#i WILL be making more aus soon (posting time unsure)

[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader)

Back with more parent AU because it's some of my favorite fluff! Consider this a Part 1 to an anon request that’ll be on its way hehe (also an AU where something happens with Celebrían apparently 😥)

Warnings: conception, pregnancy-related illness and symptoms mentioned, very long post lol

Aragorn

✧ Neither of you had made any concrete plans. No set in stone hour of your marriage reserved for the growth of your family or dubbed too early. Thus, you are unsure how your husband will feel about your news, the fact that you got yourself checked out the first moment of illness, mother's intuition in full service already, it would seem. You cannot keep your smile to yourself, though, as you stroll in search of Aragorn, hand hovering about your own waist as if in disbelief. He had just returned from a hunting trip when you found him, smiling shakily at his amusement when you pulled him immediately aside into the next room over. "What troubles your heart?" The man had intuition of his own, years of silent observation- there was no lying to him. "I just learned that I am with child, Aragorn," you took his hand, seeing no point in being anything but direct, "due for the birth next spring if all goes well." "With blossom comes the next blessing of my kin," your husband replied, that wise look in his blue eyes causing you to shake your head fondly, "what could be more beautiful? What a gift you have given me and how could I ever repay it?" Shaking your head once more, you simply grinned and, sighing with relief and anticipation alike, replied that being the amazing father you know him to be will be all you need. Leaning forward, Aragorn laid his head against yours, brushing your noses as he held you.

✧ Looking out upon the kingdom, the realization that is is his kingdom still sinking in, and that he has made this place a home for new life as well. That this is the very reason he fought for a safe world. It brings such a rush to his heart that he goes off in search of you at once, kissing you warmly and caressing your still-small bump.

✧ Aragorn loves doing anything he possibly can to make your days easier, treating you like the queen you quite literally are! He pampers you with treatment like massages, washing your hair for you, drawing you baths, and the like.

✧ While you no doubt have many people at your disposal, quite similarly your husband enjoys cooking for you by hand and memorizes everything that makes you sick if anything as well as the random foods your cravings make you obsessed with, trying to creatively incorporate them into everything.

✧ You knew it already, but your pregnancy brings about the reminder that this man has such a way with encouraging words, his voice the only thing that cuts through the clouds of your changing moods.

✧ Aragorn is the one who tells you not to be so hard on yourself, that you are doing an amazing thing and you are desirable as yourself, no more and no less. No need to hide yourself, no need to perform, no need to feel anything less than the beautiful soul you have always been. Remember, he tells you, he is going nowhere, and you will endure all together.

Legolas

✧ For so long had you and Legolas hoped for your little life, long enough of trial and hope that you’d all but given up until you felt a shift. Felt on the brink of illness at nearly all times, seeking healing for a mystery illness and leaving with news that had your husband holding you for minutes on end, tears sliding down his cheeks, and refusing to let go of your hand all day. Holding you like you might shatter, his other hand wrapped gently around your waist where his hand can brush the curve of your soon-to-be-growing belly. “We did it, my love. We will finally be three.”

✧ Your husband grows wistful, getting a distant look in his eyes before smiling and reminiscing on his younger days. “What demeanor shall our little one have, do you say? I would not mind having two of you,” he teases, while you say a child like him would be much easier!

✧ “Both of your little ones sound quite healthy.” “Both?” You are shocked, but Legolas’s grin never falters, nor does his surprisingly tight, hearty grip upon your shoulders. “Twins,” he keeps repeating in wonder throughout the day.

✧ You and Legolas have a bet running on the twins, if they are to be identical or not. You think they are both boys, while Legolas thinks he has a little girl waiting for him, too. “Wishful thinking,” you tease him. “Absolutely,” he agrees, smiling softly at you.

✧ As time passes, he does tease you about your waddle. “Shall I slow down a bit?” Cheeky prince, but that’s why you love him!

✧ Legolas’s eyes never fix you with anything but awe. He is simply amazed at all the wonders your body is capable of and what it endures. Even though that wonder also manifests as him almost constantly asking if you are alright, it is worth it when your husband looks at you as though captivated by a goddess.

Boromir

✧ Boromir caught you with your eyes bulging out of your head, not a single chance of delaying your discussion. Such news as you have just received can only be considered a blessing, and yet you still are shaken to the core with the spiking precursor of excitement and hope, hope that your husband would be happy. Your words burst forth the moment he took your hands, asking you whatever was wrong and nodding faster and faster with each step of your detailed medical visit. His smile grew and grew until he could hardly help himself, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss that more than assuaged your worries. “Why do you look so worried? Such a wonderful blessing was beyond anything I could imagine,” he tells you, a hand reaching to rest gently upon you.

✧ He all but tackles you to bed that night, kissing again and again your lips, your cheeks, and down finally to your belly.

✧ Boromir’s appreciation of your body never ceases your entire wait. His hands always caressing you, his words always sweet upon your ears, especially to cut through the deprecating ones your own lips utter. It baffles your husband that you cannot see how utterly glowing you are.

✧ One hundred percent though will he be teasing you about the odd cravings you get; even as he goes to fetch them he’s making faces, asking if you’re sure, joking about what strange taste the little one has.

✧ You suspect you are carrying a son while Boromir’s guess is a little girl. After you remind him that a mother knows, he rests a hand over your bump and replies with a teasing grin “Why can’t a father know as well?” “Because you do not have to carry him for the better part of a year!”

✧ One of Boromir's favorite things in this world is the sight of how his lent garments fit you tighter and tighter, bringing a twinge to both the loving and the possessive sides of his heart...and his hands to wrap around you or cup your cheeks and pull you into a kiss!

Gimli

✧ His intuition is off the proverbial charts. It is he who first makes any mention of your chances, stating you should not strain yourself in your condition. You are confused, you even protest, but in the end you have your little appointment and your husband has a smug little moment of ‘I told you so’ before the realization of just what he’d been sensing hits him, dropping his jaw and sending his arms flying about you, lifting you up into the air with a hearty laugh. “The mighty line continues! And thanks to such a beautiful lassie no less! You'll want for nothing, I promise you, and no harm'll come to either of you while I yet draw breath."

✧ Has strong opinions about how well you should be eating, so barring you being stricken with sickness Gimli will be making or otherwise providing for you the heartiest of meals, all the things he believes are necessary to raise up a strong little dwarfling. Thank the fortitude and solace of his people, but you are sick very little your entire journey with this and all other little ones you share!

✧ Given the strength of dwarven genetics, you both assume that you are expecting a boy; thus, your husband insists on crafting a tiny axe for him. “For when he’s older, of course!” Gimli assures you, waving his hands defensively.

✧ No worries about your pregnancy weight here- suffice it to say that a dwarf finds the extra pounds quite appealing and has no hesitation about showing you such!

✧ Any exhaustion you feel is the only thing that stops Gimli from taking you around to all his friends and loved ones and likely anyone else who will listen and announce that he has a child on the way!

✧ Nesting is a very strong instinct of his! Gimli builds and crafts by hand all of your baby's furniture and decor, even an adorable mobile of horses, little dwarves with pickaxes, and little effigies of your favorite animal all dangling above his crib! Leaning his head against your belly, he asks the baby "Well, what do you think? Only the finest for my little flame!"

Frodo

✧ Your husband wasn’t sure at first. Not sure if he would feel whole enough after all he endured to bring a life into this world, but you, oh, you… The one who brought life vividly rushing back to his heart, color returning to his life and comfort to his pain. One day a pang struck his heart and he realized it would mean the world if after it all he was able to create life, and more importantly to have something so amazing come of your love. Soon after you both eagerly hoped for the signs, and it took but a few months. Frodo worried you would be sick, but confirmation comes after weeks without your cycle, nothing more. For once, no pain shall come to Frodo Baggins or those he loves.

✧ Your health is his greatest concern, so much so in fact that Frodo has soon befriended practically every midwife in the Shire, melting them with his endearing eagerness to know all he can about your possible afflictions and what you need. His concerns soon gather you the proverbial village of help should you ever send Frodo off for something beyond his breadth.

✧ It breaks Frodo's heart when his nightmares or moments of panic coincide with your own fragile emotions for the first time, for he should be caring for you, not the other way around, but when you hold each other, tears soaking into the opposite shirt, he realizes that what you two have is an understanding and trust strong enough to fortify each other even in darkness.

✧ In case you were not already aware, you are so lucky in your choice of husband! Discussing names soon emerges into your conversation and it almost takes you aback how quickly agreements on a girl and boy name are reached!

✧ The one time during your entire wait for your little one that brings tears to Frodo’s eyes is the day you bring home a bolt of fabric and when he asks what it is for, you answer to make him and your new arrival matching garments.

✧ You catch him smiling widely at you, love glowing in his bright blue eyes as he watches you do even the smallest things, your little waddle or the way you practice folding diaper cloth. All you can imagine is those same eyes fixed upon a babe in his arms, shooting Frodo the same look right back.

Sam

✧ It seemed that every other conversation you shared with your beloved Samwise revolved around babies, so much so that your few still-unmarried friends had grown sick of it. Anyone with a baby in the Shire, though, knew who to look toward for care! You and Sam gushed over little clothes, little hands, went on for goodness-knows-how-long about how much you'd like a little Sam and he wants a miniature version of the loveliest girl he'd ever seen followed of course by you saying why not both? Sam loved life so much, saw beauty in growth and creation and every joy in it, so of course he wanted a big family and all his infectious sunshine on the subject just made you fall in love with him more and more. Months of trying passed, though, before you came to Sam in a daze, before you cupped his precious face in your hands and whispered to him we did it. Before he tackled you to the soft grassy ground and held you, weeping tears of joy and kissing your hands, your cheeks, finally your lips once he'd spoken how much he loved you.

✧ Takes to sleeping a bit lower, his head nuzzled against your torso. In the night you can feel his nose and lips ghosting over it and even hear little whispers when you both can't sleep, but you say nothing, letting Sam have his moments with the little one.

✧ The worry he has about everything the first time around. "Are you sure you can eat that? I don't want you to get sick." "Is that too heavy?" "Don't trouble yourself a mite when I'm right here, I'll bend over for it." "Alright, only if you're certain nothing will happen to the baby, sweetheart." As much as you want to remind him that you are still a fully functional woman, you know that Sam is an action man and this is his way of showing he cares.

✧ The meals he cooks you. You will be eating like a queen all because Sam wants to keep the baby strong, of course! As a bonus, it truly is like he knows what sets you off and avoids those things without even having to ask.

✧ “Imagine all the wee feet running through here,” Sam muses in bed one night, your head tucked in the crook of his neck. “The little hands grasping ours,” you add. “All the little ribbons we can tie in a girl’s hair.” “Taking your little boy out to the garden!” Once again, your friends act positively sick of how sweet you are, but inside anyone can see how deliriously happy you and Sam are and feel warmed by it.

✧ “When the time comes,” Sam always assures you, your hand tightly in his, “I’ll be right here. Wild horses could hardly drag your Sam away.”

Merry

✧ Your reveal is made a bit anticlimactic thanks to your husband’s teasing ways. “You’re knitting.” Glancing down at your work, you simply nod. “Yes.” “You never knit.” Merry’s eyes narrow. “Is it for somebody?” “If you must know,” you set your needles carefully in your lap and tease back, “this is for your child. Any complaints now?” “My child?” Jaw dropping, Merry looks at you like you’d just offered him the whole of Middle Earth. “That’s right,” your voice softens, even cracking a bit with emotion at the sight of his smile, “you’re going to be a father, Merry.”

✧ Merry’s adorable little habit of making you a pillow pile to lay on during your time of the month carries right through to your pregnancy. And of course it continues even when you remind him you’ll not be able to stand up from in because he will be right there to help you up!

✧ Because you've taken up knitting, Merry wheedles with all his charm and love and kisses an additional creation from you: a sweater made from the same yarn as baby's. "You are lucky to be so adorable," you tease him, looking up from your work to kiss his lovely lips. Maybe, you thought, a whole matching set for three would be in order, though…

✧ Another one who teases you, joking about how he is finally able to outrun you!

✧ The type of father to chastise the baby whenever they kick you too hard, lecturing to the front of your dress about hurting your mother and how that simply won’t do, then looking up at you with a humored smile.

✧ Compliments increase at least twofold upon your revelation, Merry never sparing the kindest words about your strength, certainly, but mostly your beauty. Never once during any pregnancy do you feel unloved, unwanted, unattractive, for even when your eyes can find no light within your reflection there your husband is practically worshipping every corner of your form.

Pippin

✧ Desire for a family was something that had drawn you two together as a couple, though you may have found yourself talking Pippin down from ten children! “Maybe start with five,” you would always tease him. So the moment your hypothesis is tested and confirmed, a grin you can’t remove spreads across your face and you run to collect everything for your surprise. Surprise is the only word you can use when Pippin opens his gift and sees the tiny knitted hat you’ve placed inside the box. “What is this for? Little small, is it not?” “If it was for us, perhaps.” It ended up taking you reaching out for his hand and resting it upon your lower belly for the massive grin to spread across his face, but once it does Pippin is laughing loudly and giddily, swinging you back and forth in ecstasy!

✧ Runs to get you whatever your need with barely an question. After all, who is he to say what it's like being with child, and if you want it, you shall have it. Hot water bottle? Certainly. A cup of tea? Of course. Three more pillows? Why, he'll strip your whole bed down. Panics a little if the request is to relieve pain, so prepare to hear a crash or the shuffle of a trip or two before you have the item in hand or on body.

✧ "What is this for?" "What are these?" Lucky you love him, your husband does have many a question of all the supplies you gather for after your new addition is welcomed. "Oh, to keep the hands safe? That makes sense." "Wait, you need to wear that... to catch the bloo- oh, my." He gulps. "I'm going out right now. I'm getting you a cake and some jewelry and some flowers and anything else you'd like."

✧ Can barely keep his hands to himself. Pippin was always the most affectionate husband you could ask for, but now? Now you two are practically a package set and nary can you travel without his arm around you, hand about your waist and gently running up and down over your little growing bump.

✧ Your baby seems to have inherited your husband’s personality, for even before the birth many signs of how active your little one is are present! Those poor ribs of yours will get kicked more than a few times with all the fluttering your little one stirs up inside of you! Pippin, of course, wants to feel it all and luckily he is never far from the scene. If he is, though, you bet he will run!

✧ Pippin is always laying with his cheek resting on your belly, talking to the baby about anything from how his day’s gone to how they have the most amazing and beautiful mother. Your heart can’t help fluttering every time.

Faramir

✧ Faramir has the most uncanny way of reading you like a book, a habit endearing as it is frustrating. Thus the moment he catches you smiling to yourself he is smiling back, approaching you with teasing question of what has you so happy. For once, though, you have the satisfaction of catching your husband off guard, resting your head against his shoulder and a hand upon his chest as you tell him you just cannot wait to see him as a father. "Someday, my love," he takes your hand and kisses it, "if I am so blessed." Giggling, you shake your head against him. "Blessed indeed! Someday shall be this fall," you answer, and peeling back from him you receive another spike of satisfaction at his wide blue eyes, the drop of his jaw and the race of his heart beneath your hand. "Are you certain?" You nod. This time, he takes both of your hands in his and with tears in his eyes thanks the heavens for you even as he shakily laughs, your bright demeanor never failing to put a smile upon his face. "Our child will be so loved." "I know."

✧ Your husband finds himself lost in reverie more and more often, drifting out of reality into some distant, but nowhere near out-of-reach, dream of your family, seeing you as a mother the most beautiful sight he can conjure.

✧ Faramir adores holding you from behind, his hands curled gently over where your bump forms and his head resting gently upon your shoulder, flowing hair tickling your cheeks and neck lightly.

✧ "One for each of us," is Faramir's joke when one of Gondor's finest medics grants you the knowledge that you are not expecting one child, but two. Your husband is there in the storms, the waves of anxiety rolling within you over being there for your twins. "You are not alone," he always reminds you, a hand joined with yours right over the twins' little hearts.

✧ If you wanted a husband who actually does his due diligence learning all he can about growing babies, birth, and postpartum care, then Faramir is another excellent choice! He’ll be spouting off facts about the whole thing ranging from what size the babies currently are to why you might have contractions after giving birth. Your mood determines whether you listen in or tell him to kindly stop.

✧ Just as with you, Faramir’s insecurities sometimes get the better of him, but they also fuel him, bringing a fire you can see to his fair eyes as he speaks with determination how he will love all his children equally.

Eomer

✧ Pride glows upon your countenance as you flit about the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the roast you'd made for dinner. A kingly feast is in order, for not only had you heard your husband performed exceptional drills this day, but you yourself are the host of something exceptional. Eomer and you have been enjoying each other's company much these days, so the news is not so much of a shock as it is a celebration, exuberance at a line enduring, two dreams fulfilled as one, especially for your husband, who speaks often of how he longs for a full, boisterous home. Six if he's lucky. Well, you can hardly wait to help him along, pulling Eomer into your arms for an enthusiastic kiss before he can even toe his boots off, and when he chuckles and asks what has taken hold of his beautiful wife you let your news fly. Shouting for joy with abandon, Eomer lifts you up into his arms bridal-style, kissing your lips again and again. Dinner is all but forgotten as he kneels before you, holding your waist and pressing kisses all over the bodice of your dress and thanking you for making his day, nay, his life, perfect.

✧ Eomer is always proud of you, but the moment he finds out you are with child that feeling swells and positively drips off of him, every outing with him suddenly seeming quite like a chance for him to show you off. An arm around you at all times, a smile of great joy and satisfaction, news shared to all who dare make conversation with you both, and even kisses in public! Eomer is simply on top of the world and not a thing will topple his spirits.

✧ As somebody who never much studied the workings of women, though, Eomer is… a bit out of his depth. You will have to teach him some things like why your emotions swing so or what to look out for to know when your water breaks. This man has been in battle, seen heads roll in the most literal sense, and yet when you describe the eventual passing of your placenta his entire face contorts in a look of horror that has you all but doubled over in laughter.

✧ “You look so beautiful with child,” Eomer purrs, “we’ll have to do this again sometime.” You smack his arm, but cannot resist giggling at the way your husband still gives you butterflies.

✧ Your new addition had not even arrived yet and Eomer is commissioning a child-sized saddle, unable to contain his excitement as he describes all their future rides to you!

✧ As you dream up names, Eomer has many suggestions from the great halls of his own people, ancestors and great warriors alike, but making considerations of your own background is equally important to him, so he is more than willing to go back and forth for the perfect solution.

Eowyn

✧ No one had thought it possible, but they should have known. Impossible was not in Eowyn’s lexicon, and that was exactly why you loved her, one part within many of why you became her wife. And now, the healer confirmed you were carrying her child. …Very well, technically her banner-bearer’s child as the two of you had been forced to get a bit creative, but to have support and help from those who had begun with such uncertainty meant the world. Even Eomer had come around, having offered similarly, but of course you had to remind him that Eowyn wanted a child of her own, not a niece or nephew! Without Guthláf’s, er, donation, you would never bear witness to the broad and beautiful smile on your wife’s face, the tears glistening in the gorgeous blue of her eyes. “A child…” “Our child,” you add, leaning forward until your foreheads touched and noses brushed, a tearful smile upon your own face as your wife gently held your waist.

✧ Having worked so many times as a nurse lends well at least to Eowyn, for she is firm and unrelenting in her urging, nay, forcing, you to rest. No ifs, ands, or buts are to be accepted from your strong-willed beauty, let her dote on you, for she does it with great pleasure. And besides, the harder you fight, the harder she'll work to keep you lain down.

✧ Understanding the pain and symptoms of your time of the month completely also translates; thus Eowyn is ready with remedies for your aches and pains, hot water and herbs awaiting you. She rarely snaps back at your moods, choosing to be silent in the worst of times because she knows. Really, she does.

✧ She cooks for you, and whether you say anything about that or not likely depends on how willing to hide your honesty behind the hormone excuse if it is not taken well.

✧ Reminds you constantly how strong you are. In your lowest of moments, the times you struggle to stand and straighten your aching spine, feeling massive and utterly useless, Eowyn is there to hold your hand and tell you that you are hosting and creating life as she so speaks. You have made the ultimate sacrifice of your body and the greatest of pain to bring just as great a blessing to yourself and your wife. Far from useless, you are divine.

✧ “What does it feel like?” Resting her head on her hand, the one that wasn’t lain against your fluttering belly, she questions you as the baby kicks. “For you?” Part of her wishes to have this experience herself someday, while another takes your descriptions with trepidation. She does not enjoy being restricted, after all.

Haldir

✧ “Lie down, please, my love.” Haldir’s concern with your sickness increased daily as did the pain of seeing you feeling so weak and ill. You tried to push through and for as much as he loved your strength, your husband was not having it this time. Pride was not worth seeing you doubled over again, whether from pain or, arguably worse, illness. You relented in the end, resting and beneath the spinning of your head at the end of the day feeling not a seed of energy to protest an inspection. Healing herbs had you perking up a bit, and perked up you needed to be when the dark-haired, round-faced healer nodded sagely and with a wide smile told you you were with child, and these early days were likely to be the worst. For the first time in days the sobs that escaped you were accompanied by a smile, your face utterly breaking as Haldir held you against his chest, weeping too and thanking you for all you would endure for this blessing.

✧ Physically carries you places as often as he can be spared to do so. Lifts you up bridal-style to move you across your home and sits you up before he feeds you. Your illness brings out a tender, caring side you have never seen in your strong, stoic husband, but it makes your heart swell that much more for him and for the life you two are to have with your child.

✧ Another symptom you experience is the aching and swelling of your feet, but Haldir sits you down facing him and makes the best work of them he can, hands gentle as always as they soothe your skin.

✧ Even in the later months as your illness abates, though, your husband remains protective as ever, standing between you and any potential harm with the fiercest look upon his face and a hand upon your middle, even if the threat is an object you’ve hurt yourself on.

✧ The way shock melts into a wide, ecstatic smile unlike your husband’s typical demeanor when the healer repeats that yes, she could definitely hear two heartbeats beside yours is worth more than any gold in the world. Haldir pulls you into his arms, chuckling deeply. You feel his head shake slightly, slowly, atop yours in wonder.

✧ When you sleep, Haldir will always be holding you close, whether it is an arm draped over your bump loosely if you’re hot or need space or else you fully tucked into your husband’s warm embrace.

Galadriel

✧ Galadriel is actually the one who assuages your worries that your dream will not come true, having full faith in you as much as the magic of this world. And she is right, of course, confidence proven in the aid you receive from a member of her guard and even the way she knows it to be true before the healer even confirms the news. As much as she jokes about seeing a glow around you, the width of her beautiful blue eyes, the shine therein, tells you that your wife is as elated to hear it beyond a shadow of a doubt as you are: you are hosting a little life for you both to nurture.

✧ You being pregnant only aids in her mysterious nature. She can be convening in a council with the wisest of minds from afar and will use you as an excuse to step away at her will. "If you will excuse me. My wife is with child." They are not even aware she is married. Some of them may not understand how it all works, but before they can ask any clarifying questions Galadriel has already slipped away to be with you.

✧ One tendency you unwittingly adopt is falling asleep in the oddest of places, your exhausted body giving out upon its own terms. Always will you wake up draped in one of your wife’s shawls or blankets, however, no matter how odd the spot.

✧ Both of you can hardly resist the allure of tiny garments, smiling every time you see them. It also rings a bell of realization within your minds as you hold a tiny gown up to your midsection. Truly as you speak, there is a tiny body within you! What magic it is to be a woman!

✧ What magic indeed, you later reflect as another pain strikes your back not long after. Hosting tiny bodies came with all the assorted blessings and curses of your kind, one not long without the other. Sighing, you make to approach the chaise across the room and soon your wife is with you, moving its drapes aside and lowering you gently to its cushions, a soothing hand tracing up and down your aching spine.

✧ "I hope she looks like you," you both turn to each other and say simultaneously, mothers' intuition firmly aligned in your hearts, from which so much love for each other pours from, Galadriel immediately drawing you closer to press her lips to the crown of your head.

Arwen

✧ Elrond had been quite hesitant about your relationship with his daughter at first- were you the best choice for her? Could someone like you keep her safe? And how, of course, would she be given the child she so desired? Questions you yourself had posed to her, but she refused to listen, telling you her mind, and heart, were sealed. Little do you know, however, that all of Rivendell would come to love you as their own, see and praise the way you cared for Arwen, and in Lindir’s case even provide the healers with a chance at you giving your wife the family you both yearned for. The moment you tell her the healers’ method worked and she is to he a mother, you both are, her features lighten, taking on the wondrous joy of youth again as she grabs your face, falling onto you with a kiss of pure love.

✧ So accusing if you've overexerted yourself, leaning in closer with a look of sometimes-teasing, sometimes-serious scrutiny. "Surely you did not carry that up the stairs all by yourself, right?"

✧ Do not even bother trying to fake feeling up to anything, whatever the task, for Arwen can see right through you and will insist you sit down, taking your hands in hers. "Rest. You have your burden- let me take the others. My heart bears no ill."

✧ Her affection gets softer, light touches to your waist and hands resting over yours. One hand upon your hip or belly and one on your shoulder as you two sway gently, foreheads pressed together.

✧ Arranging your nursery is one of Arwen's favorite pastimes: painting a gorgeous meadow mural upon the wall, stitching a soft toy to lay within the crib, asking you which fabric you prefer for blankets.

✧ Your bundle of joy can make sleep difficult, but one silver lining Arwen points out in a low whisper one morning is how many sunrises you’ve now gotten to share with each other.

Elrond

✧ Reservations about having a fourth child so long after the others disappeared every time Lord Elrond caught sight of you holding a neighbor’s child or even just showing the loving care that had him convinced he would be well even marrying a second time at all. Every smile, every sweet thing you did, all of it came back to Elrond in a rush when you told him he was to become a father again. For once he did not feel too old, too tired, nothing but the elation of his every desire unfurling to him before his very eyes from your warm embrace. To be chosen as the father to your child was the greatest honor the lord of Rivendell could imagine.

✧ Your every ailment is minimal, for Elrond knows exactly what is best for each and every one. Nausea? The perfect tea blend awaits to calm the waves you feel. Aches and cramps? Your husband is happy to give you the most heavenly massage, his hands finding every needed spot as if by magic. A swell of emotion? He does not speak unless bidden to, simply holding you through sudden waves of tears, frustration, or both until he feels your body relax against his.

✧ Being married to an elf with the gift of foresight comes with the benefit of worries soothed, but also a joke shared between you both. For many a time you teasingly chastise him not to look too far and spoil the surprise of whether you have a son or daughter on the way!

✧ Standing behind you, Elrond rests his hands around your middle and presses a kiss to your cheek. Just when you think the bliss of this moment, of having your whole little new family all together within your husband’s arms, cannot increase is when Elrond shifts his hands, taking on the great weight you carry. Peering up into his soft blue eyes, your whole body deflates in a sigh of sweet relief as he holds you.

✧ He can never truly understand your experience, but Elrond has witnessed this process. All he wishes is to tell you all your pain shall pass, even the worst memories will fade and ease, but such words will sound insensitive, so all he does is continue to hold your hand and stand proudly at your side.

✧ One thing your husband cannot resist is showering your future little one with gifts, even jewelry for when they are a bit older and the tiniest circlet to place upon the beloved head, matching Adar's perfectly.

Want to meet the little ones? Part 2 coming soon 😉

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch | Message/Reply/Ask to join 🥰

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Cuddle Trouble(s)!

Masterlist

(From the 6th to 30th April, I am having a mini 100 follower milestone event!)

Tags: Scaramouche x gn!reader, fluff, modern au Summary: Scaramouche loves both you and your plushies but a man has his needs and that includes abundant cuddle time.

When Scaramouche was invited to your room, he was quite honestly unsure of what to expect. You were the shining light of his life and he would accept anything you throw at him anyways (not that he’d tell you that). He was expecting the worst and was pleasantly surprised by the best possible outcome. Your room was befitting of your personality, especially the numerous stuffed animals lying around. Scaramouche was even impressed by the sheer variety in your room, both in types of animals and sizes. From dogs and cats to bears and even dragons and small, palm sized plushies to ones that were even his height.

Scaramouche would make fun of you upon finding out, yes, but inside he is already plotting to do two things. One, which kind of plushy he should buy for you to decorate your room with, and two, how to push the bigger ones out of the picture when you two cuddle. Ever since you showed him your little secret, you had been a lot more open with cuddling your little friends, even during the time you were supposed to be doing that with him! Gears turned in his mind. He had to solve this problem as soon as possible.

Scaramouche, despite all of his brain and intelligence, could not come up with anything for the life of him. Hell, out of desperation, he even tried to send his thoughts over telepathically! It obviously did not work. In the end, he resolved to just push you into his chest and essentially prevented any space for the stuffed toys between you and him. It did work for the first few times until you started to question him and he relented to you and your adorable annoying puppy dog eyes. You laughed until he turned bright red and refused to communicate in any way shape or form. You two eventually reached a compromise, the plushies got one hour with you everyday, and he got at least two hours. 

Bonus: You had to tell scara to stop getting you more stuffed animals after a while because your shared home was running out of space to put them. In response to that, he got a new shelf.

A/N: i should've touched grass more... Taglist: @amyminhminh (comment if you want to be tagged in future scara x reader posts~)

[pedge-page]

SNEAK PEAK PLEASE

Cult Leader!Joel - drabble (In progress)

I had this in a pole a while ago but this is a Cult Leader ! Joel x F! Reader x eventual Dark!Tommy. This is a long sneak peek / drabble because frankly I don't I have plans to write this any time soon. I only have snippet scenes written here or there but not connected. It would either be a long fic or a mini series.

Warnings: cult Leader !Joel, breastfeeding, oral M receiving, pregnancy talk, infertility talk, breeding kink, post outbreak au, groping

18+ ONLY

- - - -

When you walk in the door, you didn’t expect to see the naked woman perched side-saddle on his thigh. Her breasts were swollen and exposed to the room as Joel’s lips greedily suck her left nipple. Her dark eyes glance up to you but she doesn’t react or care, just casually acknowledging your presence while tending to Joel’s taste.

His eyes are closed, jaw working in rhythm as he gulps what you presume must be milk spilling freely from her tit. You didn’t remember her name, only that the first time you saw her she was breastfeeding her newborn child a few days ago.

You turn back towards the door, hoping maybe this was a mistake, you weren’t supposed to be here now, but it’s been closed already. Unsure of where to put your eyes—half intuition telling you to look anywhere but there, but part of you also can’t help but be fascinated by the scene ahead. How calm and collected they are, whether Joel even knows you’re in the room or not doesn’t stop him. His swallowing and gentle wet sucking noises from his throat are the only sounds filling the room.

The woman bites her lip, holding in any type of moan. She’s clearly enjoying it but doesn’t want to make any obvious show. You don’t like the way she keeps making eye contact with you. As if she has something over you right now. Or maybe she wants something from you too.

Joel takes another gulp before her fingers sift through his curls. His lashes flutter open, gazing up at her a little perturbed. She gently rubs along his head, and he catches you in his peripheral: timid and shy, shrinking in on yourself like you don’t want to be here.

As if you had anywhere else to be.

Joel growls against her chest before swallowing the last sweet load of milk he had in his mouth. His lips detach from her nip, kissing the last little dribble of milk left before patting her butt.

“Alright, babydoll, go give Carmen a kiss on the head f’me.”

She stands up on cue. You can see the soft pudge of her belly drooping over, fresh stretch marks adorning her skin.

Joel doesn’t say anything to her, remaining seated behind his desk. You look away when you notice his view are on you. Despite being the only woman here that’s still fully clothed, Joel’s glare makes you feel stripped to the bare bone. He purses his lips, closing his eyes and sighing as his hand dips below the desk. He looks down to whatever is there, arm moving in gentle motions. He grins down to the space underneath, obscured from your view. After some deep, quick breaths, he lets out a satisfied grunt, whistling the air as he relaxes. He nods down towards his crotch.

“You too, Kel. Time’s up.”

To your surprise, another woman stands up right from below his desk between his spread legs. Also naked, Kel glances back at you briefly, her face a little warm with embarrassment. You can see the rounded plumpness of her stomach, more pronounced and settling low on her hips—she’s pregnant. Kel swipes her thumb over her lip, pushing in the mix of saliva and creamy cum back into her mouth and sucking it clean. 

Joel’s gaze sets back on you as both women kiss him on the cheek. Your stomach clenches.

His jaw sets as they stand up and stride past you in their bare glory with all the confidence in the world. They close the door behind them as they exit, leaving the two of you alone.

The notion sending frightening electricity throughout every nerve of your body. 

“You got a name?” He asks. He’s not even looking at you, more concerned with tucking his spent cock inside and settling up his pants. He stands up to help zip the last node, not bothering to button or buckle his belt.

You remain silent.

“I gotta call ya something. Ain’t giving ya a number or some shit.”

You gulp steadily and finally tell him your name.

He nods once. “S’nice name. Pretty. Suits ya.”

He rounds the desk, his glaring brown orbs burning into your body as he racks you up and down like a teenager who’s about to fuck his first virgin.

You hate this. Hate the pretend formalities, as if he gives a fuck. As if you weren’t sold like a commodity, as if you didn’t know the rumors about him, about his cult of wives that you’re now about to be assimilated in. About his mission to repopulate the world with his seed, and how your womb is the most precious possession, and the rest of you is inconsequential to his pleasure.

“What happens…if I don’t conceive. What if I’m infertile.”

He chuckles. “Right to business huh? Like that about ya.” He clears something from his teeth with his tongue, clicking it before continuing. “What do you think happens?”

You swallow the was of saliva that had been pooling in your cheeks. You can’t imagine. 

He leans closer despite the way you flinch. Breathes in your hair and circles you as he depicts the inevitable: “Think the fruitless ones get thrown to my men, used up like little cock sluts till they split? Or just shoot ya in the head and tossed in the river, like a useless, breed-less little thing that we ain’t gonna waste good food to fill that empty bellies?”

Your body goes frigid, the images filling your mind, unsure if that could be your future.

Cold hands grip both shoulders from behind. He inhales in your scent, your fear.

Then: 

 “You know Tess?”

His voice is more calm, more warm than you expected. You turn around, thinking maybe it’s a joke. He seems… genuinely curious to know your answer.

You nod. Tess was an interesting character—stern to all the men, almost like she ran the place, but calm and collected with the other brides. She didn’t strike you as someone that Joel claimed or owned. 

“She’s infertile.”

Your eyes widen but your surprise is caught by him. Tess had a pretty good life around here, and it never occurred to you that she was also one of Joel’s wives, AND that she had failed to bear him offspring. Maybe you made the assumption because of her age, clearly too old to be of childbearing health. Or just the way they interacted, like equals rather than superior and inferior. How long had they known each other?

 He laughs again. “Weren’t expect that huh?”

“I— just assumed—“

“What, that we only keep the ones that got good eggs? Honey. While your body’s purpose is for breeding; that’s true. Your duty, above all else, is to be my wife.”

A brief glimmer of a steady, softness in his eyes keeps your attention at bay as he tells you this, the palms that still cover your shoulders flooding with warmth that burns rather than aches. But the man before you doesn’t feel like the same one you were told about just days ago when you were being sold off.

“We take care o’ each other ‘round here. The ladies are your sisters, this is your family. If you ever got problems, you come right to me, ya hear?”

You nod again, but it’s not enough.

“Words, darlin’.”

“Yes.”

He grins. “‘Att’s my girl.” Joel’s hands rub along your arms, and you remember just how clothed you truly are compared to how it felt with his glaring earlier. 

“Now, let me get a good luck at ya: take your clothes off.”

You look back at him in horror.

“Aw now, just cuz I ain’t gonna throw you out if you don’t get pregnant don’t mean we ain’t gonna try.”

You grit your teeth, knowing there’s no other option. You’re sworn to him now. To obey. He only mentioned what happens if you don’t get pregnant, not necessarily what happens if you resist him. You look forward and shrug off the tattered dirty clothes that had kept your minimal warmth to yourself, the last bit a security that kept you safe like a shield in this hollow, soul-less world. 

Your underwear drops to the ground at your ankles. Naked now, no different than the women who just serviced him moments ago. You stand up tall, nails biting into your wrists. 

He moves around you like a prized commodity, taking in your features. You’re well aware that he’s observing more than just to see if you’ll be a pretty fuck. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straighten your shoulders back, showing off the plumpness of your breasts as best you can. 

It’s too analytical—most men look at you like meat, focusing in on your ass, breasts and slit, whereas Joel is taking in everything. Chewing up data from every inch of your body and spitting out one factor that he’s determining: are you sturdy for carry his baby?

He makes some satisfied grunts here and there, an occasional tsk. You brace each time his hands glide along your hips, up your waist and down between your legs. The fact that it’s not sexual, almost medically pervasive, makes you feel even more on edge. His hands cup your chest, thumbs brushing over the nips until they harden painfully. He hums with a grin. “These gonna look real good when they swell. Not that they ain’t gorgeous as they are,” he adds with a wink.

You clench your jaw, only briefly meeting his eyes before looking forward again.

Joel flashes his teeth at you. “Alright. Ain’t gonna touch ya today sweetheart. Well, no more than this.”

“What, not going to sample the merchandise?” You bait. It’s probably too bold, but fuck, you gotta get a reaction out of him. Confirm exactly what you had been warned, prepping for the blow of his knee or the sting of the back of his hand.

Instead, he just hums. “Don't need to." He leaves you there to go back behind his desk to pull a bottle of whiskey from the drawer. His head tilts up and down to gesture you with a satisfied smirk:

"Already bought the whole stock.”

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 8 - Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: tiny dash of spice… making out, hands wandering. Light angst, emotions, late-night confessions.

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please don't be mad at me about this - I could not go with the cliche of wedding night. These idiots just need one more night to get their sh*t together. Sorry, and yes, as penance, Chapter 9 will be posted very soon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939 

A nervous energy ripples through your limbs as the four others leave, traipsing across the garden to the neighbouring cottage, leaving you and your new husband alone. Still waving awkwardly from the patio as they all disappear from view. A chill passes through you, just noticing how cold the night air is, autumn drawing in and without the warmth of Benedict holding you in some way, as he has been the past few hours. You startle slightly as he interrupts your reverie by chivalrously wrapping the faux fur stole around your shoulders.

“It’s my something borrowed,” you blurt, unsure what else to say.

“Eloise?”

You just nod, too nervous all of a sudden to look up at him.

“Let’s get inside,” he suggests, observing even the extra layer does not halt your shiver, gesturing to the kitchen door.

You walk awkwardly past, catching a whiff of his delicious scent that you woke up to this morning, the involuntary urge to sway into him intense.

You drift to the living room, Benedict wandering to the gramophone, putting on a mellow jazz record before taking a seat; part of you sad he chooses the armchair, not the sofa beside you. 

“Well… that was a day,” he understates in his usual affable manner.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” you respond earnestly, looking down at the simple band on your finger by reflex. “It’s all thanks to you that I have a chance to escape while I still can.”

“You would have done the same for me,” he demures with a quiet certainty that makes you yearn to touch him. 

Instead, you exchange slightly awkward smiles, the mantlepiece clock ticking sounding so loud, even with the music playing.

“And I'm sure you will get home one day,” he assures. “Your family, I'm certain, miss you… and... And your fiancee,” the reluctance in his words evident.

“I’m not sure a married woman can have a fiancé anymore,” you remark; the lash of guilt every time Stanley’s name is invoked lessening with every moment you spend alone with Benedict.

“You can once you are a single woman again, as soon as you are safe,” he counters softly, so altruistic in his manner your throat almost itching with unspent words—a want to yell. No! Fight for me! I want you more than I ever will want him!!

“You yourself said on the train that perhaps there is something better out there for me,” you respond cautiously. “The longer this adventure runs, the more certain I am of that.”

His mien is profound as you finally raise your eyes to his, wanting so much to say more but feeling too tongue-tied and cowardly to be that selfish, to declare he is what you want. 

He shakes himself a little and leans back into the armchair as if resetting himself and the line of conversation. Like he senses the mutual danger lurking there.

“Tomorrow, when we sail… they will likely notice the date on our marriage certificate,” Benedict counsels gently. “That may raise flags about the authenticity of our union.”

“What can we do to assuage them?”

“Come up with a plausible story. Be physically affectionate. They may ask no questions, or they may ask as many as they wish,” he warns, “especially of you. They may ask you about…” Benedict pauses, his face flushing a little, “… intimate matters. They have every right to ask if the marriage has been consummated.”

You feel yourself flashing hot as he says it. “I should lie?” you whisper.

“You should say whatever you think will make them believe we are a real couple,” he obfuscates.

“I’m a terrible liar…” you confess, blushing when you realise your words could be interpreted as an invitation to be intimate. And on this, your wedding night. 

His gaze is heavy. “You can do it y/n. Your freedom and safety may depend on your ability to convince them you love me... And I you.”

I think I might, your mind screams.

“I know… I… think I can do it,” you falter, replaying every kiss you have shared. “We seem to have done a great job convincing Jerome and Marie…”

“They are not looking to see artifice,” he counters. “British soldiers will be.”

“Sh… should we practice?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, champagne again taking your tongue, a deep flush spreading over your skin as you realise it.

“Y… yes, I think maybe we should,” he agrees very quickly. 

He stands somewhat awkward, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, leaving his waistcoat. You find yourself again mesmerised by him, as you were that night in Paris, wanting to run your hands over the flex in his arm muscles. In fact, you are so distracted you don’t even realise he is proffering you a hand out of the chair. You spring up to your feet without his help, the idea of touching him right now entirely too distracting, which seems to amuse him briefly before his expression turns sincere.

“We have kissed, but not as lovers, as married people would. We... we may need to do so, casually, of course, within sight of those allowing boarding,” he opines, even as your heart speeds up, realising what he is saying.

“You think we need to… practice more kissing? Now?” you are mildly annoyed by how stupefied you sound.

“Yes,” he confirms, drawing closer, “passionate, real kissing.”

You are looking up into blue eyes and a gorgeous face as fingertips loop around your wrist as if checking your pulse.

“Grab my wrist if you want me to stop,” he tutors softly, so gentlemanly in his approach, even as you fret that he can feel your heart rate hammering hard in your veins.

Once again, time is in slow motion as his lips descend. At first, the kiss is breathtaking but still chaste, like previously. But then there is a noise in the back of his throat that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end; his lips part yours, a wave of damp heat as the kiss deepens. His tongue swipes yours tentatively, a tease before you mirror his moves. He tastes of champagne and something else that is entirely him, an impulse to bite the inside of his cheek. And then it’s abruptly fervent, wanton - like a dam has broken - his hands gripping the crest of your hip bones, each finger an insistent dig into your flesh.

Finally, given the permission, you don't hold back. Pushing into him, one hand grasping the buckled loop at the back of his waistcoat that cinches it to his slim form, the other winding around his sturdy neck, encouraging him to lean down further, take from you. The kiss seems never-ending, a rolling wave of to and fro, a dance not unlike the one in the square just last night. Those fireworks still explode, but this time, it feels like those ones that are so powerful they knock a punch to your solar plexus, a ricochet you feel physically,

His hands slide up your back, a sensual drag that makes you moan into his mouth, a noise he greedily swallows. But he stops as they reach the faux fur wrapped around your shoulders and reluctantly breaks the kiss.

“Please, take this off,” he implores, “I cannot do this with you wearing my sister's clothing,” he points out with a cringe that creases his face charmingly.

Your responding giggle causes him to break into a lopsided grin, and wordlessly, you untie it as he watches, pupils blown. When you push it back off your shoulders, it hits the rug behind you with a soft whump, and your instinct takes over, rocking onto your tiptoes, one hand sliding into the lush hair at the back of his head and bringing his face back to yours. 

The minute your mouth opens to his, you are heavy and weightless all at once, not unlike that wooden roller coaster on Coney Island that made you see stars. Your nails flex on his scalp as his hands slide over your dress, looping low around your hips, tugging you snugly into his body as your tongues tangle. 

This.

This must be what the girls whisper about—a tart metallic boiling in your blood, a heavy tug deep inside your pelvis that needs relief. A wanting so physical it almost hurts, a hunger that makes you feel reckless, liable to behaviour you could never justify, a pure carnal caprice. But all too soon, he is pulling back, a need to breathe, even as he does so inches from your face, his eyes locked on yours as they flutter open.

“Again,” you murmur, uncaring how gossamer thin your excuse is, just wanting more. 

His eyes are glittering as he complies. Kissing like a wild storm now, hands hot through the thin, cool silk fabric. And you cannot stop the noises you make, shameless and breathy, right into his open, wet, questing mouth. Pressing hard against his body, a solid warmth in his trousers promising things you need so badly you crave to curl around him, open yourself to him. 

You have never felt this before. A tingle under your scalp that vibrates all the way down to your toes. A want to take and be taken. To bite and be bitten. To ride and be ridden. For him to rip your dress from your body and throw you onto the sofa—a yen that feels not entirely human and definitely not civilised.

It's like he senses your thoughts have slid somewhere wild, or perhaps his have too, as when he pulls back, he is panting, and there is a quaking in his entire being like he is crackling with energy.

“Please. Go.” His voice is ragged, deep, almost wrecked. “Please. I… I can’t do this anymore,” his voice cracks a look that is at once hungry, aching, and barely contained restraint.

Please don't be a gentleman now, Benedict. Please. No. God. Not now. Don’t.

“I’m s…sorry,” you stutter, feeling guilty you have pushed it too far but utterly unmoored by the searing passion and the sting of his rejection, albeit reluctant. 

Even you can see the war in his being, physical desire being muzzled by the gentleman he was clearly raised to be. Knowing if you stand here much longer, something will happen that one or both of you will regret. Your wedding ring seems to burn your skin as you turn around and shrink away, leaving the room, not daring to look back, knowing he has also turned away with ragged breaths.

As you climb the stairs, feet feeling leaden, your body in utter turmoil, you hear the discordant scratch of the gramophone being halted. You undress in a daze, swearing you can still feel the heat of his handprints through the silk of your dress. Climbing into the bed approaching numb, champagne swirling unease in your gut with all the rich foods, an oily disquiet that means it takes ages to settle.  

You lay there fitfully for what feels like hours, tossing and turning, picking over the minutiae of every moment with Benedict - tonight and all the nights and days before. Seeing possible signs that make your heart clench. 

Could it be that he is not doing this all for show? 

It's a seizing thought that catalyses your body: it has you up on your feet and rushing down the stairs in your nightgown, breathless and stumbling. But when you round the corner into the living room, all your courage to declare it is sapped by the sight of Benedict sleeping, curled slightly, looking smaller somehow, his back turned to you, face buried into the back cushion of the sofa.

Instead, you back away, padding to the kitchen to take a glass of water, hoping the hydration will stave off the worst of a hangover; the water is a relief to the tumultuous, racing feeling as you stand on the large slab of earthen tile gleaming in the moonlight, cold underfoot. You pour another glass for him without thought.

Tiptoeing back into the living room, careful not to wake him, you crouch beside him to leave the glass of water within easy sight and reach should he stir. But you find yourself unable to leave without saying something. The temptation to confess to his unconscious self is impossible to resist, the grip on your own glass so tight.

“I’ll never be able to repay you,” you murmur to his back, fingers itching to trace over the bare skin of his shoulder blades where they peak out of the blanket. “For this unbelievable act of kindness and generosity. And yet… god, this is so selfish,” you flick your eyes up to the ceiling to stem a tear you feel gathering, “… still I’m greedy. Always wanting more. Wanting…. Wanting to never return to my old life. Wanting to run away. Wanting this… Wanting this to be real.” 

The last phrase is barely audible, but still, you are instantly horrified that you confessed it out loud, even to his unconscious, sleeping frame. And you know you must leave.

God, what is wrong with me? What is this? Temporary insanity? Too much alcohol, a fake wedding and an impending war are not a good recipe…

It’s a silent internal lament as you stand up and withdraw, self-chastisement echoing so loud in your head. And yet, you can't resist a parting sentence from the doorway.

“Goodnight, Benedict, you are truly the very best of men...”

—

What you don’t see as you slowly climb back up the creaking wooden stairs is Benedict’s eyes blazing open, a look of utter astonishment claiming his face as he twists around and stares at the doorway you left by, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was never asleep.

And he heard every single word.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[amiavy]

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ first post!!!

Heartworm [oneshot]

✭ Scaramouche x Reader

ׂ╰┈➤ modern au / they’re in high school / idiots in love!! / fluff / light angst at the end i think!? / childhood friends / fem reader / no use of y/n

.ೃ࿐ synopsis ; you feel you and Scara’s relationship growing more distant as you enter your first year of high school. you start to feel unsure about your feelings 😱.

3,738 words

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help idk how to make posts on tumblr,, i originally posted this on ao3 but decided i also wanna start a blog so. i hope u enjoy :3 ੈ✩‧₊˚

btw he’s,,, called kunikuzushi bc i like it!

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High school is difficult. Especially your first year. It’s a completely new environment, filled with a bunch of people who always feel bigger than you. And considering the meek person you are, it’s no understatement to say that you mostly avoid getting involved with anything too big or too extravagant. You were okay with sitting alone outside in a more secluded place, eating lunch whole listening to music.

The solitude was nice. Feeling the crisp air brush along your skin was refreshing, and definitely needed after getting through crowded hallways and crammed staircases. During these small moments, you mostly felt okay with yourself.

But sometimes, it was too quiet, even for you. The elongated silences were getting uncomfortable. You just needed to be able to speak at times, to talk with someone— just like the two friends at the table beside yours would do everyday.

Occasionally, there would be some groups of kids who would come over, but that wasn’t the break of silence you needed. And yes, maybe sometimes a classmate or stranger would come over, talk for a while, but that wasn’t it either.

You did make some friends, but they were… weren’t, well... You cherished and appreciated them, but—

There was just someone in your life that you didn’t quite feel fulfilled without. And of course, who else would it be but your dear friend Kunikuzushi? Although you still went to school together in the morning most days, it was so fleeting. After that, you barely saw each other during the day.

Unfortunately, you had no classes or even lunch together. And the only after school activity you both joined was Arts Council, which happened once a week, on Wednesdays.

Wait,— today is Wednesday!

Today, you’d get to see him! Finally, after barely being able to spend any time together, you could indulge yourself in some well deserved company.

Thinking of all the topics you could tell him about, you smile to yourself and happily eat your food. You thought of talking about what happened during your week so far, and to ask him about his.

There was a prominent question you wanted to ask him, too. Did he make any other friends?

Other than you, everyone saw him as rather disagreeable— and they weren’t wrong for that! He was snarky, sarcastic, and didn’t like to talk unless necessary. Thus, it made sense for you and him to be sticking together throughout basically your entire youth. After all, the only person willing to be near him is you.

You’re able to see him as someone more than just his spiteful remarks, and so he allowed you to follow him for being “at least tolerable,” as Kunikuzushi said himself.

Being so caught up in your thoughts about him, you were pulled back to reality once you realized that the one song which reminded you of him the most began playing.

The feeling tugs a small, but sweet smile over your lips, which remained while you got yourself ready to head back to class.

Class is as boring as ever. And yet, it’s fairly different from middle school, when you used to sit beside Scaramouche at the back of the class. You remember how fun it was to make small doodles on his notebook in class while he wasn’t looking. Oh well, at least it’s last period, and you’d get to see him soon!

Soon, the bell rang, waking you up as last period ended. You were suddenly much more awake once you recall it was time for Arts Council. With excitement, you quickly pack up and make your way to the club’s room.

Many other members were already walking inside and finding seats, while you wait beside the door for Kunikuzushi.

For some reason, your heart begins pounding. Your stomach feels like it’s all in knots while you think of him. Like you were scared? Nervous? Excited? For… what?

“Hey,” A voice suddenly calls out to you. You exclaim a small wince when you feel your forehead get flicked.

“Wha—“ You were about to speak, until you realize who you were looking up at. It was Kunikuzushi. Your eyes widen slightly, and you could hear yourself stammer just a bit.

He raises an eyebrow at you, seeing how startled you were. “You’re so odd.” He simply says, brushing past you as he went inside. He looks back at you once, gesturing for you to come in as well.

You also look back at him and nod, before looking back a second time. Promptly, you followed and took a seat beside him, moving the stool a bit closer. He lightly scoffs, which makes you giggle. His attitude was always so silly.

You then turn to him, about to say something to start some conversation. However, you see two other figures approach the table, greeting Scaramouche while you direct your attention to them.

You look at the two curiously; a fair man with ashen hair and teal eyes, holding a neutral expression. His name was Albedo, who you knew from your science class. He was smart and humble, though not very social. The other boy had dark teal hair which matched his solemn expression, an amber colour accentuating his cat-like eyes. Even though you didn’t know him, he seemed to have similar energy to Albedo.

After they said hello to Scaramouche, to which he responded with a quiet hum, they both look to you. Surprisingly, Albedo greets you with your name. You didn’t expect him to know you, since he always seemed much more absorbed in his own work.

Albedo then spoke again, “Hm, so you and Scaramouche are…”

“She’s my friend,” Scaramouche answers sternly, a small sigh escaping his mouth.

Albedo nods, looking at Scaramouche with a slightly surprised expression. Once you agree, he nods once more and introduces you to Xiao, who wouldn’t say more than a greeting.

Albedo decided to sit in front of you, with Xiao quietly taking the seat beside him. Before any more words could be said, the club’s supervisor teacher comes in and began discussing today’s activities.

Valentine’s Day was soon approaching, and the council chose to prepare a cute, small photo booth. You volunteered to paint the booth’s background, to which Scaramouche agreed to help out with. Albedo and Xiao had already left the room to paint a school mural.

Everyone got to work promptly— you quickly gather the materials while Scaramouche brings over the large canvas paper, setting it over the table. He sat down once it was placed, watching as you walk over with various painting supplies.

With a sigh, he walks over to you, taking a few of the supplies from your arms.

“You looked like you were going to drop everything. Slow as ever, too.” He remarks, turning as he makes his way back to the table. You just smile, following him as you set the rest of the materials out.

“How about we do some sort of sunset? Then we can ask for some paper hearts to frame around it,” You suggest, Scaramouche shrugging in response. “That sounds fine with me, whatever you want.”

After discussing it a bit more, with Scaramouche mostly just giving passive responses and small comments, the two of you begin sketching it out. It was a rather plain sketch with not much going on since it was just a background focused on the colour and scenery.

And yet, even during such a simple task, you couldn’t help but get distracted, your eyes constantly flicking up from the paper to look at him.

Even with your unfocused attitude, the two of you got the sketch done quickly, and began painting. Your eyes were guided by the way your soft brush strokes worked in harmony with his, flowing against the blank canvas to shape colour and unity between your two brushes.

At first, the two of you continue to work in relative silence, until you finally speak, “So, how’s your week been so far?” You ask, looking up at him briefly. In that moment, he looks up at you as well, though his eyes swiftly shy away.

“It’s been the same as ever. Just some boring classes.” Scaramouche says plainly, not looking up again. You knew it was a typical response, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit upset when he said it was “the same as ever”. You wait to hear him say more— to say that he missed you, too. But you knew him, and you knew it was far too uncharacteristic.

You simply hum, nodding your head in acknowledgement. It was silent for a bit more as you both continued painting.

“…Aren’t you going to tell me about yours?” He speaks up, his authoritative voice grabbing your attention. He looks like he was forcing himself to face you as he rests his elbows on the table.

Heat burns onto your cheeks as his eyes focus onto your own.

“Ah, right,” You stammer quickly, blinking a few times. Why did it suddenly feel so tense? After years of knowing each other, you should be comfortable more than anything, right?

“It’s been… okay, I guess.” You say, “I enjoy eating lunch alone. But you’d be an exception, of course,” You laugh, sounding like you were joking, but you weren’t.

He lets out a scoffed laugh, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Obviously,” He says confidently. He then resumes his painting, looking up at you once as a signal to continue talking.

“I think I’m kinda just making acquaintances, not really friends, or something, you know?” You continue, trying to think of the right words. “I like the people I meet, but I dunno if I’d call them my friends. Maybe my definition of a ‘friend’ is a bit confusing, I guess.”

“Well, is it a bad thing?” Scaramouche asks in a smooth tone, yet mumbling a bit. He looks up at you curiously before his eyes scurry away once again.

You think about it for a moment before reluctantly shaking your head. “No, it’s alright actually. My mind’s been acting kind so it’s peaceful.” You say with a laugh, still just watching as he painted.

Scaramouche nods again. He was surprised and confused as to why he found himself somewhat glad. “Do you just plan on slacking?” He questions, giving you a teasing smile as he remarks on you simply sitting and watching him.

You frown, promptly standing up and starting to paint again. “Of course not!” You exclaim. However, some club members had already began leaving by now, so you thought about leaving soon as well.

The two of you talk a bit more about classes and work, occasionally bickering until you deice it was time to leave. After you clean up and say goodbye to everyone else, Scaramouche follows you to your locker.

He stands closely behind as you put back and grab things from your locker. Although you couldn’t see him from behind, you could feel his fixed gaze on you. His eyes scrunch slightly every time you accidentally graze your arm against his while sorting things out, but he stays silent.

Scaramouche takes a look at your decorated locker, small stickers, random decor,— and a picture of you two. He eyes it for a moment until you get up.

You opted to close the door, until he swiftly places his hand atop yours and stops you. A smug smile was evident on his face when you turned to question him.

“I didn’t know you put this up,” He asserts teasingly. It made your heart beat faster once again as you try to calm down.

“Isn’t it cute?” You ask, shrugging it off and acting unaffected. “I’m not sure about that.” He chuckles.

“But don’t take it down. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” Scaramouche says in a light tone, though clearly meaning his command.

He then closes the door, taking his hand off of yours as you put the lock back on, chasing him as he already began walking off. With a heart beating like crazy, you made your way to his side, walking to the exit together.

“Going straight home?” You ask. He hums in response, looking straight ahead.

The two of you walk through the empty corridor, not saying much. You didn’t have too much to talk about, especially after years of knowing each other. Usually, the silence would be comfortable.

And yet, it feels weirdly tense.

Every time your shoulders bumped, you can’t help but look up at him and want to see his expression. Looking at him felt different nowadays.

You try to feign ignorance to the cold, despite your mild shivering. It was early February, after all. Grass is covered in frost, and you could feel the cold air starting to nip at your face and hands. Small clouds appear at your mouth as hot breath escapes your lips, matching the sight of chimneys on houses you walk by.

Scaramouche was looking ethereal as always. His austere, cold eyes were accentuated by the season’s cool tones, additionally contrasted by the warm hue of blush on his pretty, pale cheeks which was perfectly framed by his indigo hair.

You quickly look away, placing your eyes on the snow falling instead.

After a breath, you speak, “I love the snow. It’s sooo pretty,” You happily say, “It’s really cold, but melts like magic when you touch it.”

“I know. Because it comes in contact with your warmth.” Scaramouche replies, turning his head to look at you while you watch the snowflakes. You laugh a bit at his stoic response.

There was a small pause.

You then grab onto his arm, pulling him forwards with you. “Come on, let’s stop by at the park for a bit!” You exclaim, taking him off guard. “Why would we do that—?!” He blurts, nearly falling over as you took him by surprise.

“‘Cause we haven’t seen each other often,” You tell him honestly, your voice quieting down as you lead him.

You make sure not to look at him while you spoke, so that he won’t see how much you meant those words.

“…Fine.” Scaramouche sighs, following you over to the park. It was close to your house, so the two of you used to go quite often. Or rather, you’d drag him along with you. Especially when you were kids. He’d never admit it, but he truly did enjoy going with you.

To just simply be together and forget about everything bad was heavenly— and he’s just obsessed with how you treated him.

…Not that’d he’d tell you that, of course. And obviously, he wouldn’t tell you how glad he was that you proposed to hang out for a bit. And how happy it made him when the two of you spent time alone during Arts Council.

No, he just couldn’t. Not when he was face-to-face with the risk of losing you.

Scaramouche was quickly cut out of his thoughts when you dragged him over to the swings, swiftly brushing the snow off the seats and getting on. You invite him to join you once you patted the snow off the other swing, looking at him expectantly.

He complies, sitting down as his hands loosely grasp the swing’s chains. He lightly sways, though not putting enough force to fully swing himself like you.

Scaramouche looks up at the snowy sky— or, pretends to look at the sky when he was really just staring at you each time the swing brought you high enough into his view.

He softly bit the inside of his lip, a sign of uncertainty as to whether or not he should say something.

Maybe even something about… how his chest kept feeling heavier. Suffocating, in a way. Especially when he looked at you.

At your features that were absolute perfection in his eyes. At your smile which never failed to warm him. At your starry eyes that made his breath get caught in his throat whenever they looked back at his.

“Why don’t you swing yourself?” You speak up, finally looking at him. The thought never really crossed his mind— after all, it was just pushing yourself back at forth.

“I happen to like it here. You know, swinging yourself like this is just as enjoyable.” Scaramouche says, sounding as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You hum, shrugging your shoulders. You didn’t really agree, but he was always an eccentric person. You continue to swing yourself, a small smile of amusement on your face.

Scaramouche naturally noticed it, and it caused a pleased smile to emerge on his lips as well. “Besides, you look quite foolish just going back and forth.” He mocks, sounding entertained by how idiotic he made you out to be.

You heave, frowning at him. “I do not. It’s fun. And you’re a bore,” You insult him back.

“Oh, I’m a bore?” He scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “That’s too bad. Because it seems like you’re always stuck with me.” He laughs.

“Unless you uncharacteristically run away now. Apparently even though I’m boring, you never choose to do so.” Scaramouche finishes teasingly, grinning.

You furrow your brows, glaring at him. Your cheeks heat up because you knew he was right— and it was frustrating!

“That’s ‘cause I’d feel bad seeing you alone!” You exclaim, just thinking of anything to rebut his statements.

He then grabs the chain of your swing, frowning irritably. His sudden motion caused your swing to move with uncertainty, making you hold on tightly until it finally stopped.

“Stop that!” You utter, playfully hitting his arm.

The two of you continue to bicker for a bit as usual, every so often talking about recent events and how school has been treating you. You liked having insight onto his life. And he liked having lots on yours.

You eventually slow down on the swing, resorting to weakly swaying just like Scaramouche as you continued to chat.

“How about Xiao and Albedo? Are you friends with them?” You ask, continuing the conversation.

“Mmm. I don’t know what you would consider a friend. But I guess I consider them acquaintances.” Scaramouche shrugs, not putting much thought into the other two boys.

“I just talk to them in class sometimes, when the teacher forces us to ‘discuss in small groups’.” He notes, rolling his eyes as he recalls his teacher’s ways.

“But, uh—…” Scaramouche starts to stutter, looking down as he seemed to consider his words. He sighed again.

He then brought his head up, turning to face you. “So, you and Albedo knew each other?” He breathlessly asks, his expression rigid.

His sudden behaviour took you a bit off guard. He always seemed so stern and sure of his words.

“Yeah, somewhat?— Well, not really, actually.” You stammered, thinking as you spoke. “We’re just in the same science class. He seems to like his work more than people, so…”

Scaramouche nods, his face relaxing. He looks back up at the falling snow, which had accumulated on the ground much more.

The air was much colder now that time had passed with the two of you just talking. The sky dimmed into a cool blue, signalling evening’s approaching.

There was a comfortable silence between you two. Well, you tried to think it was comfortable. Honestly, you were battling your feelings with every bit of your rationality left.

You tried so hard to tell yourself that you were okay with being friends. Friends. And nothing more. But after so long, you knew that all you wanted was more.

For Scaramouche, it was the same. All he wants is to keep you by his side forever. From childhood until eternity, you are what he wants. But not just like this.

If he had to shamefully admit it… He wanted you like the cheesy couples you occasionally watched during your many movie nights.

He hated the thought of how vulnerable you made him. How you could so easily make him weak. If you just asked, he would love you so ardently, more than anyone could.

You were both plagued by these thoughts, and you both knew you had to do something. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, and the silence that filled the space around you two, which you tried to think was comfortable, was really just full of tension and thickening air.

“Scaramouche,” you grabbed his attention, making him face you, “I’m really glad we got some time to ourselves today.” You say, your voice soft yet a bit hesitant.

Scaramouche let out a heavy breath as his mind seemed to conflict when he stared back at you. “…I am too.” He unusually confesses.

There was another pause between you two.

“I hope we’ll have lots more times like this. I… really do miss being near you all the time. It’s different.” Your words made Scaramouche’s eyes widen slightly. There was a pounding in his chest, making him clutch the swing’s chains a bit tighter.

His lips trembled a bit before responding, “We will. Don’t worry. There’s lots of time for us.” He says sternly. “If our schedules become so packed that they keep us away, then I’ll take care of it.”

There was that feeling again. Your heart started beating faster, and despite the cold outside, you felt completely warm. You hoped Scaramouche felt this way too— that the pinkish hue on his cheeks was because of his feelings and not the cold.

You smile at him.

“That’s good to know.” You giggle. “I’ll do the same, then. Promise?” You ask, reaching your pinky out to him.

He scoffs, but places his pinky out to entwine with yours anyway. “In high school? Still? Very childish, but not unexpected.” He says, still poking fun at you.

You roll your eyes and made a pinky promise, not pulling your finger away yet. You want your touch to linger more, even if it wasn’t necessary. Though, he didn’t seem to have any objections.

After another quick squeeze, you carefully pull your hand away and stand up, getting off the swing. “Let’s get home now, it’s getting way too cold.” You tell him, a shiver running down your spine.

There were still lots of unsaid words. Many things still buried. So much yearning.

But for now, with the way you tug his arm along to get home, perhaps it was better for you both to stay quiet.

————————

hell yea i can be pretty cringe! i’m surprised if u read this far ily <3

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

It's Called Murder, Baby!

A Scream x Stranger Things AU

Part II

Read Part I Here

Synopsis: A string of gruesome murders takes a toll on the small town of Hawkins. Friends and family start looking like suspects making it hard to trust those who you are closest to.

Chapter Summary: A killer is still on the loose with the whole town on edge. Was this a single incident or is there more to come? Hopper puts his foot down leaving things tense with you and Steve.

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

This work will contain elements of violent themes (depictions of crime scenes, murders, etc) and smut. This is a slasher fic!

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. AFAB!Reader. Graphic character deaths/murders - depictions of how they were found after the murder. Semi-Public Sex. Oral (m receiving). Pet names. Choking. Degradation. Smoking marijuana. P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Creampie.

Word Count: 5.3K

In all of Jim’s twenty plus years on the force, he thought he’d seen it all. Hawkins had its share of crime, but murder was never high on that list. The usually quiet town had only seen something of this caliber once before.

He was here 10 years ago when Principal Higgin’s was strung up by his feet and found hanging on the goal post at Hawkin’s High football field, sliced open from neck to navel like a freshly killed deer ready for processing. It was gruesome and bloody. They had never seen anything like it and hoped they’d never have to deal with something like it again.

The murders of Jason and Chrissy brought a whole new meaning to what he’d thought he’d seen.

Jason was found tied to a chair. He had been stabbed at least ten times before his throat ultimately slit. They were still unsure if he was already dead before his neck was reached.

Chrissy was found a few feet away, strung up by her feet. Rope tied to the second-floor landing, extending over the living room. In eerily similar fashion to that murder 10 years ago, she was also gutted.

It was as if Jason had been made to watch. This was brutal and seemed personal.

He had the file spread out across his desk, looking and relooking at all the evidence as he reached for another smoke. He’d been chain smoking since he’d left the crime scene this morning.

It was now well past two in the afternoon, and he was no closer to figuring this shit out. It was going to be a long night.

A knock came at his door followed by Deputy Callahan poking his head in.

“Yeah?” Came his gruff voice, already irritated by the younger man’s presence. Callahan was a constant pest.

“Hey Sheriff, uh, sorry to bother you, but I thought you might like to see today’s paper.” The shit eating smirk on his face told a different story.

Callahan waltzes over, handing him the latest edition.

He read the headline and briefly skimmed the article underneath.

“Meeting, now!” He finally huffed, reddened face on display. Callahan didn’t miss a beat.

“On it, sir.”

It wasn’t unusual to have an “emergency” meeting at the station, especially with the way the morning had gone.

Steve was settled at his desk, Robin was sitting across from him rambling about something he wasn’t paying much attention to, still too distracted by the evidence before him. Looking at it all as if he would magically see something they had missed.

Callahan hadn’t even bothered knocking, door opening with a crooked grin.

“Meeting, Sheriff’s office. Now.”

Robin looked at Steve and shrugged.

Everyone shuffled into the room, cramming into the corners trying to fit into the small office.

Hopper was unusually quiet, not meeting anyone’s gaze as they filed in. Steve immediately clocked the newspaper he had folded in his hand.

Powell was the last, closing the door behind him. As soon as it clicked into place Hopper spoke up.

“I don’t think I should have to remind you all how delicate a case like this is.” Everyone nodded in agreement as he finally looked around.

“Yes. Yes, sir. Yes, Sheriff.” Came from around the room.

“So, who the fuck talked to the press?” He threw the paper on the desk, unfurling to reveal the headline. His finger pinning it and pointing to your article.

Steve maintained his composure, but he wanted to rip his hair out. He hadn’t seen the paper yet, so he stepped up reading the contents, Robin shuffled right in beside him.

His jaw tightened. He hadn’t told you anything about the mask they had found.

A few more seconds ticked by. Steve finally stepped back catching Callahan looking straight at him, that same smirk plastered to his face from earlier.

Little Fucker, Steve thought.

Jim groaned as he sat back down, before finally speaking again. “Powell, Callahan. Get out and close the door.”

Wasting no time, quickly doing as they were told to make sure to stay on Hopper’s good side. Callahan skirted past Steve, smiling as he went. Steve was already seething with his fists clenched tightly to his sides. If looks could kill, the other would have been a dead man.

Robin clutched the paper reading it more carefully, as she took the seat in front of his desk.

Steve strolled up behind her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Look,” Jim sighed, looking right at him. “I don’t care what the hell you do after hours but do not let it interfere with my investigation.”

“Hop,” Robin went to interject but was quickly cut off.

“Let me finish,” She snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “Unfortunately, I know it had to have been one of you. No one outside of this room knew about that goddamn mask.”

He let his words wash over them both. Robin’s shoulders sank as she sat further into her seat. He noticed Steve’s jaw clench.

“Callahan had a run in with her here today in the station. Care to explain?” He sat back, reaching for yet again for another smoke. Joyce would kill him if she knew how many he’d had today.

“Hop, I swear,” Robin was the first to crack, always was. “She just came in for a visit. We had coffee…” She trailed off when she felt Steve’s hand rest on her shoulder.

“She came in to talk to me,” Steve looked Jim in the eye as he spoke. “But I swear to God I didn't say a word about that fucking mask.”

Hopper sighed; he knew Steve would never undermine him like that.

He nodded. “No more press in the station until this shit is over. Not even her.”

“Yes sir,” they stated in unison.

“Ok then, who else could have known?”

Steve trudged out of Hopper's office in a huff, with Robin hot on his heels as she followed him back into his office, shutting the door behind them.

“Steve,” she started.

“Don't.” He sat down, with a sigh as he opened the folder once again in front of him and rubbed his hands down his face.

“You didn't tell her that, did you?” She asked quietly before taking the chair in front of him, eyes worrying over him. Surely, he wasn't that stupid?

“Of course not,” he scoffed, incredulously. “You know better than that.”

“Right, yeah, I know… but you two are… close.” She wouldn’t dare meet his eyes after it slipped out.

“Close, yeah. But I wouldn't jeopardize an investigation like that.” She nodded, as he got up wearily from his seat.

‘Hey, where are you going?” She shouted as he was halfway out the door.

“To get some answers.”

The copier was currently holding your paper hostage, as it got lodged in the rollers. Cursing the damn thing as you started the process of digging it out.

Nancy walked by just in time to see you struggling.

“There you are, heads up. Trouble is headed this way.” You looked over her shoulder in time to catch Steve's stern face looking right at you as he stepped through the door.

“Shit,” you breathed out.

She gave you a wry, pitying look before leaving you to it.

“Hey Steve, I…” you began, but he grabbed your bicep pulling you along with him, giving you no choice but to follow. He dragged you into the small conference room down the hall in which you two frequently met.

Only letting you go once you were both in, shutting the door. He was unusually quiet, eyes lingering down as if contemplating what needed to be said.

“So, I take it, you've seen the paper?” You asked softly.

He nodded, “Who told you about the mask?”

You knew it would come, but you were prepared.

“It was an anonymous source, and I took the chance.” You shrugged.

“Anonymous source? Who?” He narrowed his gaze, but you stood your ground, standing up a little straighter crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don't know, Steven, it was an anonymous tip. They didn't quite let me catch their name before they hung up.”

“Right, like you don't know. So why would you run it if you didn't know if it was true?” He stepped closer into your space.

“I just had a gut feeling. Looks like I was right if you're here.” Gesturing toward him.

He planted his hands on his hips, looking down his nose at you trying to look intimidating, only managing to turn you on instead.

“Yeah, and now Hop is on my ass thinking that I leaked it. You sure you didn't see something in that file on my desk?”

“And when would I have done that? While I was in your lap, and you were balls deep? You were there too. I didn't snoop in your fucking file.” You start turning away from him, tired of the questioning.

“Wait, look,” his hand wraps softly around your wrist, catching you from moving too far away from him.

“I'm sorry, I know you didn't snoop. This is just a big case, Hops worried about making sure it isn't fucked up.” You nodded, secretly relishing the way you could easily get him worked up and then he’s always the first to apologize.

“I know Steve, I wouldn't do something to compromise your job. You should know that.”

He absentmindedly bit his lower lip, his mind in overdrive once again.

“I've got to get back to the Station. I'll be there late tonight.”

He turned and headed back out into the newsroom. Turning heads as he went, permanent scowl etched onto his face.

It was getting late in the evening, around 8 pm. Eddie should have been by to pick you up at 6 but had called earlier saying he was running late.

“Sorry sweetheart, boss wants me to stay and finish up this last car that came in today.” He had said.

You were the only one left in the building. Nancy had offered to take you home, but you didn't want to be an inconvenience.

You were doing some research on another story Tom had assigned you, paying little attention to anything else around you.

The doors were locked. All the lights were low except the one still at your desk, head buried in a pile of copy you were looking over.

It was then you heard a sharp screech, as if a door creaked open making your head shoot up. You stood, walking slowly to the doorway leading to the back of the building, listening closely for any other sounds.

You rounded the corner that led to a narrow hall, and beyond that was the back of the building. There was only one exit door in the back, and you were sure that Tom had locked it on his way out.

“Hello? Is someone there?” You shouted down the darkened hall. No sounds or movements from that direction. Heart beating heavy in your chest as your eyes adjusted to see further into the dark but there was nothing and no one.

“Shit, get a grip.” You hissed to yourself.

You turned to go back to your desk, bumping into something very solid, as you jumped and let out a small squeak of surprise. His hand wrapping around your waist, steading you. Looking up into a familiar face with deep hazel eyes immediately calmed your now jangled nerves.

“Shit Steve, you didn’t have to sneak up on me.” Your heart still beating rapidly.

“I was checking the doors. The back was unlocked. Why aren’t you being more careful? There's still a killer on the loose.” He looked worried then, always caring about your well-being. He brushed the loose strands of hair behind your ear that had fallen after a long day, cupping your cheek in the process.

“Good thing I have a big, bad Sheriff to keep an eye out for me.” You smiled, as his gaze softened.

“Eddie coming to pick you up?” He whispered, inching closer to you. Crowding into you even further, closing the distance, pushing you into the wall as your back came to rest against it.

You nod. “He's just running a little late.”

“I’d never keep you waiting,” he mumbled against your lips, letting them finally meld into yours as you hummed in response, he let his other hand meet your hip, pulling you back into him.

“Stevie, I… I can't. He'll be here any minute.” You breathed out, pushing him away slightly.

He nodded, kissing your forehead tenderly before pulling completely away, immediately missing the warmth his body provided.

“Steve, wait, I'm sorry about the paper. Sometimes I just get ahead of myself and don't think about who else it might affect.” You placed your palm to his cheek, forcing his eyes on you.

Your other hand trailed the length of his shirt, past his belt, firmly cupping his bulge as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I don't have a lot of time, but I could still make it up to you.” You whispered, looking up at him innocently.

“Let me make it up to you.” You gripped the front of his shirt, as he held out his hand to help lower you to the floor.

Your knees hit the hard linoleum with a small thump, as he allowed himself to bump into the wall behind him.

He looked down at you with an affection that suddenly made your chest ache. You were expecting lust, not his doe eyes sparkling in the low light.

He removed his duty belt, sitting it on the table to the side of you.

“Stevie, don't look at me like that.”

“Like what, honey?”

You looked ahead, choosing to ignore him instead, popping the button on his slacks and undoing his zipper slowly, his cock beginning to strain against his confinements as you reached into his briefs, fingers wrapping around the base. He let out a small moan, as he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall.

His cock kicked up with your touch, engorging further, growing to his full length before your eyes. You licked your lips as your mouth began to salivate.

You moved your hand up his velvety length, collecting the growing bead of pearlescent precum at his slit, letting your thumb slowly spread it across his head before bringing it back down.

“Fuck,” he moaned out, every touch sending electricity through his veins, as if he hadn't already been inside of you earlier today.

You held his base, and kitten licked at his head, eliciting more breathy moans as you began to kiss up and back down his hard cock at a torturous pace before finally wrapping your lips around his head, swirling your tongue and sucking lightly before taking as much of him into your mouth that you could fit. Slowly bobbing your head and then picking up the pace, working in tandem with the hand wrapped around the rest of him.

You gagged just a bit, when he nudged the back of your throat a little too hard from your own eagerness.

He looked back down at the sound, cupping your cheek gently, thumb softly caressing you,

“Hey, hey take it easy baby doll. Can't make a mess of this pretty little face right now. Just take it easy honey.”

You nodded, bobbing your head slowly once again.

“That's it baby doll. Slow and steady now.”

You free hand toys with his balls, rolling them deftly between your fingers.

“Oh shit, yeah. Just like that baby.” He cooed.

You speed up your movements on his length, feeling his sack tense and draw up a bit from the change in pace.

“That's it, baby doll, I'm about to cum already. Can I cum in that pretty mouth?”

You nodded as he grunted and spilled down your throat, relaxing a bit more so you could swallow as much as possible. The salty, tangy taste had you humming around him.

His cock twitched once more before stilling, as you moved off of him with a slight pop, wiping the drool and any of him that escaped down the side of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around your finger, licking it off, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“C’mere,” giving you his hand once again to help you up, winching as you felt the pain in your knees from being in the latter position.

“I…” you were about to speak, as headlights cut through the blinds, illuminating you both.

“Shit,” he hissed, drawing back, putting himself away and grabbing for his belt before securing it back around his waist.

“It's Eddie. He'll be ok for a few minutes.” You straightened your rumpled shirt, smoothing some errant stray hairs back into place.

You grabbed your purse, as he finished fixing his clothes.

“Come on, I'll have to lock up behind you. Walk me out.”

He followed closely, Eddie's eyes cut to the both of you upon exit, taking a slow drag of the cigarette held tightly between his lips.

He rolled down his window as you cut in front of the van to climb into the passenger seat.

“Evening Harrington,” he grinned. “Out on patrol?”

Steve glared, licking his lips before striding up the van, clearing his throat a bit.

“Eddie,” nodding toward the other man. “Just checking some doors around town. Y/N would forget her head sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he clicked his tongue, “yeah she would.” He looked over to you as you rolled your eyes back at him. You leaned over as he met you halfway placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thanks for checking on me Steve.” Throwing him a soft smile and wink, sitting back into the seat as your seatbelt clicked into place.

Eddie smirked, tapping his fingers against the top of the door. Steve caught sight of the newly formed bruises and scratches there.

“Yeah, Steve,” grabbing your hand from the console, pulling it in for a soft kiss, before turning back to him, “thanks for checking on my girl.”

“No problem. Nasty cuts you got there.” Nodding his chin toward them.

Eddie flexed his hand, “Yeap, caught it on a bitch of a radiator yesterday.”

Steve, growing tired of the awkward small talk, decided to take his leave.

“Well, you two be careful.” Patting the side of the van, turning back in the direction of the station.

“See ya’ around Stevie.” Eddie called out, chuckling loudly, sliding the gear shift into reverse, backing out from his spot.

“You don't have to be rude to him.” You scolded as he pulled out onto the road.

“He's just so easy to fuck with babe. I can't help it. Especially when he's so smug thinking you two are cheating behind my back.” He laughed deeply.

“He’s not smug about it. He worries about you catching us all the time.”

“Good. He should be.”

Eddie took a left, instead of the right back to your house.

“Where are we going?” You asked but he didn't answer right away, grin only growing wider, more devilish looking.

“Don't worry baby, it's a nice night for a drive. Thought we might go parking.”

“Parking, huh? Wanna do it in the back of the van, like in high school?” You comically lifted your brow. “How romantic.”

“I'm just kidding, unless you wanna?” Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, that had you laughing.

It was always the little moments with Eddie. He'd know exactly how to make you laugh or quell your nerves after a long day. You trusted him wholly.

“I wanted to take you to a spot I found the other day. Wanted to share a joint and see where the night takes us.”

“You do know there's a killer on the loose, right?”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. You're safe with me.” Somehow you knew he was telling the truth.

He took you further out of the main city, a few more twists and turns, you were thoroughly lost. Never one with a good sense of direction. Kicking your heels off and tossing them in the back, you got more comfortable, pulling your legs under you.

Asphalt turned into gravel, as he slowed to a roll, finally throwing the van into park at a clearing.

You looked out the windshield, it was a clear night. Moon brightly reflecting off of Lover's Lake, small waves cresting on the shore in front of you.

Though this wasn't a new spot like he'd said, it was your spot. You recognized the big tree directly by the lake.

“Surprise,” he sang out.

“This isn't a new spot, Eddie.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Sue me.” He laughs, digging into the pocket of his jumpsuit, producing a pre-rolled joint, bringing it to his lips.

“You’ve been a naughty girl today.” Stating it matter-of-factly. Lighting the end, sucking lightly until he knows it's lit.

He looks at you, eyes hooded, dropping his voice a little deeper. “Haven't you sweetheart?”

His words ignited your core. You knew that tone well.

He offered it to you, taking it gingerly, bringing it to your own lips inhaling the sweet strain as he intensely watched your movements.

“And you,” pointing over at him, “have always been a very jealous boyfriend.”

He scoffs, taking it back from you, letting it wash over him.

“If I was jealous, I wouldn't let you whore around with him all over town.”

You laughed out, clear and bright as the weed began to flow through your system.

“Let's get one thing straight, you've never told me to do anything in this relationship. I do what I want.”

He slowly places the joint in the ashtray, and then moves quickly before you have time to react, pinning you by the throat pushing you into the passenger seat, rings biting into the tender flesh. You gasped out, reaching up to grab his hand.

“Sweetheart, maybe it's time to put that mouth to some good use.” He whispered close to your ear.

“Maybe I already did.” You grinned wickedly at him.

“You little whore, kissing me with that mouth after his cock’s been shoved halfway down your throat?” His fingers tightened, as you nodded.

“Bet his cum’s still lingering on your tongue. Huh?”

“Mmmmm, yeah baby. He finished right before you pulled in to pick me up.”

He removed his hand from your throat to pinch your cheeks harshly, forcing your lips into a sweet pout, as he roughly brings his lips to yours, you close your eyes, humming in contentment.

You felt him smirk against you, pulling back slightly, “You’re fucking filthy baby. How'd I get so lucky? Hey, look at me.” You snapped your eyes open to see his own blown wide with lust, so dark they were almost black.

“Get in the back. Take your clothes off.”

You didn't hesitate, as he finally released you, climbing over the console as quickly as you could. He picked up what was left of his joint, inhaling deeply, letting it sit in his lungs a moment before exhaling.

Eddie kept the back of the van clean, a spare blanket folded into the corner just for occasions like this to save your knees or ass from a wicked carpet burn. You had learned from experience.

You carefully unfolded it and smoothed out the edges. He was still smoking and concentrating on the water beyond the window, like his mind was elsewhere.

Unbuttoning your blouse, and quickly shimmying out of your skirt leaving you in just your panties and bra you laid down, awaiting your next instruction.

“I said take your clothes off. That means everything.” He spoke without looking back.

You quickly shed the offending articles.

“Good girl.” He purred, finally facing you to get a good look.

“Open your legs, yeah, that's it baby.” He had a perfect view of your cunt, untouched but already dripping.

“Go ahead, touch yourself f’me.” Slowly reaching down between your thighs, taking some slick from your leaking hole, bringing it back up as you slowly start to draw circles around your clit.

“Oooooh, Eddie,” you moaned, throwing your head back at the feeling, already worked up from sucking Steve off.

“Eyes on me baby.” You look up just in time to see him pushing his coveralls past his hips, his cock straining his boxers. He pulled those down slightly, freeing his already hard cock.

It had you licking your lips at the sight. He didn’t quite have the girth that Steve does, but he was just a little longer, with a slight curve upward.

He spit in his hand before wrapping it around the base, hissing out, sliding it up and back down, setting a slow pace as he watched you torturously toy with your bundle of nerves.

“That's it sweetness, go ahead finger fuck that tight pussy.” Moving your fingers down, you easily slid two in, whining out and arching your back. You began to rock your palm into your clit as your fingers slid in and out.

“Bet you wish that was my cock instead? Huh?” You nodded, mouth going slack at the feeling as another whine escaped but you needed more. You needed him.

“Please, Eds. I need your cock. I need you to fuck me.”

“Jesus, you are a greedy whore. Two of your holes stuffed already today and you still want more?” He chuckled but opened his door exiting to move around to the back. He didn’t intend to leave you hanging. He needed your cunt wrapped around him just as much as you needed him to fill you.

The back doors opened with a flush of cold air, as he quickly worked to push his coveralls down climbing in to meet you, shutting the door behind him. He removed his shirt and threw it in the corner to meet your own pile of clothes.

You turned yourself around to face him, as he crawls in-between your thighs, pushing them further apart as he made his way up.

He trailed hot, open mouth kisses along your sternum before turning his attention to your pebbled nipples. Quickly drawing one into his mouth, sucking sharply. Palming your neglected breast with his free hand.

“Oh Eddie,” you thread your fingers in his hair, tightening your grip on his curls when you feel him bite down.

“Oh fuck!” You squealed, as he releases his mouth, bringing it to the other repeating the same motions.

He continued his journey upward, laving his tongue up your breasts, neck and jaw.

His arms finally cage you in, as his body pushes you further into the floor. You wrap your legs around his lithe waist, as he pushes his hips down, rolling them into yours letting his cock brush through your folds.

“Eddie, please.” You gripped his shoulders, throwing your head back as his ruddy tip nudged your clit, sending sparks through your core and up your spine.

“Eddie, please.” He mocked, high pitched and whiny. His lips kissed up your jaw as he found the shell of your ear. “Such a needy little whore.”

He braced himself with one arm by your head, taking his length with the other bringing his leaking tip to your entrance.

He caught your entrance and slightly pushed in, but it already has you arching into him. He watches himself slowly disappear into your tight heat, inch by inch.

“Fuck, baby. She's sucking me in. So, fucking tight.” He lowers his forehead to yours savoring the sensation for a moment, before he quickly grips your thigh, pushing it higher onto his hip as he's pulling almost all the way out, just to sink straight back in.

“Oh fuck… mmmmm… Eddie.”

He rocks his hips back and forth, setting a now brutal pace that has you both moaning and crying out.

He then ceases his movements momentarily, pulling up slightly, only to push your knees to your chest. The new angle has him reaching impossibly deeper as he begins giving you long, slow strokes. It’s his favorite view. Your tight cunt swallowing him whole. He can barely tear his eyes away.

“Fuck, look at you. Already so drunk on my cock and she's taking me so well.” Now watching your fucked out face. Eyes closed, heard thrown back and mouth slack with moans and expletives spilling out.

His words spur that flame within you, only burning hotter with each drag of his cock along your frontal wall. Your pussy flutters around him.

He lifted up, placing his hand around your throat, picking up his pace once more. Grip growing tighter with every thrust. You expect finger shaped bruises to be blooming in the morning.

The sounds of skin slapping skin along with the moans pulled from you and the grunts from Eddie fill the back of the van. You were getting close as your cunt pulsed around his thick, fat cock.

“I can feel her baby, she's getting tighter. You need to cum huh? Tell me who's pussy this is. And I’ll let you cum.”

He loosened his grip so you could speak.

You gasped as the newly found air entered your lungs, “It's yours Eddie, she's all yours.”

“That's… fucking… right.” Punctuating each word with a thrust. He moved his deft fingers down your body, resting for a moment on your mound, before his thumb began rubbing harsh circles to your clit.

“I know you're close. Cum with me baby.”

It only took a few more thrusts, with his thumb never ceasing its movements, you were coming undone. Your pussy clamped down around him with such a force it almost pushed him out.

“Oh fuck, Eddie!” You cried out as your orgasm hit with a blinding force. Your toes curled, as your whole body felt like a livewire.

“Goddamn, baby. You're strangling me.” He hissed out.

He regained his composure, pounding into you, chasing his own high. A few more sloppy pumps and he was spilling into you, thick ropes of his release filling you to the brim.

“Fuck baby.” He kissed your forehead as you caught your breath.

“Fuck, Eds.” You giggled.

He pulled his softening cock from you, watching as some of his spend leaked from you.

“What a beautiful site,” he whispered, moving out of your space to retrieve your underwear, sliding them back up your legs to keep the mess contained then leaning down to place a kiss on your mound. Such a tender gesture.

“Sorry, I don't have anything to clean you up baby.” Kissing your knee as you bent up to retrieve your clothes.

“It's ok Eds, we'll shower when we get home.” You cupped his cheek as he nuzzled into your palm briefly. You both dressed and got back into the front seats.

He headed home at a leisurely pace, both content to ride in the peace and quiet of the night.

You watched the streetlights pass, growing more frequent the closer you got into town.

You'd only passed one other vehicle on the way back in. Hawkins was on edge, houses shut tight and barely any lights to be seen. It was eerie to say the least. All hoping this was a single incident, but a killer was still on the loose.

He slowed at a stop sign, before making the turn back to your house and in the distance, you saw the glow of cruiser lights.

“Oh great, what now?” He huffed. Your attention already trained ahead.

“I don't know, but I've got a really bad feeling.”

He slowly rolled past the scene. Two cruisers and the medical examiners van were parked out front of one of the newer homes on Elm Street.

“Doesn’t Chase Owen live there?” You asked.

“How the hell should I know baby, haven’t heard from that asshat since high school.”

There was a deputy stationed out front, he waved the van through. Trying to quickly get rid of any rubberneckers that dared to pass by.

You caught his eyes, Steve, looking at you with this unreadable expression as he quickly looked away.

You would come to realize Jason and Chrissy were just the warmup.

Soon, the body count would rise, and it was going to get messy.

@barbedwirebats I know you wanted to be tagged!

[artzytrash]

Just woke up and need to get out all my thoughts on the Backyard Sports trailer before I go to work

First of all. THAT'S MY BOY!!! MY SON!! I popped off so hard when I saw him. I LOVE that they aren't trying to "modernise" the game by any means (cus that worked so well for them last time /s) and are retaining the early 2000s feel that makes the OG games so beloved

KENNY!! MY OTHER SON!! I love that they used his hair and eyes from the atari design. Probably the best thing they could have done with him.

KIESHA!!! She's so silly. This might be nitpicky but I'm a lil unsure about them making her hair more pointy than round if that makes sense. But it's not a huge deal she still looks great!

The inclusion of the old character sprites was really cute, good way of showing some characters that didn't appear physically. (Ernie was also in that one promo image but still) (I wish Sally could have appeared in the trailer as herself but I'll take this)

Favourite screenshots from the trailer. They're stanced tf up. The silly goobers.

Look I'm not saying this is my doing by any means, but it's pretty coincidental that, like immediately after I join the fandom, it gets a revival. And since I've joined I've been imaging what it would be like if they made another game in the series. Has Apollo given me the gift of the prophecy? /j

I'm very excited for this omg. I got hyperfixated on the series from watching one of my favourite streamers (Therm) play it and never actually played the games myself (I can't emulate the old ones currently cus I don't have a working PC), so I'm excited to be able to play them. I am actually looking at getting a PC very soon so maybe I'll actually play a bit of Baseball 97' or 2001 before then.

Also the music from the trailer is gonna be stuck in my head all day now I know it.

Last thing, I WILL be making art to celebrate the occasion, but I'm gonna be pretty busy this week with work, so it might take me a few days. I can probably find some doodles to post in the meantime, and I'm still working on a ton of aged up AU designs so expect more of them soon.

OK I'm done yapping now BYE

[palskippah]

Hellowi pretty people I come over to ramble about random Nimona projects and stuff bc I'm excited about them but nothing's finished

I'm writing a short thing for fun with the idea of Ambrosius getting hearing loss because of the explosion that made Nimona and the laser and I'm listening to songs to see if I get inspo for the title (so far the doc is called 'Ambrosius gets hearing damage' but that's not cool JSKSHD), and listening to Mistki I was like omg a fic called Why Not Me. But then I was like omg a fic regarding Nimona and her monster form with the title 'I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down' but then I was like no omg what about a fic about comic goldenheart with the title 'I always want you when I'm finally fine'

I have no idea what qualifies as a good lyrics title but I think they work

And I literally have no ideas besides a phrase and the vibes for it, and still got no title for the temporarily deaf Ambrosius thing but it's so fun to do this sjdkdj (also, I really like the headcanon of him getting permanent but parcial (?) hearing loss on the ear that was closest to the explosion, it makes sense) (also I've experienced some partial hearing loss (?) at some point earlier this year and it's just so not fun to go through that bc people get very mad at you when you need them to repeat themselves more than twice and ask them to be louder pipipi anyways everything keeps happening around him and Ambrosius doesn't catch half of it and he feels a bit too helpless and scared of not hearing again but it works out in the end (more or less))

I see why everyone always picks lyrics as title names they're so coolest also mistki's songs are so good 😔🙏 they make me sad and happy at the same time sjddj

Another thing that has a long way to go and I'm trying to find a title for is an au of the gay dads au with mpreg where Ballister is from the beginning Nimona's dad and Ambrosius is that ex that by chance slowly makes his way back to his life and accidentally becomes Nimona's stepdad (like in Look Who's Talking? I think sjdkdj) also Meredith's there and she's cool and doing her own thing, I'm glad I read the comic bc I changed her relationship with Ballister in the fic and I think it works better with his decisions and motivations and all that stuff

(in my head it's very epic but to you it may seem like anything JSKDH)

Ballister is not really having a good time (lonely, unsure about his decision, scared and stuff, especially when he has to have her) but he has his good moments, promise. Also he hugs Meredith and she pats his back awkwardly like in the comic, at some point

Also as soon as Ballister finds out that Nimona's a girl he gets many very pink clothes pipipi Ambrosius gets him pink stuff for her too bc he sees any cute baby clothes or accessories and he's like hey I bet Ballister would like this for his baby :) and buys it

Nimona doesn't like him much when she's born, and he's like aw c'mon :( I bought you so many gifts pipipi I helped fold your tiny little clothes that one time !! (Ballister points out that he had done a very shitty job at it and Ambrosius shushes him, covering Nimona's ears)

ALSO

I'm drawing stuff for a TikTok post about mpreg but for comic goldenheart and trying to make the comic plot fit into it and it's so silly bc they have nothing to do with one another.

Ambrosius and Ballister don't beat the shit out of each other at the bar but Ballister goes away all angrily while Ambrosius walks behind him going Ballister I'm not done talking to you !!! >:(

And Ballister's like I am !! >:( and then there's another drawing of him leaning against a wall with one hand going damnit because he overworked himself, and Ambrosius going all *touching his hands together nervously* do you need to sit down :(? And Ballister going ...no. fuck off.

Also Nimona telling him to just abort that thing when he first told her (and he hadn't known yet what to do about it), and then when Cyrus' born he's staring angrily at her (he's not, he's just newly born and scrunched) and Nimona's like, holy shit boss, he remembers 😟 and Ballister's like, ?? How's he gonna remember, he doesn't even know you.

Also Ballister getting sad about the discussion at the bar and Nimona cheering him up with the science fair, but him going this won't trick anybody, look at me😔 *gestures to his pregnant self* and Nimona's like, nah boss you just look like you got a beer gut, it'll work. How they manage to run away from the guards/knights and all that when Nimona's stuck in cat form, that's not my business 🧐

Also Cyrus is born sometime before the whole Ballister freaking out about Nimona's powers, so he's somewhere in the kingdom being babysat by a nice older lady or something when Nimona's part is destroying everything. Or maybe he's just peacefully sleeping very far away in the lair and Ballister goes around the whole thing with a baby monitor, whichever option works. (Neither does 😭)

So yeah yippie I wanna post this stuff but nothing's finished pipipi 😔

[markberries]

my only muse ﹒ 5

sypnosis ﹕ you’re mark’s classmate and you’re both english majors. mark makes music on the side and posts it on soundcloud and he asks you to promote it, but it genuinely sucks a— it’s.. interesting.

genre + ﹕ social media au f!reader, humour, fluff, college au, mark + y/n are both english majors, mark is a loser, bsfs!karina ryujin yunjin yangyang & xiaojun

wc ﹕ 1.4k

masterlist + comment/msg me to be added to the taglist

taglist ✦ @replayenthusiast @jeongintwt

the crisp end of winter and soon to be spring air tickles your cheeks, making your ears cold and your hands colder. there’s a book bag slung over your shoulder, slightly swaying as you pace the campus halls to make it to your first lecture of the day.

the bustling atmosphere makes it nearly impossible to get around it, but after having to walk this route many times, you’ve grown accustomed to the path you need to take in order to make it to class on time. the sounds of students engaging hits your ears as your shoes pat against the floor, your subconscious picking up bits and pieces of conversations as you make your way towards your composition writing class.

the first thing you do when you make it to the door is poke your head inside, scanning the few students who have decided to show up as early as you. there’s no sight of mark yet, which makes you let out an internal sigh of relief. this meant he wouldn’t have a chance to make conversation before the class starts, and you could sit away from him and dart out of the room as soon as the lecture ends.

“y/n?” a voice from behind you makes you flinch, grasping at your chest as your heart races within it. you immediately snap your head to the owner of the voice behind you, your stomach dropping when you recognize the same korean boy who’s music is terrible.

“oh, hey mark,” you greet him, attempting to be as casual and not awkward as possible. you can feel your heart rate beginning to slow after the short scare, your hands coming back to your sides. “you scared me.”

the brown haired korean-canadian looks at you with a smile, his fingers around his black backpack straps as he raises his eyebrow. his figure is adorned with a pair of black basketball shorts and a dark blue hoodie, something along the lines of clothes he wears nearly everyday. his glasses sit comfortably on his nose bridge, the silver frames complimenting his brown eyes.

“sorry dude, didn’t mean to scare you,” mark apologizes, reaching out and giving your shoulder a slight pat. “wanna head inside and sit together? i can show you what i’ve been working on.”

the dreadful question escapes from mark’s lips, making you unexcited for what’s to come. you don’t want to outright insult mark, even more so because you two sit on the title of mere acquaintances, so you settle for smiling and nodding your head. “yeah, sure. class doesn’t start for another.. fifteen minutes.”

mark’s face lights up pleasantly, his body stepping out of the way for you to enter the lecture hall. he gestures his arms forward, maintaining a good amount of personal space. “after you, then.”

you nod your head once to signify a thank you, walking into the high ceiling and large classroom with mark following behind you. there’s still an awkwardness that sits in the air, and you’re unsure if mark can sense it, or if it’s just all in your head. you’ve never spoken to mark on a friendly level, only interacting when needed, in terms of joint assignments or homework assistance.

you and mark end up sitting near the back of the class, the sunlight casting a soft glow from the windows behind you two. you sigh, setting down your book bag underneath your desk, and begin getting yourself sorted. you pray that mark will wait until after class to decide to show you his ‘music’, so that you could devise a plan to sneakily escape before he gets the chance to.

but, instead of your prayers being answered, you’re met with the devil’s wrath as mark nudges you lightly on the arm. your head slowly turns in his direction, trying to control your facial muscles to keep your smile from dropping as your eyes flick to the airpod he holds out in one of his hands. his expression is alike to that of a child showing their mother a badly drawn sketch, full of excitement and awaiting praise as he offers you the airpod.

“oh, thanks,” you manage to say in a sweet voice, your fingers lightly grazing mark’s warm palm as you take the item from his grasp. you watch as he loads up his laptop, opening up what looks like a professional music making app. as to how mark makes shit music with such great resources, you still remain clueless. you place the airpod in your ear, hoping to god that this doesn’t destroy your ear drums.

“just let me know if it’s too loud, i’ll turn it down for you,” mark grins, leaning back in his chair as his finger hovers over the space bar. he presses play, then turns to you, watching your reaction with an eager expression.

mark’s definition of kpop music is not for the faint of heart. your eyebrows subconsciously furrow together as the horrible tunes begin to sound, but you try to remain as positive as possible. your eyes keep focus on mark’s laptop screen, afraid that if you lock gazes with mark, he’ll be able to tell how much you dislike the song he’s made for you. you can’t even tell what instruments are being played, and his singing is nearly inaudible with the poor mixing of the audio.

you would have to figure out how to tell mark you weren’t going to promote his music on your twitter account, which leaves a slight feeling of guilt weighing on your shoulders; especially because you can tell the boy is working hard to make music that better suits the theme of your social media.

tired and somehow annoyed with the song echoing in your skull, you reach out to pause the music with a swift motion. mark still seems oblivious to your disdain for his music, still gazing at you with that same excited grin. you have to resist the urge to rub your temples and sigh, instead opting into giving him a closed lipped smile while letting out an awkward chuckle.

“so,” mark leans forward in his seat, making your neck and cheeks heat up due to sheer second hand embarrassment. “what do you think? good enough to post? i’m open to constructive criticism.”

you pause, trying to find the correct words that won’t hurt mark’s feelings. you do think he has potential, since he has a good voice (underneath the aggressive autotune) and a strong passion for music, but you’re unsure of how to tell him that this song he made is hot trash. “no.. um.. not quite..”

you make sure to avoid mark’s eyes, not wanting to see whether or not he has a disappointed expression. you rub the back of your neck, keeping your eyebrows scrunched up as you continue to rack your brain for the correct wording to use.

“oh yeah? what do you think i should change?” mark’s voice perks up, and you’re slightly baffled by his unwavering tone. he still seems excited, and thankfully, not upset over the fact that you deemed his work as ‘not good enough to post’.

“i’m not like.. an expert on music making or anything, but i think you should balance out your voice and the instrumental,” you admit, finally meeting mark’s brown orbs as you turn to him. he nods his head, listening intently to your advice as you continue speaking. “and maybe stick to one consecutive theme and pace..? i think that’ll help you improve.”

mark jots down your notes on his laptop, typing them up and highlighting some of your words. you let out an internal sigh of relief, grateful that mark is truly taking this as constructive criticism. he seems open minded, and not one to argue if someone is genuinely trying to help him get better at what he enjoys doing.

“wow dude, thank you so much,” mark smiles, turning back to you with a glint of elation in his eyes. “i like when people tell me what i’m doing wrong. it helps me a lot. i’ll make sure to do better and make a good song for you.”

for some reason, with mark’s words echoing in your brain, your heart swells. it may be because of the fact that he’s a good looking guy writing you a song (although it’s nothing personal), but a part of you views it as endearing. you’re still unsure of whether or not you’ll actually promote his music on your twitter account, but you’re still glad you were able to help him in any meaningful sort of way.

[buckrecs]

Do you have any bucky x reader college au fic recs please?

idk if you’re accepting requests rn but if you aren’t you can just ignore this <3

College AU

masterlist | req masterlist

college au is one of my favorite aus because i feel like it brings out the 40s bucky🥺

ONESHOT

college nerd!bucky x reader by @sanguineterrain

“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”

cuffing season by @sinner-as-saint

Late at night, you’re at the campus library finishing up a paper. And it’s freezing. Like actually freezing, to a point where you’re not even sure if the heaters are working anymore. You’re still trembling in a dark corner of the study area when the cuddliest man you’ve ever laid eyes on walks up to you. When he sees you trembling like a leaf, the blue-eyed stranger offers to sit next to you and keep you warm for a while. Then, one thing leads to another and you soon find yourself walking home with him. And one thing is for certain, you want more than just his body heat. 

If It Were Summer by @pellucid-constellations

You met Bucky in Italy—a summer abroad with sweet gelato and even sweeter words. You never thought you’d see him again, and you were right. Because the Bucky at this frat party, the one with the smirk and the wandering eyes, was nothing like the one you knew. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still completely in love with you.

i’m special by @b6cky

y/n and bucky were always bickering, bucky loved to tease and make fun of y/n, y/n didn’t enjoy it as much as he did though. but bucky does something stupid and reckless much to y/n’s surprise.

the eggs benedict to your mass production by @mediocre-daydreams

“I’m not as good as you think I am.” X “Maybe, but you’re everything to me.”

Pretend by @buckyalpine

The perfect solution to a nagging problem 

Flirting and Football by @lovelybarnes

Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

Anger Issues by @hailhydra920

You’re the only one who can calm Bucky down.

My Everyday by @pellucid-constellations

Bucky Barnes was aggressive, annoying, and—worst of all—a hockey player. Not your type. At all. But, unfortunately, your roommate. 

Lucky Day by @elixirfromthestars

Bucky, your childhood best friend, takes you to a baseball game to thank you for helping him with his chemistry class. However, between bets and kiss cams, luck seems to be the real game being played. 

Flirting and Football by @lovelybarnes

reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him

A Little Superstitious by @jadedvibes

The school's football team needs a win and a certain blue-eyed player could use a kiss for good luck to help make that happen.

What do they know? by @bucknastysbabe

My Everyday by @pellucid-constellations

Bucky Barnes was aggressive, annoying, and—worst of all—a hockey player. Not your type. At all. But, unfortunately, your roommate. 

Post-It by @crazyunsexycool

Time to Study by @navybrat817

Bucky told you he needed help with his studies, but you should have known he just wanted an excuse to kiss you.

pear conditioner and pretty scary movies by @spideysquake

you fall asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during a movie night, and it has him feeling some type of way.

Under The Sheets by @vanderlustwords

Bucky spends more time out of his dorm than in it with how much his roommate amorously makes love to his girlfriend. Luckily, his cute across-the-hall neighbor is generous about lending her place to him. Bucky’s unsure if he wants to hug or kiss his roommate for putting him in the situation he is in now.

Liquor and Loose Lips by @vanderlustwords

There are countless times Bucky has shared drinks with you. No matter how much he drinks, he’s always careful with guarding his feelings close to his chest. Maybe it’s the cocktail, maybe it’s the way the moon looks tonight, maybe it’s the way you look under the streetlight. Whatever it is, Bucky can’t hold it in anymore.

SERIES

Cuddles & Cocoa by @sparklefics

"I take it you’re here cause you read my letter." & "I'm sitting here, with this stupid pen in my hand, and damn I can't believe you have me writing right now."

For the Love of the Game by @pellucid-constellations

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it. 

Ladykiller by @mymoonagedaydream

By now you were pretty skilled at recognising players, but for some reason you just couldn’t fucking stay away from them.

No Such Thing by @sanguineterrain

You’ve been assigned to write a column for your school paper on the team’s spectacular running back. You don’t care very much for your university’s football team; you just can’t understand the hype, okay? Turns out your distaste for football bigheads was exactly on point: James Barnes is insufferable.

Passing Notes by @nastybuckybarnes

You sit at the same table ever day at the little café down the street from campus, each day with a different book. Often poetry. And Bucky Barnes is always in the table next to you, usually doing the same thing. He either reads, writes, or sketches. One day, a dropped notebook leads to... something? Will that something turn to dust after an eye opening realization?

relationship tutor by @samingtonwilson

Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to. 

Relax by @kinanabinks

Things with Bucky are easy, and he's the sweetest guy you've been with. But when you throw in a bitter roommate and untold secrets, things get real hard, real fast.

Save Me by @espinosaurusrexex

Bucky Barnes has never had it easy, which ultimately turned him into a caveman-like introvert with no desire to see the positive side of life. But what happens when the clumsily charming art student, Y/N, stumbles to his rescue, determined to show Bucky how truly wonderful the world is?

trillogy by @buckycuddlebuddy

he was toxic. most of the time you were with him, you were used for pleasure only, you knew that, and he wasn’t hiding it. maybe it was how good he made you feel that made you fell in love with him, or maybe it was the fact that he somehow made you feel like you were someone ─ but you fell in love with him. although you knew in the beginning that you shouldn’t have, it was way too late for that, now. you were in too deep. 

two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine by @kinanabinks

you and bucky have been best friends since you were kids, but ended up going to colleges thousands of miles apart. your student experience begins terribly, but bucky is having the time of his life - you can't let him know the truth. because if he did, you know he'd drop everything to come and save you.

we’re fools. by @achillieus

for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one. 

Winter Canvas by @sebbytrash

Reader is an Art Major and needs a life model for a major assessment. The catch? It’s gotta be a stranger. Then you gotta remind yourself that it’s just an assignment...right?

Like I Want You by @tmpestuous

you and bucky have been best friends your entire life and it’s never been anything but platonic. so why do things get so bad when he gets a new girlfriend?

Cosmic Love | 2 by @jobean12-blog

You and Bucky are taking the same astronomy class and become study buddies and the rest is history.

Carnations by @viollettes

It’s a simple concept: Students can buy flowers for each other at the carnation sale. Red flowers are for love, pink flowers are for friendship, and white flowers are for expressing secret admiration. A carnation fundraiser, an iota of possibility, and a longtime secret crush on your hot best friend - what could go wrong?

[sisterpaw125]

Uzi's Disassembly observations 1

Disassembly Drones are extremely territorial creatures, who do not welcome visitors, even from their own species. There are certain exceptions to this like, finding a partner, siblings/parents visiting, leaders from different squads hold a meeting etc.

However when two Disassembly Drones from different squads do end up meeting but one of them doesn't want to fight and want to pass by each other in peace this is the signature code they use:

One of them opens their wings and begin frantically open and close the primaries area. Sort of like a waving motion, but with the wings.

If the other DD copies the move, congratulations! They are safe to pass by each other!

However if the other does not copy it, they want to fight or are unsure if the other showed the sign (This usually occurs during heavy storms, closed spaces, where the DD's sight might be limited.)

If that happens the DD either flees, or if they want to make the other acknowledge the sign, they can start hopping around while continuing the previous action.

If the other DD finally copies it, congratulations! They are safe to pass by each other!

If not, they flee. The other DD did not accept the peace offering and will fight them.

Note to self: "Can this work with Solver Drones too, or is this a Disassembly only thing? Need to try it out!"

(Owner here! This segment is for my AU's depiction of Disassembly Drones. I wanted them to be a more developed species then the whole "We killed Workers and we died by Sentinals" gig.

So I decided to create the post based on the perspective of a purple drone who spends a lot of time with them and, makes notes based on different things that could be important.

There will be more soon. Especially now that I began to rewrite my AU's story and start working on headcanons.)

[drippingmoon]

Merry new year to everyone, again! 🥳💞🥂

I know it wasn’t an event this year, but writing a yearly wrap-up is really therapeutic, you know? So I decided to continue the tradition, and if anyone wants to join me, absolutely view this as an open invitation^^ Introduction is over, and now let’s see what 2023 looked like:

(spoilers: I adored it. I'm also probably going to make this my fixed post, in case anyone ever wants to catch up with me. And also because my second baby, AoS, is growing, and it doesn't have an intro, but I can't leave it out.)

Stats

Aquiver, Aglow: 181k (draft 4) + 195k (draft 5) + hmm, draft 6 is an outlier, because I didn’t rewrite from scratch, so I’m unsure of the written word count. I didn’t change much from draft 5, so I’d say an extra 15-20k. Total word count: 376k+

Remains of a Night: 120k 

Aberration of Sunlight: 134k

This was definitely my most productive year to date. And I got so hungry: the more I wrote, the more I just wanted to keep writing, and honestly? I’m proudest of myself for literally carving writing time whenever I got a spot into my schedule. Mostly it was from 8pm-11pm, but I had a mad run where my only free window was from 1am till I literally felt I was dying… I’ll talk about that separately🤣🤣👌

Though, I'm seriously understating it.

Like a lot of other people, I would have all these hours when I was younger when I didn't have anything to do, yet I'd still find some excuse not to write. "I'm waiting for the right time." "I'm anxious I'm not going to get it right." "Tomorrow! Tomorrow I can start right from the morning, and I'll have more time to write, yeah?" or "I'm too tired now, it's late..." and so the snowball rolled down and downhill and I found every reason under the sun not to write, now that I think about it. Sigh. So much time wasted. But I can't regret it either, because I needed those baby steps at that time.

And now! Now I do what I thought I'd never learn to: I prioritize, and I actually organize my daily stuff so it's not so impossible anymore to have a little bit of writing time. I don't take it for granted either. It feels like such character growth for me, I'm immensely proud of it.

And for the record? This year was a huge improvement over yesteryear mentally, too. It turns out, what I needed to get over my word count anxiety… was to be faced with people who literally didn’t give a fuck about it, and just cared about the story. One of the most unexpected things beta stage managed to do to me… was to quench all my anxieties. It’s as simple as that. I read and enjoy very long books. People also do that. So, I’m very happy to say I’m no longer in a tizzy about ‘quiv. It might kill my chances for trad publishing, it might not. I’ll be happy come what may.

Because it’s so simple how working on ‘quiv or thinking about it makes me joyous, and now I can just enjoy that freely. I will miss writing this story so much. I really will. But at least I’ll have it forever to reread, and I hope this thought brings comfort to everyone who also has problems letting go, like it does to me.

Let’s break it down a little, shall we?🤩

Aquiver, Aglow◇◇◇

My little star of the hour. How fond I am of it.

Like you could glean from above, ‘quiv went through three drafts this year. More specifically: in the first part of the year, practically almost as soon as February arrived. I knew it was getting closer to the final version, and gave me the push to finish all three back to back. I couldn’t justify anymore the bazillion AUs I do with rewrites (basically, WHAT IFs from events, WHAT IF it went this different way, WHAT IF Tyrone actually said this here… and so on and so forth. I wanted to test out as many pathways as possible, and did I exhaust every one of them in existence? Definitely not. I don’t think that can happen, you just keep getting new ideas. On and on. What happened, instead, is that these couple different pathways, at some point, cemented themselves as canon in my mind. I didn’t want to tease myself with alternatives anymore, and that’s when I knew they would be it. Some bits from the first draft, some from the third, some from the second. Some were even draft 6 originals!

It’s a bit of a weird process. I definitely didn’t need to reach draft 3, and meet Mezusa, because I could’ve feasibly made it work with just Yles in the story. It still would’ve made sense, though in a different way. But if I hadn’t… I might’ve missed one of the best characters I’ll ever probably have created, and the story (and Yles) is much stronger for her, if you ask me. 

For that matter, yes, full rewrites every single draft might take a lot of time and effort, but honestly I don’t think I’d ever change my writing process (save for the moments of frustration when I think I will lol) because of the sheer satisfaction of it. Whoever said so long never to settle on the first version, I owe you a beer and probably some curses as well lmao, but very lovingly. You shaped my writing life.

I don’t have much else to share about ‘quiv, other than it’s off with my beta readers my beloved, and maybe a tentative promise that, if anyone wants, you’ll be able to read this precious ball of hope of mine relatively soon. This story is so gentle to me. And as much as I loved to write and work on it, I dearly hope that whoever decides to give it a go, is treated just the same. That’s the only wish I have.

I also don’t know if I’ll go trad or self-published. Instincts say trad, because I fuckin’ suck at marketing (fact), and I know I’d grow resentful if I’d have to put so many hours into advertising when I know I could instead… write. I’m a writer. That’s the only thing I know how to do. Trad, however, might not be as kind on a ~200k as life’s been, so I might not have a choice. If it comes down to that… I’ll just treat it as I do everything. I don't love this story any less if I just write, publish without a fuss, hope that maybe, just maybe, a reader or two will stumble upon the story and we could talk. Maybe we can have the fun of our lives, create some genuine connection. I know that’s applies to a lot of writers. I hope we can accomplish it.

And so, I’ll finish this section of the wrap-up with a kiss to my ‘quiv, for all the warmth it’s ever brought me. It’s come so far, I know it can live distinct from me from now on. It brings me great comfort. And I look forward to the times I’ll reread it, and we can relive our best experiences together. Never thought I’d get to this point. Thank you, ‘quiv.

Remains of a Night♤♤♤

Mwhahaha! And because ‘quiv took all the pressure, this left AoS to be an extremely fun and spirited experience. Literally the chillest I’ve ever been writing. In many ways, it’s more my thing than I expected ‘quiv to be: I get to murder characters left and right, it’s more plot-heavy and banking on the tension created by a creature that horrifies the characters down to their marrow, but still the only way to defeat it is to know it better, which, uh, might have unpleasant consequences for them. It’s got chase and stealth scenes, and it always shoots me with adrenaline to think about them. In short, exactly my jam.

It’s not a new book, nope. You knew it before as Aberration of Sunlight, but from the get-go I felt it would be bigger than ‘quiv. Very fortunately for me, I had a place where to break it, and behold: there’s RoaN (book 1), and AoS (book 2). There might be a third book, which I dearly hope not because titling sucks, but it depends on the Sycamine arc. More on that in AoS.

One last thing to note, before we delve into the story (hoo-ray for earlier drafts, because I can talk more frankly about them). This is the culprit of my 1am writing adventures!!😫❤ My schedule became too packed, then NaNo came round and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to honor how AoS began, because it was last year’s NaNo, aaand I’m happy to say I won NaNo, somehow, with 56k down before I died. At that time, I only had one section left to write (from both books), otherwise, hahahaha, yeah, it wouldn’t have flown. Still, most of draft 2 I’d written in September-October, with my fairy lights, late nights, and cups of hot cocoa, exactly like how life should be<3

Alright. We’re going through them chapter-by-chapter again, exactly because I love seeing the titles so much:

ACT 1

Cracked Visor, Scorpion Grass

I did it! I did! Twas another shower thought I managed to get down in time. Bare broken sentences, but they did the impossible, and arranged this chapter into a structure I adore to bits and won't ever change. (And 'quiv's naughty voice left me alone for once and I could write it properly!) While I don't think I'll ever be happy with a first chapter (not as a concept, but the writing — part of me will always wish that the reader just had all the information already lol), this one is in the right place.

It pays its respects to the story of the broken helmet at the foot of a spaceship, and how it reconnects Madigan with all the people who'd suffered from being tethered to the planets when they yearned to fly, but the Beast punished them cruelly for it. It makes him feel phantoms of their efforts. The tone is exactly what I needed this story to start from: melancholy and numbly hopeless, against the backdrop of the Beasts's echoed cries.

Rain Through the Universe

Unlike 'quiv, because RoaN and AoS are way more plot-heavy, it's not as easy to change things willy-nilly (whereas 'quiv was all about character bonds and dynamics). As such, it's very similar to draft 1. Because of that, I'll frankendraft next (select and combine drafts 1 and 2, rewrite to connect them) and afterwards I'll try something I've always wanted to. (Scrivener keeps hinting at it!) I'm gonna split the chapters into scenes, and focus on those individually and how I can just rewrite them and set their purpose in stone<3 I'm excited!

As for the chapter itself, gods, I love the atmosphere. Just the wreckage of a sundered ship, and Madigan’s sudden madman appearance making a lasting impression on Spica, because how could it not. They no longer answer distress calls in that age, it just means more dead bodies. In fact, they're forbidden to. Madigan instead brings him what he himself lacks: hope. And a lot of crawling around while dreading the Beast's lambent eye opening, and oh my, the moments are really flying by😈👏 extreme fun for me as the writer.

Aberration of Light

If you remember, the books follow two timelines, which will connect at some point. The first and main one is Madigan and Spica’s story. The other is Holloway’s, in the distant past of that universe, and who’s been dubbed the most selfish man in existence. That’s important, because of how the Beast came to be. But that becomes important later. For now, a weird-ass new recruit has joined the ship, and the witchy crew will very soon start making bets if she’s the Beast in human flesh, which really wouldn’t bode well for their future.

Night Falls On Their Reflection

Draft 2 became Spica’s draft. It was high time. He didn't exist in the original idea beyond chapter 2, but he refused to die with his story untold. And now he's one of the most independent thinkers I've ever written. Now he's Madigan's son (yes, even at 25), best friend, back-to-back partner all in one, and I could watch the trust and mutual respect between these two forever. To be sure: Madigan comes up with the dumbass plans, and Spica's only too happy to follow him through everything (it is good fun.)

He's repaying the incredible kindness Madigan's shown him when answering his distress call, after all.

But it goes a bit further than that, doesn't it? Madigan is used to watching over myriad people. He's the Superintendent of his planet, and while he genuinely loves people, kindness is his default. It doesn't go further than that for him. He doesn't necessarily think people need, much less desire his presence there beyond Madigan extending help, and most of the time, he's content with that. Kindness does make him happy. And it should be the same with Spica now, shouldn't it? He's kind, but he's not Spica's family, nor ever will be. Yet he immediately feels a connection with the boy, that has nothing to do with bonding over escaping-a-cosmic-disaster. And so does Spica.

This is the moment when Madigan starts feeling guilty, for stepping where he should not. But here's the beauty of Spica's character: he's nothing if not dead sure of his own feelings, and what he sees with his eyes. It's okay if Madigan keeps unexpectedly taking steps back. For very long, there'd been nobody to support Spica's beliefs. So he does the same, as when he followed his heart to go into dead space: he believes in himself and Madigan, and that their paths aren't meant to diverge. They mean too much to each other for that to ever happen.

(In short, and legend says you can still hear me screeching about these two ten thousand years later, I love these two so much, and especially the parallels between Spica going alone into outer space and loving Madigan.)

(And, okay, obviously all these developments don't happen in a single chapter, but I couldn't stop gushing🤭🥰.)

Who Puts These Tombs in Ice

Overall, I think draft 2’s Luitgart performed worse than draft 1. Mainly it's the setting I want to revert (still an icy, sempiternally dark hell, but with different ice constructions) because some of the beats are a huge improvement, and again, I gotta combine the two. Otherwise, I’m still as obsessed about the Luitgart arc as I’ve ever been, and huge thanks to it for being so strong it could function as an ending of its own, allowing me to split the book.

Gettin’ into spoilery territory, but I have to un-kill Madigan so many times it leaves me in hysterics. That was what I was supposed to fix this draft. It got worse. Considerably.

(One constant: the chapter being a love letter to Madigan, and how his first answer will always be to help the other, no matter if they deserve it or not<3 and finally, finally, he gets acknowledged for it, and the favor returned.)

ACT 2

Lemon-Dotted Days + Remnant

Two Holloway chapters! I’m actually massively pleased with how they’ve turned out. Last year, I said the main issue was that I had an outline, and that never works for me. So I did what I do best and rewrote everything from scratch, and the result is both uncanny and… unexpected.

Unexpected, because I never in my life thought Holloway’s voice would make me laugh so much. He’s supposed to be unsympathetic, but then you get his interactions with Saintlark (the new crewmate, possibly Beast) where they’re contemplating the harvest of a nebula, and he’s harshly critical of it, which gives Saintlark hope… only to go deadpan One Moment Later: if they’d used the nebula to prolong their lives instead of bolstering the war, they wouldn’t have died like clown idiots. 

And, they could’ve maybe stolen immortality from the nebula. They would've had to share it with him, of course. Or he would've murdered them to get it.

That, my guys, is his personality in a nutshell.

I have a lot of feelings on Holloway now, and most involve me huffing and slapping my forehead while groaning, but oh my gods. Was it ever so fun. And wait, wait, wait. Since I'm talking of humor (apparently a lot of comedy fit into this horror lmfao) I have to show you guys the following section🤣🤣👏:

Corpse Snow

The drifters are set howling on the ice. They share glances, five separate vehicles nodding at each other. Madigan revs up the engine, splitting the air with a jet of steam and vibration.

The last of the marines are climbing into the box. A figure flashes past Madigan’s drifter — and he leans over, teeth grinding because of his ribs, and he does his very best to grab someone by the back of their suit and pull. Workout days were never his strength, though. He only succeeds in stopping them in the frost smoke.

It’s Spica dangling from his hand, expressionless.

Lieutenant Hahn instantly seizes on the situation. He throws Madigan a long, withering look. “Whatcha doing, Boss?” he asks softly, about to unhinge his jaw again.

Madigan nudges Spica into the drifter. “Picking up your boy.”

Spica gets the hint and deposits himself into the front seat, glancing from his father to his Superintendent. He seems to give up on whatever’s going on, and makes himself cozy in the frosty spot. And Madigan, of course, pretends not to notice Hahn’s drifter sliding closer.

“And you didn’t consider I might want to have my son with me?”

Madigan looks up and sighs. “Lieutenant, dear Lieutenant,” he starts pleadingly. “Why won’t you show some leniency to a poor, wounded man?”

Hahn’s drifter stops, summoning a breeze across the icy floor that gently rocks the other vehicle. His breathing distorts the comms with static. “And what exactly is my son right now?”

“My trusty navigator,” Madigan answers easily.

“Sir’s emotional walking stick?” Spica pipes in at the same time.

They both look over. Spica’s quietly turned to the navigation, as serene as daylight, seemingly oblivious to how Madigan's expression changes, lightning-fast. He quickly hides it under the guise of a polite mask, as the marines stir and turn their attention on them. They’re snickering.

Lieutenant Hahn throws up his hands, giving up on everything.

This is also the first 30k chapter I’ve ever written. It's everything I've ever wanted to do with ice.

Heart of the Void

The end of the book. Originally, it was the ending section to Corpse Snow, but since it already got so ungodly long, I chipped off that bit and I have to say I’m very happy with how it works as an epilogue! So it ends the frosty, weary journey, and I can’t see the two books as separate yet, but here we bid goodbye to the first.

Aberration of Sunlight♧♧♧

I did the unthinkable and created a fifth arc. This might not seem like much to you, but I was screaming bloody murder you guys😭😭😭. Sigh. It’s so sigh. For so long, AoS consisted of four clear-cut acts, but it was necessary. With the introduction of Sycamine, and making it two books, it was just needed. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done because I was used to four😃💔

(The chapters continue from where RoaN left off – from chapter 10, to 21.)

ACT 3

Retro Spectrum

Sycamine, oh Sycamine. Definitely the break I needed before Days in Darkness. It made for a really neat beginning. It’s calmer, focusing on the knowledge they have on the Beast. It’s also a reflection on Procyon (their main star) and the story of the two straggler dog constellations, and what they'd been running away from. I liked the direction it took. It veered away from the Beast for a bit, so the tension kept expanding in the background. And when it returns, well... maybe they shouldn't have been so eager to see it again🤭.

It suffers from the same syndrome as draft 1’s first chapter… it’s there in the vicinity of the idea, but too much to the left. Not bad for a first attempt. The setting annoys me – I really don't enjoy writing cities, and AoS didn't change that. So, for our next try, I was thinking... maybe we don't need to be on the planet, but up close and veeery personal with it. It's a secret❤.

And, oh gods. I put a moustache-twirling villain in this. And then I couldn’t stop myself from naming some sucker Sweetman Calories. I don’t know what happened to me during those days, but I’m crying🤣🤣🤣.

Toast to the Light

Holloway and Saintlark’s story is slowly coming to an end. Unexpectedly bleaker than draft 1, yet it feels much more sincere. Holloway has a way of saying everything Saintlark needs to hear. No surprise. They did that to themselves.

Dissonant Recognition

Ahhhh, the Madigan-is-slowly-losing-his-grip-on-reality chapter, or maybe he should really stop staring into the suns. One of my favorites<3 Also because it features Moren (!!!) who has a blast staying in the grey morality area, because she doesn’t know if her actions could ever matter, or if she could change anything. Does she just exist? Is she a player or just pawn? Who knows. Besides that, she gets along great with Spica. They form such a teasing duo, the level of mutual respect they felt for each other on sight was a delight to write. My favorite ally of theirs, even if her destiny lies elsewhere.

Night Beneath the Elevator

Best title hands down, dethroning Solgesis. I’m going batshit crazy about the visuals, it's exactly my thing. This half-light slanted over an elevator waiting in a rundown basement to be boarded. And there's something underneath it, and always has been. Something insidiously creeping up and waving its tendril fingers at you as you're just waiting for the fucking thing to ascend. Immaculate, guys, I'm telling you, and I'm cursing my hands because I can't make a wallpaper of this. I want to eat that atmosphere.

Time-sensitive missions, y'all.

And why the heck did nobody inform me I was going to add Command as an actual character and have them talk with Madigan?! That entire convo, made up entirely on the spot but somehow with a direction, made me realize what an idiot I’d been for not doing it sooner. They mean so much to Madigan, after all.

(And Mariya. So much Mariya in these chapters.)

ACT 4

Loop System

Like Who Puts These Tombs in Ice, draft 1 might’ve done it better. Not Spica and Madigan, though, because of the sheer development Spica’s been through and the dynamic he’s managed to form with the crew. It's different from Madigan’s, but similar enough that it’s got Hahn commenting lightly: [Spica’s] picked up quite a few habits from Madigan, hasn’t he? Almost as if they’ve gotten very very close, huh? How about Madigan tell him more?

(I adore writing Hahn.)

Outreach

Another Holloway chapter. Doesn’t have the punch of the kids subplot from draft 1, but this just makes it worse for Saintlark personally, because, this time, the consequences are on her.

Days in Darkness

I knew the moment I first got the idea this would be my favorite chapter. Well, it finally happened in draft 2: when the entire crew is here, this time, and ready for the final countdown, to relive the experience of being trapped in a ship that's disintegrating. No more heroes left behind. I'd been so tired writing this chapter in draft 1, but this time around it was incredible. Everything went up sharply from here, both in terms of events and how on fire I was.

(Maybe less than the gorgon, but I was.)

ACT 5

Echo Terminal

The first of the two log chapters.

I've never written smoother, more visual chapters than in this period. Days in Darkness changed me so much, I was writing day and night by this point and couldn't get enough. Well, I hit my limit in the second half of the very last chapter, but I am beyond satisfied. Even the Beast's metamorphosis took me by storm, because I'd been wondering what the final verbs, the final images, the final design for it was going to be. I didn't expect it to come to me this early, and with such thrill. Those were my very best days of the year, and I toast to them.

(And I knew it was going to be fantastic when Halo's Warthog Run OST started blaring in my head, with as much adrenaline.)

Where, Now? + Solgesis

My beloved. The second and last of the two log chapters, but it’s Noelle Saintlark’s log.

Holloway’s timeline ends here. Or maybe it just gets carried into the future. I thought I’d want to rewrite his parts again, make the plot just a tiny bit more psychedelic and nonsensical because it’s so close to the Beast… but Solgesis put all my fears to rest. Even the formatting and layout is a bit of that special thing I’ve always wanted to try, and it really changes the perspective of the previous chapters. There's a new confession that stands at the heart of Holloway's stories.

Honestly, the only thing that needs urgent working on is the anger at the end of the chapter.

Anger is so hard for me to write sometimes. Not because I don’t connect with it, but because I feel self-conscious writing it. The wildest I felt it was when I tackled 'quiv's chapter 3 and Imera's Turning speech, both in quick succession (before I'd even written draft 1. I'd been taking notes.) Since then... I just thing back to how keenly I'd felt that anger, and I kind of intimidate myself out of it. Kind of like a natural resistence, I quench it from myself. Which is actually hilarious when you think about it. It’s like I’m going I BANISH THEE FROM MY BRAIN because generally, as a person, I dislike feeling and operating on anger. But no worries. I’m going to find a way around it.

Watch me😎.

What Goes Around…

(Now it’s the time for me to start crying some rivers, and, alright, it won’t be visible so I’ll say it: the chapter titles are holding a conversation, guys. They speak to each other. And sometimes it’s both sides of the same coin, like how What Goes Around (comes around) hints here. If you take two chapters, one from the beginning and one from the end (for example 1 and 21) it'll tell you a little secret. Okay, What Goes Around and Rain Through the Universe communicate through their plot, which I can’t spoil but of course it has to do with Madigan and Spica and how they first meet… but there is one title pair that does it best visibly. 

Lemon-Dotted Days and Days in Darkness.

And I hadn’t even planned this. All the parallels I wanted to draw… I feel like they built themselves, guys. They really did, and it makes me so wildly happy I don’t even know how to stop my hands from flailing.

And, with them being 21 chapters, they meet in the middle, on the one unpaired chapter.

Called Toast to the Light.

I friggin’ love everything.

New Sunrise, Forget-Me-Right

Of course, Forget-Me-Right is a play on Scorpion Grass. But it’s also such a gentle name for the chapter, because everything ends here. Lying on their backs, staring out into the universe, and it really, really is over. Just a dark horizon on which stars flare and bloom. And suddenly, that maddened rush to make every sacrifice count, to remember every soul they’ve encountered because the legend says the Beast absorbs you when it kills you – all that suffocating pressure dissipates. Lightness remains. Because they’ve protected each other.

For the first time in my writing journey, blood rushed to my head with such emotion I had to stop writing, which never happens. I had to look up and exclaim, holy fuck. But how could I not, considering how the story ends for the Beast? I am speechless. A lot of gorgeous surprises this draft.

Conclusion□●□

Whew, what a year it's been! As for how 2024 will probably look like, though I don't like making plans: finishing the beta stage for 'quiv, and tackling RoaN and AoS's draft 3. Thaaaat one I'm actually starting on Christmas, when I can (finally!!) reread draft 2 with my mug of hot cocoa (or maybe mulled wine for a change) and, no surprises here, I'm hyper stoked for that<3 <3 <3 I legit can't wait to see where the new draft brings them. I might not have set any expectations for them, but they're vying to keep up with 'quiv and I adore it🤭❤

As for my lovely friends... well, you know by how I spam your tags how much I adore you and wish you happiness forever🤩🥺🥳 I don't know what my activity will look like in the near future, so for now I won't be saying anything, and my semi-hiatus continues. Semi, because you're unforgettable and I crave to see what everyone's been up to and (!!!!) what you've written!

So let's meet in 2024 again, and all the best wishes to you, the reader🥰🥂❤.

[sparkles-and-trash]

dabihawks, (another) post war au

Life after the war had been strange for Hawks for sure, but this moment had to be a new high point.

It was hard not to overthink the whole situation as he was sitting in the black leather chair in this softly lit room, about to be permanently marked by his untimely crush and previous enemy (again), how could one not feel a bit strange?

Okay, maybe he was being a tad overdramatic, but come on, can you blame him?

He knew that Touya had a new career as a tattoo artist, of course he did, it was quite impossible to be friends with Twice without knowing what every single person they had in common was up to.

What he hadn't known was which studio, and he figured that the chance of him dropping by the one studio in all of Japan that Touya was working at was abysmal.

Clearly not abysmal enough.

After the initial awkwardness and surprise, Keigo was even more surprised to find that their conversation wasn't as awkward as he'd expect it to be.

The two of them had only talked a couple of times after the war, and while it was hard for Keigo to admit, he had been the one to reach out and the one who wanted to keep in touch, but Touya had asked for time away, time to heal and find himself and Keigo understood and respected that, no matter how much it hurt.

In the time it took for Touya to draw up the design, make a stencil and resize it a few times and do all the machine prepping the two of them had managed to catch up quite a bit, and if Keigo was starting to feel a twinge of hope again...

It was quickly dimmed when the machine in Touya's hand started buzzing.

To be perfectly honest Keigo had figured a little tattoo would be nothing compared to what he had been trough in the past, but damn.

It was kinda really fucking uncomfortable.

"It'll get better soon," Touya mumbled, and any hope that he was putting on a brave fast fell from Keigo's grasp.

"Heh, different kind of pain, I guess," he tried to casually reward, and Touya hummed.

"Probably doesn't help that I'm the one doing in, huh?"

Keigo's eyes widened for a second.

"That's not... or, it's not because I'm scared around you or whatever," Keigo mumbled back, and Touya gave just a tiny smile.

"Good," he said softly as he wiped the area he worked on with a clear liquid.

"Now shut up and sit still and let me work."

Keigo chuckled, but did as he was told.

An hour or so later he was standing in front of the full length mirror in the salon, twisting around to get a good look at the fresh tattoo.

"It's still gonna be red and swollen for a little bit, but if you take care of it like I said it should be good in a week or so," Touya commented from where he stood a few feet behind him.

Keigo hummed, but his voice wouldn't quite cooperate yet.

After a few more moments of silence Touya cleared his throat carefully.

"Do you... not like it?" he asked quietly, and Keigo shook his head.

"No, it's..." he started, fighting the small break in his voice.

"It's perfect."

He turnaround so he was facing Touya properly.

"Thank you," he whispered, and Touya gave him a small, wobbly smile in return.

"I'm glad you came here for this," he said back, and Keigo blinked a few times, unsure.

"So am I, but it was a totally lucky accident," he said with a crooked smile and awkward rubbing of his neck.

Touya grinned.

"Sure it was, Pretty Bird."

Keigo spluttered a little, but just rolled his eyes and went along with Touya's teasing.

After he payed (with a hefty tip to cover the "former enemy discount" Touya insisted on adding), the two of them shared an awkward hug initiated by Keigo, and an exchange of numbers and a promise of seeing each other again soon.

As soon as he was back home, Keigo couldn't help himself and hurried over to the mirror to look at his new tattoo a little longer.

How strange it was, that the man that had once burned his wings away, at least to a certain degree before someone else took them away, was the one to give him these tiny new ones.

It had to be faith.

And maybe faith had a little help from a few friends that worked together to set Keigo's mind on a tattoo, and to help lean Touya in the direction at accepting the job at the local studio after his apprenticeship, but...

If that's what faith needed, so be it.

[linkedin-corp]

okay now that ive posted that thing on my art acc im gonna talk about chimera vivian here for a minute bcus i brainrotted to a friend of mine last night but i think its good if my ttyd followers know about the au lore

(LONG POST AHEAD. BEWARE)

it takes place and begins right as the party is to fight gloomtail. the party is fatigued by then and , to their dismay, they can barely handle him. he is more powerful than expected. in an unexpected turn of events, gloomtail eats vivian. without her, the party simply cant continue. so they flee

and while the party has fled the palace, and trying to reconcile a plan, the shadow queen that was destined to awaken within the palace soon eventually arises and begins to wreck havoc while the party is recovering from their loss. though, she is still weak, so she remains in the shadow palace , working away at what she can while inside it.

once the party has the courage and willpower to return, they finally defeat gloomtail in an effort to retrieve vivian first, but. as expected. shes not completely there

unsure who would be the one to do it, but one of them definitely ends up needing to use a spell or a certain type of magic to bring her back, probably. perhaps they encounter a friend who can use certain spells, like what theyd need. that will reverse stuff like. say. a friend getting killed and eaten by an actual dragon (time reversal magic ... ? much to think about ..)

of course it would go as expected; weird and massively backfire, because vivian is not your normal everyday individual, and neither is this dragon, both technically being under the shadow queens influence (in vivian's case, she is, a shadow. so inherently related to the shadow queen whether she likes it or not)

and then of course once ""vivian"" gets revived, its obviously not her. the party is super conflicted, and unsure what to do, so they once again flee, after just letting her do her thing for a bit (and accidentally kill many people in the process) as they are quite dazed . so is vivian, to be fair

once she finds the queen, vivian is luckily not as friendly to the shadow queen as falin is to thistle

even though she knows shes meant to follow under the queen and obey her every order, she also knows something is wrong. but since she isnt completely herself, and cant nessesarily think for herself, she cant make use of this anxiety. so she just tries to avoid the shadow queen when she can; unfortunately the shadow queen likes to use her as a sort of. large display pet/guard dog. chimera vivian is basically a giant ball of anxiety and sadness and confusion that sometimes manifests as blind rage.

her relationship with gloomtail during this whole ordeal is also very difficult and different, i think

instead of being kind and understanding in the way that falin is, vivian is scared and confused, and eventually lets her anger out at gloomtail, making him feel guilty the longer they stay connected. hes upset that they had killed hooktail, but he specifically starts feeling guilty bcus vivian technically didint do anything + shes also a shadow. so he accidentally did some overbearing friendly fire, even if vivian was working with mario at the time he ate her. oopsie

the way they change vivian back to normal? once they defeat the shadow queen she turns back. because shes sealed away, all the magic she cast on the world fades, as her influence is no longer thriving

majority of the au is just essentially the party trying to find those who can help them with their "needing those who can revive and manipulate dead people" problems . though once they do find them it wont be over

they wont be able to free vivian from gloomtail until the shadow queen is defeated, so they have to find a way to free vivian from the queen's influence first, and hopefully help her regain her memory in the process, so they can use her against the queen and have her on their side again .

biting the hand that feeds :)

[cleminthewriter]

Angel Au By Wyverns

Hi Clemin here, this is an au of the Sitcom Au where everything is the same but Alex is an Angel by @wyvnspng, but they were unable to post it to tumblr so they asked me if i could.

Notes from Wyverns:

"This is an AU of the Sitcom AU! Very vague and brief mention of domestic violence at the start. Clyde just thinks about it in a paragraph. Skip the second paragraph if that makes you uncomfortable.

I quickly skimmed through it so sorry if there’s spelling or grammatical errors!"

------

Humans are a really odd species. Clyde knows this quite well. They’re weak, and tasty, and they like to live in big groups. You’d think that they’d all go extinct by now, but they’re thriving.

Despite their weakness, humans are cruel. They’re mean, even to their own kind. Sometimes they’re mean to their own partners, which confuses Clyde. It could never be cruel to its partner, so it doesn’t understand. Maybe it never will.

Clyde has been around humans for a long time. It has seen many different humans in its lifetime, many of which it has eaten. It has spent many hours of its life watching the short-lived creatures live lives of their own.

The humans it’s watching right now are very busy. There’s lots of them, all hanging out in one of their buildings. Despite the late time, the building is loud and bright, and the humans within are filled with energy. Clyde knows that humans are diurnal, so this is just another oddity to add to the ever growing list.

Every now and then, a few humans trail out of the gathering, where they will return to their cars and leave. Clyde would hunt these ones, but it is not faster than a car, so there is little point. Boredly, it continues to wait. Hopefully soon one would decide to leave on foot…

..

Clyde is really bored. And a little hungry. Maybe it should find something else to eat. Mind made up, it climbs onto the fence of the house it was perched upon, being careful to prevent the humans gathered in the house across the street from spotting it.

It makes its way across fences, moving in random directions, just going wherever it feels like going. It avoids the buildings with humans in them, careful to remain hidden.

It continues like this for a little bit, before making its way onto a wetter fence, where it promptly slips off and lands onto the floor with a crash. It landed on its tail, and the spikes dig uncomfortably into its back.

Clyde reorients itself and sits up, flicking its tail out of its back. It’s not injured, but the onesie it stole now features holes in the back, which, excluding the ones that are supposed to be there, is unfortunate.

What is less unfortunate is that nobody was around to witness its slip up (a distant part of Clyde freaks out, but it’s far too distant to notice). It’d have to pay more attention to what it’s doing.

Clyde manoeuvres itself so that it’s standing upright, when it turns around to face the house, only it wasn’t a house that it ended up facing. Clyde almost flinched, briefly panicking thanks to the jumpscare, before a warm calmness swept over it.

Somehow a human had managed to sneak up to it, and was standing in front of it. Clyde stood there for a second, motionless, as it looked the ‘human’ up and down. Clyde had seen and eaten many humans, and it could tell that this definitely wasn’t one. They looked like one, and if Clyde didn’t know any better, it definitely would have been fooled. But there’s something off about this thing. Clyde can’t exactly pinpoint what is off about them, but it knows it’s something.

“Hello? Is everything alright?” Clyde twitched slightly as the thing talked. They seemed unsure of their words, but didn’t add anything else. Clyde wanted to open up, and let this old friend of its know what was troubling it. It wanted to ask them for help recovering its partner, because it knows that they are trustworthy, and that they can help.

Clyde feels a little freaked out, but it’s struggling to focus on that over the intense calm that seems to have swept over it. It has no idea what this thing is doing to it, let alone how they are doing whatever it is.

Clyde refuses to answer their question.

Their faces (face. They only have one. It doesn’t know why that feels wrong.) twitched, and Clyde has no idea what that means, but they offer it a hand. “Would you like to come inside? I just made a sandwich, you can have it if you’d like,” Clyde is compelled to take their hand, which it does without hesitation. It’s a little disappointed when nothing happens.

The thing leads it into the house, and Clyde follows easily, almost in a daze. It’s quickly sat down on a couch and a sandwich is placed in its claws. It takes a bite. The thing sits next to it. “You tore your outfit a little. Would it be okay if I patched it up for you?” Clyde doesn’t really care what this thing does so long as they let it go. (It feels guilty for accusing its friend of something like that.)

Clyde rotated its body slightly, continuing to just eat the sandwich. The overwhelming calmness had receded somewhat, which is significantly more comforting than when it was there. The thing behind it shuffled around a little before patching up the holes that had been torn open when it fell.

“Why are you doing this?” Clyde asked, referring to the whole situation. Why did they kidnap it? Why did they make it calm? Why did they give it a sandwich? It is so confused, and it has no answers for its questions.

“Why? Well, i’m pretty sure She wanted us to meet, but i’m not sure what She wants me to do with you? She is pretty cryptic with this stuff,” Clyde has no idea what any of that is supposed to mean. Who is She? How does She know about it? All Clyde got was more questions.

The thing moved away, and Clyde looked back at them. “All done, sorry about the falling thing,” The thing apologised, which made little sense. Was this a trap? But how could they have known that Clyde would have come that way?

“Who are you?” It shifted to that it was facing the thing, which was putting away a small box that likely contained the stuff they used to sew up Clyde's onesie.

“Oh, yeah, my name’s Alex,” They replied, sitting back onto the couch. “What about you?”

“..Clyde,” It said, moving its head to look forward again.

“Nice to meet you, Clyde,” Alex stated, “I look forward to our continued friendship.”

Clyde was convinced that this was a nightmare.

[burninface]

Weekly Tag Wednesday

Thank you @jrooc (thx for the game!) @michellemisfit @doshiart @mybrainismelted @gallapiech @sgtmickeyslaughter @spookygingerr @mmmichyyy @lingy910y @pookiebearmick for tagging me! love yall<3

Name and AO3 handle: Face, Burningface

Current Location: in the kitchen heating food before I die starving

Favorite picrew (don’t have one? you can skip this or do this one)? This one and I just did @doshiart 's picrew it soon became my favourite ones!

What’s one thing you want in a picrew? knotted hair (and mole that can be moved anywhere)

Favourite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? I'm gonna borrow Cam's word here: my favorite one is the one I haven't done (always the next one)

ok for the next 2 questions, maybe Mickey The Thug Goose

Why is it your favourite? honk honk hoonk *speaking in goose language*

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? the idea came easily but thinking about how to present it was hard. but thankfully I don't need to decide art style on this one, I just mimicked the style of original game

Last ao3 fic you commented on? Spare Parts by @depressedstressedlemonzest

confession time…… unlike on tumblr, after reading a fic (or a chapter) on ao3, I usually wrote down my feelings and thoughts in my language and kept them in a file(sometimes in bookmark), and thought "one day I'll find time translate this and send it out"……and that day never came. I tried once or twice but… translating is nothing like speaking directly in English and translator only gives me weird results, so I quitted like a loser. then the unsent comments just accumulated day by day. I know these are just my excuses and this question is maybe my turning point, now it's a good time to start the project. and by the time I post this I've already put it on my schedule🗓️

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? there were a lot but time healed all my WIP heartaches eventually... or I just lied to me that I forgot

Favorite trope or head cannon you like included in a fanfic? enemies to lovers. fwb to lovers. EMT! Ian, I'm a big sucker for Ian doing any health-related job, EMT, paramedic, PT/OT/ST/AT, doctor, nurse… even vet

Least favourite? I'm not a fan of Alpha! Ian/Omega! Mickey, erm… just, they don't feel like A/O couple to me. also maybe mpreg

Secret or surprising kink or trope? I'm NOT telling the secret kinks but for surprising part: I kinda love canon that Mickey met Ian while he's on mania/hypomania episode, or Ian had already been diagnosed then he fell in love with Mickey and he was confused if all the crazy feelings had smth to do with his bd (saying this makes me feel like an asshole🥲)

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? …unfinished, incomplete, unsure, then I encourage myself to post it cause I know it's now or never. after posting it becomes to a little proud of myself, and urge to practice more for the next one

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: I made this man up for myself in head for years. but they're created based on the kindness I've received recent, so I guess it's actually all of you guys:)

It’s been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? read fics, eat chocolates, daydreaming about AUs in my head

I'm a little late this week and my blood sugar's too low for thinking now so no tagging this time. but I'm sending invitations to all of you! if you're interested just go ahead :)