#so like. this took me a lot longer than i was expecting

[marysfics]

Through the Dust

Alexia Putellas x DownhillRacer!Reader

Status: Ongoing

Other Chapters: click here

This is a multichapter fic, and trust me, you’re in for one wild ride. Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Grief, Kisses, Smut.

Word count: 3.5k

Chapter 7: "Between the Words We’ve Yet to Speak"

The flight from your hometown to Barcelona felt longer than it should’ve. The anticipation, the excitement, the uncertainty—it all mingled inside you, creating a knot in your stomach. But there was something else too. Something warm and hopeful, like a part of you was being drawn to the city for the first time. You weren’t sure how much of it had to do with the place itself or with Alexia. Either way, you were on your way.

When you finally arrived in Spain, the weather was warmer than you expected, the sun shining brightly, a stark contrast to the chilly mountain air you had grown accustomed to. Alexia was waiting for you at the airport, her smile wide and genuine as soon as she spotted you among the crowd.

She was dressed casually, a soft sweater and jeans, but the way she looked at you, as if she hadn’t seen you in years, made everything around you fade. You could feel the weight of the last few weeks lift, replaced by a sense of peace that only her presence could bring.

“Hey,” she said softly as she pulled you into a hug, the scent of her perfume mixing with the fresh air. “Welcome to Barcelona.”

Your heart fluttered, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks. It’s… good to finally be here.”

“Let’s get you settled in,” Alexia said, pulling back slightly but keeping her hand on your arm. “I want to show you everything. And, if you’re up for it, maybe even let you stay at my place tonight.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at her words. “Your place?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, shrugging slightly. “You’re my guest, after all. You’ve come all this way, I should take care of you.”

Your cheeks flushed a little, unsure if it was the warmth of the city or the way she was looking at you that made you feel so nervous. But you nodded, managing to breathe out a smile. “Okay, I’d like that.”

As Alexia drove you through the vibrant streets of Barcelona, the city felt alive in a way that was hard to put into words. The sun reflected off the buildings, the hustle and bustle of the city mixing with the hum of the Spanish language, but all you could really focus on was the woman sitting beside you, her hand occasionally brushing against yours as she navigated the streets.

She took you to a small café for lunch, a cozy place tucked away in one of the quieter streets. It was here that you noticed how much Alexia loved this city. She spoke about it with such familiarity, the small details—the hidden gems, the quiet parks, the cafes where she liked to spend her afternoons. You loved how much she shared, how effortlessly she made you feel like part of it.

Afterward, she led you around the city, showing you the famous sights—the stunning architecture of La Sagrada Familia, the winding alleys of the Gothic Quarter, and the colorful mosaics of Park Güell. You walked together, talking and laughing, but there was an underlying tension between you that neither of you addressed—at least not yet.

As the sun began to set, casting an orange glow over the city, Alexia took you back to her apartment, a cozy two-bedroom flat in the heart of Barcelona. It was small but filled with warmth and character. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the windows let in the soft golden light of the late afternoon.

“Make yourself at home,” Alexia said, showing you to the guest bedroom. It was modest but comfortable, a few simple touches here and there that made it feel personal. You placed your bag on the bed, suddenly nervous as she lingered by the door, her hand on the frame.

“Hey, I know it’s a lot to take in,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours. “But… if you’re comfortable, you can stay here. I want you to. I want you to feel like you have a place here.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you tried to form the words you’d been wanting to say. “Alexia, I… I think I want to be more than just a visitor here. I want to be with you. Not just in this city, but… I want to be with you, with everything that means.”

She didn’t answer immediately, her eyes searching yours as if she were trying to read something she wasn’t sure she understood. Finally, she smiled, though it was a little unsure, and nodded. “I want that too.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in your chest slowly easing. You reached out, your hand gently touching hers, a quiet promise between you. “Good.”

You both stood there for a moment, the weight of your words hanging between you. The air felt charged with something unspoken, something new. Alexia’s gaze softened, and without another word, she closed the space between you. Her hand moved to the back of your neck, her fingers brushing against the skin there, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could even process it, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that stole the breath from your lungs. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as if both of you were testing the waters, unsure of how deep this new connection would go. But it didn’t take long for that hesitation to fade.

Your lips moved together more firmly, and you let yourself melt into the warmth of her embrace, the reality of what you’d just confessed sinking in. It felt right—natural, even. Every doubt, every fear about this being too soon, too fast, faded as you felt her heart beat against yours. She pulled you closer, deepening the kiss just enough for the moment to stretch on, each second building more and more intimacy between you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing a little heavier, a smile tugged at the corners of Alexia’s lips. Her eyes were brighter, more alive, and you felt a surge of relief flood through you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she whispered, her voice low and full of meaning.

Your cheeks warmed at her confession, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Me too.”

It felt like the beginning of something real, something that had always been there but was only now being fully realized. And as Alexia brushed a strand of hair from your face, you knew there was no turning back. This—whatever it was—had only just begun.

A playful glint entered your eyes as you teased her, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “So, I guess that makes you my girlfriend now, right?”

Alexia blinked, her eyes softening, then her lips curled into a grin. She stepped a little closer, her voice warm and full of affection. “I like the sound of that,” she said, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw. “I’m definitely okay with that.”

You both laughed, the tension from before easing away completely as the reality of your relationship began to settle in. It felt easy, natural, and with the way Alexia’s smile made your heart flutter, you knew that this was just the beginning of something truly special.

The next day, Alexia decided to take you to her family’s house. She’d spoken about them so much, about her mother, Eli, and her younger sister, Alba, and now, you were about to meet them.

As you arrived at her family’s home, a warm and welcoming house in a quiet neighborhood, you were greeted with open arms. Eli, Alexia’s mother, was a strong woman with a welcoming smile. She immediately pulled you into a hug, making you feel as if you’d known her for years.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” Eli said, her eyes kind as she held you at arm’s length. “Alexia talks about you all the time.”

You felt a slight blush creep up your neck. “She does?”

Eli chuckled softly. “Of course. You’ve made quite the impression on her.”

Alexia shot her mother a teasing look but didn’t comment, instead leading you to the living room where Alba was sitting, casually flipping through a magazine.

“Alba, this is the person I’ve been telling you about,” Alexia said, giving you a warm smile before turning to her sister.

Alba, still a little surprised, looked up at you with wide eyes. “So, you’re the one who’s made my sister act all weird and smiley?”

Alexia blushed at that, her hand brushing through her hair in a rare show of embarrassment. “Alba, come on…”

But Alba wasn’t letting it go that easily. “Seriously, I can tell. She never smiles like that unless she’s talking about something—someone—special.”

You laughed softly, feeling more at ease with Alexia’s family than you expected. But as the conversation continued, the mood shifted a little. Eli seemed to get a little quieter, her eyes going soft as she asked, “Alexia, do you ever talk about your father?”

Alexia stiffened slightly, her gaze flickering to you before back to her mother. “I do. Sometimes. Why?”

Eli’s voice was gentle as she placed a hand on Alexia’s. “I just think she’d like to know more about him. Where you come from, what shaped you.”

The conversation turned to stories about Alexia’s father, a man who had passed away years ago. You could tell how much it affected Alexia, the loss still fresh in her heart, but she shared what she could—the way he taught her how to ride a bike, how to fight for what she wanted, how to love fiercely. It was clear that, though he was gone, his memory lived on in the way Alexia carried herself.

As the conversation flowed, you could feel the weight of the memories in the room, the love and sadness mixed in Alexia’s eyes whenever she spoke about her father. She had clearly inherited his strength, his passion, and that same fire to fight for what mattered most. But there was also a soft vulnerability there, something raw, something you hadn’t seen before in Alexia.

Eli continued with the stories, sharing moments that made Alexia laugh softly, a few others that made her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She told you how Alexia’s father had always pushed her to pursue her dreams, no matter how difficult, how scary it seemed. And how, after he passed, Alexia had become the pillar of strength for their family.

"She was only a kid, but she stepped up like a grown woman," Eli said, her voice thick with emotion. "Her father would be so proud of who she’s become."

Alexia looked away for a moment, swallowing hard, her hand instinctively reaching for yours on the couch. You gently intertwined your fingers, offering her silent support, though you could sense the internal battle she was facing. She rarely spoke about her father in such depth, and it was clear that this conversation was both painful and cathartic for her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things heavy,” Alexia said, her voice softer, a little quieter than usual. She leaned into you just a little, seeking the comfort you always seemed to provide without even realizing it.

You gave her hand a gentle squeeze, offering her a reassuring smile. "It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I understand."

Eli’s eyes softened as she watched the two of you. "It’s just that… I know how much she’s been through," she said, looking at Alexia, then back at you. "But I also know she’s found something—someone—who makes her happy. And I can see it in her eyes when she looks at you."

Alba, ever the teasing younger sister, couldn’t resist. "Oh, please," she said, rolling her eyes playfully. "This is the most I've ever seen my sister blush. I swear, I’ve never seen her this… well, happy, I guess."

Alexia’s face turned bright red, and she swatted at her sister, laughing. "Alba, stop! You’re making it awkward."

You chuckled along with them, the warmth of the moment easing the weight of the earlier conversation. It felt good to see Alexia, who had always been so strong and composed, letting her guard down a little, sharing her past and her emotions with you.

After a few more light-hearted exchanges, the evening took a more relaxed turn. Alexia’s mother, Eli, offered to make dinner, and the three of you—plus Alba, who kept teasing Alexia in the most endearing way—settled into the kitchen. You helped, albeit clumsily, as Alexia and Alba bantered, clearly at ease with each other.

The evening was peaceful, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You realized that Alexia’s family, her mother, and sister, were more than just her past—they were an integral part of the person she had become. And, as you sat there, laughing over dinner, you began to feel like you were becoming part of that story too.

Later, as the evening drew to a close, and the two of you found yourselves sitting on her bed again back in her apartment, a quietness lingered between you and Alexia. The night was winding down, and the soft buzz of the city outside could be heard faintly in the background.

Alexia leaned closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder, her hand still clutching yours. The comfort of her touch, the intimacy of the moment, settled over you like a soft blanket.

"I think they like you," she whispered, her voice gentle, her fingers tracing soft patterns on your palm.

"I like them too," you replied, a small smile curling on your lips. "You’re lucky to have them."

Alexia looked up at you, her expression soft but conflicted. "Yeah, I am," she said, her voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite read. "But they’re right. My father… he’d be proud of me for having you in my life. And I want you to know that."

You felt a gentle tug at your heart as you processed her words. It was as if she was letting you into a part of her life that only a few people truly knew, and you wanted her to feel that same warmth, that same acceptance, from you.

“I think my sister would have said the same thing about me,” you replied softly, your voice steady but filled with meaning. “She always wanted me to find someone who saw me for who I really am… and I think she’d be proud of me, too, for being here with you.”

Alexia’s eyes softened at that, a quiet understanding passing between the two of you. It was in the way she looked at you, as if she could see the bond you shared with your sister, and maybe, just maybe, it helped her feel less alone with the loss of her own father.

There was something unspoken between the two of you now—this shared understanding of loss, of love, and of finding the people who would stand by you no matter what. It felt like you both had finally found that with each other, and that knowledge filled you with a quiet sense of peace.

She reached over and squeezed your hand, her touch warm and grounding. "I’m glad you’re here," she whispered, her eyes locking onto yours.

"I’m glad I’m here too," you whispered back, your heart full of something you couldn’t quite explain. But it was good. It was right.

That night, everything felt different. The quiet hum of the city outside blended with the soft rhythm of your breathing as you and Alexia sat on her bed, a magnetic pull between you both that was impossible to ignore. The tension that had been building up between you over the past few days was thick in the air, charging every touch, every glance. It was almost as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for what was about to happen.

Without a word, you closed the small distance, the space between you shrinking until there was nothing left but the weight of your hearts beating in sync. The moment felt inevitable, and it was in that split second, when everything in the world seemed to slow down, that you kissed her.

The kiss started slow, hesitant at first, but the urgency of it quickly took over. It deepened, a mix of longing and something more—something raw and powerful. Your hands found each other as if they'd always known where to go, your body pressing against hers as the kiss turned more desperate, more urgent.

When you pulled back for a moment, gasping for air, you both looked at each other. An unspoken understanding passed between you—this was real, this was happening. You could feel the heat between you, and there was no turning back now.

Alexia's eyes were soft, but full of admiration and something more, something that made your chest tighten. You could see it in her—her raw vulnerability, her need, and a quiet desire to be seen for who she truly was. You weren’t about to shy away from that.

You leaned in again, your lips capturing hers once more, this time with more intensity. As your kiss grew heavier, you felt her hands move down your body, slow and purposeful, pulling at the fabric of your shirt, eager to feel your skin. Your hands mirrored hers, tugging at the buttons of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders until the soft fabric slid down her arms, revealing the skin you had yearned to touch.

You both moved with a kind of urgency now, each of you needing the other in a way that words couldn’t express. You hovered above her as she lay back against the bed, her body yielding to the moment, her hands guiding you closer. You couldn’t help but admire the way she looked beneath you—her breath shallow, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own.

You began to knead your hands over her body, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the muscles that were a testament to her strength. She responded with a small moan, her back arching slightly as you worked your way down. When your hands reached the waistband of her pants, you felt her tense, her breath hitching in her throat. You paused, sensing the shift in her body, and pulled back slightly to look at her.

Her eyes met yours, vulnerable yet filled with trust, but there was something else in them too—something that made you hesitant. You could see the anxiety in her expression, the momentary insecurity that flashed across her face.

"Are you okay?" you whispered, your voice soft and steady, trying to read the emotions flickering across her features.

Alexia swallowed, her lips trembling just a little. "Yeah," she breathed out, her voice quieter than before. "I just... sometimes I get in my own head. About things people have said about me."

You nodded, understanding immediately. The world had been cruel to her before, making her feel less than she was, and it hurt you to see her struggle with those insecurities now. You leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"You’re beautiful," you whispered, your voice full of sincerity. "Exactly as you are."

The tension in her body eased slightly at your words, but she still looked uncertain, as if the fear of being judged was too big to ignore. You wanted to make her feel safe, wanted to make her feel like she didn’t have to be anything but herself with you.

“I’m here with you,” you murmured, your lips trailing over her jaw, down her neck. “And I want you—just as you are. No pretenses.”

Alexia’s hand found yours again, squeezing it tightly as she pulled you back to look at her. Her gaze was full of a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude, and for a moment, the world outside disappeared. It was just the two of you, with nothing else between you but the truth of what you shared.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice low, but full of certainty this time. “With you.”

And with that, you let go of all the doubts, all the insecurities. You kissed her once more, this time without hesitation, this time letting your bodies speak the words your hearts had been too scared to say before.

----------------------------------------------------------

End of chapter 7.

[marzipanandminutiae]

I DID IT

I AM CAUGHT UP ON THE HANDMAID'S TALE

EVEN THOUGH ALL OF SEASON 5 WAS A SLOG TO GET THROUGH

my god. I've never done so much Not Caring about a TV show as this past season. the story feels like it's just dragging on and on past a reasonable stopping point- June getting to Canada -especially since they said they're still adapting The Testaments next as of this past February

also the attempts by Lawrence to justify Gilead as "using religious zealots to save humanity" seems like a weird both-sides-ism that I've been worried about since the first mention of Gilead cutting their carbon emissions back in the earlier seasons of the show

for context, book!Gilead is lucky they lasted even the 20-ish years they're implied to have in the afterword of TT. they're climate change deniers, nobody ever has enough of anything- even the children of the Commanders, as the Hannah character of the books grows up, circulate the same clothing and toys amongst themselves and eat synthetic dairy products instead of the real deal -power cuts are frequent, Commanders' houses have guards everywhere because children being "kidnapped" by resistance members trying to get them out of Gilead is common, they're sending missionaries abroad to frantically proselytize because they're running out of fertile young women due to escapes and executions, and frankly everything holds together about as well as you'd expect for a wildly irrational dystopia that doesn't care about facts or logic

the show transforms them into a society with human rights abuses galore, but no other real issues. scarcity is hinted at a few times but never actually appears to impact characters' lives. everyone has beautifully-fitted matching outfits; you never see clothes being passed on to anyone else when someone no longer needs them. no major food groups seem to be lacking. and hey, they fixed climate change so well that Boston now sees Toronto-level snow every winter! (because that's...definitely how that works!)

maybe the showrunners felt that they needed to create a reason why anyone who wasn't a zealot would go along with Gilead, but they took out the main reason from the books: certain anti-porn feminists making a devil's bargain with the religious right, the whole phenomenon of the 1980s that made Atwood write the book to begin with

there aren't supposed to be Aspects In Which Gilead Is Good Actually. it's a dystopia. it's a commentary on negative aspects of our society. it doesn't have to be positive in any capacity

the show is really good at a lot of things- I especially liked the choice to make June decidedly Christian, even though it was probably made more to avoid criticism of the show as anti-Christian than to add character depth

but just like the last time I tried to watch it, I found myself getting less and less invested as the seasons went on

we'll see how the sixth and final season goes for me, I guess

[naberriess]

halloween with sam

word count: 362

cw: none!!

note: this is very short (longer than the stephen story i wrote though…) so YEAH its kind of more of a drabble than a story but thats FINEEEE who’s counting? pretend i released this 4 weeks ago instead of now…my silly brain came up with the idea too late. OH ALSO if anyone wants to be on my taglist for stuff like this PLEASEEEE let me know as i currently don’t have one but, of course, am open to having one 🤍

you invited sam over to your place for halloween, though it took a lot of convincing and puppy dog eyes for him to even consider saying yes to the idea. he was simply “too cool to pass out candy to little ungrateful brats,” as he liked to word it. though, once you did convince him, there were definitely compromises made.

“what are you wearing?” you questioned, once you opened the door to him in a black hooded robe, ghostface mask in one hand, fake knife in the other. he’d added his own touches by splattering fake blood over the mask and knife.

“i’m ghostface, obviously.” sam would reply, waving the mask in front of you to signify it.

you hadn’t expected sam to actually go out and buy a costume; he’d never mentioned that, only gave you a grumbling, whiny agreement to be there. to see him committing to participating fully made your heart soar, and he was quick to catch onto this.

“don’t get any ideas. i’m still not passing out candy, i have my own plan…” he’d speak, a small smirk on his face before he covered the expression with the mask.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

the night eventually darkened, kids came out to trick or treat, and you could see the outline of sam hiding in a bush (something normally due to his inebriated state, though this time he actually meant to). you could see as he watched for the next person to come up to the house, eventually the waiting seized as a group of children walked up to the house.

the children were slow to approach due to their own fear; there were enough scary decorations in the neighborhood already, your house wasn’t decorated the best anyways, which was what made sam jumping up from behind the bush and yelling even more scary for them. before the kids even got to the door, they had already run in the other direction.

with a roll of his eyes, sam walked back over to you, who was leaning against the open doorframe. even though the group of trick-or-treaters never got to the door, you couldn’t help the slightest smile from forming on your face at what had happened.

“bunch of scaredy cats…” sam started, lifting the mask up off his face as he spoke, before wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. “i have better ideas for how we can spend halloween anyways…”

[theywantedplayer]

Master list

PromptList

AN-this is longer than what I usually do I hope yall fuck with it since I haven't been writing lots bc I got exams in 2 weeks fm

You started noticing Nico acting differently—not just on the ice but also when it was just the two of you at home. He always had a nurturing attitude, which his teammates liked to tease him about by calling him "Mother Nico." He was always a caring and intuitive guy, picking up around the apartment even though you knew he had a stressful schedule during the NHL season.

He handled it all well, balancing everything quite skillfully. You’d often hear stories from your friends who were dating other players on the team about how their boyfriends always prioritized hockey, but Nico wasn’t like that.

Then, around the winter months, things started to change. He seemed slower, quieter, and less talkative like a dark cloud constantly hung over him. The Devils weren’t performing as well in the standings as usual, and Nico took it personally as the captain. He acted like the team’s struggles were entirely his fault, carrying the weight of it on his shoulders.

Nico had always been your rock. He let you talk to him about anything that was bothering you, offering a listening ear and unwavering support. But as the winter months set in, you started to realize that the dynamic only seemed to go one way. You could sense something was troubling him, but he never opened up about it.

Little things began to slip. He forgot whose turn it was to make dinner, skipped doing the laundry, or left the dishes undone—things he’d always been on top of. At first, you didn’t mind picking up the extra load, understanding how stressful the season must have been for him. But as October came, you decided it was time to bring it up. You never expected his reaction.

"I’ve noticed you’ve been off, and I’m worried about you," you finally said, folding laundry on the dining room table. Your voice was calm but firm, wanting to make your concern seen.

"What makes you say that?" he replied, his gaze fixed on the TV.

Your eyes flickered between him and the screen. He was watching SportsCenter, listening to reporters make critical and unsupportive remarks about the Devils' performance. It was clear their words had struck a nerve

“Well, you haven’t been picking up around the house lately, and you’ve just been quieter. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” you said as you folded his t-shirts.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind picking up more around the house. You’d always told Nico he didn’t need to do as much as he did, but he always insisted. Still, as you tried to talk to him, it felt like walking on landmines. He was so quiet, and you were afraid he might explode at any moment.

“Seriously?” he said coldly, finally turning his head toward you.

“You know I don’t have a problem with you not doing housework. You just haven’t been yourself lately,” you said, trying to keep your tone gentle. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“If you don’t have a fucking problem with it, then why are you bringing it up?” he snapped, his tone ice-cold.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You could feel where this conversation was headed. Setting down the hoodie you’d been folding, you rested your hands on the table and turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, and that familiar resting bitch face of his—the one that intimidated people who didn’t know him—made you hesitate for just a moment. You knew it wasn’t truly who Nico was, but even now, it unsettled you just a little. Seeing someone who was always the sweetest and more caring one in the room suddenly has the face of one who at first glance didn't seem like it was a shock, but you always knew your boyfriend and knew that wasn't true.

“Nico, I’m not trying to start anything,” you said softly. “I just know something’s wrong, and you won’t even fucking talk to me about it.” you regretted the swear as soon as it left your mouth knowing it seemed like a push to him.

“Because I don’t need to,” he stated flatly.

You sighed again, frustration and worry bubbling inside you. Nico was the guy who always told everyone else they could talk to him, but he never talked to anyone about his stuff even rarely at times with you.

“Well, I think you do,” you said, your voice firmer this time as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t trying to start a fight, but you couldn’t let this slide. “I think talking about it would really help. You’ve been so quick to anger lately, so quiet, and I’m worried about you. You can talk to me. Why do you feel like you can’t?”

You noticed the slight clench of his jaw before he responded. “I have a lot of shit going on. I’m sorry if I’m not picking up around the house anymore. Just leave it alone,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. “Just leave me alone.”

With that, he turned his body and full attention back to the TV. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he turned up the volume at the same time. Whether it was intentional or not, it sent a clear message: he wasn’t continuing this conversation. And as much as you knew it needed to happen, you didn’t have the energy to force it either.

About a month later, near the end of November, you could tell things had only gotten worse. The Devils were in the middle of a six-game losing streak, and it was eating at Nico. The frustration came to a head after a particularly brutal loss—shut out by Vegas, 5–0.

The walk back to the car was painfully silent. The only words Nico said as he handed you the keys were, “You drive.”

You nodded wordlessly, slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The drive home, which should’ve been 20 minutes, stretched to nearly 45 because of post-game traffic. Normally, after a tough game like this, Nico would vent to you—sharing ideas for new plays or strategies to motivate the team. But tonight, he sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the sea of brake lights in front of you.

At every red light, you glanced over at him, silently checking in. He didn’t say a word, but you could see the storm brewing in his mind. This wasn’t just a bad game or a bad week; it was months of mounting pressure. He wasn’t himself anymore, and you knew he was close to breaking.

When you finally pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, you turned off the car and opened your door. “Come on, Nic, let’s just go to bed,” you said gently, stepping out.

You expected to hear the passenger door open, but instead, there was silence. Turning back, you saw him still sitting there, unmoving. His hand hadn’t even reached for the door handle. It was like he hadn’t even heard you.

You walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, crouching down slightly to meet his eye line. “Nico,” you said softly, your voice laced with concern. “Let’s go inside.”

You could see it—the weight of everything he’d been bottling up for months. The pressure, the expectations, the emotions he refused to show. He was on the verge of breaking, and you just wanted to help him before he shattered completely.

He was too prideful.

But still, you were met with silence. You reached out and softly grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. You tried to pull him out of the car, but he pulled his hand back, holding yours tightly in both of his. He stared down at your hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. You sat there, unsure of what to say, just trying to comfort him in the smallest way possible. In two years of dating, you’d only ever seen Nico shut down like this once before—after the Devils' playoff run in 2023.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “What the fuck is going on?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you, to himself, or to no one at all. His voice wavered, trying to hide the emotion threatening to break through. It pained you—he’d seen you cry countless times, about everything from stress to happiness, but he still couldn’t bring himself to let you see him like this.

“I know it’s tough,” you said softly, squeezing his hand again.

“It’s more than just fucking tough,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “We’ve been playing like shit, and there’s nothing I can do. The reporters are tearing us apart, and I have no idea how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

His voice cracked, but he kept going, the dam finally breaking.

“In the locker room, on the ice—everyone looks at me like I have all the answers. Like I’m supposed to solve all our fucking problems. But I don’t. What kind of captain can’t even fix his team?”

“It’s not your job to fix your team,” you said plainly, your voice steady.

For the first time since the game, he looked up at you, and your heart broke at the sight. His big brown eyes glistened, tears pooling just at the edge, threatening to spill over.

“I’m the captain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking. “It is my job. It’s my responsibility to keep the team together, to make sure we don’t fall into shit like this.” His eyebrows knitted together in frustration, and he shook his head, as if rejecting your words outright.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” you said gently. “You’ve been doing that for years.”

“Pressure?” he scoffed bitterly. “If it’s not me putting it on, it’s everyone else.”

Your expression softened, and you brought your other hand up to run your fingers through his damp hair. “If you’re the one putting it on yourself, then you can also take it off,” you said quietly. “I’m right here, Nico. I’ve been telling you that since the day we met. If you’re feeling anything—everything—you can talk to me.”

He shook his head again, looking up at you with so much guilt it made your chest ache. “I can’t do that to you. You’ve got enough going on with school and exams. I can’t be one more thing.”

“That’s bullshit,” you said, sighing. “I love you. Nothing is more important to me than you. Keeping all this bottled up is only making it worse, Nico. You need to let it out. Talk to me.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyes softened as you wiped away a single tear that slipped down his cheek.

“But I’m the captain. People are supposed to look up to me and lean on me. It’s my job to take care of everyone else,” he said weakly.

“Yeah, and it’s my job to take care of you,” you said firmly. “I knew what I was signing up for when we got together. Dating a pro athlete comes with challenges that most people don’t face, and I knew it’d be hard sometimes. But Nico, you make it so easy to love you. The only thing that makes this hard is that you don’t talk to me when you’re struggling. I want to be your rock, too. I want you to come to me, vent for hours if you need to, cry if you need to. I just want to help you.”

A shaky sigh escaped his lips, and his voice cracked as he said, “I feel like I have to hold it together all the time. Half the time, I’m not. If we’re losing, I feel like it’s my fault. If I can’t lead us to a win, what kind of captain does that make me?”

“You’re playing fucking hockey, Nico,” you said bluntly. “You’ve been doing this your whole life. You know what you’re doing, and you know what your team needs. But it’s not your job to fix everything. They’re grown men with their own shit going on. The best thing you can do is be there for them, support them. But you can’t carry the whole team on your back.”

A bitter laugh left his lips. “Everyone thinks we’re a shit team right now. We’re getting blown out almost every game.”

You smiled softly, glad to see the tension beginning to leave his shoulders as he let everything out. “Don’t you think Quinn felt like that, too?” you asked.

His brows furrowed in surprise at the mention of his friend's brother.

“He’s captain of the Canucks. They were a mess for years but look at them now. They’ve turned it around. People respect them because they fought through it. You will, too. You’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this. Why don't you try and talk to him about this, Quinn's a really helpful guy he's helping me so much, growing up he was the first person I'd go to"

Nico knew your history with the Hughes you guys grew up together and spent nights at the lake house together, even though Nico didn't know Quinn as well as he knew his energetic little brother, Jack,  he could tell from the few times that they've met that he was a great guy to go to for advice.  He honestly really liked Quinn,  one time during the summer during the off-season the Hughes family invited you and Nico to spend a couple weeks at the lake house with the original group. Being Cole, Trevor the Hughes brothers, and some other buddies from Michigan, Nico was a little nervous about going since he only really knew Jack, Luke and You but Quinn and Nico honestly gravitated towards each other and got along quite well, he introduced Nico to the rest of the group and everyone hit it off from there on.

and during one of those nights at the lake house he and the eldest brother were sitting out by the fire when everyone was inside they ended up having generally deep talk and confided in each other about being captains of a team at a very young age. At the time Nico barely knew Quinn this was really the first time he was actually able to sit down and fully get to know the young defenseman but still he talked to him knowing they shared the same worries and since then they've always kept in contact.

Everyone always loved it when New Jersey played Vancouver because they called it the "Hughe's Bowl" since the three brothers were playing on the same ice against each other for the first time in a long time. Nico always looked forward to that since usually after those games if Vancouver wasn't heading back that night Nico and the three brothers would go out and always get a beer together. 

 Nico could slightly feel his face heat up with embarrassment. not about opening up but about not doing it sooner.  he loved you and he knew you always wanted the best for him so he just felt stupid for not realizing that sooner and trusting someone with his problems but it wasn't just somebody it was you 

He was quiet for a moment, processing your words. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a deep laugh. You blinked in surprise at the sudden shift, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m an idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been sitting on this for months, and after less than ten minutes of talking to you, I already feel better. No wonder you were pushing me to open up.”

You laughed with him, relief washing over you as he climbed out of the car and pulled you into a tight hug. He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your skin, holding you close.

You hugged him just as tightly, feeling the warmth radiating from his body after the game. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Nico. And I need you to know you can always talk to me about anything.”

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own still glistening but now softer. He just saw you prove that too. him but he really needed to hear you say it. He kissed you gently, then rested his chin on your head, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said with a soft laugh. “I’m fucking tired.”

[nebbydotexe]

I’d love to see the fishing outfits you have cooking up!

sorry this took a bit, ive been sick for a few days and these took a lot longer to draw than i expected LMAO

more below the cut!!

if you dont feel like zooming in the hat says "women ghosts fear me, fish fear me, men turn their eyes away from me, as i walk no beasts dare make a sound in my presense, i am alone on this barren earth" LMAO

he only catches clams dw!! i had to draw him with his jellyfishing glasses bc theyre just too cute... i think he'd wear them when clam fishing too!

thought the fairly odd fishing rod would be a clever name :)

unfortunately couldnt think of anything cooler than "neutronic fishing rod" but it goes along with how he names literally everything else so i dont really care atp... his fishing rod is probably too good at catching fish and they end up with a problem caused because of it (i might draw this actually...)

[chromatic-crow]

I know you said you are stepping away for a bit so no pressure BUT Brodsfabes and Anyway by Rebecca Black. idkk I'm thinking about the upcoming offseason and how the season went for the wild and then injuries and the whole rookie/veteran. Anyways.

Sleepwalkin’ through life like a daydream Time's not on our side and you wanna buy mine I'm free falling through my heart’s vacancy When the signs say that we're insane I'm gonna, gonna love you anyway I'm callin' out, can you hear me? 'Cause this silence is deafening (Is deafening) No matter how we try, we're in a different place and time But what we have is too good to release

The season doesn’t start off well, and it doesn’t seem to get much better as they continue through it. But it’s Brock’s rookie season and he still feels like it's a dream when he wakes up every morning. Being able to practice and play for his home team with players that he grew up watching, even some of the recent additions from the offseason being some sort of star that he never expected to be on the team with.

It’s Jonas that gets most of his attention of course. Brock never thought he would be able to play with him, get anything besides maybe tips and critiques from the vet. Some of the guys call it hero worship, others teasing him and calling it a crush, sometimes both. He doesn’t mind the teasing, it's just part of being one of the guys.

It was a crush, one that Jonas noticed and at first was careful to not give him any hope that their relationship would be anything more than friends, keeping it professional. Which Brock was understanding, but a long standing crush like that doesn’t just go away overnight, or over the course of a week or two. And it was annoying, Brock constantly trying to fight with the butterflies from either the crush or too much caffeine and adrenaline coursing through him every time he took the ice with Jonas, always fearing that he would mess something up, come on too strong in a way that wasn’t okay. But eventually Jonas saw him for what he is, a twenty one year old rookie with a lot to prove. It had become a bit of a thing between them, Brock usually sneaking out of Jonas’ hotel room, Jonas bringing extra clothes to the rink and waiting for him to finish up to drive them back to his apartment.

And then the last few months hit, Brock forcing himself to play through fractured ribs cause fuck being put on the injured list, he wants to play all of his rookie season. He wants to learn as much as he can through play, not from video or the sidelines, an injury wasn’t going to stop him.

Jonas seemed to be concerned with the decision, sitting him down and telling him that if Jonas thinks it’s too much and that he’s too injured he will force him to go on the injured list, saying “you’re the future of the team, can’t have you getting too fucked up in your first season Fabes.”

Which leads them to now, Brock sitting across the table from Jonas in the common room, little kitchenette already in the process of being cleaned out, missing most of the cups and mugs it had during the season. They had both brought in drinks, Jonas with his little paper coffee cup heading towards empty on the table, Brock sipping on his iced coffee while they sit in. Well, he wouldn’t say comfortable silence, but it also wasn’t uncomfortable either, just a weird feeling, mostly from the season being over and so uneventful if he had to guess.

He knows his disappointment is probably palpable, most of the guys were upset as well, but they had all focused on having what fun they could and just trying to build chemistry as a team after being eliminated from contention. But he already knows that this isn’t what Jonas pulled him aside and sat him down for.

“So, I’m going to play for Sweden in worlds.”

Brock nods at that, fiddling with his cup. He’s pretty sure they had already talked about it, he had been a little disappointed that he had to heal up, unable to play against Jonas in the summer. But also there’s something else in Jonas’ voice, almost a question.

“Did…did you want me to come with you or something? I mean, I would but also-”

He watches Jonas’ tongue dart out, looking like he’s trying to pick his words carefully. It makes Brock’s stomach clench.

“I wouldn’t say no but you need to rest. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ll see you in a few months.”

And there it is. He’d figured it was coming at some point.

“Ah…okay yeah that’s-uh that’s fine. I’ll still be here.” 

Jonas looks away for a little too long, Brock downing the rest of his iced coffee with a bit of regret, stomach now feeling even worse.

“We can still call and text, it’s just a pause for the summer.”

“Oh yeah no that’s fine, like I said, I’ll still be here Brods.”

He really doesn’t want to think about the fact that he’s only signed for another year, that he’ll have to go through contract negotiations. Even less so about the fact that Jonas is nine years older, been in the league for twelve plus years and how once his contract is up, he’s likely retiring. And leaving Brock.

“I leave in a week and I’m going to go pack after this, did you want to come over?”

Brock won’t tell him any of his fears about that, he just wants to keep doing whatever it is that they’re doing, enjoying the time they have left together.

 “Yeah, meet you there?” 

Brock gets up from the little table as Jonas gives him a nod, small smile on his lips. He would hold on to this anyway he can, for as long as he can.

[deoidesign]

Ray of sunshine

(pre-launch page for their comic)

[stergeon]

> OTHER: Contrive some sort of SCHEME.

Oh, yes, this is very exciting. You love a good SCHEME, and it is marvelous to get to concoct one so early in the day. This bodes very well for how the rest of your day will progress.

Now it is time to play your favorite game:

“What could possibly happen?”

This is a very fun game where you attempt to devise every single possible series of events that could occur in the course of enacting your SCHEME. You play all of these scenarios out to their logical end and then some in order to guarantee that your plan goes flawlessly and that you have accounted for any potential risks. As you know, you are very good at thinking, and knowing things keeps your heartbeat regular and makes you not nauseous, so this game is one of your favorite activities.

You open up your JOURNAL and begin to take notes on your SCHEME. Since you are pressed for time, you do not delve as deeply into the potential scenarios as you usually would; although this unnerves you, you believe you have drafted sufficient options as to determine several effective courses of action. You wager you can exploit FERDINAND'S weaknesses for TEA and PHYSICAL AFFECTION to make him see reason and agree to attend BREAKFAST with you, ensuring he vacates your QUARTERS in a timely manner.

#008 | << | <- | -> | JOURNAL | HOW TO PLAY | ALL POSTS

[moe-broey]

Fellas can you take this somewhere else. Maybe. Just not in the fucking halls. Thanks 🫡

I couldn't resist drawing out these tags I wrote on a dif post LMFAO

Moe just has...... SO many problems.......

Close-ups of my fave shots!

The elusive Líf...

[orcelito]

FANTASTIC NEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i finished & posted the ITNL 14 re-edits, WHICH MEANS!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm officially done with my re-edits project!!!!!!!!!! :D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ive been thinking a lot today about my plans for ITNL 15, AND i have tomorrow off, so if all goes well i'll be able to start writing again. TOMORROW !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and if the chapter grips me like i expect it will then... hehehehehe

could be an update in as little as a few days, depending. i'll keep u guys updated

[sophieswundergarten]

So. Everyone who yelled at me yesterday for making a ramble on Reynie going blank and then not resolving it, this is for you: (@lemondropletters, you have been tagged)

Also, it's in a Google Doc because it was definitely too long for a Tumblr post, and ~~I don't know how AO3 works~~

The (vague) premise is that, instead of Constance seeing Curtain's broadcast, they all get to the compound mentally sound, but once there, they split up to look for Mr. Benedict, and instead Reynie finds Curtain. This is the wrap up of what would have happened in the last episode.

[hexcitrine]

randomly looked at this account to update my age and holy shit it's been a while since i posted here..........i have a small pile of art i have yet to post but hbhbshdbshbd too lazy

[robiinurheart33]

Ghoap as Once more to see you by Mitski

“In the rear view mirror, I saw the setting sun on your neck

And felt the taste of you bubble up inside me”

Ghost always thought of Johnny as something that could never be diminished, never replaced, never dimmed. An unstoppable force of nature. The very definition of the sun to him.

Johnny blazed beautifully. He brought life and colour to everything around him, even to ghost. He thought of mortals that worshipped sun gods, that thanked them for bringing life around them, how they brought upon the very beginning of humanity. Ghost feels his hard ridges melt away in Johnny’s warmth, how he brought his humanity back to him. He doesn’t even know how he did it. It was like second nature to soap, breathing the life back to Simon. It was like nothing to soap. It was the whole world to Simon.

It was acidic, the way he felt about soap. It burned through his skin, sticky-sweet, and made a home in his body. It clung and absorbed itself into his bones, merged and became part of his DNA. It stabbed into the very core of his being, infecting him. He hated it, hated the way it made his heart clench and his throat close up whenever he saw Johnny.

He hated it.

“But with everyone watching us, our every move

We do have reputation.”

Soap knows Ghost has a irrefutable reputation. Something that he didn’t have to fake, he is and always will be the Ghost. He’s violent, and bloody, and he’s always being watched with a thousand eyes. Around the base, in the cameras, by higher ups. It’s a precaution the undead have to deal with. It’s a precaution that’s strangely similar to a prisoner. The thought makes uneasiness curl in soap’s gut, making him scratch the nape of his neck in irritation, grimacing.

Ghost has always been just out of reach. Being a private, hearing rumours of a massive killing machine roaming around SAS, a distant thought of maybe rising high enough in the ranks to actually meet the guy. He wouldn’t live long enough for me to meet him. Some part of him snorts. But actually seeing him, a 6’2 wall of muscle and broodiness, soap knew then that he was irrevocably fucked.

Soap isn’t stupid. In fact, he can confidently say he’s a smart ass cookie. Which is why he knows he absolutely cannot risk Ghost getting compromised just for soap’s selfishness. Soap is glaringly aware of the eyes staring down at Ghost, and by default, at him. Soap is his Sargent. Soap is his friend. Soap is his…his.?

Soap scratches at the nape of his neck, picking at a scab and drawing blood.

“We keep it secret, won’t let them have it

So come inside and be with me, alone with me”

Graves. Shepard. Laswell. Even Price. Ghost knows what they have is fragile, bubble light and just as explosive as anything he could come up with. He trusted Price, he did. But ever since that mission with graves where everything went to shit, he keeps thinking of Johnny, his Sargent alone and hurt, in a village filled with shadows, just barely scraping past losing more and more blood the longer he stays there.

Ghost doesn’t trust anyone. Not even himself. He places his whole heart, his life, his mind, his body, his everything to Soap, whatever he wants, he’ll do it. Before soap, he’s always been good at being a weapon, a mutt if he thinks about it long enough. To his Dad, to Roba, to Shepard. He knows what it feels like to be dehumanised, desenitised to whatever the hell people see him as. A monster, a spirit, an unknown. He doesn’t care.

But.

Soap does. He does care. And fuck, if that doesn’t break down every single god-damned wall he meticulously built up to completely sweep him away and keep him safe. Alone. Together. Just them and no one else. He knows he doesn’t need anything else he doesn’t want anything else he just. Wants. Johnny. Johnny might not belong to him, but Simon knows that every single atom of himself belongs to johnny.

Ghost knows better than anyone else how dangerous it is to be associated with him. And he won’t let the same thing that happened to his family happen to Johnny. So he does the opposite of what his heart wants. He keeps his distance, doesn’t talk more than necessary, showing everyone that they’re just teammates, friendly only for the sake of the task force.

But under closed doors, in the private channel, ghost lets Simon loose. He holds Johnny tight, he tucks his head into the crook of his neck, and he relaxes. Simon felt like a snake, twisting and turning, gripping harder and harder into his desire. Here, where the world is only him and Johnny, Simon takes his time. He gets lazy and carefree as much as he gets, sinks into the solid warmth of Johnny’s presence. Alone. Together.

“If you would let me give you pinky promise kisses”

There was a certain desperation that always came with the job. Soap knows that. He just never thought it would be like this. Heart aching- quiet sobs- the demand to be violent, the all encompassing love that came with it. Soap always knew he was messed up, no one would willingly sign up their life to die if they weren’t a little fucked up in the head. But god, it was- should be concerning to Soap how far he would go to to keep Ghost safe. To keep them safe. Ghost was no softie, the thought of it is laughable, but Soap has always been aggressively protective- even possessive of what he thinks he should stand up to. He’s unwaveringly loyal, both a valuable asset and his greatest flaw.

Soap wants to dig his nails into Ghost so hard his pale skin tears, sink his teeth into his jugular until his entire mouth is filled with his blood, meld their ribs together and press his heart right against Simon’s cold, beating one. Soap wants to tuck his head into the crook of Simon’s neck, fling a leg over his and feel his chest slowly rising and falling. He wants to share their body heat, entangle their legs, so that he cannot tell where Johnny ends and where Simon begins. He wants, he wants, he wants.

“Then I wouldn’t have to scream your name

Atop of every roof in the city of my heart”

Ghost had never felt an emotion as strong as this. It felt uncomfortably similar to anger, or his anxiety. It poked and prodded at his heart, his lungs, his throat. His gut churned nervously and he felt like throwing his head on the nearest solid surface over and over again. His intrusive thoughts became even more uncontrollable, the violent nature of his animalistic side howling in excitement.

Every time someone laughed with or touched soap, he could feel his subconscious screaming in protest, to gnash his teeth at anyone who dared get close to soap. He felt like a disobedient dog, nipping at soap’s feet for an ounce of attention.

He felt feral, like he wasn’t completely himself and it scared him. Every time he spots a mercenary sneak up behind soap during a mission, his heart screams and his hand lines up immediately and shoots on instinct, as simple as breathing.

“Good shot, L.t.” Soap breathes.

He only grunts in reply, his mind crooning.

Of course. I wouldn’t ever miss. Not if it’s for you. Only for you. Just for you, Johnny. I would do anything.

Ghost compartmentalises, pushing that part of him deep, deep down.

“Keep it tactical, Sargent.”

He wishes he could do the same.

“If I could see you

Once more to see you”

Soap knows Ghost is beautiful. He doesn’t need to see his real face to know. It’s in the way he carries himself, his thick British accent, the arrogant quirk of his eyebrow that shifted under his mask. He never had any urge to take a peek at his face under that mask, always respected his boundaries, always stayed fairly within line.

But during the mission in Las Almas, where Ghost had so unwaveringly pulled off his mask, Johnny felt like his whole world had been shaken. Maybe it was because Ghost was his whole world Soap had been obsessed ever since. The crooked curve of his nose, his clipped and messy dirty blonde hair, the slight curve of his Cupid’s bow on his upper lip, the jagged scar that had been carved into pale, almost sickly skin. It was all so utterly Simon. Soap felt unhealthily obsessed. Genuinely, he thought that he could not be any more head over heels, and he goes and does this.

It was stupid how eager Soap was to draw his face. It was like he was a puppet on a string, pulled by his untethered compulsiveness. He had to be cautious. He yearned rip off the mask Ghost has just put on again to kiss him stupid in front of everyone. 141, maybe. But not the Los Vaqueros. He does have that sliver of sanity to hold himself back. But god, if that doesn’t just open up a door of opportunities for him behind closed doors. The extra areas of skin that were now not so unreachable was like dangling a candy in front of a child and expecting them to not take it.

Simon is beautiful. Simon is so pretty. Simon’s stunning. Pure Bonnie.

Soap wills himself to shut the fuck up and focus on the mission. He wants to see Simon again. Preferably, in a setting with more light. Soap feels like he’s rediscovering ghost all over again, he wants to see his smile, his annoyed expression, his huffs and grunts, everything on his face. Good lord, does he have dimples? Soap thinks he might just die.

The act of seeing ghost’s skin lights something in soap. He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels the impatience and desperation to find out what it is. He grapples and tries to identify it, but like his callsign, it slips away and he’s left with a frustratingly empty feeling he knows only ghost can fill. I’ll find out. I swear, I’ll find it out.

Soap has never been a patient man.

[skitskatdacat63]

I think I need to just watch AD 2009 and finish off that season tonight so I don't feel so morose about F1 today haha

[dakbees]

i have to ask about bump-up business: are Mill and Nine actually okay at acting? because when i watched the trailer i was like ummm.....

yes and no? as a lyon its pretty easy to tell that theyre acting, but i think they did okay with what they were given. its less of "are they good at acting" and more of "is the script good"— which, no it isnt. It kinda suffers from being a low-budget manhwa adaption, so a lot of their lines aren't exactly what real people would do in real life, and I think some of the editing did them dirty (ie not cutting out moments where they are clearly getting ready to say their line). it kinda gave me student film levels of acting. they know what theyre doing but they could use some workshopping. they did get better as the show went on, though!

that being said, yoojung and kyubin did fucking amazing. yoojung especially was a stand-out for me. he wasn't in the show too much, only near the end, but comparing his acting to nine and mill... uh yeah hes definitely better than them as of now

[neonacidtrip]

I see these types of posts every now and again, and it’s only just occurred to me to share some knowledge:

Lines

Lines are often the heart of drawings, and they tend to be the part artists will draw over and over and over again to get them juuuuussssssttttttttt right. Pointing out lines you think are well done will go a long way to compliment an artist.

Your lines are dynamic! (Good for action pictures, art of an intense scene, or art that conveys movement, like a character running)

Your lines are so clean! (Good for neat lines of various sizes. These lines will feel like a coloring book, where you could color inside them yourself if the art was black and white)

Your lines carry such depth! (When lines cross over each other, they make a flat picture look more real, almost like 3D)

You’re good at drawing intricate lines! (Curling lines? Curvy, wavy, bendy lines? Lines that weave around each other? Many, small lines detailing an item like filigree or a robot’s parts? Those are intricate lines, baby)

You make great use of line weight! (In general, the human eye will be drawn towards very thick lines. Artists will use this to make you focus on a certain point, like a character’s face, by using thick lines around the face and thinner lines everywhere else)

You do amazing lineless art! (Not all art has lines! If you see a picture without any lines, make sure to tell the artist you noticed their hard work!)

Your line colors are fantastic! (Not all lines are done in black or white. Some artists will spend a lot of time choosing what color to make their lines. Show them some love!)

Color

Your colors are so vibrant! (Bright colors! Colors that pop! Colors that instantly grab your attention!)

The saturation is great! (A very bright color is highly saturated, and a very dull color is low saturated. High saturation colors can hurt the eyes, so an artist with good saturation control knows how to use bright colors without hurting anyone’s eyes)

I love your color choices! (This can be used for all color schemes; it’s a more general compliment that praises the artists for their understanding of color theory)

Your colors feel like home! (Good for cozy colors. Warm colors that aren’t usually super bright. They make you feel all warm inside. If you picture a cozy cottage in the woods, you’d probably image these colors)

Your pastels are so pretty! (Muted colors usually fall into the category of “pastels”. These are soft colors that are meant to be calming and non-oppressive on your eyes. Think: The opposite of vibrant)

Your colors are so soft! (Similar to the above two, this is for a picture that makes you feel soft and warm and fuzzy inside. It’s more directed towards warm and pastel colors instead of vibrant colors)

Your ability to blend colors is fantastic! (Putting two different colors right next to each other can look jarring or choppy, so many artists will blend two or more colors together to make things look more natural and appealing. A good example is giving a character a subtle pink blush on their otherwise skin-colored cheeks)

You are super good at choosing color palettes! (Good for when the artists regularly chooses colors that just feel like they belong together. Best for when there are only a limited number of colors in the picture)

Your colors are so clean! (Layering color on top of color on top of color can make everything muddy and dull. Artists who blend things well will have “clean colors”. Likewise, some artists intentionally avoid blending to make simple, bold art, in which case their colors are very, very clean)

Light and Shadow

Conveying light and shadows can be really hard. It can take years to understand how lighting works, and it’s even harder to put your knowledge of it into practice. It can be done with colors, lines, textures, and many other ways.

Your lighting is so good! (A general compliment for any time you see good use of lighting. If you’re unsure, check the eyes and the face of the character, as they often have the most highlight to them)

You made great use of shadows here! (Good for when a dark area really captures your attention)

Your shadows feel so alive! (Artists can be really creative. They make dark areas that seem to move or curl or otherwise just be alive on the paper)

The lighting is so soft and gentle! (Like before, this is for art that just makes you feel soft inside! I think of a character maybe surrounded by light in a field of flowers when I imagine something like this)

You balance your shadows so well without making things too dark! (Using lots of dark colors to make shadows can make the picture hard to see, and details can get lost. If you see a picture with lots of shadows, but you can still easily see all the details, then the artists has really good balance and color control)

Your contrast of light and shadow is amazing! (Good for when the artists uses lots of both light and shadow! You often see pictures with a stark difference between the two, like a character standing in the light and the other falling into shadows, but you can also see good contrast in a more standard setting, like a city-scape set in the afternoon)

Details

Pointing out details is one of the fastest ways to make an artist feel seen. It’s harder to give examples for this because it will really, really boil down to the individual picture. The general rule is if you see something you like, say it! Try looking for things to point out, like:

A character’s expression (”She looks so angry!” or “His expression is so sad, I’m going to cry!” or “Wow! I can really tell what they’re thinking just from that expression alone!” or “You draw expressions so well!”)

Little things a character is doing/holding/etc. that may get overlooked (”I noticed you even clenched his fists! Good job!” or “I love her tiny hair clip!” or “You painted her nails to match his eye color! I love it!”)

Details in the background/landscape (”I love the little bird nest you included in the tree branches!” or “The way you draw water is so pretty! I wish I could swim in it!” or “Is that’s Character B’s hand in the background? So cool!” or “That is the softest cat; I want to pet it!” or “That food on the table is the tastiest thing I’ve ever seen!”)

Clothing! (”Her dress is so pretty!” or “Wow, you do such a good job drawing suits!” or “Her t-shirt is so funny!” or “That hat is so cute by the way!”)

The general idea here is just to say whatever comes to your mind, whether it be literally pointing out the obvious (example: “I love that you drew this character wearing a flower crown! Flowers are so pretty!”) or pointing out how the picture made you feel (example: “This picture makes me so happy, I wish I could eat it!”). Just say what you like about it. You don’t need to know fancy art terms. Saying “Your blues are so blue!” is a perfectly wonderful way to describe the three different shades of blue the artist used to draw an ocean. As long as you aren’t criticizing, you can’t really go wrong.

me, absolutely not an artist, desperately trying to articulate how much i like adore people's fanart: ouughgh the colors. there are so MANY of them!!!! and the lines,,,,,,,,,, they are made of lines.. impeccable