#this was probably my favourite fic to write ^^

[obaewankenope]

They are, in some ways, scared of being a bother to authors, aye. But there's also an aspect of some who read fic, might hit kudos, and then move on because they're just used to a reaction notification being enough (see most social media nowadays that lets you just heart or thumbs up shit and then keep on scrolling).

Some don't know they can comment at all.

Some don't care that they can comment because they expect the kudos button to be enough.

Some don't know what to say and fear bothering the author because they've seen how people commenting on things on Instagram etc can get dogpiled on and are scared of that happening to them.

Some just don't have the time to leave a comment because they're bing-reading and forget the fics they've read.

Some think a 'shout out' on other social media is preferred when, honestly, authors want to have engagement with their readers (we eat up comments even as simple as "<3 <3 <3" seriously, we genuinely do) but they're used to platforms like tiktok and Instagram where a 'shout out' is more valuable because it means hits and financial payoff. They don't realise we don't get paid on AO3 to write fic so a shout out isn't as useful to us as an actual comment or bookmarking of our fic with screeching in the bookmark notes.

Like, there's lots of varying reasons why commenting on fic isn't as prevalent anymore (many of which tend to stem from "reaction to a post being equated with the kudos button and thus 'enough'" because that's usually fine on other platforms) but anxiety and being scared/worried/concerned with causing offense or upset to the author (or anyone who reads the comments) is a big one too.

With how overwhelmingly powerful cancel-culture is and how people are told about or hear of times when authors have ripped on people leaving 'reviews' when they've been unasked for, a fair number of individuals likely worry about leaving a comment that, in some way, could be construed as criticism or unasked for critique and getting cancelled for it as a result.

The best way to avoid that, however, isn't to not comment, it's to have a bare-bones structure for leaving comments, mainly:

I loved/liked/enjoyed this fic/chapter/one-shot! My favourite bit is/was probably [insert short summary or specific bit of fic like a sentence or paragraph] because it made me feel/think about/remember sth specific to the fandom!

Amazing/good fic! 10/10 would recommend! Extra kudos!

That's, ultimately, the easiest way to leave a comment on a fic or chapter because it gives the author sth to look at, go "oh they liked that bit! Nice! I enjoyed writing that part as well!" and lets them know you read the fic even if its not a 5 page long, size 12 font in Times New Roman essay review. It also avoids any of the risks of unintentional critique or critical reviews that authors tend to not ask for (unless we state such in our author notes) that often tend to be upsetting for the author to read because no one wants to be criticised (even if it is being done in a helpful way) unexpectedly when they haven't asked for it.

And if that kind of comment is too much, or you're too anxious for it, even the simpler:

Loved it! Extra kudos! <3

Works well enough for us authors to know you liked what we wrote enough to tell us that and shows us that it's only because you can't leave more than one kudos per fic that's stopping you from spamming us with kudos.

Just, if you can, comment. We don't need fancy, we just need to know you care.

"Ao3 should allow multiple kudos" "I want to be able to leave more than one kudos"

COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC

I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE COMMENTS MUCH NOW WHEN THE ONLY WAY TO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR A SINGLE CHAPTER IS COMMENTING AND I AM NOT HAVING THIS BULLSHIT BE LIKE TIKTOK WHERE NO ONE EVER COMMENTS POSITIVITY

FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC YOU DON'T NEED A MULTIPLE KUDOS BUTTON YOU NEED ACTUAL WORDS

TRUST ME ON ANY WEBSITE OR APP I POST COMMENTS AND WORDS ARE 10X BETTER THAN ANY PLAIN LIKE AND WORDLESS REBLOG IF YOU LIKE SOMETHING LEAVE WORDS

COMMENT

ON

THE

FUCKING

FICS

[spiderscribe]

For day 11 of TF Rare Pairing Fest, I present to you “Island Time” ft. TFP Ratchet/Soundwave, because Primus knows both of them deserve a nice relaxing island vacation with each other <3

@tfrarepairing

“No,” says Ratchet.

Soundwave’s head slowly tilts to one side. Ratchet was never as good at reading Soundwave’s nonverbal cues as Megatron and Optimus, but he’s pretty sure that’s either an invitation to elaborate or a physical challenge. Actually, knowing Soundwave, it’s most likely both.

“No,” repeats Ratchet. “I’ve already reserved this island. I even cleared all the details with Agent Fowler, specifically so that no one bothers me during my well-deserved vacation. You’re going to have to find your own island.”

«You’re going to have to find your own island,» is thrown right back in his face.

Ratchet scoffs. “Puh-lease. That may work on your Decepticon troops, but you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to intimidate me. I got here first. Get off my island and find your own.”

Soundwave stares at him, head still tilted consideringly, and then he starts trudging closer towards him. Each step he makes is swallowed up by the soft sand and makes little sound, but Ratchet still senses the deliberate weight he’s putting into every one of his pedesteps. He crosses his arms over his chestplates and glares up into Soundwave’s visor as the other bot comes to a stop right in front of him.

(read the rest on ao3!)

[shortbreadly]

I’M. UPSET

never noticed before but for like a split second it shows strahm crying (?) after he rings perez’s family to tell them the news that she’s been injured

the little sniff before he carries on talking like he’s already been crying. the trashing of the office afterwards. their friendship is something that can be so important to me

[fuckinart]

local idiot dies in fursuit, more at 11

[bettystonewell]

Yay - I knew this would be amazing! I’m so happy you ended up doing this ❤️

I’m still yet to watch much of The Boys and Big Sky - though I tried, and then realised I’m going to need to watch the whole of both and not just the seasons that feature Jensen 🙊 but I was still able to enjoy this and see each individual character❤️

I also haven’t seen Ten Inch Hero - what kind of person am I? I’m going to blame the fact that we always seem to get stuff here last in Australia, even though it’s close to 20 years old?…

Anywho - this is my favourite line from the whole thing (and not just because it’s Dean):

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler

I was imagining MEV reader again, and as I was writing this I kept getting myself confused because I’m relating her to Monica’s love of cooking. But Dean is a bit of a mother hen and fussy with the cleanliness of his room, so he’s definitely got some similarities with Monica there haha - role reversal when the ‘bossy’ one gets bossed - just go to bed Dean!

And unlike Dean, Chandler can admit he needs someone occasionally 🤣

I’m really surprised by Beau’s character. I’ve read a couple of fics where the big 3 were all present, granted they were crackish, but I was under the impression he was a little more grounded and sweeter? And I guess he probably is, I’ll give him a pass because he has the man flu, but I didn’t realise he was such a work-a-holic. Then again, he’s a sheriff, makes sense. And at least he listens eventually, even if there were a few, I’ll say instructions. Man runs a right ship. “And can you get me…”

I liked the below line from Ben, but I’m not going to lie, just dropping the f-bomb is what grabbed my attention (and again, there’s something wrong with me lol)

“Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?"

He’s just a dick, a grumbly one, but also a softie and wants some love deep down right? You won’t win it with yachts, mate, although I guess it’s worked for him before?

I’m going to see if I can watch Ten Inch Hero 🤞 - but now I really want to know if I was to read one of your Ben fics (being a super hero interests me the most), is there one I could read where I wouldn’t have to watch the show first? 👉👈 spoilers don’t bother me, I read supernatural fics set in the bunker before I’d even gotten there 😅 but I want to check one out and Break Me Down is looking very appealing ❤️

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

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[crossthread]

No jokes here. The Navy’s best pilot and the Navy’s best admiral. Between them, eight air-to-air combat kills and five stars. These were men who commanded respect with or without your approval. This was the picture of ruthless competence.

Debriefing (& Other Stories) • part 2 of Easier Done Than Said by @compacflt

[luthnethril]

📓

Put "📓" or some other version of a book emojii into my inbox and i'll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but I daydream about

one that's recurring and lives rent-free in my head even though it has barely any plot is a setting where the elves go to Valinor, but the Valar do not wage war on Melkor and imprison him into the Void, so he's just kind of. free out there because he ran off to hide and create Angband. Which is worse for the elves who remain in Beleriand and the Girdle of Melian is probably put up earlier. Anyway.

The main part of this fic idea is that we have Fëanor in Valinor with Nerdanel and his (so far) three kids with another one on the way living in the equivalent of an one-family caravan moving around every so often to explore more of Valinor's lands. They don't check in too often with Finwë and the palace due to a lack of a postal service in the middle of nowhere and anyway at some point in the early noontide of Valinor baby Maedhros is like. 40 years old, baby Maglor is like 20 while Celegorm is the equivalent of a very excited toddler and Caranthir is still an idea in the womb.

They've settled just outside this forest up North and one day Maedhros and Maglor are out playing/exploring the forest (bc, yk, this was the land where they were all going to be perfectly safe forever) when Maedhros picks up that there's something Wrong™; like perhaps a chill, or some more darkness than is usual in the North so far away from the Two Trees.

Now, at this point they do live in a Melkor-free Valinor, but because Melkor hasn't been imprisoned there are more thoughts spared for the elves who remained in Beleriand (and thought to be all dead) and Fëanor as well as Maedhros and Maglor have grown up with stories of the Dark Rider and the Journey West from Cuiviénen, so Maedhros feels the air shift and thinks. I've heard of this happening before.

So, he makes Maglor hide inside a tree trunk and tells him they're going to 'play a game' where he has to stay hidden in the tree humming the "don't notice me" song enchantment he's perfected for hiding from Nerdanel when she wants to make them do chores and make no sound at all or get out no matter what until Maedhros tells him it's okay to come out.

(Maglor has not picked up that anything's wrong with the forest, but he's picked up that his brother is worried and he's getting more scared every time Maedhros refuses to tell him what's going on).

Anyway, point is, Maglor does as he's told and hides and Maedhros goes as far away from the tree as he can trying to make sense of what's going on and then. Melkor shows up. He appears as an extension of the darkness, more solid and bottomless eating up the forest that existed behind him before he showed up, with sharp, visible teeth and glowing red eyes. No body, just solid clouds of light-blocking darkness surrounding small Maedhros.

Small Maedhros, with all the bravery that knowing Maglor is hiding behind him gives him, looks up at Melkor and lies. He plays dumb, he asks to know who he is, why he's here and lets Melkor underestimate him to make sure the Vala never suspects Maglor is also there and as vulnerable as Maedhros himself is. He tells Melkor that he has to get back to his father because he promised his brother he's take him out to play in the forest. That he's alone here and he needs to get back.

Melkor finds baby Maedhros very entertaining and does not suspect that he's being lied to by a child of Valinor and tries to trick/convince Maedhros to go with him, that he'll take him back to his family when 'we'll play a game' does not work. Maedhros insists that he knows the way back and doesn't need any help, thank you. Eventually Melkor runs out of patience and when Maedhros runs away from him reaches out with more darkness and shrouds Maedhros with it, taking him away.

The darkness goes away and the forest returns to normal. Fëanor, pregnant Nerdanel and baby Celegorm go out to find Maedhros and Maglor; they only find Maglor inside the tree when he passes out and stops singing the enchantment. They don't find Maedhros.

They pack up everything and ride back to Valinor to tell Finwë what's going on. Maglor wakes up on the way but he's in no state to say anything; his eyes are wide and he's shaking and he starts crying silently and humming the enchantment again and it takes Nerdanel hours to convince him he's safe now, at which point Maglor slumps against her, catatonic, and does not say anything else.

(Needless to say that Fëanor, scared shitless, is having an absolutely horrible time).

Finwë sends an army of search parties out North with Fëanor, but they never find a trace of Maedhros except the little copper eight-pointed star brooch with the red ruby in the middle Fëanor made for Maedhros when he was born and Maedhros dropped on the ground on purpose. They send people to Mahanaxar to ask the Valar for help. Maglor, scared and not talking, barely moving, tells Celegorm enough about the 'darkness' that took Maedhros that when Celegorm relays it to his parents and Finwë and Indis, everyone knows what exactly it was that took Maedhros.

They never find him. The Valar are all very sorry, but they can't do anything about it. Melkor shouldn't have been able to come into Valinor, just don't go up so far from the Trees again. It should be fine. It will never happen again.

Not really much plot after that actually. I've been thinking a lot about Fëanor's sons and their cousins growing up and Maglor being the only one who remembers Maedhros because he was the only one old enough to, Celegorm remembers him vaguely. None of their cousins have met Maedhros; Caranthir and the rest of the brothers are born and grow up with the knowledge that they have a brother Maedhros who's gone which their parents don't talk about (Nerdanel starts crying even as she tries to tell them about Maedhros so they'll know and Fëanor's face goes terrifyingly blank and the air sizzles around him so they never dare to ask). Maglor is always sad and melancholy and prone to shouting when people choose to forget Maedhros ever existed and his brothers minus Celegorm don't really connect with him because Maglor is making minimal effort to communicate in turn.

Eventually Maglor puts up a play/musical that's just what happened that day when Maedhros disappeared and that's the first time anyone really finds out how that went down and why Maglor feels so guilty and responsible about it in a way everyone thought up to then that made no sense/was just the trauma of meeting the Dark Rider. Maglor makes sure the costume for Melkor does justice to the terrifying embodiment of darkness with teeth and glowing eyes he saw as a child, which disturbs everyone greatly.

It makes the Valar very uncomfortable.

I had an idea of Fëanor obsessing over the idea of saving his son, never letting go or admitting that Maedhros is probably dead like Míriel and holding on to his grief and anger like it's the only thing keeping him from fading. Perhaps even going to Angband in secret to rescue Maedhros.

Another idea involves Maedhros being Melkor's personal favourite prisoner and being kept alive, meeting some of Mahtan's of Finwë's relatives in Angband, perhaps even escaping by himself when Melkor and Sauron are not there? Like I said, there's not much concrete plot besides the main idea here.

[chaotic-toby]

For no reason at all, does anyone have an idea what Morph's genitals would look like? Like would they be like intersex, would there just be nothing there in their base form, or would they change what genitals they have based on what they want for the day?

[lordofthesoups]

oh well its my favourite arkayne fic so erm yeah! Woo!

Amazing bloody fic, love it a lot

what's your ideal arkayne dynamic??

desperate.

kayne desperate to touch. desperate to rip and tear and feel this thing that he cannot, will not ever understand. desperate to stand close enough that his head goes fuzzy and the voices get louder and everything within him, his true existence squished into this tiny form starts to writhe and strain against it's constraints. a dragging feeling, everything wanting to claw forward and simply hold the source of something so brilliantly new. screaming. fighting. barely restraining himself from taking a bite. tasting ambrosia. drowning in a taste that burns yet he can't spit it out.

arthur desperate for something. anything. anyone. something to make him feel less empty even if only for a moment. even if he knows it doesn't mean anything. even if it hurts. even if it almost kills him. despite to feel something. desperate to have someone there. someone to touch. someone to hold. just for a second. just for one, aching moment. one breath before being dragged below the surface again.

[xcerizex]

"don't look back (but that's impossible)"

Vega, character study (?), fem!summoner, spoilers for the main story, Sirius makes an appearance but it's mainly about Vega, 1.6k words

Vega has no choice but to follow the Summoner as she holds his hands and leads him away towards a secluded spot. It's at times like this he's glad he wears gloves, otherwise, he would have been far too ashamed of himself on having to bother her with his sweaty palms.

But maybe she still notices it. His nervousness. The way his hands tremble in her hold.

Mainly navigating on impulse, the both of them unexpectedly find themselves on a worn out path leading towards a small garden Vega used to play in when he was a child. The Summoner couldn't possibly have known about this place and it's meaning to him, but there is no one around. That is enough for her.

She continues leading him by hand, and when she finally stops, she looks up at him. And he sees the disappointed expression on her face.

"Why did you do that?"

She is referring to the earlier incident, in which Vega had requested Gianna to seal away the powers of Polaris inside of her.

He keeps his silence, afraid of continuing the conversation, and having to hear the disappointed tone in her voice once more. But when his gaze makes its way to the tree swing in idle, she calls his name gently.

"Vega."

What a sweet sound.

He brings back his gaze towards her.

"I'm not mad at you. It's just..." the Summoner trails off, trying her best to come up with words that she's sure won't hurt him. Won't hurt him too much at least.

"Okay, yes. I'm mad at you, but not that much."

She is still brutally honest however. It's not like he hadn't expected it, still, he feels the sting in his heart.

Her eyes continue searching him the longer he remains quiet, perhaps hoping she could gain her answers by the downturn of his mouth, or the depth in his eyes. She's still doing it, even as she starts speaking again;

"But why didn't you consult me first, before you had made that request? If Gianna had truly fulfilled your ask right then and there, it would have been too late."

"The powers of Polaris might have been lost forever."

She speaks the truth.

"And I would have become as powerless as I was before-"

"You were never powerless."

And Vega no longer remains silent. Like a glass of water tipping over the edge, words begun to spill out uncontrollably.

"Not once, have I ever thought of you as powerless. You can't fight, yes. But regardless of the situation, you've always remained strong in your own way."

She's still holding onto his hand, whose grip tightens on her without either his will or knowledge.

"But once people find out that the powers of the Great Sorcerer has come back, they will use you."

He fears her becoming someone he cannot save.

"They will put you on a pedestal, and revere you the way they did with Polaris. The person that you were before will be of no matter to them, in that situation, you may not be able to hold on to your true self."

He fears her slipping away from his grasp once more. He is afraid of her letting go of him again. But when the thought crosses his mind, he realizes his near death grip on her hand, and quickly lets go.

"F-forgive me, Summoner," he should have controlled himself better. "I had lost my own willpower momentarily and hurt you."

But she simply shakes her head.

"It's alright, Vega. Anyways, I understand now."

Her tone has noticably cheered up a bit, after realizing just how deeply Vega cared for her. But he doesn't notice it just yet, still internally grimacing on the inside from his recent mistake. While she hasn't said anything about it, he knows that the grip of a Kamargo is not at all weak, and has to hold himself back from fretting over her like a mama hen.

"But next time, Vega," she continues on with the original topic. "I hope that you will consult me first, instead of making the decision on your own."

He quickly nods his head, "Yes, Summoner. I apologize for my earlier actions."

And he means it. To get his sincerity across, he adds, "The next time I do anything, I will make sure to consult with you first."

At that, she scrunches her nose up in playful jest, "Maybe not everything," she giggles. "Rather than asking for my permission on the things you do, just inform me before you do anything drastic that concerns me."

Before he can agree, she adds, "And anything that involves Sirius."

She doesn't notice the twitch in his hands when she says that, and moves over away from him to marvel at the swing covered in flowers, unaware of the inner turmoil she had caused.

'I find you rather pitiful. It's because both you, Vega, and I are the same.'

Sirius's words ring across his mind and he has to fight back the irritation to clench his fists at those words, soundlessly repeating a mantra of peace in his head. Not because he's wrong, but because he's right. It's exactly because he's right.

He may very well be just like Sirius.

To get rid of those annoying thoughts, he places his hand on the rope of the swing, and feels the familiar roughness associated with his childhood. The childhood he had spent in Bound Arlyn.

And as usual, no matter how hard he tries, he can never seem to remember much about the time he'd spent in Mid Earthiem. The clearest thing he can remember is the empty silence of adults walking past him, the smile of his dearest friend and first love, as well as....

The image of him letting go of her hand.

"Vega!"

She's holding onto his arm as an unfamiliar memory rushes to the surface of his mind and pain crackles inside his head, feeling as if his mind might split apart.

'That's not what happened back then.'

He is sure of it. But the memory simply replays itself in his mind without his consent, and is forced to come to terms with the fact that, it was he, who had let go of her hand the day he lost her.

He also sees her looking back at him in fear, tumbling down, down, and down...

"...Forgive me, Summoner," he apologizes again for the second time today. "I have to go."

She gives him a look of concern and offers to take him to Gianna for a checkup. He declines as politely as he can, all the while the pain makes his ears ring, and his heart pounds as loudly as it can, as if to drown out the truth.

It doesn't work.

The door behind Vega locks with a soft click, with his hands still holding on to the doorknob and his back facing the door.

While his gaze fixes itself on to Sirius.

"Oh, and to what pleasure do I owe on receiving a visit from Vega, of all people?"

Vega ignores the drawl of his words and asks, "...What makes you think that the both of us are similar?"

Sirius laughs. It is not the mocking kind however. He almost sounds...defeated.

"Straight to the point as always, our dear Vega."

Sirius tugs at his restraints which causes the magic to make a slight jangle. Then, his face winces in pain, thanks to the mess of magic tangled inside his body. He can't even get a good night's sleep.

He's given up on most pretences, but as a habit, his expression reverts back into its usual drawl, and Vega hears him sigh in exasperation.

"The fact that you've come here must mean you already have an idea as to why."

"...."

It seems as if staying quiet has become Vega's own habit.

Sirius shifts on his rear so to make himself comfy, and doesn't bother offering Vega a seat.

"Well, I heard about your little tiff with the Summoner earlier, don't you think you're a bit overprotective?"

Sirius likes his dramatics, so instead of rising to his provocation, all Vega can do is answer as calmly as possible.

"You may not be the most compassionate sorcerer in Bound Arlyn, but when it comes to the Summoner, I know you too, would care."

Sirius visibly stiffens and Vega is reminded of a statue he once saw in the ruins of the Tower of Babilli. Worn out, riddled with cracks, as Sirius turns his head to hide his expression.

"The only one I care about is Polaris."

They both know it's a lie, but Sirius gives him no room for protest.

"Tell me, Vega. Isn't the Summoner the only one you really care about?"

What nonsense. "No. Because unlike you, I have other people I cherish too."

Sirius gives him a hollow laugh.

"When the time comes, you will realize how irrelevant those "people" can seem to you, as you quiver in the corner the constellations have pushed you in, for their own amusement," he says with a voice as sweet, and as poisonous, of a belladonna. A flower fitting for his character, something that remains as only Vega's opinion.

"Your words remain as difficult to comprehend as ever."

Silence.

"Vega."

He is slightly startled as Sirius calls out his name seriously for the first time.

"You still haven't let go of that hand have you?"

'What would he know?'

Sirius speaks again, as if reading his thoughts;

"When I said that the both of us were alike, it was not in jest. I meant it."

"Just like me, you're still stuck clinging to a dream long gone - or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a nightmare - and the ghost of it."

It's laughable. Sirius of all people, the strangest and most capricious out of them, is reprimanding him for being too clingy.

But Vega knows that Sirius isn't playing around.

"You may become just like me, trapped in longing, unable to see the present for what it is. You will always be looking backwards."

Maybe they are similar after all, in the most distant, and yet morbidly intimate way possible.

"I just hope you won't hurt her like I did."

No one else but Sirius hears these words.

[vesteneris]

not gonna lie, the cast of @kald-dal-art fanfiction about the first Quartel Quell is just really good

[zarameraki]

looking back on my old fics and like…..why did i kinda eat with them?

[theevilcactus]

What's the origin of your blog title?

I was an angsty teenager who liked cacti and I needed a blog title. There was really no deeper meaning behind it, but I'm attached now.

OTP(s) Shipname:

I don't really have one specific OTP right now, but a couple of my top ships historically have been Whouffle (when I was in high school) and Hannigram (in the first couple years of college). I'm currently very much enjoying James/Alyssa (the end of the fucking world) and Polypalooza (from PIBE), but I wouldn't call either of those my OTP.

Favourite colour:

Green! I like all shades, but I'm especially fond of overly bright lime green. Eyesore levels of green.

Favourite game:

If we're talking video games, it's easily The Sims 4. If we're talking physical games, like board or card games, probably Fluxx. (Star Fluxx if you want to be specific.)

Song stuck in your head:

Dead Girl Walking (Reprise)

Weirdest habit/trait?

I can't stand having the volume on an odd number. It needs to be even. No matter what. Even is 10 is too quiet and 12 is too loud, I will not put the sound on 11. I will put up with any level of inconvenience from the even numbers if it means avoiding having to put it on an odd one.

I don't know if that's actually that weird, but my mom seems to think i is.

Hobbies:

Reading & writing fanfiction, making a bunch of characters in the sims that I'm never actually gonna play, occasionally hiking.

If you work, what's your profession?

Unemployed, unfortunately. In the process of looking for a new job.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

Writing novels. It's a damn hard field to break into, though, if you want to actually make enough money to live on. Even harder if you're like me and seemingly unable to actually finish writing a novel.

Something you're good at:

Writing. I'd better be good at it, I've been writing fics since I was 8 and I literally majored in creative writing in school.

Something you're bad at:

Being social, responding to texts within a timely manner

Something you love:

My silly little shows. Also, my cat.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

Pretty much any of the shows/books/movies I've ever been super into (I tend to get very obsessive about them and rewatch the same episodes constantly). Or Greek mythology.

Something you hate:

The texture of the inside of a tomato.

Something you collect:

I guess you could say I collect books, but that's less of a deliberate collection and more of an accident. Earrings maybe?

Something you forget:

Pretty much everything, I'm very forgetful.

What's your love language?

Does parallel play count? Just existing in the same space as each other but each doing our own thing

Favourite movie/show:

My #1 favorite movie is Fear Street: 1978, closely followed by the Harley Quinn Birds of Prey movie. My favorite show is probably either Gotham or Survivor.

Favorite food:

Bread. I could eat a good loaf of bread all damn day, especially if there's herbed oil or butter or something to dip it in. Also, the specific combination of brie & blackberries & honeycrisp apple slices.

Favorite Animal:

Cats, maybe? I'm also currently very fond of toucans and orchid bees.

What were you like as a child?

Shy and anxious and very annoying about Warriors cats. And smart.

Favourite subject at school?

English/literature.

Least favourite subject:

Chemistry specifically, but other science classes were ok. Math if we want to be more general.

What's your best character trait?

My creativity

What's your worst character trait?

I'm a bit of a coward

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I'd have enough moneyyyyyyy to never need to work again

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

I'd be more interested in various places/eras than specific famous historical people. I'd want to see ancient Greece or maybe some dinosaurs.

tagging @alpacasandravens @poolboyvmprmansion @cherrych4 @panic-wizard-sex-walrus @empir2 @cosmicoceanfic and @ anybody else who wants to do it

Get to know your mutuals!!!

cheers @stevie-marigold for tagging me!

What's the origin of your blog title?

doccy who! plus me mum always used to say i have telescopic arms. personally i think they're a normal length

OTP(s) Shipname:

johnlock, i will forever be a johnlocker no matter which version of those freaks we're talking about

Favourite colour:

orange <3

Favourite game:

factorio! i greatly enjoy the spagetti of it

Song stuck in your head:

antmusic by adam and the ants

Weirdest habit/trait?

darling everything i do is deeply weird, couldn't do something normal if i tried

Hobbies:

writing, reading, nuisance making, music enjoying, getting in the way, and various wool-related crafts

If you work, what's your profession?

im the imp who sits in your camera and paints the pictures for you (im out of blue btw)

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

id invent hexopostcards, which are hexagonal postcards and only have pictures of six sided things on. if a thing has more than six sides than you've got to have the seventh+ side(s) off the edge of the postcard. if it has less than six you have to draw where the rest of the sides could feasibly be. then id retire

Something you're good at:

answering questions truthfully

Something you're bad at:

eating dog food

Something you love:

doing jigsaws

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

doccy who. i just do that anyway

Something you hate:

jigsaws that have too much sky so its all just blue (doesn't include my starry night puzzle)

Something you collect:

vinyls, posters, things ill use someday, names, ideas of things to write

Something you forget:

my best friends birthday. i have it written down and i still forget consistently

What's your love language?

circular gallifreyan

Favourite movie/show:

oh theres so many. doccy who and torchwood, sherlock, merlin (im really from a specific time going by those answers) loads of films too but, to say an obscure one to make me sound cool, mcfarland usa

Favourite food:

the souls of the damned. failing that pasta

Favourite animal:

@zelda-wheelz

What were you like as a child?

weird nervous about everything and a nerd

Favourite subject at school?

maths! don't ask me to remember a single thing from my alevels though

Least favourite subject:

drama. hated acting in front of all those eyes

What's your best character trait?

i like to think im quite nice

What's your worst character trait?

asking @zelda-wheelz the answers for half these questions

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

id move

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

george michael, so long as i can bring my mum

tagging: @captainfairygodmother @b1uetrees @by-gray

[sunfloweraro]

No WIP Saturday today. Instead I’ve come to offer you all the next story in my Stitch series!!!

Summary:

Legend and Warriors have a bond forged in mutual trust and understanding. They know they can rely on each other through thick and thin. Until a simple miscommunication shatters everything, and neither of them are certain they can repair their broken friendship.

But when a hunt for a black-blooded monster leaves the two of them cut off from the rest of their group, will they be able set aside pride and work together to make it out alive?

[theflyingfeeling]

you know what I love doing almost as much as making the blorbos miserable and pathetic? making them horny and pathetic 🥰

and so I present you Aleksi getting addicted to fucking a pillow, now on AO3 💞

[pauls1967moustache]

Hi, I'm curious about your writing process. What do you do to improve your writing or come up with something you like? Who's writing style or what pieces of work inform your own?

Ooh, difficult to say. I don't think I'm very self-aware about my writing. The most effort I put into improvement so to speak is sometimes I'll have an ambitious stylistic idea or a complex sort of theme I want to capture, so I set out with the express purpose of trying to write that. But I think the best way to improve, like for any skill, is simply just practice. I write for fun so I don't take the craft side of it too seriously, but even when I'm not posting, I'm probably working out a fic in the background, so I would say I'm doing some sort of writing practice at least once a week if not (usually) more.

As for "coming up with something I like" - do you mean for ideas or like coming up with a finished version of my ideas that I like? Coming up with ideas I like is kind of a nebulous thing. I usually just let inspiration come to me. Kink meme prompts are an easy outlet for that, obviously. Usually any fic I come up with outside of that is inspired by some quote that I found fascinating and stuck around in my brain until it formed into a story where I could explore what I found so fascinating about it.

Writing style is also kind of a wild one. As with anyone, I am inspired by the amalgamated collection of things I have read over the years. I'm very inspired by past fics I read - not in terms of style but in terms of like, being able to make someone else feel the way those fics made me feel. I think I've said this in some writing meme before as well, but some writers I really like are James Baldwin and John Steinbeck, though I've never sat down and tried to emulate their style. Would that I could though. I think they both write in very straight-forward and sober ways but still manage to pack their writing with so much emotion and humanity, which I really like. But like I'm not trying to be the James Baldwin of beatles rpf like who do I think I am lmaooo.

Sorry if these are vague-ass answers to your questions, anon. You can ask more if it made no sense <3