#if anyone writes any of these please send it to me

[rootedinrevisions]

Five Years

SUMMARY: Five years of friendship. Years of silent longing. One night that changes everything. When Tyler Owens, a charming, rugged man with a penchant for keeping things casual, finds himself at a crossroads with the woman he's secretly loved for years, he realizes he might have waited too long. After one too many moments where you've been left wanting more, you find yourself torn between the comfort of their deep connection and the pain of being stuck in the friend zone. Tyler has one last shot to show you that he’s not just the man you turn to in the hard moments—but the man who can make you believe in love, again.

A/N: Sorry for all the angsty Tyler lately! It's just been the mood/vibe lately so I've been rolling with it! Thanks to the person who sent this request in! I hope you like it!

PROMPT: "What was he doing back there? Flirting with you like he has a fucking chance?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It’s late, the kind of quiet that comes when the night has softened everything into shadows. You and Tyler are back in the motel room, tangled together in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over you, and you’re curled into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of whiskey lingers between you, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and you can still taste him faintly on your lips. Another night, another round of kisses exchanged under the dim motel lights, like something fragile and fleeting.

He stirs, his hand brushing along your back, and you wonder if he’s on the edge of sleep or just drifting in that space in between like you are. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask him the question that’s always on the tip of your tongue: What are we doing?

Instead, you stay silent, breathing in sync with him, wondering if he can feel the way your heart skips each time he holds you like this. He shifts, drawing you a little closer, and you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—something soft, maybe even vulnerable. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly slurred. “You’re comfortable, right?” His hand rests at the curve of your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, managing a quiet, “Yeah. Always.” You know he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember this in the morning, brush it off like it’s nothing, and you’ll let him because it’s easier that way. But tonight, you can pretend a little too—that these quiet moments mean the same to him as they do to you.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending before you’re forced to admit the truth—to yourself, if not to him.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “So… I just found out I’m being inducted into the PBR Hall of Fame.”

You blink, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. A smile lights up your face. “Tyler, that’s amazing! I mean, I knew you were a big deal, but… Hall of Fame?”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head with that familiar modesty. “Yeah, kinda crazy, huh? Guess all those years getting tossed around finally paid off.”

You laugh, knowing he’s downplaying it. You’ve seen some of those old videos, clips of him taking on bulls with more force and heart than anyone you’d ever met. 

“No one deserves it more than you,” you say softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, and then, clearing his throat, he glances back at you. 

“Thanks, means a lot,” he says, his voice softer. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Actually… I get a plus one to the induction ceremony. I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Your heart skips at that. He doesn’t even pause to consider anyone else; he’s asking you. For a moment, you feel a surge of excitement that maybe this is more than just a friendly invite. But just as quickly, doubt seeps in. If he had a girlfriend, he’d take her, wouldn’t he? A familiar ache settles in your chest, the quiet reminder that maybe this is just about convenience for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, and casual. “I mean, you could take anyone.”

He glances at you with a soft smile, his eyes sincere. “Nah. Can’t think of anyone better. You’d come, right?”

The words are on the tip of your tongue—Of course, I’ll go. 

Instead, you hesitate, just for a second, wondering if this is just a placeholder invitation until he finds someone to fill the spot he’s never openly said he wants to be filled. But you can’t bear the thought of missing the moment, so you nod, managing a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins, pulling you back into his chest, and you settle against him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. But even as you breathe him in, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you, a question begins to take root in your mind. Where do we really stand, Tyler?

It’s a question you keep to yourself, swallowing it down as you close your eyes and listen to the silence settle around you once again.

* * * * *

The ballroom buzzed with energy and anticipation, and you could sense the excitement radiating from Tyler beside you. The event space was elegantly decorated, with every table set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. But you hardly noticed any of it; all your focus was on Tyler. This was his night. And you were honored to be here with him, even if you didn’t quite know what that meant for the two of you.

You eventually found your way to your seats near the front of the room, and Tyler’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down. His fingers lingered just a moment, a subtle contact that sent a rush of warmth up your arm. 

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage, announcing the start of the ceremony. The audience fell quiet, and Tyler’s hand was warm on your knee, a comforting weight that made your heart race. You glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face, wondering if he even realized the effect he had on you.

A part of you wanted to reach for his hand again, to close the gap between you both once and for all, but you stayed still, holding your breath as the ceremony began.

As the awards were announced one by one, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Tyler. He seemed to sit straighter with each name called, his eyes never leaving the stage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the emcee announced Tyler’s name, and the room burst into applause. You clapped the loudest, your heart swelling with pride.

You watched as Tyler walked to the stage, his stride steady and confident, shoulders back with that natural charisma he carried wherever he went. When he accepted his award, he stood there with his plaque, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. The spotlight hit his face, highlighting the small, crooked smile you knew so well. And his eyes—dark, intense, focused on you—seemed to say something unspoken.

You felt your breath catch, frozen under his gaze, and for a second, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

His acceptance speech was simple and heartfelt. He thanked the people who had been there with him through the highs and lows. He spoke of long, hard days, the sacrifices he’d made, and the passion that drove him. But you could���ve sworn that when he mentioned his gratitude for “the people who kept him grounded,” his eyes found you once again.

As Tyler wrapped up his speech and made his way back to his seat, you barely had a chance to process the pride you felt for him, for everything he’d accomplished. But that brief moment when he’d looked at you on stage lingered in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Could it have meant something more?

He sat back down next to you, and you leaned over, unable to keep the smile from your face. “That was incredible, Ty. I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you, a soft chuckle escaping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I think I might’ve fumbled a little bit up there.”

“Not even close,” you replied, squeezing his arm. “You were perfect.”

The atmosphere at the afterparty was more relaxed, a contrast to the formality of the ceremony.

The room buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone here to celebrate the achievements of legends, past and present. You’re standing beside Tyler, trying to blend into the background of the room’s energy. But then, without warning, Tyler reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before intertwining them completely. It’s such a small gesture, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. He glances at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment, almost as if he’s silently asking if this is okay, if you’re okay. You squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand that, yes, this is more than okay.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, his voice low and soft. He leads you through the crowd toward a man with a broad smile and lines etched deep around his eyes—Tyler’s old mentor. Tyler introduces you with a genuine warmth that makes you feel like you belong here, like you’re not just an accessory to his big night but someone he wants by his side.

As they begin chatting, Tyler’s hand drifts to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your hip as he pulls you closer, fitting you against his side. You feel a warmth blossom in your chest, and for a moment, the nagging doubts you’d been harboring vanish. His mentor jokes about old times, and Tyler laughs, giving your waist a small squeeze as if to share the moment with you. You let yourself lean into him, letting his warmth melt away the walls you’d tried to build around your heart.

But then, as the conversation comes to a close, he lets go. Just like that, his hand falls from your waist, and he takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets, a casual smile on his face. He glances around the room, no longer focused on you, and the sudden distance sends a chill down your spine. You’re standing side by side, but the connection feels fractured, like a missed beat. He begins walking next to you, his attention now elsewhere, no hand-holding, no gentle touches to keep you close.

Half an hour later you’re standing next to Tyler, trying to stay engaged with the conversation he’s having with an old friend he used to ride with, someone who knows a side of him you’ve only heard about in stories. Tyler’s posture is easy, his laugh warm and unguarded in a way that you rarely get to see. You watch him as he reminisces, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his laughter, in the way his eyes light up with a spark of the past. But as they continue to talk, it becomes clear that he’s in his own world, like you’re not even there.

The laughter between them grows, each memory shared drawing them further back into the years before you knew him. You shift your weight, feeling a slight ache in your chest as you realize just how separate you feel from this part of his life. A sense of loneliness creeps in, one you can’t shake, and you find yourself glancing toward the bar. Maybe a drink will help dull the sting.

You start to turn, your heart heavy, but just then, you feel Tyler’s hand reach out, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. The touch is so familiar, so comforting, and for a brief second, that hopeful warmth flickers back to life. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching his eye, a hint of something unreadable there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter, as if trying to break through to you despite the noise around.

You swallow, forcing a smile to cover the twinge of sadness that’s growing in your chest. “Yeah,” you say softly, nodding toward the bar. “Just thirsty. Thought I’d grab a drink.”

He nods, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, turning back to his friend with that easy laugh that now feels like a barrier you can’t quite cross. You turn away, your heart sinking as you walk toward the bar, feeling the absence of his hand like a chill creeping over your skin. You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that settles heavy and cold. Just moments ago, he was intertwining your fingers, holding you close with his hand on your waist, like you were more than just a companion for the night.

How did it change so quickly? How did he go from holding you, grounding you with those intimate touches, to leaving you in this limbo of almost but not quite? You realize that, despite how much he means to you, there’s a line between you that he doesn’t seem ready to cross. And that thought hurts more than you want to admit.

You’re leaning against the bar, lost in thought, when a voice breaks through the noise, smooth and warm. “Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”

You glance up to find a guy with a charming grin and a relaxed confidence that’s instantly disarming. He extends a hand. “Eli Vastbinder,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

For a moment, you’re taken off guard, but you shake his hand and introduce yourself, motioning to where Tyler’s standing in the distance. “I’m here with Tyler Owens.”

At the mention of Tyler’s name, a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe surprise—crosses Eli’s face before he recovers his smile. “Owens, huh? How do you know the Tornado Wrangler?”

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, feeling some of the tension ease as you explain. “We work together. I help him run his YouTube channel.”

Eli’s gaze shifts from Tyler back to you, a curious glint in his eye as if he’s sizing up the situation. He doesn’t linger on it for long, though, before flashing you a daring smile. “So, just coworkers, huh? In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I bought you a drink?”

The question lingers, sparking a twist of hesitation in your chest. You glance over at Tyler, hoping for some kind of sign, some acknowledgment of what you’re feeling. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a casual smile before turning his attention back to his friend. The moment leaves you cold—another reminder of all the times he’s pulled you close, only to leave you feeling as if you’re just out of reach.

You turn back to Eli, a decision settling in your mind. Tyler isn’t claiming you. He never has. And he’s had five years to do so.

You give Eli a small smile. “Sure, why not?”

Eli’s grin widens as he orders your drink, leaning in just slightly as he asks about your work with Tyler. He’s charming, effortlessly making you feel seen and appreciated. There’s a warm intensity in his gaze, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about your life, in learning the pieces of you that Tyler seems to take for granted. You laugh at his jokes, leaning in as he tells stories about the crazy things he’s seen on the road. Every so often, his hand brushes yours, sending a little thrill through you—like something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in far too long.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. There’s no ambiguity with Eli; his attention is clear, unburdened by mixed signals or unspoken boundaries. It’s refreshing, exciting, even, to be the center of someone’s focus without second-guessing their intentions.

You glance over at Tyler once more, but he’s still wrapped up in conversation, seemingly unaware of the ache you’ve carried alone. A part of you wants him to notice, to see what’s happening, to finally feel the urgency you’ve held onto for years. But there’s another part of you that’s finished waiting.

As you turn back to Eli, you find yourself smiling, the kind of smile that feels like letting go.

You’re laughing at something Eli just said, a relaxed warmth in your chest that’s been missing around Tyler lately, when you feel a familiar presence behind you. You glance back, and there he is—Tyler, wearing that easy smile that’s disarmed you a hundred times before. He leans close, his hand slipping around your waist, fingers warm and possessive against your hip. “Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, the pet name rolling off his tongue as naturally as the smirk tugging at his lips.

But Tyler doesn’t stop there. His gaze shifts to Eli, assessing him for a beat, and then extends a hand. “I see you’ve met my date,” he says, voice casual but with a certain edge, like a claim staked.

You freeze, glancing up at him, surprised and confused by his sudden assertiveness. Eli’s expression mirrors your own—slightly perplexed, eyebrows lifting as he takes Tyler’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes flicker back to you, questioning. “Date? I thought you two were just coworkers,” he remarks, eyes shifting meaningfully to Tyler’s hand, still resting on your hip.

Before you can answer, Tyler lets out a dismissive scoff, as if the notion of you two being “just coworkers” is absurd. “Coworkers?” he echoes, his hand tightening just a fraction. “Yeah, we’re a little closer than that.” He shoots a look at you that’s both playful and possessive.

You feel your blood simmer, heat rising in your chest at the presumption in his tone. As if you’re some claim he can lay when it’s convenient, without any real commitment. You step out of his grip, your voice firm as you say, “We are just coworkers.” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t soften them.

Tyler’s smile falters, his brow furrowing, but you’ve already turned away, excusing yourself quickly to Eli before slipping out toward the exit.

Humiliation washes over you, prickling your skin as you push through the crowd, needing fresh air, needing space. You had been enjoying a perfectly nice conversation with Eli, feeling appreciated and even flattered, until Tyler decided to swoop in and turn the moment into something possessive and confusing.

As you reach the hallway, you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. Tears blur your vision, and you blink them back, furious with yourself for letting Tyler get to you like this. You’re tired—tired of being in his orbit only when he wants you to be, of being treated as something more only when it suits him. Because heaven forbid another guy notices you.

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices drifting from the ballroom as you stand there, waiting for the elevator. The moment stretches, tense and thick, when you hear his footsteps behind you, his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around. “Tyler… don’t.” The plea is barely above a whisper, but he ignores it, closing the distance between you, his face etched with frustration.

“What was he doing back there?” he asks, motioning down the hall toward the ballroom, his tone hard, possessive. “Flirting with you like he has a chance?”

Your heart twists painfully at his words. His tone says it all—like he assumes you’re his, like it’s obvious. Like you should know.

But you’re done with the assumptions. The words spill out before you can stop them, thick with months, years, of unspoken hurt. “And why would you care, Tyler?” Your voice cracks, and you feel the first tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. “It’s not like we’re together, right? You said it yourself—we’ll never be anything more than friends. We’re just…” You falter, searching for the right words, but the truth tumbles out, raw and painful. “We’re just really close, and we make out sometimes. Nothing more.”

The weight of it hangs in the air, and you can see the impact of your words in the way his face falls, his expression softening, regretful. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out, but you shake your head, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling to the surface.

“No, Tyler.” You step back, keeping the space between you. “I’m done. I’m done with this… with you.” Your voice shakes, but the conviction is there, clear and sharp. “I’m done not being good enough. Done being yours only when you want someone on your arm or in your bed. I can’t keep doing this.” You wipe a tear from your cheek, gathering whatever strength you have left. “I’m done with everything. Our friendship. The channel. All of it.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a quiet chime. You glance back at him one last time, taking in the hurt and confusion in his eyes. 

“Go back to the party, Tyler. It’s your night. You deserve it.”

You step into the elevator, pressing the button as the doors start to close. The last thing you see before they shut is him standing there, looking lost and completely, utterly alone.

Back in the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you feel the emotions from the hallway encounter with Tyler crash over you. It’s almost overwhelming, but you shake your head, determined to focus on the immediate task. You kick off your heels and reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it slide down as the gown falls in a pool around your feet. You step out of it, scooping it up to drape over the chair, and head to your bag, ready to change and leave before you can overthink it.

Digging through your clothes, you pull out the first shirt, but frustration prickles at you when you realize it’s one of Tyler’s. With an annoyed huff, you toss it on the bed. You dig deeper, pulling out another… his again. Why didn’t I pack more of my own clothes? you think bitterly, remembering that his shirts have been your usual comfort, your routine.

Finally, you find one of your own t-shirts and pull it on, then slide into a pair of jeans. You run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath to keep yourself from falling apart, and open your suitcase, methodically folding the rest of your things and stowing them away. As you pack, a plan begins to form, each step sounding clearer in your mind. You’ll finish packing, get a car downstairs to a nearby hotel for the night, and fly back tomorrow. It might be an awkward plane ride home, but you’ll put in headphones, turn away, and then… you’ll walk away from Tyler James Owens for good.

With your bag nearly ready, you look around the room one last time, eyes falling on the small pile of his things on the bed. His shirts, the ones you’ve wrapped yourself in so many times, now just reminders of all the blurred lines that never became anything real. You turn away, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, willing the resolve to carry you through whatever comes next.

You reach for the handle of your suitcase, ready to walk out of Tyler’s life for good, when the hotel room door opens behind you. Your heart races, and for a second you want to pretend you don’t notice him there, but when you turn, his expression says he’s already figured out exactly what’s happening. His eyes drop to the half-packed suitcase, then back to your face. His look of confusion shifts into something desperate.

“Please,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, almost raw. “Please, stay. We can talk about this. Just… don’t leave. Not like this.”

You shake your head, fighting the tears that are already building again. “Tyler, I’m done,” you say, your voice trembling. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You keep me close enough to feel like there’s something between us, but it’s never anything more. It’s just not fair anymore.”

You curse under your breath, blinking hard as the tears spill over. You don’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, hurt. Swallowing back a sob, you start to walk past him, head held high even as you feel yourself shattering. Just as your hand reaches for the door, he says it. Those three words you’ve been waiting for, holding onto, for what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

It stops you cold, and you stand there, hand frozen on the doorknob, not sure if you actually heard him or if it’s just some desperate wish in your mind. But then he speaks again.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady, almost pleading. “And if you love me—if you can still love me—then I’m asking you to stay and just… hear me out. But if you’re done with me, really done, and I’ve already lost you… then go.”

The silence hangs between you, thick and charged. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Vulnerability, sincerity, something real and unguarded. He’s finally opened himself up, given you the one thing you’ve been longing to hear, but the choice to stay or leave is yours.

Your chest tightens as you search his face, feeling the weight of all the years, the almosts, the near-misses, the longing. He stands there, his hands clenched at his sides, waiting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“You… really love me?” you whisper, the words barely audible.

“Yes,” he breathes, stepping toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to show it, and I was afraid if I did, you’d walk away. But losing you… that’s the one thing I’m really afraid of.”

You take a shaky breath, looking into his eyes, feeling every bit of his honesty, and for the first time, he’s offering you everything, without conditions, without holding back. The pain and hurt are still there, but as he waits, the tears in his own eyes now, you feel something else rising to the surface—a glimmer of hope.

The words are out before you can stop them.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Tyler steps forward, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand the storm inside you. He reaches up, hesitantly at first, as though unsure if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, his hands gently cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. His thumbs swipe at the tears still streaking down your cheeks, wiping them away as if he can erase all the pain he’s caused with one simple gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For not telling you sooner, for not making a move sooner… for making you feel like you don’t matter. For making you cry. You deserve so much more than that.”

You’re frozen, his words sinking deep into the cracks of your heart that you didn’t even know were there. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a silent apology that speaks louder than anything else could.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low but sincere. “I know I’ve messed up, but I’m asking… can you give me another chance? To do it right this time? To take you on a real date, to buy you flowers, to tell the world that you’re mine… to be proud to have you by my side. I want to do this right, with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

The weight of his words hangs between you, and you feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack. He’s standing there, fully exposed, offering you everything he’s held back for so long. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you look into his eyes, where you see nothing but vulnerability and hope.

You swallow hard, emotions warring inside you. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—to say it, to fight for you. And now that he is, you’re not sure whether to run or to stay. But as you stand there, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, something shifts. The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness—it all starts to unravel, replaced by a flicker of something new: hope.

You take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper, but clear enough for him to hear. “Last chance, Owens.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s softer, more relieved than triumphant. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Instead, he just pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug that’s full of promise, the kind that says he’s never letting you go. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe him.

You stand there, still in his arms, the weight of his words sinking in. The tension that had built up over the last few days—hell, the last few years—seems to fade away in that moment. Tyler’s hands are warm on your back, his arms strong around you as if he’s holding on, not just to you, but to everything that was between you two. His breath is steady, the pulse in his chest calming yours. He doesn’t let go, not yet. You don’t want him to.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Words were said, the hurt was aired out, and now, the only thing left is the silence between you—a silence that feels like the promise of something better, something real.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft, full of regret and hope. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. "I meant every word," he says quietly, his voice steady but raw. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

You nod, feeling something inside you shift, finally able to let go of the heaviness that had been pulling at you for far too long. You offer him a small smile, your fingers brushing his lightly as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hey…” His voice is quieter now, almost like he's considering his next words carefully. "How about we skip the rest of the party downstairs? We can grab some pizza, put on a movie, just... relax in here."

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion, but something about the simplicity of it feels perfect. You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

Tyler’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Good. Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll order the pizza. Whatever you want.”

You feel a sudden sense of relief wash over you. It’s not just the break from the chaos of the night, but the quiet, intimate comfort of knowing that it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. 

Tyler watches you for a moment, his smile softening as he watches you dig through your suitcase for something comfortable. You pull out a pair of sweatpants, replacing your jeans, and as you move to crawl onto the bed, he’s already a step ahead of you.

Before you can sit down, he reaches for the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up over your head. You freeze, giving him a confused look, about to protest. "Tyler, I’m really not in the mood—"

He cuts you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Not like that," he says, his voice teasing but warm. "Trust me, I’m not asking for anything like that."

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down into your suitcase and pulls out one of the t-shirts you had tossed aside earlier—one of his shirts. He holds it out to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Here,” he says, “put this one on instead.”

You take the shirt from him, still a little baffled. “What’s wrong with my other shirt?”

Tyler grins, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as if he’s about to let you in on a secret. 

“Because it’s not your boyfriend’s,” he says, his voice low and almost teasing. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you wear my shirt to bed.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. It’s the little things like this—the small gestures, the inside jokes, the way he’s already making you feel like you belong—that make the tension from earlier seem a little less heavy.

You slip the shirt on, and Tyler's eyes soften when he sees you in it, the way it fits just right, the way it looks like it belongs on you. You glance up at him as you finish adjusting it, your voice quieter now, full of warmth. “This better for you, boyfriend?”

"Yes." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "I think you look pretty damn perfect in it."

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened earlier melts away, leaving you with nothing but the quiet comfort of his presence. You sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot beside you. "So, pizza and movies?"

Tyler nods, settling in beside you, having traded his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hand finds its way to yours as he lets out a contented sigh. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night."

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things are exactly where they need to be.

[thefallennightmare]

Hey. Hi. Hello. How are ya?

The whore on my shoulder has been loud since I saw The Plot In You on Saturday. Because of my texts with @artificialbreezy this morning, I’ve decided to listen to her and the whore on my shoulder and write this drabble. It's kind of long for a blurb/drabble. So please enjoy!

Landon Tewers x Reader w/ slight Noah Sebastian x Reader.

18+ SMUT BELOW THE CUT(hate fucking with unprotective P in V, mean and possessive Landon, shower sex, choking, fingering, biting, spanking, teasing, brat!reader, peeping Noah).

“I swear, Lana! I faked it. Every time.” 

She looked at me with wide eyes trying not to choke on her sandwich as we sat around catering. The Plot in You and Bad Omens were touring together and it was nearing the end of the first week out of three. It was the first time I met anyone in the Bad Omens camp and since we both were the only females in each of our camps, Lana and I meshed well together. It also helped that we both were photographers. 

“You didn’t even get one?” She asked, dropping her voice since someone walked past our table. 

“Well, with my ex boyfriend. I faked it all. Now, I’m determined to make sure I get at least one before the guy gets off,” I admitted but then snapped my mouth shut when another body stood behind her. 

Looking away from Lana and up to the man that now stood behind her, looking through the spread of food. The tattoos on his thick arms glittered in the light of the room and when he glanced over his shoulder at me, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the snake and apple tattoo on his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. 

“Hi,” I gave Noah a small wave as crimson warmed my cheeks when I remembered what happened yesterday.  

I accidently walked into the Bad Omens green room thinking it was the one for The Plot in You and managed to catch Noah mid dress. He was shirtless and stepping into his stage pants. My mumbled apology fell off my lips when I saw all those tattoos donning his skin and the very prominent hard on underneath his briefs. Noah made no move to kick me out, instead he backed me up into a corner, hands resting on my hips. 

“Need something?” He asked. 

“Depends on if you want to give it to me,” I playfully shot back. 

He hummed while slinking his hand underneath my hoodie, fingers grazing over the blazing skin of my stomach. “All you have to do is ask.” 

“I want you to make me cum with those long fingers. Think you can do that, Noah?” I breathed over his lips. 

He didn’t say anything, simply pulled down my jeans to my ankles. 

Noah now gave me a smile before gathering a plate of food to go sit at the table right behind me. When I saw who Noah sat next to, my heart stuttered in my chest when I locked eyes with a pair of dark eyes that had clearly been watching me. Not just today but ever since I started working for The Plot In You two months ago. 

Landon scratched at his chin, sending a wink my way, which made me spin back in my chair to face Lana. 

“What’s going on between you two?” she wondered. 

I blinked while shifting in my chair. “Me and Noah? No-nothing. We’ve just been flirting, that’s all.” 

Lana raised her brow with a sly smirk. “I meant with you and Landon.”

“Oh,” I mouthed while feeling a burning gaze at the back of my head. 

For two months, Landon and I had a complicated relationship. We would flirt with each other but not in the way you’d expect. Landon liked to tease me while I was a brat with him and couldn’t control my mouth. What started as light physical contact like the occasional brushing of hands or his hand on my lower back when he needed to walk past me soon became something more. Any chance he could, Landon would corner me and whisper filthy things in my ear to gauge my reaction. Most of the time I���d be so caught off guard that I would gaze up at him like a deer in headlights. When I did gain the courage, I would find the most revealing yet modest outfit to wear while working, showing off the right parts of my body that drove him wild. 

The other night was the first time that we got sexual when he pulled me into his bunk while we drove to the next city and whispered five words in my ear. 

“Need to taste you, baby.” 

Of course, I didn’t say no. I’d been riled up all week and needed a good orgasm that wasn’t brought on by my vibrator or hand. 

Yet, it never happened. Because as Landon was in the middle of devouring me, my hands gripping the back of his head so he couldn’t leave, his phone rang.

“No, please,” I whined when he pulled away. I’d been so close to my orgasm and was starved for it. 

He kissed the inside of my thigh. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” 

After laying there naked from the waist down for fifteen minutes, I swallowed the lump of embarrassment in my throat and got myself dressed again, leaving his bunk. Neither of us said anything about that night which made me believe it wasn’t what he imagined. 

I wasn’t what he imagined. 

“There is absolutely nothing going on with Landon and I,” I finally told Lana while pushing away my plate of food, suddenly not hungry. “We just like to have fun teasing each other.”

“I think what you and Noah are doing is fun. Which is fine. You’re single, you deserve to have fun. But I think whatever is going on between you and Landon is more serious.” 

“What do you mean?” I pursed my lips. 

She began gathering her things before motioning over my shoulder. “He hasn’t stopped staring at you since you stepped into the room. And the look he has in his eyes tells me everything I already knew.” 

With a wave, Lana left me alone at the table with only my thoughts. 

Not for long, however. 

Landon kicked out the chair next to me before falling into it, dark amber eyes pinning me in place. 

“Need something?” I asked with a narrowed gaze and rubbed my sweaty palms on my bare thighs.

A smirk played on his pink lips underneath his mustache as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “With me you won’t be faking because you’ll be fucked like the whore you are.” 

My face blanched for a moment, wondering if I’d heard him correctly, but then anger festered low in my gut when it finally registered what he said. 

“Fuck you, Landon!” I seethed while pushing away from him and rising to my feet, him sitting laxed in the chair as he looked up at me. 

He shrugged. “All you have to do is get on your knees and beg.” 

I sneered while snatching my camera off the table. “All you are is fucking talk. You talk such a big game to make up for your shit performance in the bedroom! You couldn’t even get me off the other night!” 

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to watch us as I dared a glance over to Noah who was watching with an amused smirk on his face probably because he felt proud that he was able to get me off while Landon couldn’t.

Landon slowly rose to his feet so he could peer down at me. His breathing was deep and even, almost scary from how calm he was. It was the muscle in his jaw ticking that told me he was trying hard not to retort back. 

But of course, I was a brat, so I stood up on the tips on my toes to whisper in his ear, letting my hands rest over his broad chest. 

“At least Noah was able to get me off.”

Oh, I really fucked up. 

All because I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut. 

After leaving Landon behind in catering, I needed to be alone which is why I decided to take a shower in the tour bus bathroom. The show was in a few hours so I needed to get ready for it anyway. I’d been alone under the scalding water for less than five minutes before the door to the bathroom clicked open causing me to peer through the steam covered class, seeing Landon leaving against the door with a sly smirk. 

“What are you doing?” I asked, slightly shocked he managed to sneak in but made no move to cover myself. 

“You said I had a shitty performance in the bedroom. Do you want to find out?” He asked while taking off his button up shirt, leaving him in a pair of jeans and a white tee.

I should say no. 

I should tell him to fuck off and leave.

But I didn’t.

Which is how I found myself pressed up against the plastic wall of the tour bus shower, Landon harshly whispering in my ear, dragging his teeth along the lobe, as the water splashed against his large back. 

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” 

A loud smack echoed in the tiny shower when he brought his hand down on my ass causing me to yell out in slight pain and arousal. 

I bit my tongue nearly drawing blood so I didn’t ask him to do it again. 

“Fuck you, Landon,” I spit out instead, the anger from our earlier argument still brewing deep in my gut. 

A dark chuckle brushed against the back of my neck as he pressed his cock against my ass. 

“You can act like you hate me all you want, baby. But you keep pushing that perfect ass against me. I know what you want. But the question is, do you deserve it?”

Yes I do. 

“Go fuck-oh.” 

My threat fell away when his finger brushed along my folds, slowly teasing my clit. 

“Is this for me? Or for him?”

Don’t say something bratty. Don’t say something bratty. 

“Noah knows how to touch a woman,” I shot back over my shoulder. 

Landon let out a low growl while kicking my feet farther apart and bringing my ass closer to his hips so I was bent over, hands spread on the shower wall. I knew I didn’t need any foreplay, I was ready to go, and it seemed like Landon knew this as well because he angled his cock at my entrance. 

“Do I-?” 

I shook my head, already knowing what he was going to ask. “I’m clean.”

Our moans tangled together when Landon pressed inside of me, meeting some resistance so he pulled out slightly before going deeper this time. 

“That’s it,” he grunted while resting his forehead on the back of my shoulder. “Take all of it, Y/N.” 

The sound of him fucking me over powered the noise of the shower as he ruthlessly snapped his cock in and out of me. I clawed at the wall, trying to grasp onto something to keep grounded, and the familiar bliss of euphoria began to burn low in my gut. My orgasm was so close and I needed to finally tip over the edge so I dragged my hand down my stomach towards my clit. 

Landon smacked it away. “Hands on the wall.”

“I hate you,” I grumbled while doing what he said. 

His pace was ruthless, never letting up as his cock speared me open and hitting that spot each and every time. 

“Oh, God.” I panted. 

Landon’s nails dug into the skin of my hips to keep me planted as his cock swelled inside of me, indicating he was close too. 

“Say my name,” he breathed into the skin of my back, his mustache tickling my spine. 

His cock is inside of you, don’t be a fucking brat. 

Once again, I did not listen to the voice inside my brain. 

“Noah,” I moaned while dropping a hand to my clit, rubbing fast circles. “SHIT!” 

Landon stopped mid thrust to wrap his thick and tattooed arm around my throat, bringing me flush against his chest. By now the water had run cold, chills covering my body, and when I tried to get him to move again, Landon chuckled darkly. 

“If you want me to keep going, Y/N, let me hear you say it,” he bit down on the side of my neck. 

“No,” I shot back but still tried to get him to move inside of me. 

The fire of my orgasm was beginning to dwindle. 

Landon began pulling his cock out of my tight folds, making me whimper in a pathetic mess. 

“Please,” I dug my nails into the ink on his arm. “Don’t.”

The head of his cock was the only thing inside of me and I whined, never feeling this empty before. 

“You sound so fucking pretty when you whine for my cock. Just say my name and it’s all yours,” he said in between nipping and sucking on my neck. 

His name was quiet as it fell from my lips with a beg but it wasn’t enough for Landon. 

“Use your manners, baby. I need you to speak up so I know what you want,” his cock was nearly all the way pulled out. 

“Fuck,” I wrapped a hand behind his head. “Please, Landon. I need your cock. Please, I promise I’ll be good.” 

With a hand over my cheek, he turned my face towards him so our lips were meters apart. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised before crashing our mouths together and filled me up again. 

Our tongues fought for dominance and I wasn’t going to give up, something Landon so he let me take the reins of our kiss while he brought me closer to that familiar edge of euphoria again. With past relationships, I was never able to orgasm by intercourse, I always needed something extra to help. But with Landon, he was able to make those stars dance at the corners of my vision and my stomach fluttered just with his cock. 

Pulling away from our kiss, Landon rested his forehead against mine, the water running down his tattoos. “You can tell me you hate me all you want, Y/N. But the way your pussy is gripping me tells me otherwise.” 

Movement through the shower panes of the door caught my attention as I looked into the mirror of the bathroom, nearly falling to my knees in Landon’s grasp. The familiar snake and apple neck tattoo stared at me in the reflection of the glass. Landon must not have shut the door completely so Noah was watching through the small slit opening. 

I tapped Landon’s arm, trying to get his attention that Noah was watching but it only made him fuck me even harder. “Let him watch, baby. Let him know what he can’t have.”

I tried my best to meet his pace but it was so erratic, I opted to fall deeper into his body as his grip around me tightened when my orgasm finally tore me. I let out a loud scream, writhing in his grasp. 

A large hand clamped over my mouth and Landon pressed me against the wall of the shower, his stomach fleshed against my back. 

“You need to be quiet. I can’t have the guys hear how pretty you sound coming apart on my cock.” 

Landon fucked me through the after shocks with a few thrusts before his cock twitched, finally spilling himself inside of me while panting my name. 

Almost immediately he pulled out to turn off the water of the shower, both of us freezing, and I hazily turned around to face him. I stole a glance to the mirror in the bathroom, expecting to see Noah, and I couldn’t ignore the way my stomach dropped when I didn’t see him there anymore. 

“I still fucking hate you,” I grumbled. 

He snickered while gripping my chin so I had no choice but to meet the fire in his eyes. 

“If you keep up with that attitude, I might need some help in punishing you next time.”

I gulped while wrapping my arms around me. “Some help?” 

A sinister smirk broke out on Landon’s face. “Do you want to find out?” 

Please. 

[darktrashsoulbear]

Thinking of entering the world of writing so if anyone has any requests for Aemond Targaryen x reader and maybe also Aegon please send them through and I’ll try to write an imagine or drabble to do with it - potentially a longer piece of writing if I’m feeling super inspired. Will probably add more characters and other fandoms later on! Just leave a comment here or send me an ask!

[coffeecoloredpages]

A Not-So-White Christmas

“They'll wrinkle if you pack them like that,” Regulus appeared at his elbow, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

Sirius shrugged. “If Walburga doesn't like it, she'll just charm the wrinkles out. I don't really give a toss.”

Regulus sighed, giving Sirius a light shove, his eyes rolling and mouth quirking in a way that was almost normal for them. “Budge over, I'll fix it. And this just came for you.”

Sirius took the slightly crumpled envelope Regulus shoved into his hands and sat back onto the mattress, relinquishing the task of packing for the moment. Regulus had always been better at making things neat and tidy, his hands always straightening and smoothing out of habit. Yet another way they differed from each other despite their shared upbringing. Lately it felt as if their differences were multiplying in a way they never had before Hogwarts.

Pushing his musings aside, Sirius tipped open the envelope. His face split into a grin as he read; it was from James. When he finished, he looked up to find Regulus watching him, the guarded look that had haunted his face for the last six months already back in place. “Thanks,” Sirius said sincerely. “Guess I'm lucky you found it before mum did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Regulus shut and fastened the suitcase, having managed to even fit the dress robes in with everything. “You'd better not get anymore, I think Kreacher is suspicious, he'll be keeping an eye out now.”

“Oh, to hell with Kreacher. I'm not afraid of that gas bag. The worst he can do is screech a few insults at me.”

“Don't talk about him like that,” Regulus snapped, eyes sparking. “And he can do a lot worse than just yell at you; Maman has ordered him to report on everything you do, and that takes precedence over any order you give. If he, or anyone else here, catches a letter coming from your precious Hogwarts friends then you'll really have it coming.”

Sirius stared for a moment, taken aback at the outburst. “Right, sorry,” he offered. “Look, I am sorry, okay?” He repeated at Regulus’ skeptical look. “Listen, I'll be on my best behavior this week, alright? I'll tell James and the others not to send anything and won't even make a face when Grandmama demands a kiss. I'll be a perfect little heir. So can you not be mad at me anymore? Please?”

Regulus eyed him for a long moment before softening just slightly, mouth quirking again. “I'm not mad at you, but fine, deal.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius beamed. He didn't know how he'd survive this week without Regulus on his side. “I'll write a note quick and be right down. D’you think a dozen dung bombs will be enough?”

“Sirius!” Regulus hissed, fighting a smile.

“Kidding! Kidding!” Sirius laughed, dancing out of range as his brother swung a half-hearted smack at him.

(fic is Meet Me Halfway, by Wordwyrm on ao3)

[smallishzine]

Just a small heads up, if you include shipping you may wanna make it clear that there are ships and what ships are there. A lot of people aren’t comfortable with shipping, especially since I’ve seen people say Joel thinks it’s a bit weird to be shipped with anyone other than Lizzie (needs to be fact checked, this is just what I’m seeing in boat boys comment sections). Maybe consider making the ship stuff a separate section or just telling people in advance (pinned post, bio, anywhere clear works) that it includes shipping so those who don’t like it can walk away.

important info about the zine plz read even if you didn’t send the ask:

thank you for the heads up! We’re about to get super rambly and vaguely off topic but we promise all your points get addressed. This is actually a great opportunity to clarify, because I realized I didn’t explain myself particularly clearly, if some one does choose to include shipping, its all going to have to be subtext (as always except for shadowbeans whose alternate ship name I still refuse to use), but that is for non-canon ships. Regardless of how people feel about it, c!Joel and c!Jimmy did in fact kiss in Real Life smp, and c!Joel and c!Sausage did in fact have a child together in esmp2, so we’re not gonna rewrite events. Basically when I say shipping in the context of this zine I mean taking relationships the c!Joel had with other people and creating moments that didn’t necessarily happen but feel plausible for the characters that are able to be interpreted as romantic as well as platonic. Also, everyone’s definition of ship art is different, so the level that I was thinking is pretty mild (and btw I’d like to interject here that this is not me dissing on shipping or ship art love shipping so much that I found a ship called the relation and I never left it, but I also know that people have all sorts of comfort levels with different things so this zine is going to be dry docked but I assure you that out there on my super secret personal blog we are very much lost at sea). Like, to give some examples of what would be okay versus not okay for the zine: kissing is pretty much off limits, honestly mostly because that’s a pretty boring zine piece, there’s nothing going on except the ship, but anything where any sort of romance is up to the interpretation, such as hugging, handholding, spending time with, these are all normal things, but also this can’t be the focus of the piece. Please no one just draw like Joel and someone hugging and call it a day. Implied shipping is allowed to feature in your piece, not be the main focus of it. That’s just not an interesting zine piece. Valid art/writing, still amazing stuff keep sharing it on the internet it’s very interesting, just not in the context of this zine. Anyway, you are correct about not everyone being comfortable with that stuff, so if any piece comes off as really shippy without violating the guidelines we’ll make sure to label it correctly, but also, I should make it clear, I’m really hoping that shipping doesn’t become the focus of this zine. It is a Joel zine, so Joel should remain the focus, and any shipping would be subtextual and not central to the zine. There are many great Joel ships out there with lovely content to consume, but that’s not really the focus of this zine. Also, that aside, if Joel doesn’t want his character (because we are talking about shipping cs here. Cc!Joel is a lovely person, but this zine is going to be in-character. Also while cc!Joel should absolutely be respected in what sort of fan content he wants people making about him, his character is, well, just that: a character. Its like saying you can’t ship two characters from an animated tv show because their irl voice actors aren’t comfortable being shipped. It’s just two different things) shipped with characters who don’t belong to his wife, he should probably stop making his c! kiss all those men. And have children with them. And send them love hearts in the mail. And call them babe. If he did it in canon it’s probably safe to say we’re good having them do it in fan content. But again shipping should be an extremely small part of the zine if it’s there at all and should be subtextual enough that even people who don’t ship can still positively engage with the zine!!! If it needs a warning, it’s probably too shippy.

also all this aside if I’m handling this wrong guys I’m sorry I’m only one person and it’s really stressful trying to please everybody I promise I’m trying my best but I just wanna get together with a bunch of other people who share this strange fascination with the bean man and make art and writing about it I don’t wanna get canceled or something I promise I’m trying my best. I’m really struggling to balance my love of creating shipping fan content and realizing that not everyone is comfortable with that and it’s really difficult and stressful I just can’t we all just draw and write what makes us happy I just want this to be a fun experience and being yelled at on the internet for drawing two characters who’s ccs aren’t in an irl relationship being something other than friends is not my definition of a good time. I’m not accusing you anon of doing anything like that the ask was very respectful but I’m worried this post will prompt less polite people to come and yell at me.

-mod Dinn

[infinitecakes]

Whoops.

So sorry, everyone. I had an absolute stroke moment and closed Prompt Requests too early! The GOOD news is that we have plenty of prompts, so we will be running the... Infinite Cakes Great Big Bang!

"What does this mean???"

Instead of a Destiel-only bang for our inaugural run, we're running two separate bangs at once! This allows for MOAR CAKE for absolutely everyone!

"I can't stand those braindead Hellers, so I'm not participating" "Wincesties are morally bankrupt, leave me out." I hear you. We've got you. Not only will the Destiel channels be completely separate from the All Ships channels, we'll be giving All Ships a few extra channels so that conversations about underage or incest ships don't squick anyone out. "Can I join both bangs?"

Sure! Just fill out the sign up form for both bangs (so we can keep track of you!) and let us know when you hit the discord that you need access to both. "Can't I just write Destiel in the All Ships bang?"

Given that there is already an entire bang dedicated to Destiel, we ask that you submit your piece there. "Can I still submit a prompt?"

For the All Ships bang, yes! We have far more than we needed for the Destiel bang, but we could use a few more options for All Ships. You can submit a prompt that you're happy to have written by anyone, for any ship here. If you have any other questions or concerns, please feel free to send a message here, or you can find us on discord as tea_or_die, rex_writes, or dannigee. Jump into the discord here!

Looking forward to seeing you all when we officially open December 1st!! Love,

The Infinite Cakes Mod Squad

[wadewnstonwilson]

hc of wade being a clingy bitch with a super clean/rich CEO wifey? he’s the stay at home husband for sureee

Omg yes we love domestic Wade, coming right up!!!

As always, if anyone has any Wade, Logan or Poolverine headcanons they'd like me to write out, please send me an ask!

[allbycharles]

Hello @silmarillisms ! Those are valid points so I will try to respond. Thank you for your response. Let me add more details to explain why I said what I said.

Tolkien did highly probably have ptsd after going through traumatic experiences of the war. We cannot know of course. That it was traumatizing is sure.

What Tolkien and nobody else knew in his times was how to heal PTSD which is what I meant by Tolkien did not know how trauma works.

Having it and getting rid of it is two different things. To get rid of my ptsd i had to use the first available manuals of the usa army that came out ten years ago. Before that there was no solution even though of course the doctors were trying a lot of things.

Your point of elves mental health is of course valid just as me not having any rights to tell how to write. I am not saying people have to write correctly ptsd treatment. Neither that elves work same as people.

Why was it important to state how mental health works and to have elves work same as humans from my perspective which you can happily ignore of course....and why in first place i wrote my first post:

People use art as help and I hear it daily from everyone around that: they think ptsd works like this and that, anxiety works like this and that, depression is cured by this and that.........and all of that circulates through chats, tv, social media and art and all of it is wrong. And gets people hurt very much and deeply. Because they did not get the right info.

And most of population works on examples they see around and big part of it is art.

I had no goal of criticizing anyones writting....I can see I tagged my post wrong so it sounded like "stop this and do what I just said or else I send a balrog" I am really sorry about that, I am going to change it to more informative.

What I meant was if you want to write correctly a person with ptsd then here have a very simplified version of how a ptsd usually works.

And hopefully many people who are victims of abuse or anything else will be on correct path to healing. Does the artist have a job to do this? Not at all. I wrote the post as information for writers not as rules. And I hoped more fanfiction with helpful info might appear.

I dunno who you met and what kind of traumatic experiences they had. And I of course dont talk about everybody. Thats why I tagged it as very simplified version. What I wrote is the usual way it goes for soldiers in dangerous situations which what was the first ops topic.....feeling of safety after years of war.

The manual I used on myself made by the usa army describes ptsd of soldiers going like this and is used on all ptsd soldiers victims which is why I wrote it as highly pissible for Elrond to have it the same.

Lastly mellon....I am really writting all of this to help people and I am sorry it trigered you. I understand when one simplifies things too much they sound like bullshit. Yes each person is different, each trauma is different and I am not a doctor. Thank you for writting your post and pointing out what I fucked up. I am sure I missed like half of it again so please if you feel like it do respond again. I hope sooner or later we all get both therapy and kind words we need to be happy and healthy just like Elrond. Honestly good for him.

I wonder, after the Third Kinslaying, when was the first time Elrond felt truly, actually safe again

I just mean. like. no matter how kindly Maglor treated the twins, ultimately. no matter that there was love, later. from that day on, it's just, Elrond would know, all the way to his core, that he is small and defenseless and people who are bigger and stronger than him can come and tear his life apart and change it at their whim and he can do nothing but go along with it. and then by the time he is old enough to maybe have a shot at fending for himself... by then there's an ongoing war of apocalyptic proportions, that might wipe out even the strongest who still stand if the fortunes change even a bit. and he'd know it. there's nowhere that's really safe and no matter how strong and brave and skilled someone is they can only affect their own happiness and survival a little bit

by the time war of wrath ends it's decades since he last knew true safety, he's known practically all his life that the world is not safe and his life could be shattered to pieces at any moment with very little warning... even when the peace comes you don't just easily shake a lifetime of knowing that all the way to your core

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is Awful First Meeting!

Have a PTA AU xoxo

(521 words.)

Remus is running.

He seems to find himself sprinting to the school a lot, at the moment. Staying later and later to finish his fucking project at work. He's never picked Teddy up late, though. That much he can be proud of.

This bake sale, however?

Remus fails to see why he should give a shit. A bunch of catty parents are going to have plated up tiny Tesco brownies, claiming that they baked them and shooting Remus glares when he walks past with his kid. It's really not that important. He's been avoiding every PTA event for a reason.

Still, Teddy's desperate for him to go to this one and meet his best friend. As much as Remus tries to put his foot down, he's not going to be a shitty dad. He can't say no to that kid, not really.

So here he is, making it to the bake sale just on time. Teddy runs from his teacher and straight over to him, squealing with delight when Remus picks him up and spins him around.

"Hey, Ted! How was school?"

As Teddy chatters on about his day, Remus shifts his weight until his kid is on his hip. He doesn't even notice someone approaching until a voice sounds.

"You must be Remus Lupin?" A man says, and Remus turns his head.

The first thing he thinks is that this man is absolutely gorgeous.

His long black hair falls down to his shoulders in a way that almost makes it indistinguishable from water. Remus has to stop himself from raking his eyes up and down him, landing on meeting his eyes. There's a flash of something in them that unsettles Remus, slightly. Some sense of... irritation?

"Yeah, yeah, that's me," Remus says, setting Teddy down and letting him run over to a group of kids.

"I'm Sirius," He introduces himself, and-

Ah.

Sirius.

Head of the PTA.

"It's good to finally meet you. Giving the PTA a try?" He asks, and if he thinks Remus can't hear the attempt to mask his sarcasm, then he must think Remus is an idiot.

"Well, Teddy wanted me here, so I got the day off work."

Sirius nods once, slowly, and it does nothing but frustrate Remus.

"So, what did you bring?" Sirius asks casually.

Remus reaches in his bag, trying to grab the brownies he and Teddy has made.

"I've got- they're just... christ, I forgot to bring them. Sorry."

"You can just say you didn't make anything," Sirius says calmly, and his incredulous tone makes Remus want to scream. What the fuck does he know about being a single dad? About working three jobs to make sure your son doesn't notice how they're struggling?

"Maybe I won't come to another PTA event," Remus says sharply, looking Sirius up and down before getting closer to his son.

"Harry!" Teddy calls, as a young boy with wild hair gets closer. Sirius walks over and ruffles the boy's hair before he makes his way over to Teddy, sending a realisation through Remus.

Fuck.

His son's best friend is related to that pompous fucking dad.

[smallchaoscryptid]

q!melissa in one of those sexy santa outfits does this mean anything to anyone

[phinnking]

GIRL HELP IM HAVING CREATIVE IDEAS BEYOND MY ABILITIES (i suddenly have an idea for an audio drama to make with my friends and my brain is in absolute overdrive building plots and concepts and characters and interconnecting factors but i only barely know how to write a script, i have a very base level understanding of audio editing software's, i only have one incredibly shitty mic, i don't know how to pitch creative ideas to people in order to convince my friends to voice act for it, and i have a fucKING MIDTERM TUESDAY AND I NEED TO BE STUDYING)

[polite-pandemonium]

I am just somehow OBSESSED with Takeru DRIVING. Like is he a bad driver? He speeds past the gang waiting outside of Daisuke's restaurant (or the restaurant where Daisuke works, whatever), so maybe? Is that his mom's car? Or is it his car? Why does he NEED a car? What is he doing that requires him to drive? Is it going to be a plot point in the movie? Is Takeru being a BAD DRIVER going to be a plot point? I need to know.

Ken and Miyako are also visibly startled when Takeru speeds past (Miyako JUMPS!!!!), while Iori and Hikari don't even flinch. What does that say about DYNAMIC?! Are Iori and Hikari more used to Takeru's (presumably bad) driving? That would make sense, no, cause they are (canonically???) closer with him? Just such a small interaction and I can interpret so much and draw so many conclusions!!! How fun!!!

There's just something really so fun about watching characters you've loved your whole life continue to grow - to see new details about them spring up, new traits, new things to add to canon. It's the most delightful thing about the Digimon Adventure franchise to me. Sure, the stories they have told over the last decade have mostly been all various shades of mediocre, but the character moments - goodness, the character moments just don't hit the same in any other media for me. It's so special to me.

ETA: WAIT, looking at the screencap, Iori looks slightly concerned. Only Hikari looks calm (though she does turn her whole body to look at the car once it stops). Does this mean HIKARI is the only one comfortable with his driving? Cause Hikari is closest to him? (I don't even think their closeness is something that is debatable - I feel like it is PRETTY CANON that they are closest with each other???????????)

HERE'S HOW TAKARI CAN STILL WIN.

[rosesradio]

i just finished my gravity falls rewatch...the end makes me so emotional every time...

[nix-is-sad]

making the goal of reading every fanfic for a ship is fun until you don't have any more fics to read :(

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Again because I am a terrible toxic person, I am spending my time writing some new jack fluff instead of working on any of my WIPs. 🫣 idk what it is about that man lately but he just makes me go soft. 🥺

[smallishzine]

we received a question about shipping, so here is our answer: (there is also important zine info unrelated to shipping at the bottom of the post)

Yes, ship art/writing is allowed, *however*, this is still a zine dedicated specifically to Joel, so if you choose to incorporate that into your piece, it must:

Have Joel as the central focus of the piece

Have something in the piece contributory to the zine besides shipping

be entirely sfw. This goes for any piece anyone makes, keep it Family Friendly. You don’t have to make it, like, toddler safe, and you’ll have a lot more leeway in gore and blood and violence and arson and all that good stuff because it is Joel we’re talking about, but please take pity on the ace-spec minor modding this zine.

try your best to stick to c!Joel’s canon relationships. We’ll be polling about this later but current plan is for the zine to feature pieces dedicated to all the eras of Joel’s content creation as like the thing that our zine is. I don’t know if we’re gonna go as far back as mousyluvscheese, and we’re probably gonna focus on just his Minecraft content unless someone expresses specific interest in doing a piece for something he did outside of that, but yeah that’s currently the plan. With that in mind what I mean by stick to canon is basically with the current plan everything we make up will be based off of what’s already there, so if your ship requires you to retcon and rewrite then probably no. The one exception is probably Lizzie, if she was on the smp then you are allowed to ship them as romantically (or non romantically qprs and other aroacespec headcannons are totally okay) as you want. I’m not sure if I’m explaining myself well so if you want me to elaborate further then feel free to send in an ask.

also I know that everyone has different definitions of ship art so like if you make it with romantic intent but it could also be interpreted as platonic then you don’t even really need to ask if that’s okay (in terms of shipping we’re still gonna make you run your ideas by us before you start working) Also if it happened in canon exactly the way you depicted it, such as Real Life smp smallidarity, double life boat boys, or esmp2 mythicalbeans, then you’re also probably in the clear.

also!!! And this is extremely important even if you definitely aren’t planning on including shipping!!! The plan for what’s going in the zine is in no way set in stone, it’s just a starting place to work off of right now, if you guys wanna do something else then fine by me! However, if the idea gets more difficult/complicated, then I’m gonna need your guy’s help to pull it off. If you wanna tell a complete story, like hotguy comic zine did, I’d love too!! But I’d need you guys to help come up with the story and write it and stuff, as I’m rather incompetent at most things. It was probably a bad idea to put me in charge of this thing. If you wanna make an in universe art book documenting a specific thing Joel has made, like scarland art book did? Sure, super down for that! But you guys would need to pick what thing. You wanna do something that’s never been done before in the zine scene? I’d love too! But you guys would have to come up with the ideas and then let me know, cause currently I got nuthin’. Don’t be afraid to send me asks, if there’s something you want to see Let Me Know!!! Everything is subject to change, and I love getting input from people who want to see the zine get made. If you’ve got ideas, send em’!

wow I got really off topic.

-mod Dinn