#fuck being an artist or a writer I just want to be happy I just want to be fucking ALIVE

[astranauticus]

idk what is it about that one throwaway line from han sooyoung about her writing 10 chapters in one day that finally broke me but oh my fuckin god i love her so much

[hahniana]

ren and stimpy adult party cartoon ranked from worst to least worst imo

6. naked beach frenzy - already not very fond of the contents of the episode but knowing anything about john brings it all down for me

5. ren seeks help - mostly extremely boring to me but it did have that nice walking segment and that one frame i took a screenshot of

4. fire dogs 2 - just didnt care for it. laughed

3. onward and upward - a little gross at times but generally left a positive impression on me. laughed

2. stimpy's pregnant - would be my favorite if it werent for the poop twist tbh. i dont know what else to say about it

1. altruists - would be significantly improved if it was shaved down 10-15 minutes but like other than that it was just fine for me. actually I don't remember if I laughed watching this one.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

> posts a fic i'm proud of about dark subject matter to do with five and his abuse, which came from a very personal place, on AO3

> gets a comment

> it is, Course, a hate comment from an anti, demanding on anon to know why i would 'spend my value as a writer who's read Legacies' to write it

> roasts their ass like a thanksgiving turkey and immediately goes to write more of the thing

[pascalpvnk]

take it from me

pairing: bilingual!joel miller x f!afab!reader

summary: joel is a simple man who simply finds pleasure in pleasing you.

warnings: moodboard used for aesthetic purposes - does not represent the reader description, 18+ MDNI, no timeline, no specified ages, no mention of sarah or ellie, LATINO JOEL (most translations within the text except for some reused pet names/common phrases). This is porn with minimal plot (but unrelated plot I canon—his favorite artist is Linda Ronstadt and I stand by it.), Joel maneuvers reader, manhandling essentially, no other descriptions of reader other than nipple piercings, body worship(?), Joel’s filthy fucking mouth, mention of thigh riding, oral (both receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, mentions of intense emotions, aftercare.

word count: 3.3k

HOW TO SUPPORT PALESTINE // IMPORTANT FOR TLOU READERS & WRITERS

a/n: fun fact, I’m a virgin, so if it seems far fetched it’s probably because it is. anyways, a special shoutout to ramon nomar for being the muse for this piece, another to @mrsswilliams for beta-ing and fueling my horny antics, thank you to my spanish teachers for guiding me to this moment (probably not your intention but I digress), and to you for taking the time to be here and hopefully enjoying! happy reading xx (banners & dividers by @saradika-graphics)

Addicting is the only word Joel Miller can muster up to describe you as his mind clouds with lust each night he’s alone, bucking into his own fist and spilling his sins after he’d met you. Of course you’re beautiful and charming above all things, but he can’t help the way his cock stirs after simply a phone call from you describing your day. How you miss him and want to meet up again soon.

Joel isn’t the brightest man, which he is very self aware of. But what he craves to learn about you, what your favorite flower is, favorite ice cream, your desires, outranks any level of intelligence a man could hold. He wants to please you, not for a superficial reason to use against you down the line. He enjoys your smile and the way your eyes crinkle, your dimple making an appearance on occasion, and it makes him feel good. The little things shine a light in his chest, ever the people pleaser.

However, he finds a red, hot desire to rouse you, make you squirm under his tender touch. To watch every fiber of control and tension dissipate from your being.

But he’s cautious.

He’s treading on thin ice within himself. He wants to give and give and give, but he’d never forgive himself if he overwhelmed and alarmed you. Your wit keeps him on his toes, tempting and trying his willpower to take things at a palatable pace.

But he’s just a man at his simplest form, a glutton for pleasure wanting to carve himself a home within you and give everything he has to please you. 

You found yourself perched upon his lap, a forgotten movie droning in the background as hands and lips explore new territory. Joel firmly guided your hips, firstly against his own, then he aided you across his denim clad thigh after you wriggled your pants to the floor. 

Choruses of Spanish praises, filth, ‘mamita, use me’, and phrases alike rolled off his tongue effortlessly as he found pleasure within your own. Consuming every moan, gasp, and ‘don’t stop’ you were so eager to give.

He struggled to deny your beautiful pleas to get him off as he had for you. You knew he wanted you to, there was no doubt in your mind considering the prominent bulge straining and begging you to. He reassured you, or rather made excuses for himself to ease the guilt he felt at your subtle disappointment.

I’m not coming in my jeans in front of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

You said you had work in the morning, anyhow. We outta get’cha home, preciosa.

Joel kissed you softly as he pulled up your pants, grabbed his keys, opened his truck door for you, waited at red lights, and finally as he dropped you off at your apartment building, sealing the night with melted wax, branding himself on your heart until you meet next.

Made it home okay, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.

And he does.

His head is already spinning at the thought of going out with you again. He’s showered, trimmed, even ironed his flannel before making sure it’s buttoned and tucked properly. Well rested is not one of the qualities he’s adorning—no thanks to you running his imagination rampant—but the adrenaline he feels, and the coffee he drank at noon, make up for his lack of preparedness.

At the end of the day, those things don’t even matter. Joel Miller makes it as far as his front door when you ring, bringing you inside with the intention of grabbing his own keys. His hands find you instead, your face in a gentle caress as he compliments your attire, your appearance as a whole, and your waist as he kisses you with increasing fervor. You don’t stop him, and he doesn’t stop himself.

“Ay dios. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you all day,” he mumbles against your neck, walking you backwards to his bedroom. His shirt wrinkles under your tight grip, suffocating him until you pop each button open one by one. You leave him in his black undershirt, half untucked in his dark washed jeans.

The back of your knees find his mattress before you even realize, forcing you to sit parallel with his waist. He takes his time, always calculated with his hands on every sweet spot he can reach. Joel cups your jaw, admiring your blown out pupils and the raw lust overtaking your features.

“Wanna take good care of ya, now,” he soothes. “Just say the word and I’ll stop, you know I’ll stop for ya, promise.”

It’s half of a promise to you, half of him asking you to promise to tell him if it becomes too much. You nod, reaching for him once again.

“No, chiquita,” he holds your hand to his chest. “¿Me prometes? You promise me?”

“I promise,” you say clearly and wholeheartedly. “On my life.”

With your renewed consent, he folds himself over to kiss you deeply. His tongue dances with yours, similarly to a few nights prior but with increased desperation. Fingertips graze up your sides, nerves twitching under his subtle touch, only unlatching your lips to lift your top over your head. His eyes fixate on the pebbled flesh and metal protruding your bra, making quick work of the clasp before removing it.

“I knew you had something hiding underneath this,” he muses, toying with the fabric of your bra between his first two fingers. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any prettier, hm?”

Joel skims his thumbs on the underside of both of your breasts, attaching his mouth to your collarbone. He suckles your delicate skin, committing the taste of your sweet musk and desire to his memory. He softly licks over one of your nipples, taking in how your head tips back with a sigh. He brings it into his mouth, nipping and assuaging the pierced bud until you manage to free his shirt out of his waistline.

“Paciencia, amor. Patience, sweetheart, please,” he pacifies as he guides your hand out of reach from his belt. “Just wanna savor you. Can I?”

You nod and opt to tangle your fingers in his curls. Approval seeps through his smirk as he continues his ministrations for as long as he pleases, feeling accomplished each time your hips chase his.

Joel stands up straight, running his calloused hands over one of your clothed legs, meticulously pulling each shoe and sock off and tossing them to the side to find later. 

“Do I need a condom, baby?” He mutters against your knee, toying with the hemline of your pants.

You tell him no and quickly explain you’re clean and protected. Something in him visibly switches, desire becoming carnal. He clings tight to his sense of control, desperately willing himself to give himself to you, not give into himself.

Joel drags both layers of bottoms down your legs, watching you challenge him by keeping them clamped together. He exhales heavily through his nose, your limbs relaxing slightly, but just enough for him to retake control.

“Christ, looks like I was wrong again,” he sighs, smoothing his flattened palms over your open thighs. You can get prettier. “Oh she’s pretty, mamita. All this for me?”

A gasp falls between your lips as you’re tugged closer to the edge of the mattress. Your head spins, the only thought crossing it is Joel. His hands. His words. His filthy mouth and how it’s mere centimeters from where you want him to be. Need him to be.

“Joel,” you whine, feeling the scratch of his blunt facial hair on your inner thighs. His lips tease the sensitive skin around your pussy.

“What?” He coos, fingernails biting your flesh. “Dime, baby. Tell me what you want.”

It feels pathetic, you’re completely at his mercy, stripped down on his bed while he remains fully clothed over you. He has you in the palm of his hand, putty waiting to be molded and shaped however he pleases. Bliss has already warped your features, the anticipation of what’s to come already numbing your brain.

“I want you,” you cry simply.

“You have me, don’t ya? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

Frustration bubbles in your belly. You’re truly not annoyed, but the tension might snap you in half before he gets the chance to.

“Want you to touch me,” you plead. “Want you to make me come, please.”

Joel hums with content, thumbs pulling your cunt open from the outer lips. A slick, sticky mess you are, hardly touched and begging to come. Arousal seeps from you, finding its way to your tight hole. You watch Joel wet his lips, the self restraint slowly dwindling from his gaze. 

“Show me,” he huffs. “Be good and fuck your hand f’me. Wanna see how you like it.”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clanking against itself is enough for your hand to fly below your hips. Relief floods your nervous system the moment you circle your clit, hips lifting and chasing the friction. Sighs leave your parted lips, eyelids falling shut with pleasure.

“Ah ah,” he corrects. “Eyes on me, beba. Sigue jugando con esa flor bonita. Mírame.” Keep playing with that pretty flower. Look at me.

You comply with his request, half lidded but maintaining eye contact nonetheless. Your fingers toy with your cunt lazily, eyes settling between his burning gaze and his taut boxers. His length strains beneath the thin fabric and his hand twitches at his side.

“I love watching you, mami,” Joel purrs. “Wish y’could see how perfect you look right now…perfectly wrecked just for me.”

His words egg you on, pace quickening on your throbbing clit. Moans spill from you as you watch Joel squeeze at his seemingly uncomfortable erection for his own relief. His other palm keeps your legs spread for him, kneading desperately at your thighs as you work yourself towards the edge.

“¿Quieres que te ayude, mamita?” Do you want me to help you?

Joel settles on his knees, both palms splayed against your skin to keep you pinned down. He licks a broad stripe from your asshole to your clit, sucking harshly on your labia before diving into your weeping cunt, all while audibly sighing with delight at your taste. Your hand instinctively rushes to grip his curls.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he grumbles while putting your hand back where he says it belongs. “Keep playing with yourself. Make this pretty pussy cry all over my face, cosa dulce.” Sweet thing. 

Your digits pulse against the nerve bundle, shocked by the sensation of his tongue swirling inside of you. It’s absolutely obscene. He slurps up everything you have to give, edging you until your legs clamp over his ears. Joel sings into your cunt, a delicious melody that sends you into a frenzy. Your walls flutter around him as he guides you through your orgasm, nose nudging your hand out of the way to make more room for himself.

Your gaze drops from the ceiling to his blissful face, thick eyelashes brushing his flushed cheeks as he savors you. It all begins to feel like too much as you grip onto his shirt. You pull the cloth towards you and he gets the hint, dragging his mouth away from your pussy and removing his top.

“So desperate to come, mamita, already finished with me?” He cants, smoothing a thumb over your kneecap.

“No- just need a breath,” you pant. You take in his features, broad shoulders with a strong chest, thick arms. His hair alone has you running laps, the sparseness of it littered on his torso and below his belly button, his curls tousled already from your hands, and his beard—fuck his beard—is absolutely soaked with your arousal. He makes no attempt to wipe it clean before kissing you. The taste of your cunt dances on your tongue as he licks into your mouth.

“Joel,” you sigh, his lips leaving yours and trailing down your neck. “I wanna suck your cock, please.”

“You wanna suck it?” He smirks, slipping his hand beneath his boxers before shoving them off of his thighs. His fingers slip through your folds briefly before he deposits your cum onto the tip of his dick. Mischief plays on his expression as he opens your legs once more.

Joel slowly stuffs his cock into you, not your mouth but your pussy. A gasp escapes you, morphing itself into a moan. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him in deeper.

“Thought you wanted to suck it,” he grunts with a devilish grin, grinding his hips down into yours.

“Hmm, I’ll suck it later,” you draw out with a smile.

He leans down to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, gently nibbling on the sensitive skin before pulling off. 

“God, mamita,” he exhales. “Love fucking this pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

His hips drive into yours at a devastating pace, only using a portion of his length to massage your pussy. You quickly adjust to him, allowing him to thrust deeper into you. You cry his name while simultaneously having all of the oxygen punched out of your lungs. Joel swallows your wails whole, moaning against your lips in return.

Your legs tense around his body, face twisting up with pleasure under the weight of his. Lips drag against your skin, anywhere he can reach. The room spins around you, eyes rolling back into your head as his hand snakes down to play with your clit. You desperately claw at Joel, gripping his curls in one hand and bruising his back with the other. 

“Dámelo. Give it to me like I want, sugar,” Joel coaxes. 

The bundles of twine prickling your flesh and holding you together in one piece snap, your body completely shattering into a million fragments underneath him. He stays buried inside you as you pulse around his cock, humming into your neck and soothing his hands over your burning skin. 

Joel gently settles onto his side near you, cupping your jaw and kissing you feverishly. You shift your body to face away from him, pushing back against his soaked erection. His eyebrows furrow, grunts of detest coming from him.

“No, mami, I want to look at you while I fuck you. Ven aquí, come here,” he corrects, grasping your arm to guide you to press up chest to chest with him. A brief hiss escapes him as the cool jewelry brushes up against his nipples.

“These’ll be the death of me,” he sighs, latching his mouth to yours once more as he maneuvers you the way he wants. 

His cock slips easily back into your wet heat, arms trapping your upper half against his as his legs anchor to the bed to buck into you. He grips onto your ass for leverage and you find yourself holding onto it with your own palm. It’s slower, intimate, reeling you in to take more, to take it all.

He draws another orgasm from you. Your heart thrums against his hardened chest, his pounding against the confines of his ribcage. He collapses on his back with a breathy groan, sweat perspiring on his forehead. You push back his sticky curls as he catches his breath this time.

“You still wanna suck it?” He chuckles cheekily, offering but not forcing. 

He’s surprised as you eagerly crawl down his body, curling over his thigh while taking his cock in your fist. Your back is to him once more, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially while he’s stuffed in your mouth so perfectly. His fingers drag along your spine, palm splaying flat to soothe the sensation quickly after. His hand stills and stomach flexes as you take as much of him as you can, pumping your tight fist over the remainder of his length.

“Fuck me,” he shutters mindlessly, “feels so good, amor. Treating me so good.”

The praises fuel you, moaning around his tip as he continues to trace shapeless trails onto your back. Your mind feels cloudy, not thunderstorms and impending doom cloudy, but rather a sunny, breezy, nothing could ever go wrong kind of cloudy. You feel taken care of for once, free to slip into a warm, blissful state with Joel. He feels safe.

“Come back, preciosa,” he grins as you make your way back up his body. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you deeply once more, running his hands gently all over your skin as you settle on top of him.

“Missed ya,” he chuckles, kissing your swollen pout a few more times before wetting his fingertips with his spit. He reaches down, circling your clit as his cock twitches against your seam. Your head falls beside his, feeling too heavy to hold up on your own.

Joel protrudes your cunt once more, nestling into you carefully at first. You writhe over him at the push and pull of his cock inside your fluttering walls, hips snapping down against his with subtle slaps of skin rejoicing. He picks up his pace beneath you, overwhelming your senses a bit too quickly.

You work your core to sit up, fully sheathed with his length as you grind against him. He grips onto your hips, watching you use him for your own pleasure. 

“Tan bonita, amor,” he hums smugly, his fingertips dancing along your bare thigh, his other hand tucked behind his head to prop himself up. “So pretty, mami, fuck.”

He tweaks his fingers against your nipples, pinching the pebbled flesh carefully as you ride his lap. Tufts of his neat pubic hair scratch at your clit, the friction of everything causing you to soak his lap further. You’re being pushed to your limits, throat dry and voice hoarse. Joel wishes to have put water on his bedside table, he would’ve had he’d known you’d end up here so quickly. 

“Doin’ okay, sweetheart?” He checks in, toying with your fingers that have found a home on his chest. You silently nod, eyelids low and face contoured with bliss.

“Think you can give me one more, bebita? Come on my cock one more time and I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Your voice hardly sounds like your own, but you mean it when you tell him yes, please. He feels it when you clamp down on his length, his thighs tensing so tight they almost cramp. His legs hinge at the knee, body pivoting you forward into his chest. Joel grabs fistfuls of your ass as he fucks up into you, all of the air leaving your lungs.

His grunts and groans become less calculated and intentional, thrusts becoming sloppier and instinctual. You squeeze him tight, toes curling as you already tumble towards your impending high.

“Mierda,” he hisses, strong arms pressing your torso firmly to his. His lips consume your every breath, whine and borderline scream.

“Take it, use me, amor. Dámelo, cariño, and I’ll give you my cum. Take it from me,” he grunts sharply, pressing into you impossibly deeper and faster. Your skin bursts into flames, embers showering your body as he pulls that final high from you. You shutter above him, dead weight against his body as he uses you to finish himself off. He evacuates your warmth and pumps out his load between your sticky, worn out figures with a drawn out groan. 

Joel makes the first move to stand up, cock softening and hanging between his legs. He starts to step towards his en suite bathroom to find a towel, but you reach for him.

“I’m just gettin’ somethin’ to clean you up, honey,” he smiles before seeing a sadness in your eyes, longing for him to come back. Tears prickle your eyes and Joel quickly makes his way back to the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay, baby, cálmate,” he hushes carefully, holding you close to him. “We’ll getcha cleaned up in a little bit, I’ll make you whatever you fancy for supper and relax with you, sound good?”

A nod suffices his question, knowing you trust him enough to stay rather than run off eases him as he grounds you back to reality with his warm embrace.

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed xx

[hd-wireless]

📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2024 - REVEALS

At last, the day you’ve been waiting for! It’s the REVEALS! 

🎵 Raise your glass if you are wrong In all the right ways All my Drarry fans We will never be never be, anything but loud And nitty gritty dirty little freaks (fond) Won't you come on and come on and raise your glass! Just come on and come on and raise your glass!! 🎵

🥂

Time to raise our glass and toast all of the talented people who created your favourite Wireless fics, artworks and podfics!

Massive thanks once again to all the creators of our works. And thanks also to all the readers, betas and supporters of H/D Wireless!

Before we reveal, let's put our hands together for the winners of the guessing game.

🥇1st place: @tackytigerfic with 33 correct guesses!

🥈2nd place: @citrusses with 20 correct

🥉3rd: place: @peachydreamxx with 18 correct

And we can reveal that the fic writer that was guessed correctly the most was @lqtraintracks ! And the most recognised artist was @getawayfox!!! 🤩

On to REVEALS! So... without further ado... 🥁

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 Fly Away with Me Tonight? [Gen, Digital Art]

✏️ Artist: @quail-in-red

🎵 Song Prompt: Levitating by Dua Lipa  🎵Summary: A chance meeting, an invitation to dance

📻 ghost (might as well be gone) [Gen, Digital ]

✏️ Artist: @dragontamerdame (dragontamerdrarry)

🎵 Song Prompt: Might as Well Be Gone by Pixies  🎵 Summary: Draco Malfoy retired from the Auror force and left England a decade ago, but he still receives the Daily Prophet. Today’s issue provides closure on the one case he was never able to officially solve.

📻 MY FRIENDS SAY I SHOULDN'T SEE YOU ANYMORE [T, Digital Art ]

✏️ Artist: @bicholsdrarrysideblog (bichol)

🎵 Song Prompt: bad idea right? by Olivia Rodrigo  🎵 Summary: Both Draco's and Harry's friends don't approve of their little... dalliance. But it's so hard to stay away from each other! Could this be a bit more than just casual?

📻 He Did IT! [Not Rated, Digital Art]

✏️ Artist: @legendrarry (whileatwiltshire)

🎵 Song Prompt: No Body, No Crime by Taylor Swift   🎵 Summary: Harry: I think he did it but I just can't prove it, 'Mione!!  Hermione: And, what exactly did he do, Harry?  Harry: I-, I don't know! Something! He has to! It feels weird every time I look at him!!  Hermione: .....  Ron: ......  Ron: Mate...  *****  Or, it's sixth year and Malfoy is definitely up to something! Why else would Harry's heart beat so fast every time the stupid git so much as looks at him!?!

📻 A Quiet Life [T, Digital art]

✏️ Artist: @getawayfox 

🎵 Song Prompt: A Quiet Life by Teho Teardo & Blixa Bargeld  🎵 Summary: After their relationship becomes public knowledge; after being hounded by the paparazzi; after Draco says enough is enough and leaves London; Harry’s more than happy to follow.  After all, a quiet life is all he’s ever wanted.

📻 The Shape I found you in [Not Rated, Digital art]

✏️ Artist: @veneficusposts (innifinity) 

🎵 Song Prompt: 'The Shape I found you in' by 'Girlyman'  🎵 Summary: But your heart was busy within,  Building bomb shelters under your skin.  That's the shape I found you in

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic and Art 🎶

📻 Trade My Heart For Honey [M, 64.170, Digital Watercolour]

✏️ 🖋️ Artist and Author: @thunderfiction (MyNameIsThunder) 

🎵 Prompt: Water Under The Bridge by Adele  🎵 Summary: A Witch who thinks she’s a Seer, a Seer who thinks she’s a Witch, a former nemesis-turned-something-turned-acquaintance who thinks they could be friends, and a Scottish village full of Muggles who think this is as much their business as the fair folk in the woods. Draco is going to prove them all wrong.

📻 Thunder [E, 11,325, digital]

✏️ 🖋️ Artist/Author: @cavendishbutterfly / @fictional (milkandhoney) 

🎵 Song Prompt: "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac  🎵 Summary: Harry and Ginny are on a break. Harry and Ginny don’t want anyone to know. Harry assumes Ginny is fucking their way through their Quidditch team. Harry punches Draco Malfoy in the face in his free time. Harry considers this a perfectly reasonable coping mechanism. Harry figures that as long as he keeps everything the way that it is, that everything will stay the same, and nothing bad will happen, and Ginny will stay with him, and Malfoy will keep quietly visiting his dreams.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 You're on Your Own, Kid [E, 44.274] 

🖋️ Author: @thesleepiesthufflepuff (bluefay)

🎵 Song Prompt: You're on Your Own, Kid by Taylor Swift  🎵 Summary: In August of 1998, Draco leaves behind everything he’s ever known. With the help of two middle-aged lesbians, a Muggle bookshop, and a new best friend, Draco’s future is finally looking up. That is, until Harry Potter wanders back into his life a year later, undoing everything Draco has worked towards.  Or, a tale about healing, forgiveness, and living for no one but yourself.

📻 Heartbeat [E, 22,791]

🖋️ Author: @saxamophone (eight_of_wands)

🎵 Prompt: Heartbeat by Childish Gambino  🎵 Summary: Harry hates Draco, and Draco hates him in return. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, strawberries in the summer at Grimmauld Place, water from fountains of (dubious) origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs.  Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

📻 Long for Bliss! [E, 9,400]

🖋️ Author: @thusspoketrish (Trishjames)

🎵 Song Prompt: This Must Be It by Röyksopp  🎵 Summary: Harry has a tough decision to make: take the blue pill or the red pill. He chooses a pink one instead and throws caution to the wind. What blows back comes in the form of a blond fallen angel that talks like he’s the Devil and, hopefully, fucks as deliciously as he moves. Or: Harry tries MDMA for the first time and unexpectedly encounters a mysteriously captivating Draco at KOKO London. “Dragon caught your tongue?” Malfoy asks around his candy. Harry’s voice is an awed whisper as he feasts upon the strangely delicate, alien splendour of Malfoy. “Yes, you have.”

📻 Going Down Swinging [E, 4,661 ]

🖋️ Author: @sleepstxtic 

🎵 Song Prompt: Hello Mudduh, Hello Fadduh! by Allan Sherman  🎵 Summary: “Who are you?” he asked, feeling around for a truly abominable pair of glasses he fixed firmly above his nose.  “I’m Draco,” he answered. “Draco—” He paused. It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember; it was that the memory wasn’t there.

📻 The Most He’s Ever Said [E,16,431]

🖋️ Author: @fastbrother

🎵 Song Prompt: One of Your Girls by Troye Sivan  🎵 Summary: It takes them twenty years.

📻 Draco Malfoy’s Guide to Seduction (DISCLAIMER: not guaranteed to work on one HJ Potter) [M, 11,107 ]

🖋️ Author: skotini 

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Push the button' by 'Sugababes'  🎵 Summary: Harry's gorgeous. Draco wants him.  Draco's exasperatedly trying to get him to get. the. message.

📻 karma is a (cat) [E, 8,714 ]

🖋️ Author: @ravenesse

🎵 Song Prompt: Karma by Taylor Swift  🎵 Summary: Draco knew that his karma would come one to him one day and make him pay for all the mistakes he made during the war.  But he didn’t expect for it to have four legs, white whiskers, and a soft bushy tail.

📻 Kiss and Tell [E, 27,786 ]

🖋️ Author: @drarrysworld (use_it_well)

🎵 Song Prompt: Kiss and Tell by Bryan Ferry  🎵 Summary: Sometimes, Harry really fucking hated being himself. All he wanted was to be left alone. That, and someone to share his life with. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so.  When Harry’s sex-life was plastered across the front page of the Daily fucking Prophet, he decided to get away until it all died down. Unfortunately, trouble had always known how to find him.  Would it be possible to forgive the unforgivable?

📻 When the Flood Comes [E, 10,340]

🖋️ Author: @academicdisasterfic 

🎵 Song Prompt: Eat Your Young by Hozier  🎵 Summary: Nine years on from the war, Auror Potter is upholding the Ministry of Magic's rule of law.  Senior legal counsel Draco Malfoy is challenging it.  And absolutely nothing is as it seems.

📻 Never Getting Over You [E, 4,396]

🖋️ Author: @arminaa8 

🎵 Prompt: Attention by Charlie Puth  🎵 Summary: Harry finally gets the push he needs to fight for what he's lost after a breakup that no one wanted.

📻 Mermaid [E, 3,000]

🖋️ Author: @lettersbyelise

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Mermaids' by Florence and The Machine  🎵 Summary: “Your magic,” Harry says. “It’s gone.”  “It’s a curse,” Draco says, sounding wry. “Courtesy of Aunt Bellatrix. Disown a Black, and you’ll take their magic away, too. Even if their family name is Malfoy.” “What could bring your magic back?” Draco laughs in his ear. “True love’s kiss," he murmurs. And then he turns in Harry’s arms.

📻 Us, infinite (unfortunately) [E, 77,287 ]

🖋️ Author: @thecouchsofa

🎵 Song Prompt: All Things End by Hozier  🎵 Summary: It’s very fitting for how Harry’s life has gone thus far that he gets trapped in a time loop without rhyme, reason, or warning.  To make matters infinitely worse, the one other person stuck on the same hellish chronological ride is Draco Malfoy, git extraordinaire.

📻 I made loving you a blood sport (so let's play) [E, 3,032]

🖋️ Author: @otpcutie

🎵 Song Prompt: Blood Sport by Sleep Token  🎵 Summary: They sat in an odd kind of silence, comfortable in its discomfort. In the predictability of its recklessness. The thing between them was as palpable as the thick smoke in the air, consumed with every breath, and likely just as bad for them.

📻 Everything that can go wrong will go wrong [T, 5,178]

🖋️ Author: @etteishere (Etteee) 

🎵 Song Prompt: If You Were Mine by Leon Bridges and Miranda Lambert  🎵 Summary: “You can move in with me!”  Shit. Apparently there was still a possibility to make a fool out of himself to his crush despite his best efforts at minimizing contact. Draco and Andromeda looked at him in record speed, showing their own expressions of confusion. Maybe at his appearing out of nowhere, maybe at his panting that made it seem like he just ran a marathon for some reason, or maybe at his abrupt and impulsive suggestion. Shit. Teddy wasn’t even here to take off the edge—Harry was completely alone in this one.  After a pause, Draco fully turned to him with a manner that definitely showed his opinion of how stupid Harry was, and asked, “What?”

📻 Antelucan Ruins [E, 29,453] 

🖋️ Author: @rainjulyx

🎵 Song Prompt: Ghost by Justin Bieber  🎵 Summary: From the bloody Prophet, Draco discovers Harry Potter’s death splashed in grey ink printed on the front page. Potter is dead before Draco gets to see him again to fulfil a half-spoken promise. And yet, these days Draco has the power to bend the world to his heart’s desires, and that includes fucking Harry Potter even after he personally saw Potter’s pale, lifeless body lying in a coffin before it got buried under the soil. —  "Do you realise that you're just as pathetic and insane? You're so hung up on the idea of me that you'd fuck a ghost, Malfoy. You risked your life for it."  Draco puts an arm around Potter's body, "Whoever says I am sane? Certainly not me. It's calculated risk with more success rate than failure. And you are dead, Potter. You refuse to move on to the next realm because you crave for my cock."

📻 I've Been There (sitting in that same chair) [Gen, 2,212]

🖋️ Author: @dreamingandwideawake (KatIsSleeping)

🎵 Song Prompt: The Village by Wrabel  🎵 Summary: People keep knocking on Draco’s door. Draco just wants to read his book (he doesn’t mind, really).  Or: Draco gets to be the supportive queer person he’d wished for when he was younger.

📻 Lonely Rivers [M, 7,370]

🖋️ Author: @enparallel 

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Unchained Melody' by 'The Righteous Brothers'  🎵 Summary: Six years after the end of the war, Harry takes care of Teddy Lupin and has started to learn guitar. Hermione negotiates with foreign powers. Draco's a trainee Healer with a glam karaoke routine. And when Ron and Parvati decide to get married, they find a job for everyone...

📻 How to Begin [E, 8,478]

🖋️ Author: @wolfpants

🎵 Song Prompt: Blush by Orville Peck  🎵 Summary: Harry is completely, pathetically besotted with his flatmate, Draco. Fuelled by liquid courage, he finally makes his move when he's absolutely sozzled. What could possibly go wrong?

📻 Oneiros [E, 13,125]

🖋️ Author: Mischievous (meandminniemcg) 

🎵 Song Prompt: Enter Sandman by Metallica  🎵 Summary: When contact with a weird vase traps Harry in his nightmares, it's Unspeakable Draco Malfoy's task to rescue him. In order to do so, he will have to face his past and his family history and win a duel of wits against a Morpheus and try to be better than his father each step of the way...

📻 Say When [E, 24,545]

🖋️ Author: @lqtraintracks

🎵 Song Prompt: Undisclosed Desires by Muse 🎵 Summary: When Auror Harry Potter is sent in undercover to determine if Draco Malfoy is laundering money through his BDSM club, will he be able to keep up the ruse and close the case? Or, more to the point, will he keep from falling in love?

📻 crawlin' helpless on the floor [M, 1,525]

🖋️ Author: @stationintern

🎵 Song Prompt: Cure For Pain by Morphine  🎵 Summary: It doesn't take much to torment a man when he's three broken contracts away from being out of a job and down a newspaper.

📻 Hell is the talkin' type [E, 7,309]

🖋️ Author: @avigethblogs (avigethwrites)

🎵 Song Prompt: Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier  🎵 Summary: “Morgana, I need a drink,” Draco sighs. “Why did I let you convince me to participate in this torture again?”  Harry chuckles. “Because I’m your husband, and you love me?” he offers.  “Bah. Remind me not to let myself be so sentimental next time.”

📻 Mr Blue Sky [E, 69,024]

🖋️ Author: @doingthechachaslide (dothechachaslide)

🎵 Song Prompt: ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ by ‘Electric Light Orchestra’  🎵 Summary: Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why, you had to hide away for so long...   After five years, Malfoy had finally escaped house arrest, and he moved in just a few streets down from Grimmauld Place. Overnight, the Daily Prophet seemed to fall in love with him. For his charity work, and his charming smile, and—Harry was sure—his prattish fucking personality. No matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't stop running into him.  He had bigger problems, though. His best friends in the world were having a baby together, which was fantastic, except that they weren't sure he could hold it together well enough to be Godfather.  But despite being flat broke, with a dead dad, and no one willing to risk hiring him, Malfoy appeared to be completely in control of the narrative surrounding his newfound freedom. Maybe Harry could learn a thing or two from the best of the best.  After all, he had the entire pregnancy to convince Ron and Hermione he was perfectly, entirely, 100% fine. If sometimes he had to fistfight Malfoy about it, well, that was nothing new.

📻 'tis the damn season [M, 2,892]

🖋️ Author: @phoebe-delia

🎵 Song Prompt: 'tis the damn season by Taylor Swift  🎵 Summary: He doesn’t know why the universe seems to keep placing him in Potter’s proximity every time he returns to London. He doesn’t know how they keep falling into bed, every year, like clockwork.  Draco has tried not to question it.

📻 Tecum Ad Astra [M, 3,257]

🖋️ Author: @apricitydays-lazynights (apricitydays)

🎵 Song Prompt: Levitating by Dua Lipa  🎵 Summary: It's Friday night and Harry Potter is relaxing with a good book in front of a crackling fire.  But he should be at the club.

📻 Music to my ears [E, 13,190]

🖋️ Author: MissQuigley

🎵 Song Prompt: River flows in You, Yiruma  🎵 Summary: Harry is completely captivated by the beautiful music played on a street piano at a park in Cambridge. He is, however, unprepared for whom the pianist turns out to be.

📻 Pancakes for Dinner [T, 2,176]

🖋️ Author: @kittycargo

🎵 Song Prompt: Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzie McAlpine  🎵 Summary: Draco’s on a trip to visit Harry in his new city at his new job. He’s not brave enough to say how he really feels.

📻 Seasons [E, 9,314]

🖋️ Author: @greattemptation

🎵 Song Prompt: Águas de Março (Waters of March) by Antônio Carlos Jobim  🎵 Summary: Seconds pass, and it’s like he can see Draco worrying the sliver of glass in his heart, looking for a way to press it out, to expose the wound to the sun. It’s life; Harry can be patient.

📻 Two Houses [E, 11,498]

🖋️ Author: @tackytigerfic

🎵 Song Prompt: Social Cues by Cage the Elephant  🎵 Summary: Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently?  Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.

📻 Perpetual Motion, Perpetual Sound [E, 51,165]

🖋️ Author: @dodgerkedavra 

🎵 Song Prompt: Perpetual Motion, Perpetual Sound by Lovers  🎵 Summary: Harry Potter can’t sleep.

📻 Closing Time [E, 18,406]

🖋️ Author: @sweet-s0rr0w

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Closing Time' by 'Semisonic'  🎵 Summary: Draco’s been invited to Neville’s stag party in Bristol, and he's confident he knows what to expect. There’ll be too many Gryffindors, for starters, plus a few humiliating team-building activities, some dodgy clubs, and a truly preposterous level of alcohol consumption.  But… a drunken Harry Potter climbing into Draco's bed when he’s having a wank?  No, he definitely didn't see that coming...

📻 every scrap of you (you left them all to me) [E, 54,191]

🖋️ Author: @peachydreamxx

🎵 Song Prompt: marjorie by taylor swift  🎵 Summary: Twelve years on from the war, Harry finds himself in an endless cycle of bedding Draco Malfoy, and waking up alone. Desperate to understand why Draco won't give him a chance to be something more, he commits to courting the slippery blond git.  But there's a reason Draco can't fall for him, and Harry will go to the darkest depths to change that.

📻 What are you doing Sunday, baby? [M, 12,034]

🖋️ Author: @badwolfblues

🎵 Song Prompt: Disco 2000 by Pulp  🎵 Summary: Draco needs a respectable husband to strengthen his reputation before his in-laws try to take Scorpius from him. Who better than his ex, the independently wealthy, out and proud single father, Harry Potter?

📻 Too Good At Raising Hell [E, 87,462]

🖋️ Author: @the-sinking-ship

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Too Good At Raising Hell' by 'The Struts'  🎵 Summary: When Harry Potter walks into Draco’s nightclub looking like trouble, Draco can’t stop staring. He really ought to train his dick not to react so enthusiastically to red flags, but where would be the fun in that?

🎶 H/D Wireless Podfic 🎶

📻 [Podfic] Move, move [T, 54:30 ]

🎤 Podficcer: @sweatersinthesummer

🎵 Song Prompt: Bar Italia by Pulp 🎵 Summary: She grabbed Harry’s hand, slipping something small into it and pressing his fingers around it.  “Dilectio. It’ll cheer you up. Make you feel like dancing.”  Harry gaped at her. Drugs. Ginny’s fucking giving me drugs?  At Stasis nightclub Ginny does indeed give Harry drugs. But it's all good: Malfoy looks after Harry, and Harry grapples with newfound enlightenments, not to mention a newfound fascination with all things Malfoy—one which persists even when he finds out what Malfoy's up to.

📻 [Podfic] A Different Kind of Meaning by p1013 [E, 01:42:57]

🎤 Podficcer: @reveriepi

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Outnumbered' by Dermot Kennedy  🎵 Summary: The ceiling doesn't hold any answers, but there are cobwebs scattered across the corners with shadows tangled in their threads. The rug against his back is rough and scratchy, threadbare and devoid of colours other than various shades of brown. Harry takes it all in, absorbs the dingy and depressed state of his home. There's a pointed moment of decision, a note about to be played, a silence about to end, and then he rolls to his feet and sets to cleaning.  It's the first constructive thing he's done in years.

📻 [Podfic] Case of You [Et, 11:48:56]

🎤 Podficcer: @cailynwrites

🎵 Song Prompt: Case of You by Joni Mitchell  🎵 Summary: Draco was doing just fine working as an Unspeakable in Paris, hanging out with his living and ghostly pals, inventing new spells, and definitely not thinking about Potter. Then, Lucius just had to break out of prison and turn his world upside down.  Now, Draco has to return to England, where he is forced to confront how family ties bind us—and one infuriatingly fit Harry Potter.

[industrations]

one thing about your art which makes me uncomfortable is you make remus conventionally attractive. the fandom all agree remus lupin is a wet noodle of a man but actually no artist draws him that and it's getting weird. make him unattractive and he can be loved by sirius. he doesn't need to be that tall and buff like why do you always make him so tall to draw him next to sirius. is it because you're aware of the fact sirius is canonically tall? if so it's baffling indi, you just had the surgery but if you have some time you'd want to read it - www.tumblr.com/carlav-blogs/741256502359228416/i-hate-joining-the-fandom-discourse-because-i?source=share - and look deep inside of yourself and think again about your art. i know you can't publish it but i gotcha. good luck /gen

Hello!

I have been thinking about responding to this at all but it seems like i have a lot to say, so here goes.

Due to contrary belief i draw for myself. I draw for me because i enjoy it and it makes me happy. And if it makes others happy then thats a lovely bonus. I draw because i love the bit of magic and creative freedom of being able to put that on paper.

What i don’t do is draw for other people to give me validation or to give them satisfaction. What’s getting weird is that you are so upset over characters that are written by a terf. Someone that is extremely harmful. Characters that DO NOT EXIST.

I’m sick of this endless debate of "oh but CANONICALLY sirius was taller" who the fuck cares. In the movies remus had like a whole head on sirius.

You know whats the one wonderful thing about this fandom? Every single artists and writers version of these characters. They take them and make them their own. I love the way i can read 10 wolfstar fics and all ten of them are wildly different versions of them. They fall in love with each other unconditionally and i with them.

I’ve been told I’m not valid, that i don’t deserve to exist, that i should have DIED in surgery. There is really vile and hateful people in this fandom but you know what. I’m not here for you, my art isn’t for you it’s for ME.

I would like to say I resent this fandom but it’s brought me so much joy as well. I’ve met some of the most talented and wonderful people. I met my very best friend because of this fandom. I traveled places to see people i love because of dead gay wizards. I have found a place that is so wonderfully accepting. A queer community that I will never have in real life. The amount of freedom and expression is something that drew me in and will make me stay.

I hope you get the day you deserve, and I will continue my life where I live it for me and no one else <3

[harrystylescherry]

A/N: wow, what amazing timing. let's pretend i did this on purpose. happy birthday, harry! fyi, this is vol. 2--you don't have to, but i rec reading vol. 1 first :)

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain, orgasm denial

what this is: pure smut tbh - vol. 2

word count: 5.5k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

It had been three agonizing days–three and a half if you were going to count this morning…and you were, because the ache between your legs and the need thrumming at your core was the only thing you could think about. 

Your boyfriend was punishing you in the worst way: orgasm denial. He’d work you and edge you until you were just on the brink of release, one…two…three times…then release you from the restraints, or pull you up from his lap, and go about his business. As if you weren’t a puddle of need, dripping between your thighs, angry and wanton and sorry. 

Because that was the whole point of this–for you to be sorry. To show you not to misbehave, or shirk direct orders. 

In your eyes, it was a minor infraction. He had left on a business trip for five days, and told you, explicitly, not to touch yourself, not for a teasing second, not to come. Then, he made sure to clarify that none of the sex toys at his place or yours were to be used either, knowing how much you loved a loophole. The two of you had been together for just over a year now, and you had taught him well to be specific and exact with his instructions. On more than one occasion, he’d tell you that you should’ve been a lawyer–a comment that was as much of a compliment as it was a chastising for being bratty and pushing his limits. 

The instruction was a punishment in itself, though he’d never admit to it. He wanted you to go with him, so between the stressful meetings and boring client calls, he could have moments of peace. He wanted to show you around a new city (though he’d only ever been there once before himself), discover hole in the wall eateries and dive bars together, fuck you in places not exactly meant for fucking, and, of course, have you on his arm for all the client dinners and drink-night-schmoozing he was expected to do. Unfortunately for him, you were only three months into your new job as an assistant editor/junior staff writer for The Wire, an indie music magazine based in London that mostly focused on independent artists and underground scenes. Were you cool enough for the job? Probably not, but you were open to anything and everything–your 134 very specific spotify playlists proof that you didn’t discriminate. 

The job was a lot of work, and you were busting your ass to prove to the close-knit team that ran it that you were worth keeping around. Your ninety-days of entry-probation had just ended. Taking time off wasn’t a good look (not that you had even racked up enough hours to take off an entire work week), and while working from home wasn’t off the table, you didn’t want it to seem like you didn’t want to be there. On the ground, toiling away at your tiny desk with the other two assistants and three interns. It was fun. You loved Harry, but your priorities right now were what they were. He understood it, though that didn’t mean he had to like it. And clearly, he didn’t, as evidenced by his very unfair and petty instruction. 

You had done well the first three days, despite the teasing texts and naughty photos meant to bait you–which is why you’d been so strong. He wasn’t going to trick you into breaking a rule. 

Day four was what broke you. You hadn’t heard from him all day (which only made you want the teasing and photos now that they were being withheld), you had stupidly started an erotic romance novel that was essentially 320 pages of pure (ungodly and delicious) fucking, and you were so stressed out from work that your body was begging for a release beyond what your favorite workout could give. 

You were just a girl. A horny, needy, sexually frustrated girl. It’s not your fault that the desperation was too strong for you to deny the call of the clit sucker you kept buried in your underwear drawer. It was society’s. 

In the moment, the rationalizing was totally sound. And in the moment, the orgasm was worth it. 

Then, Harry’s facetime came through only a few minutes after you’d come down, as if he had some sort of sixth sense when it came to your orgasms. 

“Hi,” you said after checking to make sure your hair was fine and the toy was safely tossed beneath your bed. 

His brow furrowed on the screen. “Hi, baby.”

“How’s your trip?” You settled into the pillows behind you. 

“Good,” he mumbled. His lips twitched. “Did you touch yourself today?”

“W-what?”

“You did, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “When? Just now?”

You scoffed. “Harry, come on. Of course not. You said–”

“I know what I said. And I know that you didn’t listen.” His voice was stern and it sent a jolt to your core. 

“That’s–”

“Don’t lie to me. I know what you look like after–and it’s all over your face.”

Your cheeks flamed. You were caught. 

“It’s not my fault!”

You could see he was fighting off a smile–a devilish one. “Whose fault is it then?”

“I…” You didn’t really have an answer. 

“That’s what I thought.” You watched his jaw tick through the screen. “I’ll be home tomorrow night. I expect you to already be there when I do. Now, get cleaned up and go to bed.”

He ended the call before you could respond. No ‘goodnight’ or ‘I love you’. You were screwed…and not in the way you would’ve liked. So, feeling a little guilty, you moved into the bathroom, took a shower, and climbed beneath your covers at 9pm. 

The night he got home, he restrained you to the bed without a word. Flat on your back, with your limbs pulled to each respective corner of the bed, he teased your nipples with a paint brush, then your clit, until you were a squirming, writhing mess. Then it was over. He brushed a hand over your cheek and went to take a shower. 

Each night since, the edging had progressively gotten worse. 

You were aroused constantly. Getting through each work day felt like an impossible feat. All you could think about was the nights before–the pleasure in all the teasing–and then the pain in going without any relief. Unfortunately, that only made you wetter. 

You were a zombie through your morning meetings. You nodded when you were supposed to and took down notes just so you didn’t completely check out. You’d been staring at the commissioned article in front of you for almost forty-five minutes, not an edit made because you couldn’t tear your focus from the steady throb between your legs, when a text from Harry came through. 

Same time tonight. 

That’s all it said, though it didn’t need to say anything else. A shiver moved through you. Another night of torture. You held in the groan of frustration (with maybe a bit of anticipation), hoped that your punishment would be over tonight and white-knuckled through the rest of your day. 

You knocked on Harry’s door at exactly 8pm. No dinner together was part of the punishment, and so was not being able to use your key. Those were always part of the punishments, though, and served to remind you of your place in this area of your relationship–that you were not in control, could only come and go as much as he wanted you to, and all the other things that you already knew…and that you sometimes needed reminding of. 

When were you going to learn that being rebellious was fun until it wasn’t (though, punishments could still be kind of fun–not that you would ever tell Harry that)? 

It was a rhetorical question, since you had never exactly been one to submit without a fight.

“Little brat,” he said when he opened the door. “Straight to my room. Take your clothes off in the hall.”

No kiss hello, no smile, no sweetness–just like the last three nights. Maybe the punishments weren’t always fun. Your eyes went to the floor in shame as you went past him and up the stairs. He followed behind you, his footfalls even and sure. He leaned against the wall with his arms over his chest as you pushed your jeans to the floor and peeled off your t-shirt. 

When you went to move into the room, Harry tsked in disapproval. “You know better than that. Don’t make this worse for yourself, sub.”

Your entire body lit up with embarrassment. It was a mistake. You were nervous and anxious to get it over with, not thinking. You knew you weren’t getting a release tonight, could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Your hands shook as you unclasped your bra, letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties. 

“In the room, hands against the wall.”

You took a shaky breath and did exactly as he said. 

The thin paddle pressed against your bare ass when he came up behind you and your body clenched. You weren’t exactly a fan. He slid it down the back of your thighs and gave your skin a light tap. 

“Legs apart.” You obeyed and he hummed. “Keep your arms and legs straight, and eyes up.” You took a deep breath in preparation. The paddle came down on your ass and you flinched. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“N-no, sir.”

“So, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Whack.

There was no warning or warm-up. He took turns with each cheek, hitting hard and then easing up, so you never knew what to prepare for. At least he didn’t make you count them, not that you thought you could. You were too focused on not letting your knees buckle, fighting not to lean against the wall. 

It went on like that for a while, until the searing burn turned into the kind of sharp numbing that left you dripping. 

After what had to be at least twenty strikes, he dipped his hand between your thighs. Like always, shame slithered in; the embarrassment that all of this turned you on. It disappeared, like it always did, the second Harry made his sound of approval. That little hum that told you he was pleased, even though he wouldn’t vocalize it the way you wanted him too. It was a punishment, after all. 

He brushed his knuckles over your clit and you almost crumpled to the floor. You were so turned on, so needy, that the slightest touch was a straight shot to your core–electric. Two flicks of his fingers and you knew you’d come, which meant even more trouble. 

He touched you again and you hissed. 

“You don’t come. Not until I say.” As if you needed the reminder. 

“Yes…sir.” He chuckled at the breathiness of your voice. It was mean–and hot. He knew it, too. 

The paddle against your skin again, then his fingers moving through your slit. “Such a dirty girl,” he whispered. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to think about anything else besides the pleasure strumming at your core. His fingers were too skilled, they knew your body too well. 

Your left knee buckled–for less than a second–but he caught it. Goosebumps raised across your skin when you heard the three tsks from behind you. 

“I–”

“Shh…” 

You pressed your lips together, forcing the plea back down your throat. 

“On the bed.”

Silently, and with your head down, you walked on shaky legs to sit at its edge. Harry pushed your chest back so you laid down. 

“Don’t move.”

He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the spreader bar. He strapped in each of your ankles so you couldn’t close your legs and then moved it up, so your knees were bent into your chest. Your breath was ragged and you fought to keep any whimpers from slipping out when he secured your wrists in the cuffs attached to the center of the bar. 

You couldn’t stretch your legs, couldn’t close them–couldn’t move. Completely open to him, you were in the perfect position for him to do whatever he wanted. 

He hummed as he moved back to the wardrobe, opening and closing drawers. He seemed to be making a decision. When he turned back to you, there was a smirk on his face. You took a deep breath when you saw the pink device in his hands. 

He pushed the curved vibrator into you, until the fit was perfectly snug. He made sure to position it so the pad pressed right against your already too-sensitive clit. Then, he went and sat in the armchair a few paces from the corner of the bed. 

It looked as though he was simply scrolling through his phone, his posture relaxed in the chair, head propped against his closed fist–but you knew better. He was making you sweat it out. You knew what was coming–and the wait was agonizing, just as he intended it to be. 

When it came–the sharp buzzing both inside and out–your whole body jerked. As he moved his thumb up and down his screen, the vibrations followed, growing stronger and then mellowing out. 

This was one of your favorite toys, except maybe not anymore. Holding back your orgasm was feeling closer and closer to impossible. Your hips bucked against the mattress, each attempt to get away from the intense vibrations futile. You wanted to cry–knew you would if this didn’t end soon. 

You uselessly struggled against the restraints, your legs trying to close on sheer instinct. The sounds that escaped you seemed more akin to those of an animal than a woman and your entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat. 

Without even thinking about it, you were begging. 

“Please, please, please.” Harry stayed silent. “S-sir, god, please!”

“No.”

The vibrations stopped and your body sagged in a false sense of relief now that the fight was over, though there was no [real] relief. He still refused to let you come.

The whining was involuntary. Each nerve ending was a live wire. If he touched you just once, just [barely] you’d explode. The squirming of your hips against the slick silicone was what pulled him up from his chair. He pulled the device from you, leaving you empty and aching. 

After releasing your wrists and ankles from the restraints, he patted the inside of your thigh. “Go take a shower.” 

That’s it. Nothing else. You felt the pressure behind your eyes as you stood from the bed. You nodded and whispered your “Yes, Sir” as you moved into the en suite. 

Your joints were sore from all your struggling, and all you wanted was a hug. It seemed his point had been made–at least in your opinion. You broke a direct order and then tried to lie about it. That was bad, you got it. Wouldn’t do it again. 

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take the punishment because you could. If not, you would’ve used your safe word. He only ever gave you as much as you could handle and you trusted him with your body entirely, without question. It was the lack of aftercare that was getting to you. During this punishment, he’d been doling out the bare minimum. All you’d gotten was maybe a kiss to the forehead and little love pats to your thighs. You were used to falling asleep in his lap, being wrapped up in a blanket, or being tucked into his side as he prepared you a snack or (upon request) ice cream sundaes. 

Under the hot water, you wiped the tears from your cheeks and let your body relax. You washed your hair and lathered your body using his products (ignoring the ones he kept for you on the shelf) since that was as close to him as he’d allow you to get this week. 

When you opened the shower door, he was standing there, waiting with a towel. “C’mere,” he said as he held it open for you. You stepped into him and he wrapped it around your body, then rubbed his hands up and down your arms. You snuggled as close to him as you could and he kissed the top of your head before saying, “Get dressed and I’ll take you home.”

You wanted to cry again, but didn’t. The punishment would end eventually, and you weren’t going to be weak about it. 

*

It was day four and you were so sexually frustrated, you wanted to cry. Literally. At this point, you were nothing more than a bundle of needy hormones. You had chosen to wear a dress into the office for no other reason than you wouldn’t have been able to deal with the seam of your jeans rubbing against your clit all day. Why torture yourself when Harry was already doing more than enough?

Halfway through your morning, you got a text from your boyfriend requesting that you go straight to his place from work. Thankfully, he couldn’t hear you sigh in annoyance. You didn’t want to be denied anymore. You were tired, and your body was still a little sore from the night before and you were mad at him. He never restrained you like that without some kind of massage afterwards. 

Each time you stood, your knees ached just a little and your hips had been stiff when you got out of bed this morning. Your body–and your brain–had had enough. 

You left work a little later than usual, staying to finish an edit that didn’t need to be done until Monday. The tube ride to his was spent trying not to work yourself up. You leaned back in your seat and listened to an album that your boss had been talking about all week, hoping to distract yourself. It worked until you were standing in front of his door. 

It opened without you having to knock and he smiled softly when he saw you. “Long day?”

So, apparently, you looked as tired as you felt. “I guess.”

He motioned for you to come in and, hesitantly, you did. He took your bags and set them in the entryway. 

“Help me finish dinner?”

Dinner. You tried not to get your hopes up that the punishment was over, but he was relenting. You’d take any allowance you could get at this point. 

“Sure.”

All that was really left to do was make the salad while he pulled everything out of the oven and set the table. 

“Go ahead and sit down,” he said as he took the bowl from in front of you. 

You took your seat and watched him move around the room, back and forth from the table with the roast chicken and sides, to the racks where he kept his wine. He poured you a glass and squeezed the back of your neck–a gesture that was both possessive and comforting. 

As you ate, he asked about work–the kinds of things you were working on, how you were settling in, etc. It was the most conversation the two of you had since he came home and it felt good. Almost too good. As much as you tried to fully relax back into your normal routine and dynamic, you couldn’t lose the last bit of tension in your shoulders. 

You wouldn’t be lured into a false sense of comfort–and Harry knew it too. He tried to hide his little half-smile, and if it were anyone else but you, it would’ve been missed but you knew him too well. 

When you put your napkin on the table signaling you were finished, he cleared the table without a word. He whistled along to the song playing throughout the main floor as you scrolled on your phone, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your attention. 

Really, you were in no place to be petty, but your nature was your nature. You flinched when you felt his hands on your shoulders, massaging into the knots that resided there for months, since the beginning of your new job. It was from stress that you didn’t necessarily mind, since you were doing something you loved. His fingers climbed up the back of your neck and into your hairline, pressing in soft circles. You hummed in satisfaction. 

“Is that good, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you said as your eyes fluttered closed. A quick tug to your hair pulled them open again. So, it was starting. “Yes, Sir,” you corrected, and were rewarded with more kneading at the base of your skull. 

“C’mon, we’re going upstairs.”

Your body buzzed with anticipation as you followed him up and into his room. He kissed your cheekbone as he passed in front of you to go to the wardrobe–the one that you’d come to see as the bane of your existence this last week. 

“Strip and lay on the bed for me.” You did as he said. All he returned with was a pair of soft handcuffs. Once your wrists were fastened together in front of you, he pushed your legs open and took a step back from the bed. 

“Hm.” He pulled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he looked you over. “Pretty.”

The whimper was involuntary as you preened beneath his gaze. You could feel the pulse of your core. You were so sexually frustrated that it took nothing more than his approval for the desire to pool between your legs. The smirk on his face told you he could see it. 

“You didn’t listen to me,” he said as he stepped to the edge of the bed. He reached down and casually traced the outline of you, making sure to keep away from your clit and your center. “Why not?”

“I-I was horny, sir. You kept s-sending me–” You cut yourself off with a needy moan when Harry dipped his fingers in just enough to coat them with you. 

He spread it over your folds until the slickness touched your inner thighs. “Keep going.”

You took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. You also forced your hips to stay down, knowing that if you rocked yourself into his hand, he’d probably pull away. You couldn’t risk that, not when he was being so nice. “You kept sending me texts and photos o-of yourself–oh, god–and telling me all these…things.” 

He brushed his fingers through your folds as you spoke, skirting around the bundle of nerves perfectly primed to set you off. 

“So?”

“So, it made me want you and you weren’t there.”

“So?” He pushed a finger inside and your back arched off the bed. “Eyes open,” he said when they fluttered shut. 

“So, it wasn’t nice. You were teasing me–torturing me on purpose. It wasn’t fair that I had to wait and you didn’t.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I–”

“You hate when I say that, I know.” He pushed a second finger inside and you moaned. Your hips tilted forward on their own, seeking out something–anything–for relief. 

He removed his fingers. When he brushed his wet knuckles over your clit, a strangled cry replaced the disappointed sigh that escaped you. 

“Is that what you want, baby?”

You whined and wriggled on the mattress while he held his knuckles just out of reach. 

“Is it?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.” 

“I didn’t get off while I was gone.”

“Okay,” you panted, as you fought your own neediness. 

Harry slapped your clit and you cried out. “Listen to me. I did not get off while I was gone.”

“What? But you–”

“I know, the torture is the point. The teasing. I thought you would’ve learned this by now.” Another brush over your clit. Another moan. “That rule was for both of us. Did you think I wasn’t in agony? Each time you answered or sent a photo in return it took everything in me not to wrap my hand around my cock, but I have some self-control. I have patience. And I understand that whatever pleasure I could give myself wouldn’t compare to the kind I could get from you.”

When you whimpered this time, it wasn’t with need, but shame. You may have felt a little bad about breaking the rule now, and not just because it meant a little disappointment and a punishment. This was a big disappointment, you could hear it in his tone. It wasn’t just breaking a simple rule, but ruining something that was supposed to be good for the both of you. Granted, in your defense, he could’ve told you that, but you also knew why he didn’t: he shouldn’t have had to. 

“Sir, I’m really sorry.”

“I bet you are.” He gave your clit a pinch that sent a flash of heat over your entire body. “I should make you wait another week. Edge you every night until you're begging for my cock, and then still not give it just so we’re even.”

“I–”

“Quiet.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you further down the bed. He placed his knee on the mattress, positioning his thigh only an inch from your clit. “You want to come so badly, go ahead.”

Your brow lifted in surprise. “What?”

“Go ahead, come. You have my permission, but I’m not helping you. You want it, take it, or I’ll uncuff you, and you can get dressed so I can take you home.”

“Sir–”

“You’ve got less than a minute before I dress you myself.” The hard edge to his voice told you he wasn’t kidding. Not in the slightest.

You looked from the stern set of his face down to his jean-clad thigh. When you looked back at your boyfriend, his jaw was set. He didn’t move or say a word. 

Your entire body heated with something close to embarrassment, but it was also mixed with anticipation, shame, and need. You didn’t want to go home, you wanted to get off and if this was all he was offering, you’d have to take it. Especially since, if you didn’t, you’d be in even more trouble with him. You didn’t need him to say it to know. 

You planted your heels into the mattress and closed the gap between you two. When you lifted your hips, your clit brushed against the rough material and you groaned. You rolled your hips against his thigh and cursed. It felt so good. You knew it wouldn’t take you very long to cum. The only thing stopping you from instantly falling over the edge was the fact that you could only get close enough for a light brushing–there was no pressure. The only real friction came from the coarse fabric–but it would be enough. More than enough. 

Your abs and thighs burned as you held your hips up, and with every rock of your hips, the muscles in your stomach contracted with the effort. This was its own kind of punishment, you realized. He was making you work for it. 

You had kept your eyes locked on his stiff cock pushing against the front of his jeans, not sure if you wanted to know how exactly he was looking at you. 

“That’s it, baby.” 

But, of course, all it took was that little bit of praise to get your attention. The sternness was still there, but there was also heat. He wanted you–and he seemed to love seeing you like this: needy and unbelievably desperate. Because that’s what you were. Getting your release was all you could think of. 

You wanted something to hold onto, to grip onto the blankets beneath you for more stability, but you couldn’t do it with your wrists handcuffed together. You whined with the realization. 

“I know.” The comfort was full of condescension, and you wished it didn’t turn you on even more, but it did. 

You were sweating from exertion, but you were so close. 

“C’mon, baby. Rub yourself on my thigh. I can feel how wet you are, my dirty girl.” 

You looked down to see for yourself. Where you rubbed yourself was a much darker shade of blue. Your head fell back with a moan. 

In an act of undeserved kindness, Harry pressed his thigh against you, offering you the most delicious kind of friction; the kind that almost hurt. 

It was only another second before you were tumbling over the edge. You came so hard that stars erupted behind your eyes, and your skin felt white hot. You were sure you cursed and cried out his name but you were so detached from reality that you couldn’t know for sure. 

He didn’t wait for you to come down from the high. He undid the fastening of his jeans before leaning over and uncuffing your wrists. “Up.” He walked to the right side of the bed and took a seat. “Come and sit on my cock.”

Still in somewhat of a daze, you did as he said. As soon as he pulled his length from the confines of his jeans, you straddled his hips and sank down. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. He gripped your waist and guided your hips, holding you down so he was fully sheathed. 

You ignored the harsh rubbing of material against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and focused on how good it felt to feel him inside of you. 

“You’re gonna come again,” he said before sucking on your neck, leaving a mark that you hoped would be gone by the time you had to go back to the office after the weekend. 

You whimpered, not entirely confident you had it in you. Your clit was overstimulated and raw from the week’s torture. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know. You’ll do it anyway.”

When his voice was that deep and raspy, so commanding, who were you to argue?

“Yes,Sir.”

He pulled you far enough away that he could dip down and lick your peaked nipples. He sucked and nibbled until your chest and cheeks were red hot with the building of another orgasm. 

“Oh, god.” You gripped the collar of his t-shirt. 

He hummed against your skin. “That’s it. Keep going.” He held you tight enough that you wouldn’t be able to disconnect your clit from where it rubbed against the base of him even if you wanted to–and you were really walking that line. It was almost unbearable, the pleasure only a hair away from pain. 

When he tilted his hips to hit that special spot inside, the tension ripped loose. You dug your nails into the muscle of his shoulders as your body shook against his, your hips rocking frantically, both chasing the high and trying to get away from it. 

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck as he emptied himself inside you. With a strong arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you riding him through both of your orgasms as your body filled with exhaustion. 

He peppered kisses over your chest, shoulders, neck and jaw until you felt him go soft, still tucked inside. You were close to falling asleep on his chest when he pulled out and lifted you up into his arms. 

“Shower first,” he whispered before kissing the top of your head and carrying you into the en suite. He set you on the counter and disappeared.

He came back with a cold glass of water, which you took happily. He turned the shower on, pulled two towels from the wardrobe and set them on the fancy warmer before returning to you. His hands moved from your shoulder to cup your face and he leaned in to kiss you. 

“You did well this week, love.”

“It sucked.”

He laughed. “It was supposed to.” Another peck to your lips and he helped you down. “Go ahead.”

You stepped into the shower and watched through the quickly fogging glass as he stripped. The second he stepped in you were glued to him, your head to his chest and his arms around your waist. 

You only pulled apart when he washed you. His hands moved over your body, soft and soapy, digging into the muscles he had neglected the nights before. 

“I think I owe you a massage or two.”

“Try three–at least.”

He kissed your hip from his spot beneath you. When he brought his hand up to wash between your legs, you flinched. 

“Sore?”

“A little numb, actually. Wasn’t even expecting that to hurt.” 

He kissed right above your mound. “Sorry, love. I’ll be gentle.”

He finished his task and you took over, doing the same for him. Despite his hardening length, he didn’t try to touch you again, or ask you to help him relieve what must have been a lot of pent up frustration. Instead, he held your face in his hands and kissed you, murmuring soft I love yous in between. 

After toweling each other off, he turned down the covers, put on Sleepless in Seattle and promised to make you blueberry pancakes in the morning.

[thebibliosphere]

I saw your post about ingram, and out of curiosity, is there some advantage to going through the whole self-publishing thing with retailers when you're just starting out? like I mean the way that fandom zines work is that they don't even bother going through ingram or amazon or whatever. they just set up a social media site (usually twitter) to gain followers, open preorders (usually 1-2 months in length) to generate the costs of printing upfront, and then sell anywhere from a few dozen to several hundred copies of their books (usually artbooks, but anthologies exist too). I've seen some zines generate over a thousand orders. they're kind of like pop-up shops, except for books. maybe the sales numbers aren't so impressive to a real author, but the profit generated is typically waaaay more than the $75+ apparently needed for Ingram Spark, so I still feel like new authors could benefit from this method too, especially if they just need some start-up cash to eventually move to ingram if they want to for subsequent runs of their book. I think authors would also have to set aside some of the pre-order money to buy an ISBN number to have printed on their book, and I'm not really sure what other differences there are, but I just wanted to ask about it in case there's some huge disadvantage I'm missing!

So, popup zines work well for some people, and I know some authors who kickstart their work successfully. But for a lot, it's just not feasible as a long-term stratedy. Or even as a means to get off the ground.

Fanzines succeed primarily because an existing fanbase is willing and ready to throw money at something they love. They’ve got a favorite writer or artist they want to support. Supporting all the others is just a happy by-product. They also take a HUGE amount of short-term but intense planning that just doesn’t always jive with how some of us work.

I, for one, would never offer to organize a fanzine. I’ll take part in them as a creator, but I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than subject myself to wrangling that many people and dealing with the legal logistics.

When it comes to authors doing anthologies, it'svery much the same. The success of the funding often hinges on having other big-name authors involved whose existing fans will prop up the project. Or having a huge marketing budget.

Most self-pub authors have zero marketing budget. I’m one of them, and I’m under no illusions that my work would not be as popular and self-sustaining as it is if I didn’t have a large Tumblr blog.

When I thank Tumblr in my forewards, I am utterly sincere. Tumblr brought fandom levels of enthusiasm to an unknown work and broke the Amazon algorithm so hard, that Amazon thought I was bot sniping my way to multiple #1 spots and froze my sales rankings.

That’s not the norm. And while I could probably kickstart my own work as an indie creator, that’s because I’ve put literal decades into building up a readership. I’ve been doing this since I was 16 and realized people thought I was funny. I didn’t know what to do with it or if I’d ever actually write anything, but it meant the groundwork was already there (thank you, past-me). I basically fell upward into my success by virtue of never being able to shut the fuck up and wanting to make people laugh. Clown instincts too strong.

New or first-time authors trying to sell their work without that will find it infinitely harder.

All of that aside, even if an unknown author somehow gets lucky and manages to fund their work, there’s still the question of shipping and distribution logistics. Are you shipping everything yourself? Better hope you’re able-bodied and have the time for it. (for reference, it took me months to ship out 300 patreon hardbacks because of my disabilites. It damaged my back and hands. I couldn’t type for several weeks after I was done.)

Are you going to sell primarily at conventions? Better hope you’re able-bodied, have the time and don’t have cripling anxiety about being in large groups...

Also, will selling a dozen to a few thousand copies in one burst be sustainable in the long run as a career? Not for me. Doing things via Ingram and Amazon means I earn a steady trickle of sales for the rest of my life provided the platforms remain and so long as I keep working and can generate interest in the series, not just when I have funds to pay for physical copies to sell. The one-time (in theory) cost of $75 to distribute through Ingram gets paid off pretty quick that way. And it doesn't require the same logistics as doing the popup/crowdfund.

Ultimately, it comes down to what you are capable of but also the type of work you’re doing. If you’ve got an extended network of fellow creatives who will back you or you’ve got a large following elsewhere, doing it like a popup might work for you.

If you’re an exhausted burnout who can’t fathom the short but intense amount of organization that sort of thing requires, not to mention doing it over and over and over... Ehhhhh. No thank you.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Happy Valentine's Day to you all! To celebrate, I'm back with another collaborative Drarry reclist, featuring a new lovely bunch of Drarry writers, artists, reccers, and fans!

Once again, the question was: ‘what one or two fics, or scenes, or quotes, represent peak Drarry romance to you?’ and (in what is rapidly becoming a nightmare for me), no duplicates from previous years were allowed. Thank you so much to everyone who took part, I hope you enjoy the results!

You can find part 1 (2022) here, and part 2 (2023) here!

This year's list features answers from: apricitydays-lazynights, arminaa8, drarrymyheart, drarryspecificrecs, hoko-onchi-writes, jtimu, littlewinnow, mallstars, myrtlefics, oflights, peachydreamxx, pl0tty, rainstormradish, romaine2424, squintclover, starquestingfordrarry, thecouchsofa, thedrarrylibrarian, and themiddleofwonderland!

***

@apricitydays-lazynights

💗who will receive you in love's offices by jtimu (E, 30k)

It was a wonder, Draco thought, watching Potter tip back the last remnants of his drink, that the man had survived to adulthood. Not because of the war, or the constant attempts on his life, or surviving two separate killing curses, despite his insistence that he had at some point died, but because there was not a single ounce of self-preservation in his entire body. There couldn’t be. …He glanced over at the potion on the table, and considered, for a fraction of a moment, getting up and pouring those same drops of veritaserum into his own glass. He looked away just as fast, back at Potter, grinning in his chair like they were queuing up for a Quidditch game and not at all like he had just handed his childhood nemesis the keys to his thoughts. “All right,” he said, “first of all. What the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?

@arminaa8

💗My Beautiful Boy by alexmeg (unrated, 69k, sequel to Alucinatio)

"You don't even like boys."

"I didn't know I did. But you," Harry trails off, laughs with his gaze trying to meet the grey of Draco's eyes, a little tremulous with nerves and fear and the way his breath sticks high in his throat like an ache. Draco does look at him, then. "God, you."

💗Seagulls Cause Storms, or the Essence of Chaos by @writandromance (M, 312k)

The stars above them were bright white. It made him think again of the black universe between the constellations, the way he thought people like him held the space for people like Harry to burn hot.

@drarrymyheart

💗The Rewards of Being Loved by @lou-isfake (E, 161k, sequel to The Ordeal of Being Known)

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you stop thinking so hard,” Harry replied, grinning mischievously. He placed Draco’s hand on his bare waist, his own hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s lips twitched in a hesitant grin.

“This song is too fast for you to dance to.”

“Only if I’m thinking about it,” Harry retorted, stepping in close. “Is my kitchen too difficult for you to dance in, your highness?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Potter,” Draco murmured, his grin widening as he pulled Harry flush against him, taking his hand. Harry chuckled, waiting for him to lead.”

💗I Do Not Love You by @writandromance (M, 228k)

“The thing is,” Harry said, voice low like all they’d said was public knowledge and this was the secret. “If you’re interested in this, if we pursue this, I’ll be a goner.”

“A goner?” he echoed.

Harry took a lung-filling breath. “Yeah, Draco,” he sighed. “That’ll be it for me. Tony… well, Tony I ended up happy to see go. Miles, I—that was hard in the moment but I was fine. But you… we’re so connected, our lives are so connected, our friends. I don’t want to fuck around, it would be serious, to me. You’re serious to me.”

@drarryspecificrecs

(cause 'Hogwarts 8th year' & 'creature' are among my fave tropes and I really really adore fics where Draco is in trouble but not weak & Harry is already smitten with him)

💗Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by @faith2wood (E, 37k)

💗The Arc of the Pendulum by brummell (E, 30k)

@hoko-onchi-writes

💗Half Sick of Shadows by StarQuesting (E, 40k)

(I have a hard time containing myself about dragon tamer Draco, and everyone knows it. I’m about as subtle as a brick when something pings a sweet spot in my brain. But this fic is so much more than a hot, aloof, sex king dragon tamer Draco who has weaver Harry weak in the knees. It is also so very bright and clear in my mind; the visuals are so affecting, just like the creations that Harry weaves. Favorite scene: Harry casually chatting with dragons. 12/10 would be unhinged again.)

💗A pulled down shade by fast_brother (M, 43k)

(I’m not a big crier over fics. Maybe three or four have made me cry this year. This one made me lose it. I think the thing that stands out to me is the visceral capture of emotion. You can feel Draco’s broken heart, and then you can feel Harry’s. I could probably get worked up about it right now. Favorite scene: Draco crying over the broken tea cup. I literally can’t function when I think about it. 12/10 would cry again.)

💗The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls by thecouchsofa (E, 256k)

(I might be cheating since I’m still savoring The Brightest Constellation of Our Souls but I’m including it because it is Peak Drarry Romance. TheCouchSofa always has this intensely brilliant characterization. Harry is heartbreakingly oblivious. Draco is prickly and about as subtle as a brick over pining for Harry. This also features depression!Harry, which has gotta be one of my favorite Harrys. She writes depressed Harry with such delicacy, handling the ins and outs of mental illness and trauma with care, but also making it fucking funny. Favorite scene so far: Harry very casually slipping into conversation that he’s bisexual after he’s been traveling with Draco for an absurd amount of time without mentioning it. And Draco’s ensuing reaction. 12/10 will continue swooning.)

@jtimu

💗Designate / your love as fate by @elskanellis (E, 17k)

💗Lover, Where Do You Live? by @dodgerkedavra (E, 39k)

💗Seven Days in June by @fourth-rose (E, 47k)

@littlewinnow

💗1000 Kisses: #27 First Thing in the Morning, Just After Moving in Together by @deliciouslystickypersona (E, 3k)

Draco trails his fingertips over the flat plane of Harry’s belly, tracing the line of hair up to where it widens over his pectorals. He nuzzles his nose into the curve of Harry’s shoulder, inhaling the sweet, musky, sleepy scent of his skin.

💗Little Love by @ladderofyears (M, 34k)

Harry – who still held Draco’s hand – was gazing at the baby, spellbound by the sight. His whole appearance couldn’t have been prouder, or more loving, had he been Snidget’s natural father. When Harry caught Draco looking at him, he beamed, unashamed of his response.

@mallstars

💗Elaborate, Correct, and Assiduously Observed by peu_a_peu (T, 4k)

Some things were still the same, he thought. Draco was the perfect height for Harry to put his head on his shoulder and rest. That had been secretly true all along, and they’d only had to figure it out.

💗Us, In Lieu by Tepre (E, 30k)

“I . . .” The words jumble in his mouth. His hair is still mostly wet in his neck. He should’ve shaved. He should’ve cleaned his glasses. He should’ve— “I do want you.” And, “Enough,” he adds, then decides no , decides, “Not just enough. More than. More than that.” He licks his lips. “So much more than that.”

💗The Pure and Simple Truth by @letteredlettered (E, 14k)

Malfoy’s eyelashes were visible just above his cheeks, golden and some might have said they should have been darker, but Harry thought that they were perfect. The curve of Malfoy’s jaw, the slant of Malfoy’s throat, that was perfect, too. Malfoy looked up, licked his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested,” he said.

💗The Isle of Ogygia by @citrusses (E, 13k)

The days pass slower, after Potter leaves. Draco tries to fish again, and manages to actually levitate a fish out of the water, but then he Stuns it and it sinks back beneath the waves like a rock, and he doesn’t have any luck retrieving it again. Every day he walks to the top of the lighthouse, casts the right spells, and walks back down. He looks around his room and thinks about where Potter sat.

@myrtlefics

💗Going Postal by dustmouth (125 page comic)

(I am a complete and utter sucker for Dustmouth’s comics and the correspondence and longing and softness of this one make me really happy)

@oflights

💗Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (E, 127k)

(Chapter 11: it's one of my fave proposals in any fic ever/a beautiful love confession/a lovely romantic moment that fits with how the rest of the fic builds up their relationship and all the poor communication and ways they've hurt each other and love each other)

@peachydreamxx

💗to be a bit of warmth (for you) by @softlystarstruck (M, 9k)

Draco stirs in Harry’s arms, mumbling something soft and incoherent, and Harry whispers a wandless spell to completely dim the room lights. If Draco is just seeking comfort, so what? Harry has more than enough to give– it may be the only thing he has left to give– and Draco grounds him, too. Whatever happened on the other side of a war they both went through no longer matters. They’re here, now, and Draco is cold.So Harry will keep him warm.

@pl0tty

💗Tandem by fast_brother (M, 93k)

The handle clicked and the door cracked open, allowing the sound of rain to come into the car. 

“I… thanks,” Harry said. His heart was beating faster. His hands were sweaty.

Draco didn’t back away completely, just enough to be able to look Harry in the eyes. 

“You have to stop that, Harry. Really," he said gravely, as if speaking about a very serious issue. 

“Stop what?” Harry asked stupidly, still holding his breath. 

“You have to stop looking at me like that.”

Harry’s heart traveled all the way up to his throat. 

“I– I can’t,” he blurted out, feeling himself flush with the enormity of what he’d just said.

Draco let out a shocked chortle. He looked away at the street covered in rain, his left hand still resting on Harry’s chair. When he turned back towards Harry, he wasn’t laughing anymore.

He leaned in and kissed Harry on the lips.

💗Matters of the heart by nerakrose (G, 5k)

Today’s breakfast: eggs, toast, tea. I’ve left the sink a mess this week but I’ll do the dishes later. In a way taking these moments to write to you every morning feels like a little quiet refuge or a secret space that nobody else knows about but you. It feels safe here. I miss you. These days I’m missing you more than I’ve ever missed you before and I can’t explain it. Have I reached a breaking point? I don’t know.

Yours,

Harry

💗More Than That by joosetta (E, 11k)

“He was going to kill you,” Potter said, “He said he was going to kill you.”

“He was never going to kill me,” Draco mumbled, “He was up against you for Merlin’s sake. He tried to play quick-curse with Harry fucking Potter.”

Potter was silent for a bit at that, raising a hand up and stroking the back of Draco's head.

“He thought I would help him,” Potter said finally. Draco felt the strangest thing, like a spasm in his face, that left his eyes hot, and his lips shaking. He had to gather himself together again before he could reply.

“Well, he’s never had me suck his cock, so there was no way he could know,” Draco said, instead of he didn’t realise that you loved me. Potter got it anyway, because he laughed, just a little bit. He drew back, and his face was the most frightening and beautiful thing Draco had ever seen.

“You always talk like you give me blow jobs all the time,” he said. “You almost never give me blow jobs, Draco.”

💗Sparks from the Fox’s Tail by khalulu (T, 17k)

And then it was just natural to turn in his arms so they were face to face. Eye to eye, lip to lip, mouth to mouth. Natural to fall into bed together, hands and mouths moving over warm skin, stroking and kissing til they were breathless.

Harry broke off. “Should we think this through?”

“No,” said Draco. “Why did you pull away in the shower?”

“You were so weak then, I didn’t want to take advantage.”

“I was throwing myself at you with what little strength I had. Next time, catch me.”

“I’ve got you,” Harry said, winding himself around Draco. “I’ve got you.”

@rainstormradish

💗Where I see things right by InnerLilith (E, 15k)

(just... absolutely gorgeous handling of a sensitive subject, and I love how the preparation and thoughtfulness is such a big part of the romance. I don't bookmark InnerLilith's fics so much as intermittently go and reread half their back catalogue again. I've loved everything I've read from them.)

💗Help! I'm a Hopeless Romantic by peachydreamxx (M, 15k)

(we watch Harry fall in love with Draco and come to terms with lots of aspects of his life. The little Google searches are just so sweet and tender and I loved, loved loved it. And the ending is so perfect.)

@romaine2424

💗keep driving by @babooshkart (art)

(The romance portrayed in Keep Driving is palpable. Draco is so cool, but from every look, you can see the adoration she has for Harry. And Harry thrives off of the touches between them but also has a confident sense of her own worth. I will never tire of this calming, soft piece depicting a happy, confident, and joyful Drarry. The world is theirs to explore. They'll keep driving.)

💗Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship (E, 119k)

(Never Mind the Bollocks is a new fic from Erised 2023. I loved every moment of it, and Harry having so much fun and feeling like he belonged was everything. However, his drive to right and save all was still there. Chapter 18 brought it all together. I won't say how as the fic is so new, but, for me, it was so romantic with BAMF Harry showing up and Draco trying to be mad. Complete chef's kiss.)

@squintclover

💗 A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 235k)

(I remember so vividly the falling in love and the moment when it changed for both of them.)

@starquestingfordrarry

💗The Potter Malfoy bathroom war of 2007 by @andithiel (E, 9k)

(it is peak bathing-comfort)

@thecouchsofa

💗Cut From the Sky by mallstars (E, 150k)

(“Rainy romance’ describes this perfectly. I love how Harry grows to love Draco and never stops going after him once he realises that’s what he wants. This kind of love necessitates an endless amount of patience, but I can’t think of anything more romantic than that – someone coming back time and time again and showing you more grace than you would ever show yourself.)

💗Everything is Relative to You by @thehoneybeet (E, 43k)

(Harry and Draco being each other’s Great Loves in every life going back hundreds of years? I am feral. I cannot be contained. A demonstration of them being perfect for each other in every timeline, through good and bad. This is peak romance at its best.)

@thedrarrylibrarian

💗O Come, All Ye Faithful by @toomuchplor (E, 20k)

(Told through jumps between the past and the present, I adore the way toomuchplor depicts the everyday romance of an established relationship. Too often romance is delegated to big displays of affection, when I think much of romance is in the mundane, routine moments. Listening to your partner share about their day is romantic. Making routine breakfast and coffee is romantic. The intimacy of having an ongoing inside joke about a cat name is unbearably romantic to me. These are the small, everyday moments that the foundations of grand romances are built upon, and this fic was a love note to those moments.)

@themiddleofwonderland (amazuppai)

💗Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 16k)

(it's a classic H/D fic that preserves Draco's prickly personality while still showing him reforming in a very realistic way. It's a slow-burn—Harry isn't really in the first half at all, and when he does show up he's still very suspicious of Draco—but as Draco shows his (new) true colors, Harry can't help that his suspicions turn to curiosity (one of my favorite tropes with reformed Draco fics) especially with the somewhat forced proximity they find themselves in that slowly turns into voluntary and frequent proximity. To me, maybe because of the slow burn, it seems like a very realistic depiction of how Draco could reform himself and how Harry can turn his suspicions into curiosity and eventually more to form a healthy relationship together.)

[fipindustries]

bojack horse bad again

you know, i was thinking back to this show again, i watched three seasons of it and that was all that i could tomach and you know what? no.

i dont accept it

i dont care, it was a bad show, it was an objectively bad show and i dont accept that everyone else decided that it was good, i dont care, it was a bad show and im going to tell you why.

emotional terrorism

maybe im a simpleton but i am someone who cares quite a lot about catharsis in my stories. this show refused to grant that, adamantly and violently. im not saying i need a happy ending, i am more than capable of enjoying bittersweet or even tragic stories, but i need a sense of completeness, some satisfaction, some release, some sense that things matter or meant something. this show insisted on refusing to give that. all this show was interested in was get an emotional reaction out of you. it was the emotional equivalent of a jump scare. it was convinced that if it made you feel bad enough people would confuse that with beeing powerful and deep. you could get the same reaction by walking up to someone on the street and kicking them in the nuts. and it would take about as much subtlety or artistry.

2. writer led rather than animator led

you could tell this was one of those shows that were made on the writer's room, not by storyboarders or artists, by "comedians". by people with english degrees. so many scenes of characters just standing around and talking. so many "jokes" that were clearly meant to be funny as something you read on a piece of paper or on a tweet and chuckle as you read it but as animation it just gave limp, stagnant scenes. so much dialog that were references and quips and puns and fast witticisms of the type you come up in the shower when thinking of clever comebacks.

there were so many fucking scenes where everything would stop and a character would launch on some stupid profound monologue about life and philosophy and psychology and relationships. it was like the writers were trying on for size paragraphs of their future memoirs or self help books. so much dialog that was begging for an award for writing. so many "mic drop" moments that were designed to be quoted. i find that the best writing is not the one that you can just quote out of context as a cool pithy phrase. a lot of the best writing ive seen in my life is meaningless when devoid of context, is inextricable of the scene and indeed of the entire story surrounding it but in here i can almost see the seams where the writers look at the camera waiting to see if you are impressed

3. inconsistent tone

this show wanted to eat its cake and then still have it. there are stories that manage to deftly weave in and out of comedic moments into serious moments. everything everywhere all at once does an amazing job jumping from the stupidest, most childish jokes into the most profound commentary about human nature, sometimes doing both at the same time and it worked, one didint cheapen the other.

in here though, it wanted to both have a completly absurd world with the stupidest characters ever and then somehow make us care for it all as if the show hadnt shot itself in the foot. it wanted us to see caroline being in love with what is clearly three children in a trenchcoat and then take her seriously as an adult, to treat any forther relationship drama she has as if it werent completly farcical.

4. ugly animation

it continued the blight that is take over adult animation by doing that disgusting repugnant paper puppet rigged interpolated quasi flash animation that only gives you stiff poses and movements and incredibly boring shots of characters standing in 3/4 perspective in front of the camera. it dull and flat and clunky and ugly, and the character designs were ugly. the noses were ugly and the mouths were ugly and the hairs were ugly and the eyes were ugly. it was all ugly. the backgrounds were fucking ugly and the colors were ugly and it was an ugly show to look at. unbearably so. and even the obligatory "weird" stylized scenes put in to shake things off and try to pretend that it was visually interesting (for like one scene per season) were also fucking ugly.

5. it had not interesting point to make

all it could do was insist and belavor and extemporize about how this one guy sucks and also most people kind of suck but specifically this one guy really sucks and he is not going to get better, or maybe he will? eh maybe, but not really, because he sucks. and we are going to make you like him because we are the writers and we are going to make him relatable and charismatic and sympathetic but actually no he sucks, you fell for it! and what does it say about you that you almost kind of liked him eh????. season after season of him, and in case you almost found anything redeemable about him, we are going to make him even worse, painfully unsubtly so, we are going to make him look at the camera and say that he sucks, because that is the level of nuance we think you can handle, dear viewer. this is called "self aware writing" and its postmodern and meta, which means its clever.

i fucking hate this show and the more i think about it the angrier it makes me, and what makes me more angriest of all is that people like it. its popular. it won awards i think. its largely recognized as a good show and its not! it sucks and its bad and if you like it you are stupid.

[isa-ghost]

I think my final stance on the cQuackity finale is:

Should it have been done? Eeh. But is it valid to want to revamp what was previously done because the time period the prev happened in kinda sucked? Absolutely. As an artist, writer, and veteran roleplayer with 13+ years experience, I 100% understand why Q redid it and I respect that. He also has every right to close off the chapter of his mcrp journey that involved those shit people, especially Mr. Racist Ringleader, the way he did.

And with that in mind, the finale we got was the best it could be given... *stares at how, again, half the ccs involved with cQ's story suck.* Quackity shouldn't have to sit unhappy with something he did just bc he can't conclude it to the full extent it could've/should've been. I would've loved for him to be able to unpack everything he should've been able to. It just isn't possible bc people suck. At least Q cares enough to want to redo it in the first place, even if the redo maybe isn't better or whatever. Caring enough to redo it at all is more than could be said for quite a few ex dsmp members. :/

It 100% fit the character and people are being way too pearl clutchy about how not every character gets a happy ending. Listen man, I'm sick of mcrp stories ending with "and then I killed myself" too (/gen), but in cQ's case at least it's fitting. I haven't seen a single person that's mad about the ending suggest a better "happy" alternative that fits cQ as a character or is a choice cQ would Actually make. I'm not gonna write another whole analysis about why the ending makes sense again, go find that post. I could say more over there if it matters that much to someone, but I'm not gonna argue about it.

Also this might shock some people: *gasp* Quackity can do what he fucking wants with his characters. That doesn't mean you have to like it. What the fuck ever happened to "don't like it? Don't interact"?? I'm so tired.

I liked the finale and I think it fit cQ. It's not perfect by any means, but of the finales we've gotten after the tension of dsmp's fallout died down, it's a decent one.

People need to chill the fucking hell out, they have been WAY too hostile about the finale. I've seen people call Q a garbage writer, wishing he'd go broke, that he doesn't care about any of this (despite the fact that he was NEARLY IN TEARS because of how much these stories mean to him, especially cQ), that it was a ruse to plug merch, etc. Absolutely ice cold heartless garbage takes about Quackity. And some of them are from blogs who are supposedly fans of his bc their entire BLOG is decorated with him!!! Those are fucking nuts things to say about a guy you supposedly like!!!! You don't know someone's OC better than they do. Period. Fuck you, cope. I can't fucking stand people who feel entitled like that.

Anyway if you start shit on this post or with me I'm just blocking you. I'm not here to argue about this shit man, I'm just sick of people being so black&white and overly critical of shit so I wanted to air out the thoughts buzzing around in my mind so they stop driving me crazy.

Shout out to everyone who's actually capable of being nuanced and fairly critical of things they like without being a total fucking asshole that blows shit out of proportion and takes every little thing in bad faith to the furthest extreme.

[sgiandubh]

Does it really matter if Tony is there or not? You just would spin it as his paid job. Now you are spinning it because she and Sam have secret wardrobe connection. It's clear from her interviews the last 2 days, no one knows how she's been spending her life, what she's been focused on learning. She's very happy because she knows OL is over, she can enjoy more creative projects and nit have people like you obsessed with being rude about her private life and family, as many others see her value as an artist. Yes she has freed herself by ridding herself of Social Media and middle-aged lonely women who with they had been onset in her place filming the wedding episode. BTW Sam was very upset when Seasons 5 and 6 were greenlit and threatened to sue to get out of his contract, wanted out of Outlander desperately. Now he knows his fate his C list in Scotland for the rest of his life, alone trying to sell cocktails to lonely old female tourists

Dear Middle Aged Anon,

It is always so fucking funny and borderline (sickly) fascinating to read your Alternate Universe fanfic.

You should start writing a novel, might make you famous someday. But please, for the love of all that's holy, hone that English first. I found it wanting - not a pretty picture for a fanfic writer...

PS: since when is critical thinking equated with 'being rude'? And yes, McGill not showing up is always a relief, in here.

[michealscorneroftheinternet]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I just personally wanted to say that despite the first half of this year being really shitty for me I couldn't be more happy for making this account and finding this community I've come to grow so attached to.

You all have been so kind, supportive, and damn well patient for my ideas.

I couldn't be any more grateful.

I look forward to this new year and hope you all continue to enjoy what I have planned. It may be slow cooking but I promise you it's worth it.

A special thanks to all the new friends I've made this year as you guys are the bestest friends I could have and I look forward to spending time with you all more in the future.

@theartistisme43

The fact we started talking because I needed help in figuring out how to retexture models still baffles me to this day. I couldn't be more grateful I reached out to you. I look forward to creating more stuff with you this new year.

@selfshippinglover

We met because one night you decided to go through my entire blog and repost each post of mine with such loving words (in all caps no doubt) that it made my damn heart melt. I couldn't be more happy I decided to reach out because now we are best fucking buds but you also helped in growing my friend group even more with-

@dorriostareyes

My bud my co-writer and co-creator of some of the most spiciest of AU's out here on Tumblr. You and I share such similar minds on characters it is sometimes just a tad bit scary how in sync we are with each other. I continue to look forward to our partnership with Change in Script and seeing what our devious brains can cook up.

@minerpore

You are the fucking damn near sweetest person I've met and not to mention funny as hell. Each conversation we have is an absolute delight and getting to ramble about the SMG4 Undertale AU shit is always a fun filled experience.

@alexandrarice113

The fact we even talk to each other at all still blows my brain out of its noggin. You're an amazing artist and getting to talk to you about literally anything is just purely amazing. I continuously look forward to talking to you and seeing what artwork you make.

And with that all said I once again wish you all a Happy New Year!

[thanksjro]

Transformers Holiday Special (2015) — Wishing You and Yours a Delightfully Secular Wintertime, Containing Absolutely Zero References to the Birth of Christ

Despite what some might like to think, Christmas isn’t for everyone; even with all the commercialization, at its heart, it’s still about the Baby Jesus. You can tell that we haven’t shaken the Christian connection, because the cover for this special issue has the father, the son, and the holy spirit, which is hidden behind the company logo.

And if Rodimus doesn’t stop screwing around, his resurrection’s gonna have to happen a lot sooner than Easter.

Because this is a comic special, things are going to be a little different. Instead of one standard-size issue, we’re getting three mini-stories, each with their own writer (from each of the comic runs that were publishing at the time) and artist. Our stories are listed here:

Don’t worry about what Ultra Magnus is up to behind that text.

Now, you may ask, why on earth am I covering this issue, which is a specifically Christmassy one, now, when it’s not currently Christmas? Well, according to Roberts, the story “Silent Light” takes place after MTMTE #49, and #50 is when the crew manifest for the Lost Light gets shaved down some, so realistically, this is when “Silent Light” happens in continuity. So I want you to keep in mind that Getaway’s Christmas isn’t going so great.

I won’t be going back to catch up on the other runs’ plots, as the Christmas stories are stand-alone.

Getting into it, our first story is:

Penned by Mairghread Scott and drawn by Corin Howell. We open up on a cityscape featuring a happy sun and some eye-searing narration boxes.

I went to Howell’s Twitter to see what her deal was, and was greeted with a banner consisting of a sexy succubus lady with her boobies out, so I’m going to assume she simplified her style for this issue, since mecha are hella difficult to draw.

Also, I hope you like the structure of How The Grinch Stole Christmas!, because that’s what we’re getting for the next little while, complete with chunky, white text on painful-to-view red.

Our story opens with all the transformers from the colonies visiting Cybertron and making friends with each other. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, which pisses off President-King Starscream to no end. Being the drama queen that he is, Starscream feels that everyone should be paying attention to him 24/7 and feed him grapes as he reclines on a sofa, because hasn’t he done enough for all these sorry sacks of shit? He hasn’t even caused a war, unlike the last guy who was in charge. Bumblebee (who is a ghost) tells him to just be fucking nice for once in his miserable life, but Starscream wouldn’t be Starscream if he could settle down like that.

Our god-king of the planet calls for his aide, Rattrap, who is going to be in his alt mode for the entirety of this story, to help him set up for a public broadcast addressing his need for attention and adoration.

He sends Rattrap off to deliver the tape to the news, which seems to consist of two very sleep-deprived individuals. Because they’re apparently the only two robots stupid enough to attempt to cover the nightmare hellscape that is Cybertronian current events, the last bit of Starscream’s tape is cut off when one of them falls asleep on the switchboard. This turns Starscream’s personal worship holiday into “For the Love of God Be Nice to Each Other” Day. Everyone takes to it beautifully, getting BFF tattoos, going on vacation with their husbands, hugging in the straightest gay way possible, holding parades, giving each other bombs, and getting absolutely shitfaced.

Starscream, distraught that nobody is giving him the emperor treatment like he had wanted, sulks in his twin bed, then moves to his dinky little throne as the night wears on, making the most miserable faces he can the whole time. Eventually, Chosen One Day ends, and he’s been completely ignored. Very sad.

Then, there’s a knock on his door, and Starscream creeps over to the peephole just in time to be smashed flat by Wheeljack slamming the door open. Last time we saw Wheeljack he was assumed dead by most, and floating in a tank at Starscream’s behest. He’s gotten better since then, clearly.

Wheeljack came with friends— the entirety of the main cast for Windblade/Til All Are One, to be exact— and they’re here to make sure that Starscream isn’t completely alone on this friendship holiday he accidentally invented. Everyone toasts to his good, totally intentional idea, and Starscream decides against killing all of them for at least the next 24 hours.

Now pay attention to this next story, because it’s actually canon-relevant, because of course Roberts would write a holiday special mini-comic that ties into his overarching plot. Fucking nerd.

Our artist for “Silent Light” is Kotteri (or Kotteri!, as it’s been written on some of their other publications) the pen name for Ikumi Fukuda. Kotteri is primarily a manga artist, having created their own works and well as working on other projects. I admittedly can’t find much on this person, not even their preferred pronouns, TFWiki itself using “they”, which I will default to. All of the info they’ve provided themself is, of course, written in Japanese, but even running things through a translator only proves that information to be purely professional. Their personal Twitter is protected, and my follow request was never answered, as far as I know. There’s a fan Twitter account for their art that claims “she”, but I have no way to verify, and I don’t want to assume anything based on art style, because that’s sort of shitty. Let it never be said that I didn’t do my due diligence here— I fucking hate using Twitter.

We open with Rodimus having just returned from Meteorfest, a festival where you surf on meteors and avoid your co-captain and SIC’s calls like the putz you are. He’s greeted by said co-captain and SIC decorating assembling a Christmas tree cloaking machine and finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple. Rodimus tries to deny the existence of Minimegs, then we get our heavy-handed and lampshaded explanation for the crux of the issue. Megatron handles Minimus like a baby doll as the two of them explain that the Lost Light is about to hit Mauler territory.

Maulers are notorious for wanting the Cybertronians dead, but Megatron is too much of a macho man to pussy out and go around them. So instead, the crew will be hiding in special sleeping pods that will mask their spark signatures, and pray to their pantheon of gods that no one notices the ship the size of Manhattan. Brainstorm has like fifteen new inventions, despite being on house arrest from his lab. Megatron’s autobot badge is wearing a hat. Merry fucking Christmas.

Over at Swerve’s, it would appear that everyone’s favorite television junkie is closed for business, as it’s just him, Nautica, and Whirl, sitting on the floor getting absolutely shit-faced on subspace-filtered engex. This might’ve been an issue, as folks are supposed to be bedding down in their B.E.D.s for the next leg of the trip, but Swerve slipped Magnus some Bing Crosby earlier so they’re cool right now.

There’s a banging at the door, and Whirl decides to answer, even though it’s not his bar, because if it’s trouble come a-knocking, it was probably looking for Whirl anyhow.

When Whirl answers, however, it’s not Magnus having caught wind of Nautica disrespecting the Autobot code, but an entirely different flavor of problem.

Now, I know that thing Whirl’s holding looks like a fucked up Hitachi Wand, but it is, in fact, an entire-ass baby robot. It seems that when Cerebros (Fortress Maximus’s friend, if you’ll recall) sent the engex through the subspace, this infant Cybertronian (Luna One-ian?) got mixed in with the other supplies.

We learn a bit about how baby Cybertronians work before we remember, oh right, this kid is gonna get everyone killed if they catch wind of her spark, since there isn’t a B.E.D. for her. Yes, it’s a girl! Congrats to our three idiots on their Cybertronian gender non-conforming little princess.

They gang decides to shunt her back through the subspace hatch, so they head over to where it’s currently being housed— the office of Ultra Magnus. Nautica, using her wits and all the tools in her arsenal, smashes the window to the office and they break in. The empty Magnus Armor sits in the dark like a grim monument to being married to your job. Whirl informs Nautica how to comfort the baby that he super for-sure doesn’t care about, handing her off while he uses his titty glass to replace the window in the door. Swerve tries to bite through iron chains holding the subspace hatch hostage, only to be stopped by the sound of justice coming down the hall.

The gang, of course, looks suspicious as hell standing stock straight immediately in front of Magnus’s office, but Minimus rather likes the change of pace out of these goofy morons, and is maybe also trying to deflect his embarrassment at being caught performing his own personal karaoke. He sends them off to their B.E.D.s, and it looks like all’s well that ends well until Whirl asks where Sparky is.

Yes, he named the baby.

Don’t worry though, he’s totally not attached or whatever.

Nautica, in her panic to not be caught stealing/vandalizing/using equipment she doesn’t have the clearance for, stuffed Sparky in the Magnus Armor. And also put the helmet portion back on the body, for some reason. Anyway, it looks like our little princess is gonna be a load-bearer when she grows up, because Magnus is up and looking for hugs. Nautica, a paragon of level-headed thinking in times of crisis, handles this in the best way she can.

And that’s a wrap on Minimus Ambus! Let’s give him a hand, folks! And let’s also give a hand to the new Ultra Magnus, Miss Sparky Whirldòttir! Where did that little scamp get to, anyhow?

Swerve nominates himself to be the one to drag Minimus to a B.E.D. to sleep off his concussion, leaving Whirl and Nautica to track down the baby.

The scene changes to Megatron announcing a last call for beddy-bye time on the intercom, just as Ultra Sparky enters the room. She looms over Megatron, putting him in a very compromising position as he hits the intercom button with his arm. Rodimus, climbing into his own B.E.D., wishes that his co-captain and SIC would stop being gay for, like, five minutes, or at least wouldn’t do it where it can be broadcasted throughout the whole ship in audio format.

Whirl and Nautica come save Megatron from the onslaught of physical affection, stating that “Magnus” has had a bit too much to drink. Megatron orders them to bed from his fetal position on the countertop.

It’s bedtime, but we still haven’t figured out how to get the kid back to Luna 1 so the Maulers don’t super-murder the whole crew. Nautica leaves Whirl to figure it out, getting into B.E.D. and wondering who the fuck knocked on the door in the first place. Whirl tells her not to worry about it and to go to sleep, so he can be the one to deal with this mess.

Whirl, notorious for doing all the nastiest jobs— former Wrecker, intended bullet sponge for the time travel situation, attempting suicide via Megatron— is going to add another tally to the list labeled “Reasons My Peers Don’t Really Like Me All That Much”, by throwing an entire baby out the air lock.

However, Whirl is being written by Roberts, who would never allow the number of robot babies to go down, so Sparky’s adorable assimilation of Whirl’s signature physical features gets him right in the soft underbelly he swears doesn’t exist.

Wow, Roberts put a baby in that robot. Surely this is as overt as we’re going to get with this imagery, since we’re in a major publication and not some fan-fiction!

ANYWAY

Whirl wakes up in the Medibay, emptied of infant and freaked the hell out about it. Velocity— who I will remind you is basically the only medical doctor on the Lost Light, since everyone else is too busy getting railed by weeaboos and joining unethical polycules to do their actual jobs—informs him that his daughter is, in actuality, a massive colony of scraplets that combined to look like a newborn.

It turns out that Nautica is a bit of a snitch, having spilled the beans after she woke up. Whether or not she thought Whirl had thrown the baby out the air lock isn’t really addressed, but thank god he didn’t, because then we would have had to send everyone’s favorite gun-addled dipshit to jail for the rest of forever. Checking security footage revealed who the mystery knocker was— it was the scraplets, forming the shape of an arm.

When Nautica asks how the hell they all survived this, seeing as Whirl kept the murder baby, Whirl informs her that he cut off power to his own spark to allow everyone else to live, including his sweet baby princess, winning him a #1 Dad mug, and also several emails from Rung to please make an appointment with him.

Whirl’s miracle Christmas baby lied and stole with the intent to murder everyone on board, and that makes her the ultimate daddy’s girl.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed this canon-important holiday special story about Whirl becoming a father.

In our third and final story, it appears we’ve been transported to Whoville, by the talent of our MTMTE Season 1 colorist, Josh Burcham. Within Whoville resides Anna Log, a human woman who owns two turbofoxes and sleeps in full military body armor on her couch. The wall in her living room suddenly explodes, revealing a late-night visitor.

Motherfucker, you are supposed to be on the ship right now.

Mega-Claus fusion-cannons Anna Log, and we cut to a film noir office where none other than Thundercracker has his feet up on the desk. The art grayscales for this section, as he narrates that he’s a detective. He’s wearing a fedora. It’s January 7th. He has a mysterious past and probably thinks that makes him very sexy.

The phone rings, cueing Buster, Thundercracker’s puggle, to put on her own fedora, and the two go to see the crime scene, where Thundercracker is the same size as a normal human man and wears a trench coat.

It turns out that Anna Log is the director of security for the entirety of planet Earth, which is sort of a big deal. When Thundercracker and the cops look at the security footage, they see who did it— Santa Claus, played by Megatron himself. Fucked up.

Sure, pal.

Thundercracker must now fly to the North Pole and kill Santa, because that’s how the law works. He transforms, flies by Club Penguin and a Coke commercial, reflects on his job, and then gets ready for a fight with Santa’s security measures, as Busters glowing nose warns him of incoming danger. She’s very talented, Buster.

Thundercracker makes quick work of the cybernetic security reindeer with his twin energy katanas and Buster’s jetpack. He kicks down Santa’s door to find the jolly elf himself standing in the dark, potentially rabid. The two start kung-fu beating the shit out of each other. It should be noted that this Santa isn’t the Megatron Santa, who shows up behind the two as they brawl, but rather original-flavor fat man Santa. How Thundercracker didn’t notice this isn’t addressed.

Thundercracker demands to know why Megatron dressed up as Santa Claus to commit a murder— the murder part made sense, Director Log and Megatron would be diametrically opposed— and Megatron reveals the greatest slight against himself he’s ever known.

Framing Santa for murder ain’t exactly gonna turn that coal into a diamond, Meggy baby.

Thundercracker clocks Megatron, he becomes besties with Santa Claus, and they ride a flying tank into the sunset. Thus ends Thundercracker’s most brilliant writing project yet, which he was reading to Marissa Faireborn this entire time.

Marissa isn’t terribly impressed, poking holes in all the little nonsense bits, while also not feeling thrilled about having been killed off in the first two pages of Thundercracker’s book. While the two argue, Buster and Ayana Jones make a Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown! reference together, and the issue closes out with a big ol’ Autobot symbol, even though Thundercracker was a Decepticon, Ayana and Marissa are humans, and Buster is a goddamned dog.

Thus ends the Holiday Special. Up next, more direct story progression!

[twosides--samecoin]

Working on my in-game photography and fic every day, even if it's only research or a few words here and there. I'm very happy with my artistic growth this year.

The healthiest mindset I can come up with is that I'm in competition with myself. My opponent in the ring is my own limits and imagination - it's up to me to push myself to go bigger and better and learn something new. Nobody can wind up & land my haymakers for me. I have to be my own mentor, my own beta reader, my own biggest fan, my own clique, my own critic.

I can't appeal to everyone (and have had to suppress the want to prove myself; someone determined to keep their nose turned up is the ultimate carrot on the end of the validation stick), but I can certainly appeal to myself, even though I sit in a Venn diagram of self-carved niches. I don't fit in with screen archery tropes or fanfic expectations. I haven't yet found a beta reader/editor who's able to give the eviscerating critique I'm after (beta reading/editing as I understand it is more than "thumbs up no typos!! oooh fun scene!!"). Hell, fanfic is a tough hobby and can be an isolating culture - you'll have silent readers who love your work but are afraid of commenting, people who withhold kudos until the end in case you write something problematic and very opinionated readers who post about how they want/don't want writers to do certain things or tag a certain way. More private Discord cliques pop up as public fandom continues to fragment.

I can't control a lot that makes me anxious about fandom and being social on the internet, like whether or not I'm being iced out by a stranger or whether my stuff just never graces their feed. I worry all the time and self cringe at moments where I misread social cues/tone. Somehow we're on the "write a lot of words and we're accepting toward neurodivergence" website but it's difficult to connect with people authentically and convey what you really think. It's difficult feeling like I am always on the outskirts of the fandom, and have felt that way since I joined. It's been especially hard this year because my support system has fluctuated dramatically since moving to the USA.

I can only focus on my own art. Not fitting in, being too weird even for the weird people and going my own path is the story of my life. If no one gives you your flowers, you can always grow your own.

I think saying, "Fuck it, I'm done trying to impress others, I'm just gonna make the art & stories I wish to see" is paying off - I'm working on some portraits and visual storytelling for an FO4 modder. I'm gonna help evoke Emotions and Themes!! Plus I have my own mod shenanigans to tinker with. And the ficversary is coming up! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

Anyway nobody wants to hear me soapbox, so-

[thegreatwicked]

Writing Resources Part 2

My first list was so long I decided that I reached the character limit! So we have a part two! I'm going to try and keep them a bit more organized too! Hope these help you all in your writing endeavors and if you happen to use any of them try to give the original source some love!

Also, apologies if I've tagged you more than once and it's annoying! If I reference your material more than twice I will just link your whole Tumblr. I really do want to make sure everyone gets their credit and spotlight!

General Information and Research:

The Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble Marriages or anything by @inky-duchess Her blog is extensive and is a wealth of information regarding things like royalty/nobility/Period social politics and is a fantastic resource, go check her out! Ink I do appologize I might be tagging you more than once!

@type1diabetesinfandom This blog is an amazing resource if you are interested in writing about characters with any form of diabetes or similar health issues. It was ana amzing find when I was writing my character Belladonna Black from Shadows of Deception who is hypoglycemic. What an amazing source!

How to Cook in a Medieval Setting: by @alpaca-clouds Food is the best way to know a culture and this particular blog post is a trove of information for your fictional foodie set anywhere in this spectrum of time or a great find for a fictional setting! This post obviously gets a chefs kiss!

The Symbolism of Flowers by @novlr Yeah! Leopold knew what he was talkign about, every flower has a meaning and it is entirely possible to send some a bouquette that translates to 'Fuck You' btw it consists of geraniums (stupidity), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (you have disappointed me), and orange lilies (hatred). it would be quite striking! and full of loathing. THE MORE YOU KNOW. This blog is also a fantastic source for writers.

Writing About Body Pain by @slayingfiction I just came across this gem of a blog and if you're one who likes to make your characters sufffer than look no further, also, how ya doing? You ok? Just checking. This blog is also a fantastic writing resource.

How to Accurately Describe Pain in Writing by @hayatheauthor kinda piggybacking off the previous source but nevertheless lets make sure we make these characters suffer realistically? I'm ok too, if you're wondering. This is another great blog that focuses on the aspect of being a writer.

How to Use Canva to Make Mood Boards by @saradika I did not know much about mood baords but I'm telling you they are a gaem changer! They bring a life to your story in a way that is just so stunning and saradika has been so lovely as to make this helpful guide! She's also a very talented writer and is quite the Star Wars Fan! GO check out her stories!

Researching as a Writer by @so-many-ocs Research is a tricky topid to delve into and sometime sit hard to know where to start, this blogger has been so kinda as to make a bit of a roadmap to help you narrow down what you need to research and how. Wonderful blog! Very helpful!

Resources for Writing Deaf, Mute, or Blind Characters by @thecaffeinebookwarrior THIS! This right here is a gem and the only reason I don't write these types fo characters is because I've never known how to do so respectfuly and realistically! Not a problem anymore! Also a wonderful artist!

How to Write and Research a Mental Illness another gem from @hayatheauthor again if you're going to wrote a character with a mental illness lets make sure we get it right!

@namesforwriters It's little but a wonderful source of unique names for your story! Including mythology and music themed names!

Nightmare Disorder vs Night Terrors by @redd956 Some great clarification from a blogger who is diagnosed! So happy I found this as I was wondering about the distinction myself for a little while!

Types of Gemstones by @blueboxbeagle and brought to my attention by @keffirinne

A General Cane Guide for Writers and Artists by @deoidesignand brought to my attention but @cripplecharacters I was so excited to find this fantastic little gem recently and I look forward to using it! I'm keeping an eye out for more material in portraying characters with disabilities and disorders maybe it'll get it's own post!

@cripplecharacters linking this amazing blogger if you are wanting to expand your characters and write them with disabilities or diaper fees, this is a wonderful source of how to do it and stay respectful!!

@writingwithcolor use that painters pallet and write diverse characters and when you’re not sure what or how to write something check this blog out! Such a wonderful source for all questions concerning ethnicity, race and diversity!

@writinglgbtq I was looking for this blog!!! Your source for all things concerning writing the LGBTQ community respectfully and believably! So happy to ah e found this!!

@macgyvermedical I have been looking for a blog like this for some time and I'm so happy to add it to my writing resources list as tehre are far too many great and helpful posts to pick just one. Check out this amazing blogger who offers medical beta reads and asks for fanficiton!

Make it Pretty! My own contribution to help make writing a bit prettier! ꧁☽✶☾✶☽꧂ Enjoy!

Adding Page Breaks & Art to Your Stories Another of my own contributions for adding in nice clean page breaks to your stories as well as how to upload art to AO3, FFN and Wattled.

More will be added to this post as I find it and if you find anything that fits the general research on broad topics or specifics please let me know so I can continue this collective writing resource! And make sure to give some of these wonderful writers and bloggers some love!