#it only took me a year and a month to write this

[lilyinmysoul]

Incomprehensible

JacksonJoel x F!Reader

WC: 4k

Summary: Old man Joel is having trouble lasting a whole round on top.

Warnings: Smut, piv, sub joel, kinda angsty, comfort, Joel feels all sad and like he’s not good enough, Joel is 57 with back problems, handjob, vivid descriptions of bodily fluids, soft dom reader, reader calls Joel ‘old man’ once or twice, joel grips the headboard, (implied) age gap

Note: I’ve wanted to write subby Joel for a while, and I don’t think I went subby enough but I still love this fic. I took way too long writing it, so, no proofread. If there’s any mistakes, tell me. If you have any tips, tell me. Please reblog if you like, and if you want more fics like this, tell me, because I love my Jackson Joel and I have a kink for babying old men

As Joel trudged tiredly up the driveway, he watched the porch light flicker and dim, only to return to its original warm glow a moment later. The bulb was old and it would be difficult to find another; he didn’t want to think about it, he had a long enough list of things to do already.

As more people moved into Jackson, more babies were born, and more houses built, there was more work to be done around town and more responsibilities to be dealt with. Joel’s hair had greyed significantly in the past year, and still his patrols were getting longer. Even though his muscles felt extra sore after a long day of scavenging, he’d still have to get up the next morning and do it again.

Joel was fifty-seven two months ago, and as winter settled upon the town and rain puddles took a permanent residence on the sidewalks, he was becoming increasingly aware of it.

In recent weeks, light dustings of snow would fall from the sky, previews of the inches yet to come as the cold months approached. Joel’s heavy boots clomp against the cement path to your shared home, stepping in slush that crunches, half frozen, under his feet.

In his age, his fingers were especially sensitive to the cold, and it was likely that his brown leather gloves were the only thing protecting them from turning purple in the frosty air. Even so, he feels numb, and he rubs his covered hands against each other. Joel steps onto the porch, the only sound being his bulky shoes against the hollow wood of the deck. With a deep and breathy exhale and a glance up at the glowing window—you were awake—he fishes the house key from his pocket and slides it into the lock. It was a rewarding sound, one he looked forward to each day. It meant a night of rest, a warm plate of food, and the chance to see you.

He turns the cold brass knob and the door creaks open, emitting a squeal from its old and rusty hinges. The house was clean and tidy, but it had been built so long ago. No matter how clean the two of you kept it, the wood in the walls was weakening and the roof tiles continuing to wear under the rain. It reminded Joel of himself. He breathes in and closes the door, turning the lock as he takes in the smell, a fusion of both of your unique scents, traced with the aroma of old books and wood.

His boots are muddy, so he makes sure to rid them by the door. Under his feet, the floor creaks lightly and once you register the sound of movement downstairs, you practically prance down them.

You find him in the kitchen, still in his jacket and gloves as he leans on the counter with a glass of water. He takes a sip and places down the cup, its clink against the surface obscured by his deep, southern voice.

“Sweetheart,” he greets, the bags under his eyes deeper than usual, and his voice less steady. You could practically feel his exhaustion—now, and in weeks past. Regardless, your mouth turns up in a smile.

“Long day?” Your hand takes one of his, fingers working to peel the leather from his skin. “I made dinner. Chicken, the way you like.” You move on to his other hand before setting down the gloves and lacing your fingers with his freezing ones. You squeeze.

“Thank you, baby… s’just… freezin’ out there. Cold gives me a damn headache.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as your fingers find the brass zipper of his big brown jacket—the one he always wore and that you’d never tire of seeing him come home in. You pull down and free his strong arms as he stretches them above his head, sighing. You hear a pop from a joint of his, a hollow crack that rang out habitually each time Joel broke free from a spell of motionlessness. Soon, his jacket is forgotten and draped over a chair as you fetch a plate from the wooden cabinet.

The plates were china, their condition nearly mint and preserved for all these years. From the pot on the stove, you heap his plate with food. It was warm and steaming, and you found little as rewarding as watching him scarf down your cooking or drink down your tea after a long day of work. Perhaps it was your love language; a humble exchange for the drawers he’d fix and mend, or the shelves he’d put together when you needed more space for the trinkets he’d bring back for you, swiped from the shelf of an empty home he’d cleared.

You place the dish in front of him on the table, setting a fork next to it and a topped off glass of water. Across from him, you sit, having already aten. This felt optimal, allowing you to rest your chin in your hands and watch him, talk to him, hear about his day.

Joel nearly groans as he takes the first bite, his exhaustion even more evident. “Tastes like heaven, baby,” he mutters between bites.

“I made extra for you to bring on patrol tomorrow. Lunch, or something.”

He hums in acknowledgement, a quiet thanks as he enjoys his meal. A drink from his glass, then he breaks the silence, a hand palming at the back of his neck. “‘M so damn sore.”

You frown. It upsets you to see how much Joel is working, and saddens you further to witness how it affects him. More often than not, his back is sore, or his legs achy. As prideful as he was, it was clear that he needed a break. And although Joel warned you against bringing it up to Tommy, the idea was getting increasingly tempting. It’s becoming a priority of yours to get him off that damn schedule.

“I’m sorry,” you soothe and stand up, topping off his glass once again, before your hands come to rest on his shoulders as you stand behind his chair. Your fingers squeeze at the muscles there, taut and stressed as he inhales deeply and takes another bite. “I can massage it if you want.” A beat, before you speak again. “Maybe you should ask Tommy if someone else can pick up your shift.”

Joel says your name in a stern, yet exasperated tone that says, ‘drop it’. You wonder what exactly it is that stops him from asking for help.

“Okay,” you agree, forcing the topic out of your mind and out of your mouth, hands still working at his tense and knotted muscle. “I just worry about you. I just don’t want to see you hurting, I want you to feel good.”

“I’m just… gettin’ old, is all. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with work, I’m… I’m okay.” Joel grunts as your hands work, and you don’t believe him one bit—not even a little. Either way, you don’t argue. Instead, you lean down and kiss the top of his head, your lips pressing against his soft, graying hair.

“Alright,” you agree. He hums as he feels your lips.

“Plus,” he adds. “I can still keep up with you, I reckon.”

“Sure can, old man,” you squeeze one of his arms, a thick bicep only barely softened by age. You very strongly appreciated his strength—muscles formed through vigorous labor; initially, fixing roofs in the sun, and eventually, fighting infected with his bare hands. Granted, he is more comfortable now. His life is stable in Jackson, allowing his tummy to soften up a bit because he has food to eat and a bed to lounge in. Even so, he could still pick you up and carry you out in the snow, and when he would grunt a little deeper now with the effort, you reveled in the sound.

He takes a bite. “So long as you don’t get sick’a me.” 

“Never.”

A deep chuckle from Joel, and his plate is clean. He looks up at you, and you take the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss to his cheek, hands finding the sides of his face as your lips move to envelop his. Your mouth moves tenderly over his as he emits a soft hum.

You pull your lips away softly, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before it breaks and your eyes rake over his face as it still rests in your hands.

“I feel better already,” he states.

“I’m sure,” you smile, gaze flicking down to the bulge in his pants, a tent beginning to form.

“Feels nice,” he says, referring to nothing in particular. It was all so pleasant—the way you made him dinner and fed him with such care, how you worked out the stiffness in his muscles and kissed away his trepidation—he never had enough of it. He was never entirely sure why you chose him—grumpy and hardened, old and weary—but you never let him spend too much time mulling it over. You loved him so entirely that it was nearly impossible to doubt, every past loss and failing managing to fade to nothing when he would meet your eyes.

Your hands drop from his face and you pick up his plate and empty glass, your feet carrying you the short distance to the kitchen sink. Over your shoulder, you see him watching you, on his eyes a look of admiration combined with a hint of lust. Joel’s absolute love for your nurturing nature was something that he would rarely voice, and that nobody else would ever guess. You wipe the plate clean and set it in the sink, rinsing your hands and wiping them dry.

By now, Joel has stood, meeting you again in the dim light of the dining room. You smile lazily at him, relieved that the day’s responsibilities were done and dealt with. To you, having Joel around in the evening after a long day is the best gift, and you find his occasional night patrols to be cruel and unusual punishments. When your arms wrap affectionately around his middle, his hand rests on the back of your head, fingers splaying over and entwining with your hair. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re s’beautiful…” he murmurs into your skin, his words so honest and caring. He hums softly before tilting your head up and taking a kiss. Joel felt that it was the most reassuring thing and so wholly intimate. Your lips, he felt, belonged on his, slotting onto one another like pieces of a jigsaw. Your hand rubs up his back as one of his cups the back of your neck, guiding your head gently. He pulls your body lightly against his, the movement firm but not aggressive. He’s sleepy and sapped, but that doesn’t stop his hands from coasting greedily over your body. Your warm skin always soothes him—evidently, he is harder now, and you feel the pressure wedged against your lower stomach.

Your lips drift apart, still tangled in the other’s arms. It’s clear where Joel wants this to go, and you second the thought.

“You’re gorgeous…” he mutters another compliment, pushing aside a strand of hair from your face. “Just wanna have you forever. I could. Again and again…”

It isn’t clear if Joel entirely knows what he’s saying, but his musings sound promising either way. “You sure you have the stamina for that, old man?” You tease him into his shoulder, your close embrace both tempting and comforting.

“Yes, ma’am,” he states, paying no mind to his own lassitude and achy muscles. How could they even cross his mind? He had you in his arms, your body at his fingertips.

In a mediocre attempt at assuming Joel’s southern drawl, you ask, “Are you fixin’ to prove it to me?”

He chuckles, his voice low and thick. “If that’s what you want,” he feigns nonchalance—albeit, poorly. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Mhm…” By now, your mind is empty, save for one thing. Memories of Joel’s busy schedule have departed from your head, along with all of your external worries, and he is leading you upstairs.

When your back hits the mattress in the palely lit bedroom, you smile softly up at Joel, who is unhooking his belt, pulling it free from the loops. His gaze is roaming over you hungrily, and you can tell that his day has been particularly long by the wanting look in his eye.

You squirm out of your shorts and pull your top over your head as you lay against the cold covers. Dropping the discarded clothes on the floor by the bed, you catch Joel’s eyes as he pushes down his worn and worked jeans, faded dirt staining the heels. His boxers are dark and tented, his necessity for you abundantly clear. He’d like to crawl into your arms, but first, he has to give you what you want and assuage his own frustration. He lifts his shirt over his head, dropping it absentmindedly on the floor.

The bed dips slightly when the weight of Joel’s knees comes to rest on it. You peer up at him as he looks down at you, a dazed and loving smile on his face as his hands are set on your knees, pulling them apart and making room for his broad body between them.

Joel’s lips kiss along your jaw, nipping lightly at your neck. He props his body up with one elbow, the other hand coursing over your skin, trailing over the lace of your bra and down to the fabric of your soft panties. He mindlessly toys with the band, his mind focused on your neck, but quickly shifts his attention to the rest of your body.

Joel is particularly desperate tonight, his hands both restless and spent as they hook under and pull at your underwear. They come off fully, tossed aside on the bed. The air in the room is chilly, but Joel’s form radiates warmth, encasing you with it. You smile softly as his briefs are finally let down and a strong, veined hand wraps around his length. Joel pumps it a few times before teasing his tip along your entrance, and you inhale through your teeth.

You chuckle breathily at the focused look on his face as he nudges himself into you. You brace yourself for the stretch as your eyes watch where his cock hitches inside, before your gaze coasts up to the trail of hair that leads to his belly button, then at his strong chest, and ultimately his face. He slides in before you can look back down, and your eyes narrow as your mouth falls open slightly.

The look on your face was priceless—one Joel had seen many times—but priceless, nonetheless. His first few strokes are slow and relishing, but his impatience forces him to speed up. He has spent the day thinking about you, and will continue to do so long after he drifts to sleep; so, his energy has nowhere to go but into his movements, his hips tapping yours as the room fills with the soft click, click, click of your bodies touching, fluids exchanging.

Your husband’s mouth no longer has the power to contain his grunts of pleasure, soft noises escaping his throat with each movement. Your heavy breaths align with his like a melody, sounding synchronously into the dim bedroom, limbs tangled in blankets and damp skin.

Above you, Joel’s brow is slightly dampened with sweat, his body trying not to succumb to his enervation. Of course you couldn’t hear it, but you could only guess that his heart was beating a bit quicker than it usually did. His hands grip at your hips a little harder as his thrusts hasten, your velvety skin on his fingers consoling him.

Joel might be getting up there, but he was still big. He always would be, and a sound no short of a whine leaves your mouth as your hand rests over his on your hip—a comforting gesture to both him and yourself. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and they slicken Joel’s in turn when your bodies touch.

“Baby…” Joel grumbles, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

Your response is a feeble hum, an affectionate reassurance. “Hm…”

“I’m… shit, I…” his voice trails off. One hand of his is still tightly holding the bone of your hip, guiding and grinding it against his own as his cock disappears into you. His other wipes away the perspiration on his forehead before landing to tightly grip the wooden headboard, the structure bracing Joel’s weight as he drives into you.

“So good, Joel…” you mutter, your eyes drifting shut as he moves inside of you, tip kissing your cervix again and again. Repeatedly, your insides stretch and your pleasure mounts, your eyelids still closed in sheer bliss, stomach tingling from your approaching orgasm, along with your proximity to the man you love.

You swear you hear the wood crack with how hard he holds the head of the bed. His movements become more tense, deliberate. His breath huffs deeply, and at first you suspect that he might be getting close. He usually takes longer than this, but you cannot blame him—his day’s been hard, and he’s needed you. But soon enough, almost as abruptly as he had started, his movements cease. He doesn’t slow, or pull out to finish on your stomach—he stops. Your hips buck imperceptibly at the cessation.

“Sweetheart…” Joel mumbles defeatedly, his hips drawing out a few more slow and shallow strokes before coming to a complete halt. “I can’t. M’ too tired.”

You blink at his admission. You fish deep in your brain for something to say, a caring response, but before you do, he does all he can to hide his reddening face in the crook of your neck.

For a moment, he stays there. His head rests on your shoulder in silence before he breaks it. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry baby.” He mumbles something about a hard day and getting old. You can’t help but card your fingers through his hair, dark and streaked with silver like a tree turning red in autumn. Except, when his leaves fell, they would not be growing back. They would not rejuvenate themselves come spring, ready to dance again in the summer breeze. But you don’t think that winter needs to be hopeless or sad. There isn’t a bone of Joel’s that you don’t love, or a wrinkle you won’t worship. Every doubt—if there ever were any, at all—is waved away, lost to what you love the most about him; and so you giggle into his hair.

“Don’t laugh at me…” he murmurs, embarrassment still permeating his voice.

“I’m not laughing at you, baby. It’s okay,” your head pats lightly on the back of his head. “It’s okay. You’re working like hell.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He’s a proud man, and letting you down feels like a firm blow to the chest.

“Don’t say sorry,” you smile sweetly as you tilt his head up towards yours. After laying a gentle kiss to his forehead, you add, “It’s alright, Handsome.”

He scoffs under his breath, but can’t stop a sheepish smile from spreading across his lips. He buries his head back into the crook of your neck. As soon as he does, you tilt his face back up again and speak.

“What, you don’t agree?”

He avoids your eyes, looking up off to the side. “I just… y’sure? You think I’m handsome? Y’don’t think… I ain’t enough for you?”

The question catches you off guard and you continue to gaze down at him, your thumb gliding over the side of his face. “Are you being serious?”

No answer on his end, just the same apprehensive look on his face as he refuses to meet your eye.

“Of course I do, Joel. You’re so handsome. Don’t be ridiculous.” You say before adding, “And I think you’re the best guy I could ever ask for, and it doesn’t matter if you’re a little tired sometimes.” You smile.

Joel only grunts when you shift your body until his back is on the pillows. You’re now sitting on his hips, his cock still buried in you—throbbing but forgotten. His hair is disheveled and he looks rather dazed, gazing up at you with a look of admiration and necessity.

Your hand finds its way to cup the side of his face, a position it often assumes; the spot feels like its home. You feel the prickle of his beard on your skin, and you lean down to press a kiss to his lips, wet and a bit chapped from the cold outside. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips, a gentle and slow movement that Joel reacts to, one of his hands coming to grip onto your hip and the other draping over his eyes out of both insecurity and overwhelment.

A heavy breath leaves his mouth as you pull his hand away from his face. He still isn’t quite able to look you in the eye, so you tilt his face toward you once again, your hips rolling in treacherous circles.

A hum leaves your mouth, the look on Joel’s face fueling the fire between your legs. As you move, you let your mouth drop open slightly, wanting to make your pleasure clear to him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” you murmur. “Keep looking at me,” you instruct. You weren’t sure exactly how to get his confidence back up or make him feel better. His head seemed to be in another place, one of penitence and embarrassment. “Y’never told me how nice it is to be on top. Might have to try it more often.” You feel him twitch inside of you. Your fingers continue to trace along his jaw.

Joel groans as your hips grind into his a bit faster, the view of you peering down at him heating up his stomach. “It’s… okay? You’re not disappointed?” He asks, more so to reassure himself.

You chuckle lightly under your breath, his still moving as you choke out, “Of course not…” You hear something close to a whimper leave Joel’s mouth, and you take one of his hands and hold it to your center, between your legs as his thumb begins rubbing your clit. “There you go…”

He is happy to help. Any way you can make him feel appreciated will make him groan under you.

“Oh, wow, Joel…” you continue, your noises growing more prolonged. By now, you could almost cum from his sounds alone, desperate and almost pitiful. His fuck-up hit him hard, and has left him yearning to either make it up to you or push it from his head. His thumb circles you in just the way you like, sending jolts through your body that further energize you, hips still rocking with care and want. A hand laced up into his hair, you murmur, “I’m gonna cum… you’re making me cum, Joel… shit.”

“I’m… me too,” you hear him choke out. He looks entirely out of it, his gaze shifting from your face down to where your flesh surrounds him. You smile, taking a few more rolls of your hips before slowing, pulling out of you his thick length, tip angry, red, and swollen from being still without release. You let your hand run up and down his cock, further smearing the liquids that coat it as you rub him, his mouth falling open slightly.

“Yeah… you’re so pretty, Joel. You’ll always be pretty. Handsome… sweet…” you list, mumbling off whatever kind words you could think off as you stroke his cock, rubbing it occasionally against your clit.

He hisses, pleasure mounting at your tenderness of your touch and the sweetness of your words. Each time your hand travels up his length, he gets closer, and he’s unable to stop himself from spilling over your hand. His thick ropes of cum leak from his weeping slit, a low grunt sounding from somewhere deep in his throat.

A smile spreads across your face, the dribble of white down your hand doing something to you—it always does. “There you go, baby,” you coddle, a kiss to his cheek. “As simple as that.”

Thanks for reading!! feel free to send me an ask

[urcoolgf]

the good housekeeping seal

pairing : bf!drew x singer!reader

content : fluff

summary : ever since you and drew started dating, you've been more inspired than ever, so– before your newest album drops– you wanna give your boyfriend a sneak peak (based on 'R.E.M.' by ariana grande)

more drew x singer!reader

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

drew knew dating a popstar was dangerous. one wrong move, and a whole album about his mistakes would hit the shelves in no time, but you were worth it to him. plus, he didn’t intend to make any mistakes with you.

the two of you had met about 6 months ago, and everything had been basically perfect. the type of perfect that had you slightly worried, but– for once in your life– you decided to just go with it. you had bad relationships in the past which left you with a deep mistrust when things were going well, but something about drew just made you feel so safe.

you knew it wasn’t easy dating you– not only were you a popstar (he was used to the fame anyway), but you over complicated things and just made yourself hard to love as a way of protecting yourself. in just 6 months, drew had taken those guards down– and even though it scared you to death– it was refreshing. life felt beautiful again, like you were finally seeing in color after years of living in black & white.

before you and drew met, you were so uninspired, so unmotivated that you were questioning if you even wanted to be in the industry anymore. you thought you had lost your touch. lost your voice. but, drew changed all of that. lyrics had been flowing out of you like a waterfall as the two of you had gotten closer.

your next studio album ‘sweetener’ was set to drop in two weeks. the name implying that drew had been the sweetener to your previously sour life. all throughout the writing and recording process you had left drew in the dark. it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him, or want him to hear your work. this whole album process had been so new and vulnerable, and it made you scared.

you knew you wanted to share at least parts of your album with drew before it released for everyone– the album was for him after all. so, one day, when the two of you had nothing else to do, you suggested a trip to the studio.

you and drew were currently on the couch of your apartment in new york city, he was watching something on tv while you indulged yourself in your current read.

“hey, baby? how about a little trip down to the studio?,” you asked, a soft smile on your face. drew just looked at you– almost like he didn’t believe you.

“the studio? you want me to come?,” he had always respected your decision to record alone, so when you offered to take him with you he was shocked to say the least.

“mhm. jus’ got a few things to wrap up before the release,” the look in his eyes already gave you your answer, but you awaited his response anyway. your big doe eyes distracting drew just a bit before he finally answered.

“yeah, of course, baby. let’s go. i’ll drive,” he said, a huge smile took over his face as he quickly stood from the couch, moving to grab his keys. you giggled as you stood after him, following him to the door to put your shoes on.

on the way to the studio, you told drew where to go since he hadn’t been there. his hand covering your thigh, fingers circling the soft skin with a featherlight touch.

once you had arrived and parked, you led him to the studio door, unlocking it with your key. once he stepped inside, he looked like a kid in a candy shop. he took in all the different computers, speakers, audio boards, and the glass wall separating it all from the artist. you made your way inside after him, closing the door, and taking a seat in a chair by the audio board table.

“this is incredible, babe,” he said, moving to sit in the seat next to you, “so, what’re we doin’ here?”

“i actually don’t need to wrap up anything,” you said sheepishly, “i wanted to let you hear some stuff before the album drops… if that’s okay with you?,” you were nervous to say the least, sure he had heard your other music that was already released, but none of that was about him. you felt like this album was the best thing you’ve made– it was everything you had been striving to create your entire career– so, yeah… there was some pressure on you right now. drew could sense it. gently moving his chair closer to comfort you, placing his arm around your shoulder and rubbing soothing circles into it.

“‘course i wanna hear, baby. wanna hear everything you make,” he said quietly. his warm smile made your heart skip a beat.

“‘kay,” you replied. your voice so soft it was almost a whisper. you moved to open the audio file of the song you had been most proud of. it was the fourth track on the album, and it had turned out exactly how you wanted it to. you called it R.E.M. to insinuate a dream-like state, and the instrumentals that accompanied it only added to the ethereal vibe of it.

you made sure your computer was connected to the speakers in the studio, so that drew could get the full experience, before hesitantly pressing play.

the dreamy beat had started playing, and there was officially no going back. drew just looked down, taking in the beat. he had a focused look on his face that made it seem like he was really listening– which he was.

mm-hmm

last night

boy, i met you, yeah

when i was asleep (sleep)

you’re such a dream to me

you watched as drew’s expression softened. he looked back up at you– wide-eyed– to find you already staring at him in anticipation for his reaction. he didn’t say anything while it was playing, just listened intently, looking back at you every so often so you could visible watch his heart melt.

before you speak, don’t move, ‘cause i don’t wanna

wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up (don’t wanna…)

wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up

boy, you’re such a dream to me

if you can believe, babe

boy, you’re such a dream to me

excuse me, um, i love you

drew’s soft chuckle rings through your ears, his beautiful smile leaving an imprint on your heart. he still doesn’t say anything, just taking in all the beautiful melodies and adlibs you conjured up in this masterpiece of a song.

i’ll get you out my mind, mhm, i tried to

but i just want to stand and yell

i will never dare to tell

think i heard some wedding bells, shh, keep it to yourself

is this real? (is this real?)

drew’s head snaps up at the last verse– wedding bells? his heart had never felt as full as it did in this moment. he leans over– arm still around your shoulders– and gives you a gentle kiss on the cheek. his mind now clouded with not only your soothing melodies, but images of your wedding– you walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress, flowers everywhere, slipping a ring on your finger, and making you his forever.

i could buy you anything, but i cannot buy you

before your boy gets smart, i would never try to

you know i’m thinking to myself, "what happened, why you?"

but when i see you in my dreams, psh, i knew

you know how to treat it, you know how to eat it

you know how to beat it (i know how to keep it)

the good housekeeping seal

(bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, bum)

‘the good housekeeping seal’ is a term for a ‘stamp of approval’ commonly known amongst celebrities. it means a product has been tried, tested, and determined a good product. the line made drew laugh, as if he had gained the ‘stamp of approval’ from you. he laughed on the outside, but inside, his heart fluttered. you had opened up a little about past relationships, and the fact you considered him one of the good ones meant a lot to him.

the song finally came to a cinematic end, your vocals carrying the beat to a close. drew didn’t even know what to say– it was phenomenal. everything about the song was perfect, he could only imagine how the rest of the album sounded…

“y/n… that was– holy shit, that was phenomenal, baby,” he turned his chair so he was facing you head on, his hands coming to rest on top of your knees.

“really? you liked it?,” you asked. your bright eyes made drew swoon. the fact you thought he wouldn’t like it amazed him.

“liked it? it was heavenly. i felt like i was floating,” he smiled, getting all excited to share his thoughts with you. it warmed your heart to see him passionate about something you were so passionate about.

“and the adlibs in that back were just amazing. everything felt like a dream,”

“yes! that was the goal. i wanted it to feel almost surreal because… well, because that’s how you make me feel,” you looked down as if you were nervous to say the last part. drew brought his hands to your cheeks, pulling your face back up to face his.

“listen y/n… before i met you, i thought my life couldn’t get any better– i had movie contracts i would’ve killed for a couple years ago, friends i never thought i would have, i was working with directors i never dreamed would even know my name. i thought i had it all. life seemed exciting and promising, and i saw everything in vibrant color… at least i thought i did. i never knew how dull my life really was until i met you. these past 6 months have been unbelievable, and now i can’t even imagine how i was satisfied with the life i had before you…,” his blue eyes stared right into yours, admiration consuming them.

his words felt so sincere, something you haven’t heard in a long time… maybe ever– you just lost it. tears began to fall from your eyes. drew’s soft hands immediately moving to wipe the salty drops away.

“i love you… so much,” your words were broken by soft sobs. drew pulled you into him, his tight embrace giving you more comfort than you knew was even possible.

“i promise, baby, i love you more,” he said softly, running his hand down your back, slowly rubbing up and down to calm your cries.

once you finally pull apart, redness staining your cheeks. drew looked at you with the softest eyes you had ever seen, and you weren’t sure he was even real at this point.

“so…,” a breathless laugh escaped you before continuing, “wanna hear some more?”

“c’mon baby, you already know my answer,” drew smirked, moving back to put his arm around your shoulders to listen to the next track you played.

track 2. title: ‘blazed’.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

TAGS ! @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls

[kierahn]

FUELED BY HATE. [ academic rival x m ! reader ]

summary : you were the best in your entire batch while he stays in second place. nick initially thought that the rivalry between you and him would end after graduating, but it seemed like fate had other plans. you recently joined his workplace and stole his spotlight once more. after years of being overshadowed, nick has had enough and decided to finally put you in your place; below him, right where you belonged.

content warning : blackmail ✧; character despises reader ✧; non/dubcon nsfw ✧; cigarette burns ✧; degradation

masterlist !

✩ i’m so sorry for disappearing for almost a year ! i recently started my first year of college, and things have been hectic for me so far. i'll try writing more often now that I've adjusted better :] ✩ this is a draft i left before i disappeared. i decided to refine it before working on newer stuff. ✩ i've also decided to clear out all the requests on my inbox since i want a fresh start. with that, my inbox is open for requests ! (still selective of what i'll write) ──★ ˙ ̟🪿 !!

♥︎ nick cromwell was a man who excelled in his studies. from the first day he entered the military academy, nick already knew that he was gifted. this easily earned him respect and admiration from the people around him.

but despite his decent reputation and academic performance, nick's name lingered solely in second place throughout the years, never surpassing the name above his.

♥︎ dark eyes glued themselves on the name tag that was sewn on the right side of the your newly tailored uniform; y/n l/n, it read. seeing your name never failed to sour his mood.

you had joined his department just a couple of months ago, yet you rose to the top with ease and easily surpassed him once more. barely a month in, and you already managed to solve a missing person case that had long gone cold. it was a huge feat that set you on a path towards a promising promotion. one that nick highly sought after years of working his ass off.

♥︎ nick averted his gaze away from your form, a pang of irritation hitting him. he hated you— your voice, your presence, everything. he hated how you were better than him in every aspect.

you were always surrounded by your co-workers who depended on you for help despite being new. everyone seemed to look at you with stars in their eyes, filled with admiration. everyone except nick.

♥︎ the first day you joined his department, nick slipped out of the bustling room with a box of cigarettes in his hand. he placed one stick in between his lips while his other hand searched for his lighter only to find that it was missing. he brushed his dark locks back with an annoyed sigh. great.

just as nick turned to head back inside, a lighter greeted him out of nowhere, sparking to life and lighting his unlit cigarette. the sudden gesture made his heart skip a beat out of shock, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. nick took a deep drag of the now lit cigarette, directing his gaze to thank the owner of the lighter.

his expression hardened. y/n.

"cromwell," nick watched as you placed your lighter back inside your pocket. he stared, not bothering to hide his displeased expression.

did you remember him from military academy ? that's impossible, you were in different classes and had never crossed paths before. he doubted you knew about his existence.

after a long pause, nick exhaled a puff of smoke, deciding to snap out of his trance. holding the cigarette between his fingers, he returned the greeting. "l/n."

that was his first interaction with you after all those years. a face to finally match the name that had long stirred his competitive spirit.

♥︎ your feats only kept getting more and more impressive as time went on, and the sight of your constant success ignited something within nick. he knew he had to humble you, to remind you of your place. nick worked his ass off trying to get where he was, it wasn’t fair of you to take that away from him.

he had to be better than you this time even if he had to go the extra mile to ruin you.

he considered a couple of extreme measures: framing you for murder, planting drugs in your desk, or any other nefarious scheme that could tie you to wrongdoing. but, it wasn't enough for him to see you behind bars. that wasn't what he aimed for. he needed to completely ruin you— humiliate you so you wouldn’t dare to step out of line ever again.

♥︎ it only took him a few drinks between 'friends' to have you all putty in his hands. he didn't expect you to be such a lightweight, but it was convenient for him to set his plan in motion. it wasn't an easy task dragging you around in your drunken state, but nick was satisfied with his work.

you were fully stripped of your uniform, both hands cuffed behind your back, black leather wrapped around your eyes, and a cloth between your lips to muffle whatever sound you were bound to make.

a tripod sat at the edge of the bed, a camera set up to capture your vulnerable state. all he had to do was take a picture and finish up, but that idea didn’t seem to satisfy him. it wouldn't be enough to make up for the years that you have overshadowed him.

nick monitored your unconscious form from across the dimly lit room. the cigarette that sat between his lips illuminated the lower half of his face, dark eyes reflecting the light of the burning cigarette. rising from the wooden chair he had nested himself in, nick stalked towards the bed where you laid unconscious. he placed his cigarette on an ash tray sitting on top of his bedside table. the camera's light illuminated a crimson red color, indicating that it was recording everything.

nick's gloved hand slowly traced a line down your exposed stomach, feeling you shudder slightly at his touch. your still breathing turned frantic the lower his hand slid down your torso. an unsuspected ghost of a smile crept up on nick’s lips as he watched you react to his touch. there was something about seeing you in such a humiliating position, all vulnerable and helpless.

perhaps this was where you rightfully belonged, below him.

his thumb glossed over your cheek as he stared down to study your sleeping face. now that he had a closer look at you, nick realized how good you actually looked. no wonder people liked you a lot, aside from being reliable, you were also a piece of candy for one’s eye.

♥︎ his hand unconsciously found itself wrapped around the base of your cock, still soft and limp from the lack of stimulation. even this part of you looked good. he had every right to be jealous.

having initially planned to simply take photos and leave it at that, nick knew he had to improvise. he bent down and coated the tip of your cock with his spit. it helped his gloved hand glide smoothly up and down along your shaft.

your breath hitch in response, and that was when nick knew you were awake and could feel everything.

knowing this, nick quickened his pace, twisting and rubbing with the goal of making you finish in his hand. the gag around your mouth muffled your groans. with the way your cock hardened and twitched in his hand, nick could tell that your body liked his touch.

“who knew you were such a slut,” nick taunted. he noticed how you bit against the gag to suppress your moans, staining the cloth around your mouth with your saliva. “i wonder what our superiors would think if they saw you in this position ?” his other hand ripped the gag from your mouth. he wanted to hear what other noises you could make.

you open your mouth to question who he was, but nick took it as an opportunity to capture your lips in his. he tilted his head to the side to muffle your moans.

this was all to humiliate you, nothing more. he inwardly told himself. but the strained feeling in his pants told a completely different story.

nick groaned as he felt you come undone, staining his hand white with your cum. he pulled away from the kiss, replacing his lips with his fingers as he let you have a taste of yourself. he pinched and pulled at your tongue, stretching the inside of your mouth with his fingers. he coated his fingers with your saliva, dark eyes watching you gag on his fingers.

nick pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop and let them hover your rim in a teasing manner. he pushed a finger past the ring of muscles despite your protest, holding you down by straddling your hips as you thrashed around. “shh, you’ll tire yourself out before i can even start.”

♥︎ the sound of clothes shuffling reached your ears as nick pulled his trousers down with his other hand to free his hardened cock. he could see your chest rise and fall quickly, but you stayed surprisingly compliant. “you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you ?” nick’s fingers continued to prod at your entrance, teasing you as he rubbed circles with his thumb on your gaping hole. “we can’t have that. you’ll have to beg for it first.”

you gritted your teeth at the thought of begging. there was no way you were going to— nick pushed his thumb inside, making you jolt as your walls clenched around the digit. a sharp groan escaped your lips that were slightly agape as you breathe heavily.

your cock painfully twitched at the lack of sensation. nick wiggled his thumb around inside you, but it still wasn’t enough to stimulate anything. “is that your dick ? pretty small for all that big talk.”

you decided to bite back and insult him. you weren’t going to beg for anything any time soon, instead, you would taunt him into doing what you wanted. hearing the male simply chuckle at your insult, nick pulled his thumb out of your hole and replaced it with his cock, its tip kissing your entrance. “you’re really asking for it. i knew you were a filthy whore underneath that professional bullshit you keep pulling on everyone.”

without warning, nick slammed himself inside. he groaned at the sudden tightness, hands holding you in place, a bruising grip on your hips. “shit, can’t you loosen up a bit ? you’re going to chop my dick off,” he growled, a slight rasp in his voice.

your hole swallowed him whole, dragging him deeper inside as he thrusted in and out of your abused hole. it took him a while to set an actual pace because of how your hole clenched tightly around his dick, but you did loosen up after a while. he made a mental note to prepare you properly next time

next time ?

nick pushed those thoughts away. this was a one time thing, he.. fuck.

nick tightened his grip on your hips out of frustration. he almost forgot why he was doing this in the first place, this was all to simply ruin you, nothing more. he reached out to grab his cigarette off the ash tray, placing it between his lips as he dragged one out to calm his nerves. ‘i shouldn’t be enjoying this,’ he inwardly scolded himself.

he exhaled, keeping the cigarette in between his fingers as he placed his palm against your bare stomach. ‘but, holy shit, how could i not enjoy this. he’s basically eating out my dick like it’s his last meal.’ nick grunted.

out of frustration, he dragged the butt of his cigarette against your bare stomach. you hissed at the burning sensation, your muscles tensing as you bit back a scream of pain. nick’s dark eyes examined the burn marks he had left in your skin, no longer feeling remorse. instead, his cock twitched at the sight of your pained expression.

he continued thrusting into you, your moans acting as a positive reinforcement for him to keep going. nick took the cigarette back to his lips, inhaled, and leaned down to slam his lips against yours. it tasted like ash as nick’s tongue intertwined with yours into a sloppy kiss. his pace eventually slowed down as he felt himself near his climax.

you were also close, whining against the kiss as he slammed into you one last time before he unloaded inside of you. he finished first, pulling away from the kiss and giving a few sloppy thrusts in order to help you finish. seeing your cock twitch and spur, nick pressed the cigarette butt against your tip. the pain from the scalding heat helped you finish, your cum putting out the cigarette’s light.

nick threw the cigarette onto the ashtray and pulled out of you, letting his finished work trickle down your thighs. he detached himself from you, removing his dirtied gloves as he approached the camera that continued to capture everything. “this should be enough to keep you in line.” he muttered under his breath as he ended the recording.

nick took the camera with him as he stalked back towards the bed where his finished work laid in display. the sound of a camera shutter reached your ears and a brief flash of light penetrated the blindfold around your eyes. “you look way better under me anyway.”

[honeyscovet]

Sorry to say and i’m really not a homophobe but i really wanted vaughn and a female. I loveeed niko and brandons story but it would have been so nice if the serpent leader was a woman. I feel like her books are so male centred sure she has strong woman but still.. this would have been a plot twist if a woman was behind all the menace.. she could have given as another sascha… 😕

While I understand your point and do agree that we DO need strong FMCs from RK—us readers—can’t force her to write anything or feel entitled to her writing.

What I think happened was (this is my speculation entirely) that Vaughn’s book was supposed to be MF as RK said previously BUT while writing KTV, she saw more of a potential between Vaughn and Yulian instead of whoever that (supposed) girlfriend. We also need to keep in mind that there is no other FMC introduced within the Legacy of Gods universe.

(We don’t know if Damien & Mio have a daughter or even a child AT ALL.)

Yes, it may feel like RK lied to you (and others who are against this book) but NONE of that was set in stone. You all just took and ran with it when you very well know that RK does change her mind a lot (like it was supposed Gareth/Jayden at one point).

I personally don’t believe she is fetishing MM romance—let’s be real—there are only 4 so far, out of which, one book was published 15 months ago, the second book is yet to be released and the other two are yet to be written and probably won’t be released until 2026. RK has 30+ MF books across high school/contemporary/mafia universes. Legacy of Gods only has ONE MM BOOK.

Can’t we, queer people, have anything?

Back to what you said about Serpents leader being a girl in disguise, it sounds good in the head but terribly cliche in a book. We do not need Sasha 2.0, that woman alone is a badass FMC. You all also need to STOP seeing Vaughn as Kirill 2.0 and he’s not going to fuck a copy of his mother (that’s gross).

That’s all I can say. I do wish for better FMCs but then again I don’t particularly read MF books (haven’t done so in years) and I don’t plan to. I only read MM, FF and queer-centric books so you won’t get any complaints from me, reading and watching MY people and people in MY community thrive in books.

[dwcmarshalarts]

Something I constantly notice in your work is the obvious fascination with elements of the Soviet times.

If it's alright to ask, why is this the one inspiration so ubiquitous and unending throughout your works?

I've never seen another thing like it, especially in the furry art spaces.

Good question!

I suppose I should start with the idea that the Eastern-Bloc inspired motifs and subject matter really mainly comes specifically from my story, In the Red. In the Red was the first real story I started to write sometime back in 2018-2019, before leaving it dormant in favor of my science-fiction series The Percivals, which highlights more personal stories, devoid of Soviet influence or Soviet-inspired worldbuilding. Point blank, you basically see none of it in The Percivals, which I’d say is still my flagship project. As such, it really isn’t as ubiquitous in my works as it could be.

The only area outside of ITR the Eastern-Bloc theming can be found is, in part, some of the advertising material for my commissions (ironically) or through the graphics of my official statements/releases as far as updates from me go. The reason there is simple: old East-bloc propaganda/the visual language of publicly managed economies translates surprisingly well to marketing, and I suppose announcing the start of a quarter can be seen as a kind of mini, three-month plan.

That said, ITR works have kind of seen something of a resurgence on my part as of recent, and I’ve never forgotten the worldbuilding I’ve done for it.

I guess the initial thing that got me interested in it was the idea that there was this historical precedent for a society that was, at least nominally, dedicated to the idea of an alternate economic organization. This was years ago, and of course when you’re young and foolish, you kind of get fascinated by these comparatively eccentric states and how they did things, and believe that they stood for something.

This carried over to when I began writing the initial drafts for In the Red, when I populated the descriptions of how the government of the Vulpiet Union worked and this and that, etc, but it kind of ran dry when I 1) found the whole exercise to be fairly regurgitative 2) ceased viewing the USSR, off of which the Vulpiet world building was based, with some special pedestal.

So I took a break to focus more on my personal, character-driven stories, disillusioned and not exactly interested in writing something with a “top-down” view of things.

I’ve come back a bit to In the Red because I feel like I’ve learned a bit more about story writing, and handling narratives and worldbuilding with a purpose. I feel like I understand the implications of the various systems at play better, and have a purpose to writing a story mired in the politics of a dead empire, resurrecting it for what is ultimately a tale about the futility of fighting against a system as one person.

Outside of that, I still have a pet curiosity/fascination for what life was like in the Soviet Union, mainly for what I had said before: things were different. Not necessarily better, but different. And people lived through it! Not just through the obvious points of political repression or a stagnating upper-crust of geriatric bureaucrats, but through more grounded and surreal moments you wouldn’t necessarily. The monolithic blocks of socialized housing and the dingy rooms that were just barely enough but housed millions, the cheap consumer goods raised during the Brezhnev years that nonetheless colored the lives of many, the Soviet space program that was the spearhead of a national propaganda push for scientific progress that ultimately gave way to its Western counterparts. Life in the USSR was most certainly complicated, and its effects went beyond the ideological implications, which is one of the most interesting things to me. The Soviet Union was most certainly an ideological project, but it’s a case study of how so many who grew up during that time, in retrospect, don’t think of it as ideological. It was just “their youth.” And all those weird Lenin statues, cigarette smoke choked Khrushchyovka stairwells, and the truly omnipresent Party propaganda posters, were not particularly weird to those growing up with it, it was just “life.” And, resultingly, fascination in how to wrap my head around that.

What I’ve done so far with the Vulpiet Union/ITR is just a scratch of the tip of the iceberg on all that, and I hope to eventually capture the depth of life in this fictionalized version of the Soviet state. Not just with the kind of media the government would put out, but life for the average Vulpiet citizen. Surrounded by reminders of the ubiquity of the Party and State, but simply living your life as is.

I will say as an addendum that remotely worldbuild-y art isn’t new, or uncommon either. @kvernakamudra does an excellent job with pure historically-based worldbuilding, I’d say far better and more indepth than I do (I guess I’m more focused on the meta-narrative and have been busy haha). Nakamudra is not only a talented artist, but clearly does an immense amount of research to base off his fictional nations, which I respect plenty. His contributions to furry art space through the lens of taking worldbuilding as a historical project seriously is really a model of how one *should* approach research with nuance.

I guess the only thing that I *would* say does separate my stuff from other historically-adjacent furry worldbuilding, especially with newer folks and folks suspiciously obsessed with the 1870s-1950s, is that I do have a imminently critical take on the the kinds of systems that occur in ITR, while a lot of others do tend to lean to much into the tendency that I originally fell into years ago, which is worldbuilding only for worldbuilding’s sake, or worldbuilding without a point/a misguided point. I see a lot of folks do the regurgitative thing where “x real world phenomenon happened, let’s copy it into our setting just because” instead of investigating why it happened/what circumstances brought it to happen, and importantly, whether or not it was a good thing. I think, the honest test of a real-feeling world built is whether or not you’re willing to engage with the events of the story in an objective fashion, or if you’re just there to glorify the existence of the nation you’ve built from scratch. From my own works, what happens during the events of In the Red, serve as an indictment on badly set up systems: in the mid-late part of the story, Vulpiet Union crushes a student uprising in a neighboring country, and it is unambiguously portrayed as a bad thing. I’m just curious as to how many folks who write similar worlds would go through writing an event like that and making it an indictment on their fictional nation, and not as a glorification of violence. From what I have seen, I’m concerned that the number wouldn’t be so high.

Anyway, good question! And thank you for the food for thought.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

LOVE YOU, MISS YOU, MEAN IT ➵ S. WILSON

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: It’s been five years since you heard from Sam Wilson — the longest you’ve gone without speaking since you met him at sixteen years old. You've tried to move on, but six words still weigh heavy on your heart. You're certain you'll never hear those words again until you get a phone call from upstate New York.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, high school sweethearts, mentions of Riley (CA:TWS), mentions of loss and grief, spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, mentions of the Blip and its repercussions, no use of y/n, use of pet names (ie. "honey" and "baby")

Word Count: 3.5k

Song Inspo: "Love You, Miss You, Mean It" by Luke Bryan

Author’s Note: So, apparently all of us are desperate for more Sam Wilson fics. I promise I don't also base my fics on songs, but I was listening to this one recently and couldn't get this idea out of my head (maybe Sam Wilson fics based on country songs is just my niche now lol). Like always, I hope you guys enjoy this one and let me know what you all think. Also, my inbox is open to any ideas for Sam Wilson fics. I'm not promising to write them all, but I'm desperate for my Sam content and if it has to be done by me then so be it.

“What about Craig from book club?”

You furrow your brow at Sarah as you wipe down the counters during a lull in the afternoon lunch rush. You’ve worked at Wilson Family Seafood since your family moved to Delacroix during your sophomore year of high school. Your father suddenly lost his job and, by pure happenstance, reconnected with his old childhood friend, Paul Wilson. Within a week, your family packed up your entire lives and moved across the country to help at the Wilson’s family-owned restaurant. It was a drastic change, but the transition was helped by Sarah Wilson, who quickly became your closest friend. The two of you spent your days in classes together at the local high school, your afternoons working at the restaurant, and your evenings working on homework by the docks. You were sure that your life couldn’t get any better than this.

But then you met her older brother, Sam. 

You’d seen him in passing a few times; however, basketball season kept him busy for the first few months you spent in Delacroix. Once his team was knocked out of the playoffs, Sam also spent his afternoons at the restaurant. To Sarah’s dismay, Sam took an immediate liking to you. At first, you brushed off Sam’s attention as playful, meaningless flirting. But, to your surprise, Sam asked you to the junior prom while the three of you sat at the docks after your shifts. Sarah pretended to be disgusted by the idea of her older brother and best friend dating, but, in reality, she couldn’t be happier — after all, she’d never seen her brother so smitten. 

“I don’t need a date, Sarah.”

“You deserve to feel loved.”

A sigh escapes you as her voice softens. When Sam enlisted in the military after high school, you were confident that was the end of the line for the two of you. However, Sam went above and beyond to make things work. You received letters from him twice a month while he was deployed, and every single one ended the same: love you, miss you, mean it. He visited home whenever he could, and the two of you were happy. But then his wingman got blown out of the sky during a night operation, and Sam slowly withdrew from everyone in his life: his friends, his family, and you. His letters started showing up only once a month, then every two, until eventually they stopped altogether.

It all came to a head when you heard from Darlene that Sam got honorably discharged from service, and instead of coming back home, he chose to stay in D.C. after accepting a job with the Department of Veteran Affairs. You remember the phone call that followed when Sam told you he just couldn’t face living in Delacroix right now without his father — that he couldn’t handle adding that grief to his plate right now. He didn’t try to convince you to join him. Sam knew that you couldn’t leave his mother and sister like that, and although he knew he was making a selfish choice, he didn’t want to drag you and his family along with him during his recovery process. You’d drop everything to help him, but that’s not what you deserve. You’ve already spent over a decade assisting the Wilson family — starting full-time at the restaurant after high school, providing funds from your savings account for numerous doctor appointments and procedures when his father got sick, and opening up your home to Sarah and her new husband after they lost theirs. Sam couldn’t ask you to put your life on hold, yet again, just for him. And even though he knew he was losing you, he still ended the call with the words he only ever said to you: love you, miss you, mean it. You remember wanting to be angry with him, but, in reality, all you felt was a deep, profound sadness — because you could tell just by the sound of his voice that this wasn’t the same Sam who left for the Air Force all those years ago. This isn’t the Sam you fell in love with. So, even though it was the hard thing to do, you let him go. 

You didn’t see Sam again until Darlene passed away two years later. After the funeral, Sam asked if you wanted to grab a drink. And even though your brain was screaming at you to stay away from the man who broke your heart — you couldn’t say no. He was surprised to hear you weren’t seeing anyone, and you were just as surprised that he wasn’t dating. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you realized that, although the Sam sitting in front of you was a little bit older and a little bit wiser, he still had the same boyish charm that made you fall in love with him all those years ago. And your heart almost stopped in your chest when he said the six words you haven’t been able to stop thinking about: love you, miss you, mean it. 

“I do feel loved.”

“It’s not enough to just feel it in your dreams.”

The words made you stop in your tracks. It’s been five years since you heard from Sam Wilson — the longest you’ve gone without speaking since you met him at sixteen years old. After the two of you reconnected after Darlene’s funeral, you and Sam kept in touch with the hope that one day, this tender, unspoken thing between the two would turn into something more permanent; however, for now, you both had responsibilities — Sam was the head of PTSD counseling at the Department of Veteran Affairs, and you were now a co-owner of Wilson Family Seafood. But then Sam met Steve Rogers, and his whole world seemed to turn upside down. You remember watching the news, clutching Sarah’s hand as the anchor explained that there was now a global manhunt for three men after a bombing in Vienna: James Buchanan Barnes, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson. And suddenly, your little dream life together seemed to slip right between your fingers — after all, your high school sweetheart was now a wanted fugitive. Sam couldn’t risk contacting you while on the run with Steve and Natasha. And even though all he wanted was to call you and explain his side of the story — explain that he only did what he knew was right — he didn't. It wasn’t until they ended up in Wakanda with Thanos on their heels that he finally reached out. He was pretty sure that this was it for him — he wasn’t a super soldier, he wasn’t magical or enhanced, he was just a man with metal wings. So, Sam sent you a message before he was thrown into another war because even if it was the last time you heard from him, he needed you to know that six words were still weighing on his heart: love you, miss you, mean it.

“Sarah…”

You trail off because you’re unsure how to respond — because you know she’s right. Sam sent that message five years ago. You didn’t believe he was gone until Steve Rogers showed up on your doorstep with a box of Sam’s belongings. There weren’t many items, but Steve thought it was best that you received them — after all, missing you was all he talked about during their time on the run together. After Steve left, you opened the box and pulled out Sam’s old pararescue sweatshirt, a few unsent letters, his father’s watch, and a handful of photos: one you had taken of Sarah, AJ, and Cass on an old fishing boat, an old picture of Riley and Sam in full tactical gear while on deployment, another of Sam standing between Steve and Natasha at some sort of party, and lastly one of you and him sitting side-by-side on shiny bleachers together after his senior year championship game. With misty eyes, you put the photos on your refrigerator and pulled on his sweatshirt — desperate to feel close to your lost love in any way possible.

“He’s gone, honey.”

You know her words come from a place of love — from a place of understanding. Sarah understands the grief you're experiencing better than anyone else. She not only lost her brother in the Blip but also her husband a year before due to a sudden car accident. Everyone else in your life told you to move on, but Sarah knows that six words keep you securely planted in the past. She watched as you threw yourself into your responsibilities to cope: draining your savings account to keep the restaurant afloat while moving in with her to help raise AJ and Cass. But she also noticed how eager you were to slip away when things were quiet at the end of the day. She knew it was so you could see Sam again. You relive your favorite moments in your dreams: kissing him for the first time while parked in your driveway, Sam surprising you at work during his deployments, dancing all night together at Sarah’s wedding. It’s not the same — it’ll never be the same — but it’s the closest you’ll get to having him back. 

“I’m not ready to move on yet.”

You’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready to move on. You’ve loved Sam Wilson since you were sixteen years old. Through life’s highs and lows, through steadiness and imbalance — it was always Sam. It will always be Sam. Sarah gives you a gentle, knowing smile. She knows. Of course, she knows. She’s confident that if Sam were in your place, he’d be just as distraught because the hardest years of Sam's life were the ones after he pushed you away after Riley passed. Even though he was sure everyone in Delacroix was better off without him, Sam would call Sarah once a month to check in with everyone. She could hear the pain in her brother’s voice every time he asked about you — no matter how much time passed, you were an open wound that never seemed to heal. But even though Sam was hurting, all he wanted was for you to be happy — even if it was without him. 

“And that’s okay. Just know that Sam would want you to be happy.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Your chest suddenly feels like it’s about to cave in under the weight of your grief. Luckily, you’re saved from the conversation by the sound of the door opening. The lull in the afternoon lunch rush ended, and so did your discussion. Still, you spent the rest of your shift thinking about it. Sarah offers to close up for the night, and you’re grateful. You desperately need to go lay down — you feel absolutely drained after your shift, and Sarah’s words are still rattling around in your brain. The air is thick and sticky as you walk the empty streets of Delacroix. Even though it's halfway through October, the pervasive southern humidity has yet to disperse. A wave of relief washes over you as you enter the small, air-conditioned home you now share with the remaining members of the Wilson family. You kick off your shoes at the door, toss your keys on the kitchen counter, and collapse onto the couch in your living room. AJ and Cass are spending the night at a friend’s house, so your home is uncharacteristically quiet — that is, until your phone starts ringing. You pick it up off the coffee table with a deep sigh, and your brow furrows as you recognize the area code: Upstate New York. Usually, you’d send it straight to voicemail, but your finger hesitates on the decline button. Against your better judgment, you accept the call.

Your heart stops as you listen to a nurse explain the situation on the other end. Sam Wilson was just admitted to their hospital after taking one hell of a beating with his fellow Avengers, and you were contacted since you’re still listed as his emergency contact. You thank the nurse for the information before hanging up. Your hands tremble as you place your phone back on the coffee table. For a few moments, all you can do is focus on breathing in and out. A part of you thinks this is a dream — that any moment now, you’ll wake up alone in your living room with an aching in your chest. But that moment doesn’t come. You simply sit on your couch, staring at your phone while time slowly passes until Sarah eventually comes home. She’s concerned when you don’t answer her question as she opens the door, and panic rushes through her veins once she spots you sitting in the living room — your expression holds an ocean of emotions fighting for dominance as you stare at the coffee table.

“What’s wrong?”

“I got a call. Sam’s at a hospital in Upstate New York.”

“What?”

Sarah collapses next to you on the couch. You both sit in silence for several moments. Sarah’s at a loss for words, and you’re still not sure this is real. But what if it is? What if Sam is really lying in a hospital bed in Upstate New York right now? You have to chance it, right? Sam would. 

“I need to go.”

Sarah finally looks at you. Tears are streaming down her face, but her expression is one of unbridled joy. After everything she’s lost — after praying every single night to a God she stopped believing in long ago — she finally received a miracle. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I know.”

You’re out the door in under five minutes after haphazardly throwing clothing into an old backpack along with your essentials. You give Sarah one last hug before tossing the bag into the passenger seat of your car. The ride is torturously long. It takes you a full day of driving to make it to the address the nurse provided, but you refuse to stop. You can rest when you get there — once you see Sam with your own eyes. Your hands shake as you enter the hospital and approach the front desk. You feel idiotic giving Sam’s name when the lady behind the counter asks who you’re here to visit, but she simply smiles at you before writing down a room number. Exhaustion has settled deep into your bones, but you push yourself forward, putting one foot in front of the other until you find yourself outside room 335. You knock your fist against the door, and your heart lurches as you hear a response from the other side. After taking a deep breath, you open the door, and you get the wind knocked out of your lungs — as if you’ve been sucker-punched in the chest.

Lying in a hospital bed, looking a little worse for wear, was Sam Wilson. There is a long line of stitches on the left side of his face, a deep purple bruise is forming under his right eye, and his toned abdomen is wrapped in bandages and gauze, but it’s undeniably him. 

“Sam?”

His face immediately softens, and if he could, he’d cross the room in a heartbeat just to wrap you up in his arms. Tears well up in his eyes as he takes in your appearance. You know you look older, but he looks exactly the same beneath the injuries. Still, he looks at you as if no time has passed — as if you are still the bright-eyed, naive sophomore falling in love with the dangerously charismatic basketball captain. 

“Hey, baby.”

His voice sounds like home. And in this moment, even though your mind is foggy and your knees are on the verge of buckling, you thank whatever higher power sent him back to you. Sam’s brow furrows as he clocks the noticeable fatigue in your movements.

“Come here.”

He gestures to a chair next to his bedside. You immediately do as he says, and your muscles breathe a sigh of relief as you sit down. Sam painfully repositions himself closer to you and immediately reaches out. You melt into his touch as he brushes his knuckles against your cheek. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

A laugh escapes you due to the absurdity of his question. He’s currently lying in a hospital bed after five years of being presumed dead, looking frailer than you’ve ever seen him, and yet, he’s only worried about you. 

“You’re ridiculous, Sam.” 

A smile spreads across Sam’s face as you catch his hand and intertwine your fingers. You hold onto him with a tight grip — afraid that if you let up, he’ll slip right between your fingers again. His smile fades at the realization, and Sam’s gaze is brimming with concern.

“How long was I gone?”

“Five years.”

You don’t look at him as you answer, but you can feel his body shudder in response. He takes a shaky breath, attempting to process that information as you rub your thumb across his swollen knuckles. You’re the only thing grounding him in reality at this moment. 

“Is everyone okay? Sarah, AJ, Cass?”

You nod, finally meeting his frantic gaze. 

“Everyone’s fine. They’re back in Delacroix looking after the restaurant. I took care of them.”

“Who took care of you?”

Sam’s face falls as you press your cheek to the back of his hand, avoiding eye contact. That’s enough to answer his question. You’ve been strong your whole lie. Stronger than you ever gave yourself credit for — stronger than him. While he ran off to war, you stayed and fought to keep everything together at home. He realized long ago that he left you with the toughest battle, and he promised himself while on the run that he’d help relieve your burden once he cleared his name — he promised himself that he’d finally come home to you. But then Thanos snapped his goddamn fingers, and everything after that was a blur. Apparently, he has to add going MIA for five years to his long list of things to make up for. And there’s no time like the present to start making amends. 

“I wanted to call you every day after Hydra — after Vienna. I hope you know that I never stopped thinking about you. I tried to get a message to you before everything…”

Sam trails off, and his eyes glaze over as a faraway look sweeps over his expression. Your hand tightens around his as you realize you have no idea what he’s done— what he’s witnessed — since you last spoke to him. You’ve both been through hell, but somehow — some way — you made your way back to each other. That has to mean something.

“I got the message.”

Sam’s face twists into confusion as you let go of his hand and pull four photographs out of your backpack. You offer them to him, and Sam grabs them with trembling fingers. A small, sad smile spreads across his face as he recognizes them from his locker at the Avengers compound. 

“How did you get these?”

“Steve.”

Sam should have known that Steve would seek you out after the dust settled — after they counted their losses. He was a soldier, after all; he knew the protocol. He nods as he admires the old photo of you and him: what he would give to go back, to have that time with you again.

“Listen, five years is a long time. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through or what you’ve done to get by.”

There’s a heaviness in Sam’s tone, and as he avoids eye contact with you, you realize he’s trying to ask if you’ve moved on. He wouldn’t fault you for creating a life without him — but little does he know, you’ve been waiting for him against all odds in Delacroix the whole time.

“Sam…”

Hope reignites in Sam’s chest as you wrap your hand around his again and drag your chair closer to him. It’s the first time he’s felt that old, forgotten emotion since he kissed you beneath the fairy lights of that bar by the docks. And just like that night, six words burn in his chest as he looks at you with pure adoration.

“I love you, miss you, mean it, baby.”

A bright smile spreads across your face as the words grace your ears. You never thought you’d hear them again. 

“Still?”

His smile rivals your own — and the sight jumpstarts the process of stitching your shattered heart back together. His gaze is incredulous as he cocks his head at your words — as if it was the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. 

Still? 

Sam could never dream of loving someone else. His heart has been yours since he was seventeen years old.

“Always.”

And then you close the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, the years of loss and longing melt away. And even though every muscle in his body aches, Sam holds you like his life depends on it. He has a lot to apologize for — a lot of time to make up — but, for right now, this tender moment with you is enough. Because it’s just you and him. It always has been, and it always will be.

[aangelinakii]

ALWAYS GONE IN A FLASH.

— no more lies.

summary : you start dating this amazing guy, but soon enough you notice he just doesn't have the time anymore. now you're going to demand answers.

note : this literally took ten thousand billion years to write

after a long week, dinner with your new boyfriend was the first thing you needed.

home-cooked food — round yours, of course, because last month you ate at his. both of you put in a little bit of effort to cook an orzo dish you'd stumbled across in a magazine at the doctor's office the other day.

barry was setting out the table, spoons and forks and folded kitchen napkins printed with cats, whilst you dished out into navy bowls.

"one dish for the mister," you hummed as you came around the table to where barry had sat down, setting his bowl in front of him and your own in front of your chair.

barry let out a content sigh, eyes drifting up to look at you in the dim lamplight from his dish. "i can already tell this is going to be amazing. you never fail to impress me." he hovered himself out of his chair slightly and leaned across the table to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

a bashful laugh followed your smile as he pulled away, sitting back in his seat. "hey, i can't take all the credit — you filled the pan with water."

"that i did," barry grinned, picking up his fork and shovelling up some orzo and sliced peppers. "that i did."

the past six months with barry allen had been nothing but fun. that day you'd met in the vegetable aisle of the supermarket, you'd never expected this — a companion, a best friend, as well as a kind boyfriend to spoil you with compliments and his time and energy.

however, something you'd certainly caught onto was the fact he'd always be needing to go somewhere.

movie night? just as you're sitting down with the popcorn, fresh and warm, film ready to start, he looks at his watch and grimaces. he's got to go.

gym date? he's spotting your exercise when suddenly his hands move from view, and you want to look back at him to see what he's doing, but you don't want to break something — but you know he's looking at his watch, and your date will be cut immensely short.

restaurant? you've just ordered and your drinks have only just come, yet his watch pings and he needs to leave.

even a fool could notice something dodgy with him, not that you'd want to admit barry could be anything but a green flag.

as you dug into your food, the warmth and softness of it all easing the tension you'd accumulated in your muscles over the long week, you noted barry had gone quiet. with a glance up you found his stare upon his wrist, face illuminated by a digital glow. his fork fell with a clatter into his bowl.

he was about to leave.

"hey—" before he could do anything, your insecurities leapt forward, though you wouldn't call them insecurities as such. you were worried; perhaps slightly insecure about what he was doing, where he was always going. but this time you couldn't keep it in. "oh, no you don't."

barry's eyebrows furrowed. you'd never had a fight yet, and you could tell he was taken aback by the sternness of your tone. "i need—"

"no," you shot back before he could finish anything he'd been planning to say. "no, i haven't seen you all week, and it's been a fucking bad week. you can't just leave."

"you don't understand—"

"exactly, barry, i don't understand." the fork in your grip trembled, knuckles morphing white. "you've been doing this for the past six months. i really don't understand."

despite your quivering brow and clenched fist on the table, barry seemed to turn a blind eye, chair scraping against the floor as he got to his feet.

perhaps dismissing it was better than actually facing the situation.

"i don't have time to explain right now," he was saying, turning away from you, tapping away at his digital watch. "i need to leave."

if he left now you'd be worrying all night — or until the next time you two spoke — that he was okay, that your relationship was okay. if you let him leave.

maybe it worked better in the movies, in the heart-throbbing novels, but now was your chance; to make things right, to learn the truth.

just as he was about to leave the room, leave his bowl of orzo, leave you (again), you jumped from your chair and chased him down — though it didn't seem he was trying too hard to run away. maybe he wanted this, maybe he knew it was right.

fingers grazed wrist, barry stopped walking. in fact, he even turned to face you, though his eyes stayed from your face. they even looked sad. guilty, maybe.

there you stood, staring up at his face while he desperately tried to not look at yours, fingers clamped around his wrist, with everything to say but no known way to say it.

jaw hung, tongue tied, your eyes lingered on the dismissive expression on barry's face; his furrowed eyebrows, something curling at his lip.

"you've stopped now," you managed to push out after moments of pushing. "you've stopped."

but, instead of responding, barry's eyelids fell over the beautiful blue you often found yourself getting lost in.

"can you just — i don't know — be honest?" you suggested, fingers squeezing lightly on his wrist again. beneath the pads of your fingertips, his veins pulsed quickly, a throb beneath your skin. "you're usually so good, but when it comes to this... thing — i don't even know what happens."

then he did the last thing you expected.

a dry laugh huffed past those lips of his. when you first kissed them your heart had been thumping against the cage of your ribs, the cage of all the emotions you'd been attempting and failing to suppress.

how could he be laughing in a moment like this?

"you'd think i'm stupid," barry finally spoke after many more beats, each hammer of your heart against your chest growing frantic — why is he laughing? what does he mean?

finally you pulled your hand away, certain he would stay in his place now. "i think you're more stupid not telling me."

barry brought a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, eyes still positioned anywhere but your face. "no, seriously, you'll think i'm making shit up as an excuse or something."

stubborn as ever, you crossed your arms over your chest and took a step forward, until barry had no choice but to meet your eyes. "try me."

his stare bore deeply into yours, and you could almost feel yourself break, the want to shrink back into yourself and take everything back — and let him leave — beginning to overwhelm.

then the corner of his mouth began to curl, and he broke away. his hand went into his pocket; when it came out his fingers were curled around something. "you don't have to believe me, but just know i'm telling the truth."

when his palm opened up, you had to lean down to get a closer look at what was sitting in the centre. a small ring, although big enough to fit on his middle finger; gold band that shone in the overhead apartment light; right where the karat-diamond might be on an engagement ring sat a red emblem, the home of a shiny gold lightning bolt. it seemed familiar, but you couldn't place it right now.

with a shrug, you looked back up at barry, jutting out your bottom lip.

"what does this look like to you?"

stupid question.

"a ring," you snickered.

barry's thumb moved towards where the ring sat on his hand, and, in an instant, your boyfriend was gone. instead — you recognised his eyes — he was donned in a red suit, electricity crackling along his muscles and an air of urgency brushing through your hair.

a stumble, your jaw dropped low, mouth hung wide.

the same symbol from the ring sat atop his chest.

the flash.

your hands shot up to your mouth. every profanity you could think of wanted to spill through, but nothing seemed to pass your teeth.

barry — the flash — gave a soft, downturned smile, his periwinkle blue eyes glinting. he held out a red-covered hand to you, though he could tell you were reluctant to take it. "i'm really sorry i haven't told you, that i've been keeping secrets, telling lies... everything. it's a big deal. i mean, you knowing who i am now. i need to know i can trust you."

trust? what did he know about trust? six months and he hadn't told you this? you're dating the flash, and you're only just finding out?

"it's a big ask, i know," he continued, hand remaining outstretched. "and i'll be more honest, but..." he took a look at his wrist, at the digital band watch. "i actually do have to get going. something's happening up in metropolis."

"metropolis?" was the first thing you thought to say. "how will you get there?"

the smile upon barry's lips brightened a tad, and he brought his hand up to point at the lightning bolt on his chest.

"right," you chuckled. the words trailed off, but your eyes continued to examine this new version of your boyfriend. "i... suppose i understand. just— be safe, okay?"

one step, two step.

"i really value our relationship, barry."

barry's smile widened again, his eyes bright from behind the mask. "i value you, too. and, hey, i've stayed safe so far, haven't i?"

with one final step, you closed the gap between the two of you, engulfing your arms around his muscular, lean frame, the material of his suit seeming to fizz beneath you.

"yeah, well..." with a sigh, you pulled away, remaining a hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze. "good luck."

then he was gone, leaving you with a rush in your chest, the front door open, and still-warm food on the dining table.

[pjsk-ships]

admin moon please give me ur mafuemu headcanons :3 (/not forced)

OH. Uh. Sure?

In the future, Emu eventually buys them a house. She has Mafuyu look at places with her, then buys the one Mafuyu seems to like the most with no actual care for her own desires for the place, bc "well, I grew up without needing to really want. So." Mafuyu then begs her to give opinions and they buy another house (they give the first one to MMJ for free so they can keep up dreams of supporting idols).

Mafuyu learns how to stop their mask because of Emu. All it takes is a slightly concerned look and the mask drops. This is how everyone outside of Nightcord learns about Mafuyu's masking. On the flip side of it, Mafuyu relearns some emotions because they can't mask the inability to feel.

Emu spoils Mafuyu until all of Niigo helps Mafuyu start spoiling Emu. Emu is not ready for the whiplash of being pampered. (She sets a rule: one big "spoil your partner" per 6 months.)

In during the 3rd high school year for Mafuyu, no one in school believed Emu is actually dating Mafuyu. EVEN WHEN MAFUYU SAYS IT THEMSELVES. It literally takes Mafuyu getting so fed up with people not believing and they just kiss in the council room. Emu melts instantly, and surprisingly is extremely embarrassed and flustered after.

Mafuyu writes songs as OWN again - but this time it's all love songs. Kanade helps with a lot of them, and most of the get labelled as "OWN feat Nightcord".

Rui convinces most of the cast to participate in one play. All as an elaborate rouse to get MafuEmu kissing on stage with photos because Hinata asked him to. (Mizuki is the right hand woman in getting this running, and they find the innocence that "Rui wouldn't scheme using scripts" hilarious).

Emu will ONLY breakdown without coaxing if Mafuyu is around. The first time Tsukasa watched Emu just break down because Mafuyu told her it was okay to cry startled him. But then he thanked Mafuyu (they had no clue why).

Emu panicked on their first date and took them to Phoenix Wonderland. Mafuyu found it adorable that it was her default place.

The first kiss was the kiss mentioned in HC number 4.

Emu once (on accident) roasted Mafuyu's mom to her face. She said "If you want what's best for Mafuyu, why are you still here." For a solid 10 minutes, Mizuki and Rui were laughing as Tsukasa tried to damage control with Mafuyu's mom. Kanade got Mafuyu and Emu away from the woman in the chaos. (Emu felt terrible, even knowing Mafuyu's mom was part of the issue).

They watch Vtubers like CyYu and Sylla together. Specifically the collabs.

Mafuyu can out rhythm game Emu. Toya found it funny (he was passing by the arcade).

The first person to realise they were dating was actually Akito. And he knew it before them. He mentioned "man, ena could draw the best romantic scene with you two" and Emu took a second before asking "why?". Akito spent 3 hours helping them realise.

Their first double date was MizuAn (Mizuki begged An for help and that happened). It was honestly the strangest date they ever had, but they both cherished the moment An got so excited that she kissed Mizuki and accidentally gave her a crisis. Because it was spurred by Mafuyu cuddling and kissing Emu. So that was funny.

Kanade once woke up to Mafuyu cuddling Emu. When she asked what happened, Emu just said "they texted that they missed me. I came in through the window." Kanade made a key for Emu after that.

I have more, but for pure canon timeline ones, that's roughly it. Hope that's enough for you, anon.

— Admin Moon

[mistythedritten]

Fic Monday

FarfaDream has returned and as @morgueofstories asked for all those months ago (March 20ish, 2024), there is a ----! (no spoilers, but it's a good thing promise)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48531640/chapters/161818300

It's not inserting, so someone please remind me later to fix it

[whatudottu]

If I thought the Transformers (Aligned) timeline was convoluted, god the Trollhunters timeline is fucked beyond all hell, and worse of all because they use Merlin - bloody MERLIN - as a character that created the amulet there's an upper limit of time Trollhunters have existed before, heck even Myrddin Wyllt his welsh name (and canonical alternate name in the show), Merlin stops being the Merlin from human myth and starts becoming Merlin a similarly named folkloric character in troll myth-

I wonder if I, a fan coming in at minimum 2023, am arriving to this a little late but- if this isn't going to be a timeline rewrite then let me complain about how specific canonical details contradict with one another, including the glaringly obvious issue of Wizard's addition to the timeline, making Deya the Deliverer the first Trollhunter and thus practically erasing most of the historical Trollhunters or conforming to fit them all in a timeline of 900ish years.

I'll address the elephant in the room when we get to it, but let's set up the basics, both for me and any viewer not already in the know (given that my audience is mostly from transformers and ben 10, I'd say it's a lot of you).

Trolls and humans got off to a bad start, humans living on the surface and trolls having originated from a realm called the Darklands, accessible from a bridge (a gateway) Kilahead bridge. Like with any civilisation there are good and bad trolls, the baddest being Orlagk the Oppressor, leader of the Gumm-Gumms. Having been introduced to the surface, trolls fought with the humans who already lived on it creating the War for the Surface Lands, and their fighting lead the first Heartstone (a gigantic magical gem that serves as the centre of troll caverns, healing them and providing power) to corrupt and birth Gunmar. This war lasted for millennia, Gunmar taking over leadership of the Gumm-Gumms after slaying Orlagk at some vague point, up until the Battle of Kilahead Bridge where the Gumm-Gumms were sealed away in the Darklands again thanks to the Trollhunter Deya the Deliverer.

Okay, sure, that doesn't sound very bad at first, up until you realise that the Battle of Kilahead Bridge was 900 years prior to the series (2016 was it's release date) and thus in the year 1116 AD give or take; the legend of Merlin as a magician, a wizard, was in the 12th century which would've been instead at minimum 1300 AD that's 200 years of difference. Not to mention Angor Rot - a character and antagonist in the show - came begging for magic to stop Gunmar's armies from destroying more and more independant troll tribes, like his own, in 1200 AD at least. Why in the fucking hell would Angor Rot bother to risk his own soul asking for magic, from a sorcerer known as (among many things) the Eldritch Queen, if Gunmar and his Gumm-Gumms were already kept within the Darklands. Gunmar's son Bular, the one Gumm-Gumm to not be banished, is surely not that much of a threat to not one but multiple villages it would send someone to the doorstep of the Pale Lady. In addition, Angor Rot was responsible for killing at least a few Trollhunters, one known and named being Voltar the Voracious, who was the only Trollhunter given an exact year of choosing in 1578. And the fucker is listed BEFORE Deya on the wiki but that alone doesn't mean anything, however she does die in 1620 to Bular, 396 years before the show.

Alright then, so you look at Merlin's mythological existence and go 'now what about the whole thing about millenia' because 12th century doesn't allow the War for the Surface Lands to have a Trollhunter, even with 11 named Trollhunters that come presumably before Deya (Unkar the Unfortunate, despite being trained by Blinky who in human standards - assuming his human body tells us his age - is probably about middle age give or take, fought in the time Gumm-Gumms were still around even if slain by Bular). Given that Trollhunters itself references Merlin's original Welsh name Myrddin (and his in show last name is Ambrosius, which would be Emyrs in the original Welsh, as opposed to Wyllt for 'of the wild), I thought that potentially looking into when Myrddin first came around I would be able to get a better timeline; Myrddin Wyllt was said to have been born - and not just the legend - in 540 AD, which gives between that and 2016 1476 years to work with, allowing the 400ish years ago that Deya died (and the 438 years from when Voltar had the amulet) and the millenia's worth of war the War for the Surface Lands took.

Done deal, right?

Well guess what, some fucker named Spar the Spiteful (not even the first Trollhunter like Deya so proclaims to be) died 5200 years before Jim, our protagonist and first HUMAN Trollhunter, ever picked up the mantle. 5200 years before 2016 is the bloody fucking 4th millenium BC. This period included the beginnings of the Bronze Age, and was the bloody time WRITING was invented! And in Spar's time, there was no DOMESTIC HORSES! HORSE RIDING DIDN'T BLOODY EXIST WHEN SPAR DIED HOW FUCKED IT THAT!?

God FUCKING DAMN IT!

Fine, I can work with this.

Merlin in the show is all the old man we think of him as in myth, but he's also still old when we go back in time to when the Battle of Kilahead Bridge takes place, albeit it without a full head of grey hairs (how does the old man age more than his teen/young adult apprentice) potentially as a young sorcerer/wizard/whatever they use these terms interchangeably, Merlin or Myrddin created the Amulet of Daylight. You could even give more wriggle room between whenever trolls came to the surface and when Merlin made the amulet, because although Orlagk was a figure explicitly older than Gunmar, there is no mention of an amulet without Gunmar simply a time when he was still not a leader. In fact, given that Merlin's original name - Myrddin - came from a riddle designed with the intent to kill Gunmar, a piece informing the Trollhunter teams how to kill Gunmar rather than Orlagk the original leader, perhaps it's befitting to make Myrddin technically younger than the trolls; given that the original purpose of the Amulet of Daylight was not to kill Gunmar but to protect trolls, seeing as how one of the keys to Gunmar's destruction is a Triumbric Stone (one of 3) that resulted in the death of Orlagk, the amulet can date to before Gunmar and have been made after the Gumm-Gumms took out their rage on other trolls instead of humans alone.

The Trollhunter after Spar the Spiteful was Boraz the Bold, named that specifically for taking on 1000 Gumm-Gumms, was killed by Bular who was - as I said - Gunmar's son. While that does not mean that Spar the previous Trollhunter existed before Bular did, it does mean that by the time Boraz was selected after Spar's position Bular was competent enough to slay a Trollhunter, especially one as 'Bold' as Boraz who felled a thousand Gumm-Gumms before falling to 1001. It would mean that his father Gunmar would be much older, potentially tracking further and further back in time and putting Orlagk's death deeper and deeper into the War for the Surface Lands, potentially even aligned Orlagk's death and the Triumbric Stone's creation to a period humans heard of Myrddin, the death of Orlagk potentially landing in 540 AD, perhaps even in 573 AD where an actual battle took place, the Battle of Arfderydd; this details a Riderch Hael, King of Alt Clut (Stratclyde, a Brittonic kingdom in northern... well... Britain, which got annexed in the 11th century AKA 1000 AD to become part of the emerging Kingdom of Scotland) slaughtering the forces of a Gwenddoleu ap Ceidio, Myrddin having gone mad watching that defeat.

The remaining named Trollhunters, ones that weren't explicitly dated and timed, are in a bullshit order on the Wiki that I just have to piece together what is being said to put together a timeline.

Maddrux the Many, he/him in the show and she/her in the comics, was canonically an active Trollhunter before another, Araknak the Agile, was either born or an actual functioning adult; Araknak is the ancestor of the previously mentioned (and assumed to be) middle aged Blinkous Galadrigal and his brother (an older brother or twin depending on who you quote) Dictatious Maximus Galadrigal, the pair being present for the Battle of Kilahead Bridge and still alive by 2016 and idk about Tatious but Blinky appears in 2017 or at least whenever RoTT takes place. To use the term ancestor instead of grandparent or even parent, which technically ancestor can be used on either anyway, means that the exact family history is undetermined. However, we can place Maddrux at the very least on the timeline where Orlagk was still active in, seeing as that was her major enemy in the comics.

At the end of her service instead of going directly to Araknak, a Trollhunter preceded him in Magmar the Molten, the only known mountain troll to be a wielder of Daylight. Interesting to note, Araknak learnt from Magmar a certain combat move so, even before his selection by the amulet Araknak was already preferring the lifestyle of a warrior in comparison to his scholar parents; a trait that outlasted the warrior spirit and descended to the Galadrigals however many years later. Mentioned specifically as preceding not only Araknak but Tellad-Urr, we have another date to place as Tellad-Urr the Triumphant - very soon to be Tellad-Urr the Terrible - was active until 501 CE where Orlagk was still alive; how convientient. It helps that Gogun the Gentle - his immediate successor - would be the only Trollhunter to die of old age, potentially because Gunmar was too busy killing Orlagk and Orlagk too busy being dead for either of them to do anything.

Hopefully Gogun was already an old fart because the oldest recorded troll Chokeenamaga lived to 5352 years and I have no idea if that's slightly above average, notably old, or specific to a troll type (like for example, mountain trolls may have the longest average lifespan of all trollkin), and it's not like I can look at the show for any reference because Draal the Deadly, son of Kanjigar the Couragous and the previous Trollhunter did not age between 900 years yet there are no troll whelps in modern Trollmarket, let alone the fact that the Battle of Kilahead Bridge according to our established Trollhunters could not have happened before 1578 but must have happened between then and 1620. And Draal is an adult in modern day but is rather impulsive and I do not know if that is simply a troll trait or the trait of a twenty something year old that should've had a different design in the past but couldn't because of the limitations of 3D show animation (Prime fans would know or at least see visually that you can't just design a cybertronian version of a bot's root mode without things getting expensive, it's why Skyquake couldn't fly despite looking the same before and after alt mode acquisition).

Speaking of age, this is also the time where Aaarrrgghh!!! was a teenager, which either means that Blinky is actually much younger than Aaarrrgghh!!! or there is another Trollhunter or few between Araknak the Agile and Tellad-Urr the Terrible; 5200 years is a lot of grounds to cover, especially with a Trollhunter dying of age between it. Tellad-Urr has an appearance similar to Kanjigar, and given that it's a book cover rather than a 3D model there may be grounds for him being of the same tribe as Kanjigar if not an ancestor like Araknak to Blinky. It could work give or take, especially since 'ancestor' is less of an official word and more of a footnote for someone's opinion, but it isn't word of god nor anything found in any media.

And keeping with age (last one I promise) Gorgus the Gorgeous, referenced in terms used by modern trolls 'By Gorgus' or 'Great Gorgus', was one of the youngest Trollhunters to be chosen. Whether he was younger than Jim Lake Jr, 16 years old at his time of getting the amulet, depends on what the hell the age of 24 fucking means to a troll. Is it the equivalent of 24 years in troll years? If so then why the hell does he begin training 32 troll years later at age 56 if he wasn't chosen to have the amulet at 24 human years old. What is 24 human years to a troll. NotEnrique, a changeling (troll whelp cursed to change into a human, can do so at will) is canonically a few centuries old, and he is fresh from the Darklands after replacing a human baby Enrique. He at a few centuries old is able to throw and host a troll party at his age, and maybe changeling's age differently and a changeling hosting a troll party would be very new because haha discrimination, but no troll flinches at the concept. And a few centuries could be considered more than 2 (being a few it's already more than 1) so the more centuries you tack on to this college type frat party host the more and more Gorgus' age becomes terrifyingly young like exorbitantly so.

If a few centuries means 'ability to host a party where full grown trolls do keg stands' then 24 probably means whelp, baby, a fucking toddler by troll standards, assuming changelings follow troll aging standards against their human mimicking physical development standards. If a 24 year old Trollhunter is only ONE OF the youngest Trollhunters, who was the youngest? Predestined at bloody birth!? Gorgus started training at age 56, presumably when he was old enough to wield a sword, being trained by none other than Kanjigar himself; Gorgus died during training when a group of Gumm-Gumms attacked, an arrow hitting him in the head. If NotEnrique was an adult, or at the very least on the cusp of it, at a few centuries old - more than 1, probably more than 2 - then what of someone at age 56, less than a few centuries, less than one. Whether Kanjigar was a father at the time or not, loosing a kid under his guidance - to death no less - would've stuck with anyone. Why was this child sentenced to death, and so young too. One can argue all the Trollhunters to failed to live up to legacy, who became their own version of Unkar the Unfortunate, were sentenced to death and fated to die young. Gogun may have defied fate and beat the ticking clock, but Gorgus the Gorgeous - a gorgeous child, a son to parents that will never see their little boy again - proved that there is no outrunning the clock for the bells toll for thee.

If Unkar was before Gorgus, then it is to be presumed that by dying on his first night - after 6 hours of training - that Gorgus the Gorgeous was failed by Blinkous in the same way Unkar had been. The next Trollhunter in line was summoned too soon, so because of Blinky's failure the trolls against Gumm-Gumms were without a defender, potentially reducing the remaining candidates for better trainers by slaughtering them before the Trollhunter was of age. If Unkar was after Gorgus, then Kanjigar needed to step away from training, even as it was his task given to the aging elder Rundle, potentially a younger but very busy Vendel, an elder by proxy of everyone else dying on the edges of Gumm-Gumm blades. He couldn't sacrifice another child to death, and as the amulet falls onto the arrogant overconfident Unkar, Kanjigar could not bare to have stone dust on his hands again. Blinkous Galadrigal (there is no mention of Dictatious despite the presence of Gumm-Gumms in Unkar's time) is tasked to train Unkar, to teach him the tennants of Trollhunter and put to good use his scholarly teachings and pray that the soul of his Trollhunter ancestor guides him. Unfortunately - as Unkar will be enshrined in by title - you cannot let a scholar do a warrior's duty.

However way it plays out, Blinky was young (or at least younger), and his failure marked his reputation for centuries.

There is a Grimbald the Grave, trained with Kanjigar AND Deya, which would definitely place that before 1620 and potentially before 1578; Voltar wasn't mentioned to have been trained by either, but given that he was the last Trollhunter before Deya (at the very least in close proximity), Grimbald most likely came before. Now this seems like a non-issue, if you consider Grimbald against our timeline nothing seems to be wrong, potentially Kanjigar's age since he's been around for a while but his son's an adult in the modern day so he could potentially be older than Blinky who knows. But I have an elephant to address and since it's been so long since I brought it up it's been drinking tea this whole time.

Wizards, the third installment of the Tales of Arcadia series, sequel to Trollhunters, introduces to audiences that Deya the Deliverer was originally Callista the Calamity, a troll who's tribe had been wiped out by humans and had been living in human custody since she was a whelp (or of an age that she had forgotten her name). Deya makes the timeline such a mess, because her first appearance in the comics, she was of an age where Rundle - Vendel's father - was the elder of Glastonbury Tor Trollmarket at the time of Deya, the Trollmarket before Dwoza which is the Trollmarket before Arcadia. Rundle was around in 501 AD, but it was his father Kilfred who was the elder and his son Vendel was of age enough to help in consulting, however old that is. In Wizards however, Vendel was the elder of Dwoza before Deya was Deya and when Callista was still an outcast, and even then he was only the elder by proxy, signs of his father Rundle or of Kilfred missing. Of course however Rundle could have been elder of Dwoza, as his father before him was elder of Glastonbury Tor, simply that he was potentially slain potentially died of old age and that Vendel being one of the few older than most of the Dwozan trolls took over in his father's stead.

The issue with Deya is that I really like the Callista part of her backstory, of being an outsider, an outcast, in the world of trolls that still hated humanity but held a deeper fear of the Gumm-Gumms. Diaspora for trolls, Callista the Calamity is seen as a human pet despite her wanting to find her way home, a home she can never go back to because it had been destroyed long ago; the one place that she could be accepted don't because they see her as too human, a far cry to being called a monster by humans but certainly not relieving. But she had become Deya, and found her footing as the Deliverer, by turning the Trollhunter from a single force to fighting alone to rallying a bunch of... gravellors? (Whatever, I like to think of Dwoza as essentially a refugee tribe given it's diversity in comparison to the Krubera tribe who are only krubera and the Quagawump tribe who are only - save for the generic troll king Angor killed - quagawumps) to fight one last fight against the Gumm-Gumms and ending the War for the Surface Lands.

...SO... that probably means that Grimbald was trained exclusively by Kanjigar after the whole Unkar and/or Gorgus ordeal and eventually got the Trollhunter's amulet himself when Deya was slain, her sacrifice delivering the migrating trolls of Dwoza a chance to get to the New World (or the Americas). Oh and their migration was after Vendel and some king wrote a truce called 'The Pact', which - I mean - it's described as a feeble truce and with a name like that I don't blame it, where they promise to stop eating humans and limited their diet to cats and used clothes which well- they might've broke on the journey to the New World because hiding in the cramped ballast of a 1600s era boat isn't fun nor is it fast. But regardless-

I think for a sense of cohesion, let me pull out an almost timeline for this post.

Trolls who had previously been in the Darklands somehow get to the surface

Tensions between trolls and the already present humans grows beginning the War for the Surface Lands

The intensity of the war corrupts the first Heartstone, giving birth to Gunmar

A young wizard Myrddin creates the Amulet of Daylight and gifts it to the good trolls

Spar the Spiteful gets the amulet. He dies 5200 years ago

Boraz the Bold gets the amulet. He dies to Bular, Gunmar's son.

Maddrux the Many gets the amulet

Magmar the Molten, the first mountain troll Trollhunter, gets the amulet

Araknak the Agile, ancestor to Blinkous and Dictatious Galadrigal, gets the amulet

Tellad-Urr the Triumphant, turned Tellad-Urr the Terrible, gets the amulet. He is killed in 501 AD

Gogun the Gentle gets the amulet.

Orlagk the Oppressor is slain by Gunmar. Gunmar loses an eye

Gogun dies of old age.

Angor Rot makes a pact with the Pale Lady, trading his soul for her magic

Unkar the Unfortunate gets the amulet. He dies 6 hours later

Gorgus the Gorgeous, one of the youngest Trollhunters, gets the amulet. He dies at age 56

Grimbald gets the amulet

Voltar the Voracious, born of two minds, gets the amulet in 1578. He dies to Angor Rot and his soul is stolen

Deya the Deliverer, previously Callista the Calamity, gets the amulet

The Battle of Kilahead Bridge is fought. Gunmar is defeated and the Gumm-Gumms (+ Dictatious Galadrigal) are trapped in the Darklands

Deya dies against Bular, last remaining Gumm-Gumm on the surface, in 1620

Kanjigar the Couragous, trainer of many Trollhunters, gets the amulet. He dies to Bular in 2016

James Lake Junior gets the amulet, and the events of the series take place

So, members of the Trollhunter fandom, how'd I do? If you stuck around this long, welcome to my gimmick, long posts :)

Hoo boy how should I tag this?

[newtedison]

2024 Writing Year In Review

tagged by @persnickett :~) thanks friend

speeding 72 - january 27 - the maze runner, brenda/teresa (90% written in 2023 )

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” Brenda asks you. “Somewhere else. Somewhere we choose.” The stoplight reflecting in her eyes turns green, and you nod. You are Teresa Agnes, and you fall in love in the passenger's seat of a truck.

2. longing needs the leaving (loving needs the bleeding) - april 1 - the chronicles of narnia, caspian/peter

“You’re gone,” Caspian growls. “You’re never coming back.” “But I could!” Peter insists. “I could come back. The island can make it happen.” -- A reflection on Caspian's life and relationship with Peter, alternating between the events of Prince Caspian and The Dawn Treader.

3. my girl's girl - may 7 - the maze runner, teresa/brenda/minho

When Minho jokingly suggests that his girlfriend Brenda ask out her new coworker she seems quite smitten with, it turns into a real shift in their relationship.

4. survival is insufficient - september 29 - the maze runner, teresa/beth

Years after a deadly virus wipes out most of Earth’s population, Teresa roams the wastelands as The Traveling Doctor, offering her services from place to place rather than settling down at any one. When she comes across a new group led by the former firefighter Beth, she begins to question everything she thought she knew about her purpose in this new world.

honorary mention: put down your weapon, child - january 4, 2025 (was almost entirely written in 2024) - the maze runner, gen

He was trying to protect me, Chuck realizes. Just like Gally did. Just like Alby. He surprisingly thinks, for a moment, that he’s getting a little tired of people trying to protect him, if this is how it’s going to keep turning out. - Chuck survives the escape from the Maze. This is the trilogy through his eyes.

[bloomingonionbitch]

(how was your day at work? mine has me talking to my bathroom spider and promising her that we'll take her with us when we move).

[vv-ispy]

My #[media] talk tag was originally for when I have extremely unserious two lined thoughts about a media but then a certain murder mystery visual novel happened

[timeskip]

I'm a little nervous to edit the end of An Undefined Truth, because that means *the end.* I started writing it around 10 months ago (though it's almost exactly 6 months from publishing chapter 1 to now), so that's significant. I've spent a lot of time on it. It becomes a question of whether all that effort was worth it for the end product, and I of course believe it was. Conclusions are difficult though fjkdsjklgkjldsg

[meljwrites]

Not sure if you were already asked this but how did you get into Hollyoaks? Specifically Hayray? Was it through TikTok, YouTube etc? What has been your favourite moment of theirs so far?

I got into hollyoaks/hayray bc of tumblr actually! I saw a gifset of them bc one of the people i followed posted them - probably @/tylerposey or @/celebrategaylove . I actually remember vaguely older posts about them, like i remember seeing the pics of them in the folly for the pride episodes and I thought that they were on some cbbc show or something, and I remember seeing sooo many gifs of them tripping each other over when they were supposed to be teaching the year sevens football. Those ones caught my attention.

I think I must have seen a gif of their first kiss bc it was that week that I went to youtube and watched one of the playlists of all their scenes over two days and I have been insufferable about them ever since.

My favourite moments would have to be their first kiss and their first time. Both were so devastatingly sweet. And the folly pt.2 where they confessed their love.

I also love Lucas talking about Dillon in the church scene, and to John Paul, and the confrontation during pride. And when Lucas comes out to his dad. I am a sucker for angst and love confessions, clearly.

[scoliosisgoblin]

But fr all the VN games specifically yandere male love interest likely not gonna finish but understandable because it’s a small project and coding is not easy as it looks. What do you think?

eh, I get having a project and losing motivation to finish it. there's so many instances of that, and I got a shit ton of projects I never finished because of the lack of motivation or art/writer's block

there's really no problem with not finishing a game or taking years to do so. it's not an easy task in any way

BUT I do think you should be able to be annoyed at how long a game is taking to come out, you can be impatient, it's fine! I hate waiting a year for another season of Rick and Morty (and the next season's only coming out next year due to grinding too hard or something), and though I do complain about the wait, I can recognize that it's not an easy thing to do — ESPECIALLY when it's an indie show

indie games will take a long time to make, and that is perfectly fine. I'm impatient but am fine waiting years for a good game. I'm pretty sure the main reason why people are verbally impatient with the development of Your Boyfriend, is because the creators have no idea who Yb is and continuously change his character's lore for some reason. not only that but they're just TERRIBLE people