”

“But not too grumpy.”

“Wellllll…”

“Listen, I’m the one carving him, I’m drawing the line at not too grumpy.”

Ysette smiled to herself, holding the whittling still in both hands, admiring his unfinished handiwork.  Khorvid combed his fingers through her gloss-black hair, fixing it behind her shoulders.  He had to stop himself from doing it again, lest it seem too fond.

“I’ll keep all that in mind as I finish him up,” he said, and held his hand out to her, palm up.  Obedient, if regretful, she returned it to him.  He rolled it over in his fingers, cracking a small, crooked smile.

“I think that’s enough for today.  You’d better head back before it gets too dark to navigate the woods.”

“Alright.”  She executed an almost absurd little curtsey in front of him, and he waved her off in mock exasperation.  What a strange little girl.  He’d watch from the overhead boughs to be sure she made it back safely.

“Be careful going back.”

“I will.”  

Ysette stopped, barely a few paces from him, then turned and looked back.

“Do you have any more students today?”

Khorvid hesitated, adjusting the string of the bow where it rested across his chest.

“Oh, ah…no, not today.”

Her head tilted.  “Why don’t you come back with me?”

“I have, ah… things to take care of.  Secret things.”  His mouth crooked again in a very small smile. “Old crow things.”

Whether or not this satisfied her—and he knew, unfortunately, that one day it would not—Ysettte seemed mollified.  She raised a hand to him and he gently showed her his palm in farewell, revealing the little half-carved crow still tucked under his thumb.

Continued here, nine years later.

[nariaein]

Some of My Scrapped Punkflower Fics

Exactly what the title says, but I don't want to let these go to waste

Over Christmas break, Miles’ mom learns how to knit.

It stems from the fact that she doesn’t like having a lot of free time on her hands. But since school is out and his dad won’t let her spend more than forty-eight hours — or what she considers a break — at the hospital a week, there’s an abundance of it for all of them. Snow falls endlessly beyond the walls of their apartment, making for more than a couple long, lazy days spent inside, hands and weighted blankets curled around mugs and their shoulders. Old Christmas movies are the only thing on TV.

So. She digs around in their spare closet and emerges with two knitting needles. They’re from her grandma, she says, and Miles secretly reveres them — the blunt tips, the lengthy shafts, and the tapers with chips in the wood from before both of their times.

She lets him choose from the bundles of yarn three colors: orchid, yellow, and white.

The next morning, he wakes to a pair of finger-less gloves on his bedside table. The stitches are not entirely consistent, yet they’re warm and colorful.

He loves them, almost as much as he loves winter, and nowhere close to as much as he loves her.

“Any idea what this is about?”

Miles shrugs and shifts to make room for Gwen to sit on the carpet beside him. “No. Miguel didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.”

The topic settled for now, his eyes drift and land on two figures across the announcement hall, steadily coming forward. They’re somehow easy to pick out in the crowd.

Hobie shakes Pavitr by the shoulders, giggling, and something in Miles aches, just below the space between his ribs.

There’s a tapping, feedback, then a throat clearing. He turns back to look at the stage.

“Hello, everybody, and thank you for coming on such short notice. Rest assured, nothing is wrong,” Miguel starts. The room lets out a collective sigh of relief. “But the holiday season is coming up. Lyla and I — mostly her — thought it would be nice to do something special. All of the Society is welcome to participate, but it’s not mandatory.”

“He is a surprisingly level man when he’s not trying to body slam me into the nearest train,” Miles mutters. Someone huffs hotly in his ear.

“Good one,” Hobie says, dropping down on Miles’ other side.

Miguel continues. “For the first time ever, we will be doing Secret Santa. Shortly, you will fill out a wish list of gift ideas. Then, you will draw a random name from a box — their dimension and wish list will also be included. Presents will be delivered by me or Lyla. Afterwards, you can guess who your Secret Santa was. The ultimate deadline is Christmas day.”

A week away.

I bet you can guess who Miles got :] I also remember writing a section that I really loved where he asked his mom what his dad got her for Christmas when they were dating, and later, Gwen came over. She was having trouble getting Pavitr a gift. Miles suggested a plant to take care of, meanwhile, he was making a custom bright red leather jacket for Hobie

I cannot for the life of me find these sections

[thevioletscout]

Since enough time has passed I think, highlights from when I played the Fallen London quickstart at the launch party!

(Note I am going to list some spoilers for the quickstart's story so don't read if you haven't played yet lol)

Since I was a last minute addition to the group transferred from a no show DM, I got last pick of characters. I ended up with Pryce, a murderer for hire and the one human of the group, described as well shaved and tattooed. I noticed no gender or pronouns were listed for anyone except Deirdre and Thibert, and asked if this meant we could make up the genders. I was told yes so I decided playing a bald tattooed mama sounded really fun.

Deirdre's player suggested she and Pryce could be toxic lesbians and I was totally down for this. We didn't get to do anything with that though unfortunately, though I did have Pryce use flirtatious pet names while threatening another woman later.

Deirdre's player also gave her this Irish accent that was really nice to listen to. Props for the voice performance there.

For most of the session to keep my hands busy I was drawing Pryce as I imagined her and sharing progress with the group. I asked what kind of tattoos were popular in the Victorian era and they suggested flowers, so I made her tattoos floral themed. Here is the final mockup I did.

At one point we had to investigate a honey den, and the DM gave the bartender lady a voice reminiscent of Roz from Monsters Inc, which cracked us all up. This one character brought us so much joy. Her voice also reminded me of Torbek from Legends of Avantris but I didn't mention it. She didn't like poets as poor clay man poet Christopher learned the hard way.

Pryce had to pickpocket a letter from some guy with a red painted nose, and it was an easy success because he was thoroughly distracted by talking to a clay man, a rubbery man, and a rat. Deirdre was over at the bar talking to knockoff Roz like a regular person.

Said letter was basically the red nosed guy lamenting Miles' relationship with a lady and longing for their "friendship." We spent awhile joking about how obviously gay he was.

I got really fixated on the missing Miles' door and windows being locked and theorizing what that could mean. The DM later answered this by describing a scene of Miles just leaving his apartment and locking the door behind him. Like a regular person would.

(EDIT: Just remembered the reason I fixated so hard on this was because we were told multiple times no one saw him leave lol.)

When we went to go interrogate the lady Miles was last seen with, the person the other guy was so jealous of, she pulled a cartoon stunt on us by saying Miles is "up there" while pointing at the sky (or "sky" since this is underground), and then running off when we looked up. We then had to chase her for a good while.

She told us that Miles was taken by a deacon named Samuel. As Shazzbaa has already discovered by now, all I could think about was Samuel Ashman.

When we went to go confront Samuel in his basement lair where he was having Miles make weird mushroom drugs and calling him an angel, he and Deirdre ended up in this really long back and forth where they were arguing their ideologies. It was really cool and the DM and Deirdre's player are both really good actors, so I enjoyed listening to it, but Thibert's player did have to leave before we could finish because we took too long. I told them after the session to be a little more careful about getting caught in loops like that and not giving other players room to jump in.

That said it was probably for the best I couldn't get a word in because I just wanted to shoot the deacon.

While trying to snap Miles out of his fungal religious mania, Kingsley wanted to show him the letter I pickpocketed, but I never actually gave it to anyone else in the group and I was busy fighting the deacon alongside Deirdre. I kinda just yelled for Kingsley to come take it out of my pocket which was fairly easy because rat.

Poor boy ended up crying over everyone he missed so we were able to leave without finishing the deacon off. I had Pryce guide him out protectively because mom instincts.

This whole thing was to track down a Jack of Smiles by the way.

Overall it was a really fun game and I have some ideas for plotlines I'd want to run in the future. Also I want to OC-ify Pryce because I love this trying to redeem herself of her deadbeat history mother.

[purlty23]

𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖆𝖌 𝖌𝖆𝖒𝖊 ✨

I saw this little fandom game thingie on another site and I really liked it, so I decided to bring it over here to tumblr while my apple pen charges. I’m also going to change up the rules. I’m going to list the fandoms I’ve been in, and classify them by:

Passive enjoyer = simply enjoyed it and the fan content made for it OR Creative enjoyer = actively made art, fanfic, cosplay, etc etc etc.

I’m going to tag people here but no pressure if you don’t want to do it! @miasmaghoul @lonelymentality @copiasjuicebox @iamthecomet @thediktatortot Also if you see it and want to do it, feel free.

Game under the cut since mine will be long<3

Harry Potter - creative enjoyer - My very first. This shit was a family affair in my house. I went to watch parties, themed parties. I cosplayed shittily, wrote shitty fanfic, and my walls were plastered floor to ceiling in teen magazine posters. Went to the Exhibition. Every second movie would come out in July so I would pretend it was like a birthday gift to me.

Twilight - creative enjoyer - Jfc. Don’t get me started. I still have my Edward action figure whose now missing both hands. Used to write self insert fanfic on quizzilla.com. RIP you beast of a website

The Walking Dead - passive enjoyer - This was also a family affair. Every sunday we would all gather round our shitty TV for the newest episode. I was more of a liveblogger than anything else. My dad has a bit to this day that ‘Hershel isn’t dead. He’ll be back.’ Yeah, sure dad.

Legend of Zelda - creative enjoyer - For most of my childhood I was passive, only really doodling Twilight Princess stuff sometimes. Then BOTW came out and it all changed.

Lord of the Rings - passive enjoyer - I look at Legolas and Aragorn. That’s enough for me. I don’t need creative works because I just need to look at them.

Marvel (Spider-man and Loki mostly) - creative enjoyer - I’ve been drawing these guys since birth, for better or for worse. MCU can suck my nuts but so can Loki franchise /sex DC (Batman) - creative enjoyer - Batman the Animated series did something bad to me. Now I draw Joker sometimes. Watch out, stay safe out there

Sherlock and Doctor Who - passive enjoyer - I’m putting these two together since I never really made fan art or anything, but I did attend watch parties for both on several occasions.

Supernatural - creative enjoyer - Sighs. Sighs even harder. Somewhere out there, deep in the depths of fanfic.net there’s miles of really really really bad fanfic. Somewhere…. Final Fantasy VII - creative enjoyer - Sighs far more dreamily. My favvvvv my ultimate fav. Sephiroth is my fictional other and LOMF. Many, many arts of him throughout every sketchbook I own. Also some fanfics IIRC.

TF2 - creative enjoyer - I used to draw Medic and Pyro kissing<3

Homestuck - creative enjoyer - War flashbacks. Not only was I a semi-well known fanartist, I was also a semi-well known cosplayer in my city. I was a ‘friendleader’ in my cities Homestuck fangroup and attended events, dances, etc etc etc. I was on a cosplay gif blog here on Tumblr. I ran the second most popular groupchat on MSPARP.com before it was MXRP.com. I had beef with mods. Most of my relationships at that time were forged in the fires of LOHAC. I still see my art of Dave in MCR black parade uniform around sometimes. Dramatical Murder - creative enjoyer - To no ones surprise. Yeah. I like the yaoi dissociation game. Dream Daddy - creative enjoyer - SHOUTOUT DREAM DADDY!!!!!!!!!!!!! Evil priest Joseph lovers rise UP. Didn’t do much, but there’s some art floating around out there.

Voltron: LD - passive enjoyer - Thank GOD I never made anything for this. However, I was active in the kin community so thats a huge L. I also ate uppppp stuff about it and sheith still fucks.

Overwatch - creative enjoyer - Sometimes you’re a Genji main and the world is so so hard for you. That’s how I used to live my life, then I got better.

Final Fantasy XV - creative enjoyer - Second LOMF. My old art blog is stocked full of chocobro content, mostly fanart of the boys and meme redraws. Also used to cosplay Noctis CONSTANTLY! Here’s an old tiktok

The Band Ghost and Sleep Token - creative enjoyer - (((((((: Hi guys