#500& counting

[doomsdaywriter]

Halfway to 1,000!

My last post was my 500th post since I started this blog, roughly 10 years ago. I’m looking forward to seeing how fast I can make it to 1,000.

[the-kr8tor]

Speed Drive

🎉500 celebration fic🎉

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 6.2k

Synopsis: You come along with Hobie on a road trip to Glasgow. Aka the fic where I squeezed in multiple dream dates of mine lol

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mention, reader is a history nerd (definitely not projecting), the reader can't drive, sunshine! Reader. Suggestive content, lovestruck Hobie, Established relationship. FLUFF.

A/n: I did some research on the places they went to, if there are any inaccuracies on the geography/ information, please note that I've never been to any of these places, I'm only basing my knowledge on what I've researched and what I've studied in uni.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy and pasted on any ai software*

Navigation

Masterlist

You grunt as you lift the heavy amp, back straightened so you don't accidentally sprain yourself. Waddling towards Hobie's van, amp sitting heavily near your waist. The sun is just about rising on the horizon, painting the pavement deep blue. The water laps at the house boat's side, the sound familiar, adding to the relaxed atmosphere where you and Hobie are the only ones awake in the entire city. The early morning air nips at your skin, leaving goosebumps on the back of your neck.

Suddenly, strong familiar arms wrap around the amp. "What are you doin'? Told you I've got them" Hobie clicks his tongue, taking the amp from you.

He's annoyed but not at you, he's irritated that he got the short end of the stick, ending up waking up early (too early) to load the instruments. You don't take it to heart, knowing his annoyance isn't because of you. It would've been better if he just helped his band mates load them in, but lady luck wasn't on his side. Unfortunately he also got driving duties, now he has to drive seven hours to get to Glasgow for the band's very first big gig. Leaving the rest of the band to take (a very comfortable) train ride at a later hour. Hobie's a bit jealous on that end, he would've liked for you to see the sights on a train instead of sitting on his old van that creaks when he steers a little too far to the left.

The only silver lining about the impromptu road trip is you. Seven hours on the road with just you is pure bliss, if only he didn't have to wake up in this ungodly hour, he would've been in a better mood.

"Sorry, you were busy loading in the drums. Thought I would help" you look up at him through equally tired eyes. A cloud of breath escaping when you talk. Hobie zips your jacket further up, keeping you warm.

He heaves the amp on one arm, effortlessly carrying it. "Don't be, you're just trying to help." Hobie feels guilty for clicking his tongue at you. He holds your cold hand, sharing his warmth.

"You're definitely not a morning person" you squeeze his hand. "grumpy" bringing his hand to your lips, you leave a chaste kiss over his knuckles. "Is that the last one?"

"Think so," he looks around the area, finding nothing else to load inside the van. "Don't forget to bring in the thermos, you're turning into an icicle"

"Okay, I made us sandwiches" you smile at him, swinging your intertwined hands.

"What kind?" He stomps down his grumpy demeanor at the sound of breakfast.

"Lots!" You grin excitedly at him, Hobie wonders where you got your sudden burst of energy.

"Fuckin' hell, no wonder why you were up so late. You made every conceivable sandwich in the world" he jokes, your happy energy spreading to him.

You chuckle, "not every single one. You have the first pick for waking up so early"

"Yeah? Even though you threatened to splash me with water?" He raises a pierced brow, a smile curling on his lips.

You wince, "yeah, sorry. It finally got you to wake up though!"

"Yeah, yeah, and here I thought you would wake me up with a kiss"

"I did! Like five fucking times. You wouldn't even stir, I got desperate, okay!" You laugh, it echoes around the silent neighborhood.

"I believe you, can you get our bags from inside? I'll warm up the van" Hobie reluctantly lets go of your hand. You feel cold already.

"Get it nice and toasty for me?"

"What are you? Banana bread?"

"Funny" you point at him playfully, walking backwards.

"Don't forget the bloody Thermos!" He yells after you, following you with his gaze, making sure you don't trip because you decided to walk backwards.

You wink at him, "okay, dad!"

"Lil shit" he says with a smile.

—

Munching on your sandwich, Hobie cranked up the heating, you're now warm and toasty in your seat. The leather squeaks when you move to feed Hobie a bite of your sandwich. He *insists that he prefers yours even though you made an identical one. Hobie's free hand is glued to your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, making sure you don't fall asleep on him.

Hobie keeps his eyes on the road, trying to take a bite of the sandwich that you've teasingly moved a few inches away from his waiting mouth.

He bites at air, "Oi, what the fuck" you snicker, biting your lip. Hobie immediately figures out what you're doing, "don't make me swerve this fucking car into that ditch"

"Jeez, okay!" You laugh, leaning closer (as much as the seat belt would allow you to) Hobie takes a generous bite, "you're still grumpy? Do you need more coffee?" You rub at the corner of his mouth with your thumb, cleaning the bread crumbs. He hums appreciatively.

"I don't think that coffee's workin' too well" he says while chewing. "We're not even out of the city yet" Hobie huffs.

"Do you want me to drive for a bit?" You wait for his reaction with a tiny smirk.

"You haven't got a license," He says matter-of-fact, "you don't even know how to drive" he doesn't sound condescending or making fun of you, his voice laced with endearment. He makes a mental note to teach you once you two get back home. His fingers pinches you through your pants.

"I'm a fast learner" you joke, Hobie cracks a sleep deprived smile, oh he's definitely not a morning person. "Give it time, you basically drank the entire thermos. Maybe some music could help?"

"If it's your music, I'm gonna fall asleep on the wheel" He squeezes your thigh, just in case you didn't get his joke.

"If it's your music, It's going to burst my eardrums this early in the morning" you quip back.

"Nice. Sandwich me, love" he opens his mouth, darting his eyes from the road to you before his gaze goes back to watching the road.

You lean again, holding up the almost finished sandwich. "Do you know who invented the sandwich?" Hobie eats the entire thing in one bite, almost taking your fingers off. You glare playfully at him.

He chuckles, mouth full. "No, who?"

"Lord Sandwich, the fourth earl of Sandwich in the eighteenth century"

"You're fucking with me" Hobie takes a left turn, the van creaks, instruments in the back sliding a bit. You watch his hand turn the steering wheel, mesmerized by how his large hand grips the wheel. His rings don't help, you tilt your head, watching intently.

He pinches your thigh, getting your attention. "Hey, where'd you go?"

"Sorry, I was trying to recall the rest of the fact" you blink back to reality.

"Will you be like this the entire trip? Watching my bloody hands, you perv" He read you like an open book.

"What– I wasn't, okay! I was–" you fumble with your words.

He has a playful smirk on his lips. "You were what? Fantasizing my hands wrapped around your–"

"Stop!" You hold his hand that's on your thigh, so he could stop his teasing.

"What? I was gonna say 'wrapped around your hand', honestly what did you think I was gonna say?" He asks you playfully, shoving your shoulder lightly.

"it's too early for this shit" you mumble with a playful pout, intertwining your fingers with his.

He laughs, eyes crinkling into a smile. Hobie brings your hand to his lips, placing a quick peck on your warm hand. "Ah, too early for it? Maybe later then?"

You groan but your smile and the twinkle in your eyes says otherwise.

"What were you talking about? 'Bout the sandwich bloke?"

"John Montagu, he invented the sandwich because he didn't have time to eat a proper meal while he was playing cards and working."

"Bloody rich lord" he grumbles with malice.

"Hey, if not for him you wouldn't be eating one of my Sandwiches"

"I love eating your sandwich" he raises a teasing brow, proud of his innuendo.

"What is up with you this morning?" You laugh, playing with one of his rings, twirling the metal around his index finger. "Seriously, did I accidentally make you coffee with something in it? Is that why it says 'special' in the packaging?"

Hobie laughs loudly, echoing around the van. "You think they'd put an aphrodisiac in coffee?" He lets go of your hand for a bit while he steers the wheel with both hands. "Like ginkgo biloba or somethin'?"

You reach for his free hand immediately after he lets go of the wheel to lay it back on your thigh. "No like pistachio nuts or–" you try to think of another example, "— crab" you giggle when the word escapes your lips.

"Crab?!" He rides with your bit. "Must be some expensive bloody coffee, lovey" Hobie rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. "No wonder I tasted something fishy in that coffee"

You gasp, feigning offense. "You did not!" contributing to the bit.

"Now who's crabby this morning, huh?" He chuckles.

You roll your eyes at his pun, "argh, can't believe I have to endure seven more hours of this" teasing him, your sentence has no ounce of truth in it whatsoever. More than happy to accompany him on the trip.

"It'll be the best seven hours of your life, sweets" He looks at you through the rearview mirror with a smirk.

You can read him like a book too. Narrowing your eyes, you can just tell he has something planned, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

"You've got something up your sleeves? Spill it, Hobart"

He sideways glances at you, hiding his knowing smile. "Don't know what you're on about" Hobie clears his throat, playing it cool.

"Nope, I know you, babe. That fucking smirk of yours, I know it!" You lightly poke at his cheek.

"Lovey, I haven't got a scooby doo. I'm just here drivin' trying to get us to Glasgow"

"You get very detailed when you're lying. I know your tells!"

"That so?" He makes a mental note of what you've said, which might be handy the next time he has a surprise. Hobie opens the radio, cd already inside, it plays a loud tune, drowning out your questions.

"Hey!" You yell through the loud music. Hobie almost gives himself away with a laugh, he bites his lip to stifle it. "Whatever– wherever you're planning to stop at some backroad tourist attraction, we better not be too late for the show!"

Hobie cranks the volume up, "What? Can't hear you through the music" he gestures towards his ear.

You press the 'volume down' button, covering your ears. Now you're definitely both wide awake. "You're an ass, you can't have any more of my sandwiches" huffing, you grab a ziplock of sandwich just to tease him more.

Banter fills the van, laughs and flirty words entertain you until sleep comes back to haunt you. Unexpectedly falling asleep, Hobie lets you snooze away in his passenger seat. Avoiding potholes, slowing down when passing a speed bump. He even uses his arm to act as your second seat belt whenever he turns sharply, hand cradling your head so you don't fall off the headrest.

Hobie has the urge to wake you though, but he needs you at full energy for what he's planning on taking you. Eyes drifting to the van's console, he gazes at your camera, taking a mental note to remember to give you the extra roll of films he bought for you.

—

Hobie shuts off the engine, eyes bleary, he clicks the seatbelt off of him. He has the urge to close his eyes and join you in slumberland. One look at your sleeping face almost pushes him off the edge.

He leans closer to you, hand cupping your jaw, he taps your face with his thumb. "Love" you don't stir, eyes still closed. Hobie's so attuned to you that he knows you're not faking it.

He kisses you chastely, warm lips puckering to wake you up. Hobie calls your name this time, poking your cheek. You still sleep, lips slightly parted. He's absolutely jealous of you right now. Peppering your face with kisses, he fully intends to wake you up. Defeated, you still lay asleep.

A bright idea pops up in his mind. Pulling away, Hobie grips the steering wheel with both hands, arms length away from him. He screams bloody murder like he's about to hit a wall.

You jump away, yelling for a second before seeing the parking lot bare, van parked safely. You clutch your chest, eyes now wide awake. Slapping his arm, you glare at him. Hobie has a shit-eating grin on his face, arm raised to shield himself. His laugh echoes.

"You fucker!" Slap "I could've" slap "gotten a heart attack!" You huff with a pout.

"I'm sorry, c'mere" he tries to hug you, standing your ground, you cross your arms on your chest. "You wouldn't wake up! I'm sorry, please?" Hobie flexes his fingers, face apologetic.

"Are we here? Did I sleep the entire time?"

"No, lovey. We're at a stopover" he points outside with his head. "'m really sorry. If there's any consolation I think you'll like this place"

Your eyes zero in on the sign, reading it loudly, "Stratford Upon-Avon?!" Screeching excitedly. You click off your seat belt with urgency, with the intention of leaving Hobie hanging as revenge. You'll kiss him thank you later anyway.

Opening the door, you step off, stretching your legs and breathing in fresh air. Warmer air greets you, a much kinder one from a few hours ago. Trainers bouncing off in excitement. Greenery and old timey Houses fill your vision, adding to your eagerness.

Hobie joins your side, your sling bag over his broad shoulder. Hiding his disappointment from your lack of hug, he only blames himself for scaring the crap out of you.

"Y/n." The lack of the term of endearment alerts you, whirling around, you see his shoulders slumped, face clearly hiding his true feelings behind a straight face. You know he'll feel worse if you don't try to reassure him. So you do, hand signaling him to hold yours.

He blames the early morning for making him all lovesick, if it was the later hours, Hobie would've stuck to teasing you about your reaction. With a sigh and a weak roll of his eyes, he steps in your arms instead of just holding your hand, head resting on your shoulder, yawning as you knead his aching back; you indulge him.

Good thing it's still too early for tourists to flock the area, save for a few scattered ones looking for a place to have breakfast at.

"Apology accepted," leaning back, you straighten the knots on his forehead. "You need better coffee" you scrunch your nose at his closed eyes.

"Or sleep" he grumbles.

"Do you want to sleep for a bit inside the van?" You feel bad for sleeping the entire time. "I'll stay with you don't worry. I won't fall asleep this time."

He shakes his head, slapping his own face to wake himself up. Jumping up and down with you still in his arms. You don't question it, jumping along with him. Metal accessories clinking together, boots thumping hard on the pavement.

Spluttering, he shakes his head vigorously. You giggle at his face.

"Alright, 'm good. Let's go get coffee"

—

You lead a very sleep deprived Hobie by the sleeve of his hoodie, too warm for his leather one yet too cold for just a t-shirt. He lets you drag him along, not because he's disinterested, sleepiness just got the best of him.

Gasping, you point at a unique streetlight. Little statues of a donkey and a man sitting on the metal sides, a curious owl placed on top, looking down on the street.

"Look at that donkey with a guitar!"

Hobie squints through the haziness, "think that's a lute. Kinda looks like you." He still finds the time to tease you even with heavy eyes. A smirk playing on his lips, watching you closely.

"You're the owl then" you let go of his sleeve, taking the camera from your bag, positioning and angling it for the best lighting. He watches your face full of concentration with a faint endearing smile.

Click.

"Got it" you smile, spotting a stand full of maps and information about the place. "Oohh" skipping over the display, you take one. "Hobie, look! Babe?" You look up from the pamphlet when Hobie doesn't reply back.

He walks towards you at a snail's pace. Grunting back in acknowledgement.

You wince, practically feeling his tiredness ooze out of him. "Let's get that coffee. There's a café near here."

"Overpriced coffee" he could only mumble out a protest. While you guide him towards the shop for some much needed refuel. It's not like he has any other choices, all the coffee shops near the area are unnecessarily expensive, save for gas station coffee– which is too far to get to right now, he might fall asleep while driving to it.

Hobie can't let himself drive through the fog of sleep, especially that you're with him. So he surrenders with the promise of getting his pep back so he can drive you safely to the next destination.

—

After gulping down two cups of coffee that made Hobie seethe after hearing the price, he leaves you on the table to go to the loo, your eyes glued on the leaflet, absorbing every word and information on it.

Hobie makes his way back, now wide awake, he watches you put too much milk on your cup, too distracted with reading– it overflows, spilling the hot liquid on the table. He has never loved you more when you jump in your seat, quietly yelping, clumsily wiping at the table with a napkin. He shakes his head with a fond smile and soft eyes.

Hobie asks for more napkins from the cashier, promptly heading towards your table. He helps you wordlessly, wiping, avoiding spilling any more expensive tea.

"Sorry" you expect Hobie to chastise you for spilling your drink, instead, he looks at you with concern and fondness.

"You alright? Didn't spill any on you?"

You smile softly, thankful eyes staring back at him. "I'm okay, it's not that hot anyway"

"Sure?" He takes his tea stained finger on the tip of your nose, leaving a wet patch over it. Green tea wafts your nostrils. "There's some on you"

"Ack!" Wiping it with a clean tissue, you roll your eyes; faint smile telling him otherwise.

"That's how it is then?" He chuckles, satisfied with your reaction. He sits down next to you, drying his hands on a napkin. Arm instinctively flying around your shoulder, holding you close. "Where to go next?"

"Hmm?" You hum, drinking what's left of your tea, "I thought you had it planned?"

"I planned on stopping here, thought you got the next part since you've always wanted to go here, y'know planned the entire trip in your head before"

For a second he thinks that you're disappointed in him for not planning ahead. The thought stops the second you beam at him, hands on his shoulder to anchor yourself on him. lips puckering to kiss him on the cheek quickly since you're in public. Hobie doesn't protest, leaning towards the kiss, angling his face so that your lips just about graze the corner of his lip. You know exactly what he's doing, you let him, moving slyly closer to his lips.

"Oh, you know me so well!" You say excitedly, pulling away, shaking his shoulder for emphasis. "First stop! The river Avon!"

—

"The ferry's closed" you come back to his side with a frown. Gusts of cool air rushes past, rustling your jacket, the leaves on the trees whisper and rustle in the wind, big fluffy clouds providing shade. The river laps at the dock, adding to your downturned lips. "The employee also said Shakespeare's house and the other houses are closed since it's too early"

"We'll just have to come back on our way home then" your frown turns back into a smile, poking his sides teasingly.

"You'll take me back here?" You say with a smirk, playful eyes smile back at him, finger poking his waist. "Ohhh, you're so smitten"

He takes your poking finger with a roll of his eyes, hiding the growing smile on his lips with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. Where to now, tour guide?"

"The butterfly farm is open early. Is that okay?"

"Why not?"

"We have to walk there, it's a bit of a trek" you shrug, "it's okay if we don't have time for it"

He calculates in his head, if you only stay an hour more, you two can be right back on schedule; just on time to get to Glasgow without being late for the show.

"We've got time to spare"

"You sure? I don't want us to be late" toe to toe with Hobie, finger still encased in his hand, you ask him anyway even though you know what his answer will be.

"Yes, let's go before people flock this place"

Hand in hand, you take in the sights, stopping from time to time to shoot pictures of the historical houses and buildings. Hobie becomes your model, posing like a natural in front of the lens. He wrangles the camera from you to take your picture right in front of Shakespeare's home and school. Shyness slowly edging away for a while as Hobie hypes you up. Instructing you to pose here and there.

You ran out of film before reaching the butterfly garden, stopping right in front of the royal Shakespeare theatre. The red bricks and dome like structure looms overhead.

"Aww, I think we used it all"

"'ve got more" he takes an extra roll of film from his pocket. You stare at him like he just did magic right in front of your eyes.

"Where'd you get this?" You say, bewildered.

"Brought it with me" he says nonchalantly like he didn't do the sweetest thing just for you.

"Have I told you lately that you're really amazing?" You load film inside the camera, quickly snapping a picture of his smug face.

"No, maybe you should say it often"

So enamored, chest filled with love, you agree. "Mm-hmm, maybe I should. Now, can you stand right there while I take a picture of your amazing face"

—

You finally make it to the butterfly garden. An arch with a large colourful butterfly display greets you. Inside is a beautiful glass greenhouse with a dome ceiling, it shines brightly in the early morning sun, adding to your excitement.

Once paid for the tickets, you and Hobie head inside, you're practically jumping off the glass walls. Hobie's hand leads you inside, preventing you from sliding on the gravel and breaking your ankle on the rough ground.

You're in complete awe of the place, it looked beautiful outside but nothing compares to it once inside. The sun glows brilliantly, bouncing its rays on the glass ceiling and walls. Flora and greenery as far as your eyes could see, strategically placed around the massive greenhouse. The flowery and sweet smells entranced you to explore the entire place, not to mention the colorful butterflies in all shapes and sizes fluttering all around you. Birds make their morning sing-song adding to the fantastical atmosphere.

The look on your face makes waking up a few hours earlier than scheduled makes it all worth it for Hobie. He softly smiles at you, hands clasped comfortably over yours. Eyes sparkling, mirroring yours, he guides you further inside. You let him, neck craned up, watching as butterflies swirl overhead.

Gravel crunches under your footsteps, Hobie stops walking. You almost bumped into him, he tugs at your hand, pointing down on the shrubbery.

"What is that?" You squint, jumping when something green slithers further away from you two and into the thick greenery. "Woah!"

He chuckles at your reaction. You fumble for your camera to capture a photo of the iguana lounging in the warmth, scales as green as the leaves around it.

Click.

"Look, it's you!" You point at its sharp spikes, looking at Hobie with a teasing smile.

"Careful, he bites" he taunts back, making you retract your finger back.

Strolling around more, you take so many pictures, the film Hobie gave you is almost full. You've even snuck in candid pictures of Hobie, and by god, he looked great in all of them. While all your pictures looked like you were at a field trip with your parents, posing with a goofy smile on your face as a butterfly lands on your shoulder.

It's been almost an hour of exploring, so you hold his hand again to tug him towards the exit with a promise of going back, without a time constraint next time.

Crisp air greets you two, hand in hand, you walk by the river, watching as ducks and swans swim on the surface. Their quacking and honking gets louder and louder as they notice you, asking for food.

"Maybe we should've brought rice with us" You mumble, looking at the birds with an apologetic look as if they can understand you.

"Do you think if you fall in they'll eat you?" Hobie asks with a serious look on his face, a small smirk curling on his lips, the only indication that he's fully joking.

"I don't think they'll like me very much, I'm full of bread, which isn't nutritious for 'em" you playfully quipped back, squeezing his hand. He chuckles at your comment.

Hobie slyly moves you away from the river, just in case you actually fall in. He guides you to his right, so that he's the one nearest to the water instead of you. Hand holding your left one, you lean to his side, full of affection in your chest, you softly kiss his shoulder. Whispering softly a 'thank you'

—

You've been quiet for an hour, Hobie side eyes you from time to time. The sudden silence makes him concerned, moreso when your face has contorted into a grimace, eyebrows furrowed, you bite your lips with a sharp inhale.

He's worried since you've been extremely chatty an hour ago, voice filling the van, you help him stay awake. Well until he hit a speed bump that made you squeak out.

"You alright, lovey?" Hobie asks with a squeeze of your thigh.

You sit with a fluffy blanket over your lap, a neck pillow under your head. You look comfortable enough, so why do you look like you're in pain?

You exhale, looking at him through the corners of your eyes without moving your neck. "Mm-hmm"

"Mm-hmm? What's wrong? Is the seat not warm enough?" Hobie looks at you through the rearview mirror, seeing your knitted eyebrows.

You ball the blanket under your knuckles. "I'm okay"

He nods, unconvinced.

After a few moments of smooth driving on the highway, cars drive past, you squeeze your thighs together. Controlling your breathing, you try not to think of water.

"Love" he calls for you, "did you see that car with the flame decals on it?" Chuckling softly, he places his hand over your thigh again. Hobie feels the tight muscles under your pants, eyebrow raising in question.

"Y/n" he snickers under his breath. Hands kneading softly at your thigh. Hobie translates the squeezing of your thighs together and your elevated breathing, "I swear if you're hot and bothered, I can't park right here–"

"I need to pee" you say embarrassed, avoiding his eyes. Only finally admitting it so he doesn't actually think you're aroused for some reason.

Hobie laughs loudly, hand slapping the steering wheel. "I told you to go before we left"

"Hobie," you whine. "Not funny, I've been holding it for so long"

"Alright," he clams up, still smiling at your predicament. "There's no gas station near here, love. We're too far away to turn around but we're thirty minutes away from Manchester. We can stop there"

"Thirty?!" You're in agony, hands tucked in between your legs in an attempt to tamp down the need to go.

Hobie moves his hand from your thigh to the back of your neck, kneading softly. He presses the gas, if he hurries you can make it in twenty five without breaking any traffic laws. He makes a joke about you peeing in a bottle which you only glared in return.

Twenty minutes later, you're folded in half on your seat, head layed on your lap, trying to distract yourself by counting the threads in your blanket.

"Almost there, love. Hold on" Hobie pats your head in reassurance. You groan out a reply.

—

You jumped from your seat after a second of Hobie parking the car in front of a gas station. Hand tightening around your travel sized toilet paper.

Hobie patiently waits for you outside the door. Fingers fiddling with his web shooters tucked under his sleeve.

The door creaks open. His neck cranes up to meet your relieved face. "Success?"

"Remind me to not drink anything until we make it to Glasgow."

"You still need to drink some water y'know" he walks back to the car with your pinkies linked together.

"Are we still far?"

"A bit, let's stop by Liverpool to eat lunch" he opens the passenger door for you. You smile sweetly at the gesture.

"Thank you, sorry for being annoying" You hug his waist with one arm briefly just before you hop to your seat.

"Not annoying, tell me next time, yeah?"

"Okay" you lean down to press a kiss on his lips, savoring the moment. He hums into it, his hand right over your shoulder so that you don't fall off.

—

As the van passes through Manchester, you spot the canals, houseboats parked on the side, you get reminded of your shared home.

"Look! That one looks like ours, same color too"

"Missing home already?"

"Kind of. Wish we could stop here, they've got the oldest library in Britain" You lay your head over the window, watching as landmarks pass by in a blur.

"They also have a serial killer too"

You scoff, "in this day and age?" Looking at Hobie's face, you don't see any lie to his comment. Your face falls, "wait, you serious?"

He shrugs, side eyeing you. You have absolutely no idea if he's joking or not, Hobie's good at acting like that, especially if he's teasing you.

"Hobie, you're joking right?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there actually a killer on the loose here?" You instinctively check the door locks.

He doesn't respond, adding to your fear. You completely miss the mischievous look on his face though.

"I don't want to stop here anymore" you mumble.

"We could always take a detour right now–"

"Nope, no thank you" you answer lightning quick.

He hides his smile behind his hand. Maybe he'll tell you all about it on the return trip.

—

An hour later you're sitting down outside a local restaurant in Chinatown, waiting for your food to arrive. The air blows softly, fluttering your lashes. You close your eyes, head resting on your hand, elbow over the table. You can see the faint outline of the Liverpool cathedral underneath the fog. It's gotten a few degrees colder since you've arrived, the streets shine from the earlier rain, petrichor wafts your senses.

Two bowls of warm noodles are placed in front of you. Side dishes, dimsum and xiaolongbao makes your stomach rumble at the sight and savory smell.

"Thank you," you smile at the waiter.

Wondering where Hobie went, lo and behold, he emerges, walking towards you with a paper cup of convenience store coffee. "Food is here, you still need coffee?"

He sits down across from you. "Yeah, needed another boost" Hobie scrunches his nose before standing up again, moving his chair right next to you, avoiding it from scraping the concrete. He sits back down, arm thrown over the back of your chair.

You look at him with a fond smile, heart eyes staring back at Hobie.

"What?" He challenges you with a raised eyebrow and faint smirk.

"Nothin'" you shove him lightly with your shoulder.

"Hm" he hums, you translate it to an 'obviously'

You eat with content, letting him steal some of your broth from your bowl, in exchange, he gives you a dimsum from his share.

—

You do your best at reading the booklet about Liverpool that you've bought before leaving the city while the vehicle moves.

"The guy who designed the cathedral is the same person who designed the red telephone box"

Hobie listens intently with coffee coursing through his veins, stomach full of food, he's properly fueled to drive for more than four hours to Glasgow. His band mates better be there already when you two arrive or he'll wring their necks.

There won't be any more stops until you get to the destination since there'll only be the highway to drive on. It stretches far, cars whirring past. With Sprawling green hills, and mountains curved around the highway makes the drive much more serene. Powerlines on the sides ground you, making it all seem familiar. The weather is foggy, blanketing the England to Scotland border.

The van rattles as Hobie swerves the car to the right. He plants his hand back in your knee, palm circling the curve of it affectionately.

"Ohh, they've got a beach" you stare at the picture of the nature reserve with its sandy windswept dunes, and grassy knolls.

"Add that to the list"

"Okay" you take out a pen from the glovebox, biting the cap off with your teeth, you scribble it on the back of the booklet where there's an empty space. Using your thighs as a table, you add the destination on your little list right under 'old thatch tavern'

"There," you hum happily.

"Is there anything on there 'bout Glasgow?" He kneads your knee with his knuckle.

"A tiny bit" you flip to the back, "they've got a mural trail, we might pass through it on the way. Ooh they also have a glasshouse."

You two pass the time by giving him facts about the places you've passed. Hobie listens in, adding his own knowledge to the mix. An hour later, you're both jamming to his music cassette. You try to make him laugh by banging your head to the song. Whipping your head too hard, you end up banging it on the dashboard.

With wide eyes and laughter threatening to spill out, Hobie comforts you with his palm over your forehead.

You two chat about with you feeding him crisps in between, exchanging stories and playing 'I spy' Hobie ends up winning with his enhanced vision, you challenge him again with a huff. He still wins the second and third round. His prize? Hobie tells you he's gonna hold onto it until you reach Glasgow.

At hour three, the car makes a metal groaning sound in the middle of the highway, you and Hobie looked at each other in fear for a second, silent and waiting for the van to keel over. You both sigh in relief after a few good minutes of silence with the car still running smoothly. Good thing it did because you have no idea how you'll make it to Glasgow if it did decide to just die in the middle of the road.

Before you know it, Hobie parks the van near the venue. Clicking off his seatbelt while you stretch in your seat. Hobie leans towards you, elbow right over the center console, he helps you with your seatbelt before promptly moving his hand to your cheek to face him.

"Can I help you?" You giggle, pecking the tip of his nose. "Are you claiming your prize?"

"This isn't my prize, lovey." He softly says against your lips. "That'll wait for later"

"Okay," you feel like your cheeks are on fire.

"This is my thanks" He meets your waiting lips, moving with yours. Cupping his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheeks, you breathe through your nose so the kiss would last longer yet it still leaves you breathless. You feel his hand around your nape, deepening the kiss further.

Hobie pulls away, seeing your pupils completely dilated, chest heaving for air.

"Thanks for what?" You ask breathlessly.

"Comin' with me" with his finger, he wipes the sheen off your lips, it stays there for a second, savoring, longing. For everything.

"You could've asked me to go anywhere and I still would've gone. As long as it's with you."

He answers with another kiss, laced with so much love and thankfulness, you feel it all through it.

A sudden knock has you pulling away, Hobie clicks his tongue at the intrusion. Turning around, he spots his bandmates whistling and wiggling their eyebrows. One was making a gesture that made you hide your face.

"You fuckin' wankers!" Hobie opens the door, slamming it on his friends' faces, they scatter, hooting and hollering, taunting him.

You watch as Hobie play fights with them, arm choking his bass player. With a lopsided smile on your face, excitement bubbles in your chest, the return trip and his promise makes you excited more than anything.

A/N: this fic is long overdue that we're at 700 already! Thank you all so much for reading and interacting with my little stories! Love all 700 of you ❤️

[interroblog]

I started free writing last week and it tripled my daily word counts so I feel the need to evangelize 👀

I’m in the “figuring out what happens in this story” stage of plotting which is what it’s been really great for, but I can see it helping any time you need to solve problems or get ideas. Here’s the rules I use for myself, hopefully someone else will find it helpful

Write every thought. All of my free writing sessions start with a ramble about how I’m going to start free writing, then I write all the things I could explore until I latch onto one and go.

No thought is too undeveloped. Even if it’s a poorly written sentence fragment or idea about an idea… it might lead to something else, so it goes in.

Chase your ideas! If I’m writing about one idea and I suddenly get another, I’ll just immediately swap to writing about that. I can always finish that other idea later, but I know I’d forget about the new one. It’s easier to remember a half-written idea than a fully unwritten one.

Writing something doesn’t mean I’m going with it. I’ve written down ideas then immediately after added “But I don’t like that because (reason)”. It almost always leads me to writing about another idea that I like a lot more

Basically, it’s not about what you write. It’s about the ideas it leads you to. It’s so helpful for making me get out of my head and solidify thoughts so I can build on them. I’ll put three excerpts from my free writing doc under the cut to show off the different levels of “quality”

“there’s only one bridge into this area, it’s closed for flooding after snow melt. So that’s why they’re stuck in this area. Amp brings them back to his cabin? Doesn’t want to let a bunch of kids sleep outside. There’s two layers to his interactions, the truth that he would die for these fuckers because they are his family- and the lie he’s telling them. It’s the latter I’m trying to figure out.

they first meet him at the gas station, then later [note: here I skipped to the next line to follow a new thought I had, then never went back to finish this one because it connected back anyway]

They’re camping in the woods when they see something tall and inhuman. The moonlight reaches it and they see amp with a torch and a bag (torch??? Who am i) of food, fire starter, and a blanket (given to Saint, who then forces tab to share it with him because he feels awkward. Cuties)

He says he saw their car on the road, it’s march and he didn’t want anyone freezing to death. (There’s the hint that he didn’t just see their car but he knew to be looking for them. He didn’t just happen to have all that stuff on him, after all.)”

“time to free write 500 words real fast cause i wanna get to 2k. What are we working with. I think I’ve got some good stuff right now, it all just needs to fall into place. Let’s see how it goes, listing arcs.

There’s Saint’s arc which i still need to define more, it’s been changing a lot as the story develops which is good!! The goal!! I don’t want to solidify it too much, but it goes”

“let’s see… i really want it to build on itself, and the surgery stuff feels too out of place or like a regression, even though it’s literally the point of the story. Maybe it’s the fact they go home? I could try having the surgery take place in the underground with saint only thinking he’s back at a hospital- but that undermines a lot of the stuff with the parents if it isn’t real”

[mostlymaudlin]

sometimes

andreil, rated t, <500 words / series: flashes of intimacy

Neil is still wearing his sweatpants. He’s still catching his breath. He’s still lying here in the dark, in Andrew’s bed, with the sheets and blankets kicked to the floor.

Andrew went to clean up. Neil’s not sure if that means grabbing some paper towel or taking a shower. After sex, Andrew is sometimes distant and sometimes mellow, depending whether he’s shying away from the vulnerability or giving in.

Neil doesn’t mind either way. He doesn’t mind waiting here to find out which kind of night it is. He’ll know soon enough. If the shower starts, or the TV cuts on, or the microwave whirs — then Neil will count to ten, to zehn, to dix, to десять, then he’ll get up too, and the night will go on.

After sex, Neil is sometimes boneless and sometimes energized, depending on his own adrenaline and his prior exhaustion and Andrew’s level of creativity. Tonight, Neil definitely has control of his limbs. He could get up, could pull on a shirt and go up to the roof or out to the supermarket frozen aisle. His heart rate still hasn’t settled, thumping in a way that makes Neil’s legs twitch with restlessness.

Neil won’t get up yet. First, he wants to see what kind of night it is.

“Cleaning up” turns out to mean a wet, soapy washcloth. Andrew flicks the lamp on when he returns with it. He sits down on the edge of the mattress as he rubs the cloth roughly against Neil’s stomach, then tosses it vaguely in the direction of his hamper. Andrew’s eyes don’t leave Neil’s face. He looks calm, but not closed off. He’s still not wearing a shirt.

When Neil lifts himself up onto his elbows, Andrew shoves him back against the pillows with a hand on his chest.

Neil fails to hide a smile. Andrew rolls his eyes, but then he’s swinging a knee over Neil’s legs and settling on top of him. His cheek rests on Neil’s chest. His palms cradle Neil’s triceps. The too-fast thump-thump-thump of Neil’s heart contributes to that ballooning feeling in his rib cage, a pressure that almost hurts. He shakes one hand free so that he can bury it in Andrew’s slippery-soft hair. Andrew’s sigh is a warm puff against Neil’s bare skin, and Neil tips his face so that he can press his lips to the crown of Andrew’s head.

It only takes a few minutes for Andrew to fall asleep. Neil is too amped up to do the same. He could still go for a jog. He could join Kevin at the court, or do laundry, or write the paper he has due at the end of the week.

He won’t get up, though. He’ll be patient, counting Andrew’s breaths and tracing patterns into his hair.

Neil is stupid, but he’s not a fool; on this kind of night, he won’t be the one to pull away first.

this series is on ao3!

[anystalker707]

Love bites

Pairing: Frank x [gender neutral] Reader Word count: ~ 2 500 Genre: Smut Summary: Frank's like a little devil, getting on your way the whole time, and you get way too angry. Kind of content: Spanking / Overstim / Oral / Love bites / Dom-Sub dynamics / Dom! Reader

Requested by anon [Could u do a fic where Frank is just being an ass in general and pisses of reader toooo much? (With spanking?)]

MASTERLIST

          The last straw was fucking gone. Whatever you had in your head when you pondered it to be a good idea to let Frank follow you around while you worked on putting the instruments and equipment away was fucking thrown out the window and cursed. No way he could be that insufferable, acting as if he never saw an instrument before in his whole life, messing with everything and getting in your way while you carried heavy amps, no matter how much you told him to step aside. You told him to get lost at some point, telling Ray to take Frank with him, but Frank spawned out of nothing again as if sent from hell to continue his importunating journey.

At some point, you ended up dropping one of the amps, which caused Frank to simply disappear. Wherever the little devil disappeared to, you still needed to find out.

Gerard and Mikey already were off to something at the bus, but Ray was talking with the other members of the staff, but the lights to the dressing rooms were still on, which meant someone was still there.

“Frank!” You threw the door open and he was right there just as you expected, sitting up on the couch with a hand on his chest and looking at you as if he had seen a ghost. “So you’ve been hiding here you little—” You click your tongue, sighing as you close the door behind yourself and approach him; Frank looks around frantically, letting his legs fall off the couch, but he never gets to stand up before you are approaching him. “Y’know that I am telling Ray that you were the one responsible for that amp being broken, right? And you know what he said the last time you broke something. I doubt Brian is letting it go that easily, by the way.” None of those really had any effect on him; until you mentioned something else. “But I think I might have to solve this myself.”

Frank’s eyes widened as he looked at you. “(Y/—(Y/n)!”

“Really, Frank! What’s gotten into you today, hm?” You raised an eyebrow. The words spilled from your lips at the same intensity the blood ran through your veins, boiling hot with anger for what Frank did. “It was a hard day already because Gerard was throwing another one of his tantrums, then we had missing cables at the last moment, the string of Ray’s guitar broke and then you still had to be on the fucking way when I was putting things away from the concert? We lost another one of the Fender amps! What’s wrong with you?”

Your hand grabbed onto the collar of his shirt at the moment he threatened to stand up, so you just held him down and glared.

“I just—”

“I’m not having pity on you today,” you cut him off. “And don’t even try to convince me otherwise.” You glanced back at the door; it wasn’t locked, but you also didn’t believe anyone was going to walk in, so you started to unbutton his shirt.

Frank’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times just for nothing to ever come, only wide eyes observing your hands while his face grew warmer. The only sound he made was a gasp when your hands come in contact with the warm skin of his torso, your palms running flat across it while you pressed your lips to Frank’s; he took a moment to kiss you back, doing it all messily while he held onto your upper arms and leaned into your touch, a little disoriented, maybe just going with it. Maybe you changed your mind and you were going to be nice to him?

A gentle push on his abdomen made Frank fall back to the couch, sitting down on it again with his legs apart.

“Okay, pants and underwear off,” you mumbled to Frank a little breathlessly.

“I... Yes.” Frank just did as said. The couch didn’t really help his task—the dressing room’s worn out couch was black and made out of leather, with some spots already ripped and showing an ugly white sewing pattern with loose threads. That stuck to his damp skin, hence he looked like a miserable mess under your waiting gaze while he tried to kick his shoes off and remove the clothing as fast as possible. You would’ve laughed if you didn’t feel the urge to hit the back of his head so he would stop messing around.

After what felt like an eternity later, Frank leaned back on the couch with a blush that spreaded all the way from his cheeks to his tattooed chest. His hands were closed into fists and resting by each of his thighs as he looked up at you expectantly. His cock was half hard, sitting awkwardly between his legs. That dumb look of his. You wanted to strangle him.

“Goddamnit,” you breathed, almost hissing as you bent down to give Frank another kiss, one that didn’t last long; your lips were quickly on his chest instead and he almost protested that you’d just jumped over his favorite spot on his neck and didn’t even spend time enough on his chest because you were already on his thighs.

It was good, in a way.

No teasing, right? Right???

Your lips ran against Frank’s thighs for a moment, your breath tickling the skin and making it rise in shivers. It was almost mesmerizing. Frank observed you hold tightly onto his knees and run your lips ghostly against his thighs, never knowing when you’re truly going to do something, with the anticipation tugging on his muscles.

Frank gasped, loud and whiny when your teeth sank into his skin. There was no warning, nothing, and you were harsher than usual, nibbling on the skin and letting this warm pain sparkle through his body, going straight to his cock. A fucking masochist—he could almost hear you calling him that in the accusing tone you used whenever teasing him. It didn’t seem like you were in that cheerful mood anymore, though. Far from that.

Your lips sometimes would wrap around the skin to suck on it, something that should be soothing, but also was so painful and nice and pleasing... Moans spilled from Frank’s lips as he balled his hands in fists. His nails made crescent shakes into his palms, and it wasn’t like he was able to stop himself. What was he supposed to do with his hands? Hold onto your hair? Nuh-huh, not while you had fire in your eyes whenever you looked at him, looking like you could crush him with your bare hands. He didn’t want to die at the moment, very much the opposite.

Soft gasps escaped Frank’s lips as he observed you despite how he arched his back, and he was so fucking thankful that you held his knees or else he’d have thrown his legs shut already. Either way, he tried not to force it too much so you’d not get too angry. He was going to have purple spots all over his legs already. He could feel his thoughts slowly vanishing the more you touched him, the more you grew closer to his inner thighs...

Your mouth was hot and wet, your bites never changing the intensity, but the pain seemed to soothe and melt away into pleasure as Frank seeked for more and more of it. His thighs tensed up and his breath hitched when your lips locked around the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thigh; his hips drew up my impulse. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was right into your face and—

A sharp slap landed on Frank’s thigh. It left his skin burning and the shape of your hand burned bright red into his skin. Whatever it was for, it worked. Frank had no thoughts in his head as he sat still and let you continue, just feeling the arousal pool in his lower stomach. If he was just half-hard earlier, by now, he was already almost dripping. His shirt stuck to his skin uncomfortably, but he didn’t want to move. If you wanted him with his shirt off, then you would’ve taken it off already, right?

You almost had one of Frank’s thighs over your shoulder as you kept going and finally, your tongue was running against the underside of his cock. The touch was light, almost not there, but still felt like heaven to Frank; he finally gained the friction he hoped for so much, and his hips pushed up again out of reflex.

Another slap.

Frank couldn’t help the whine that escaped from his lips. Pain was nice, yes, but the pain that you made him feel even more when you were treating him like that... That was a whole different level which he could barely handle.

Keeping his hips still was uncomfortable, but he tried to do it as best as he could because that meant, after all, receiving your touch. He had to measure what he wanted even if he didn’t have a clear notion of it, also balancing it with how he didn’t want to anger you further. It just became harder once you started pressing open mouthed kisses to his cock, sometimes letting your tongue poke out and— Hell, you were on that spot near his tip... A loud whine from Frank and a slight shift of his hips were enough to have your fingers sinking into his thighs, fingers poking into the flesh to hold him there despite how much you had to press. It didn’t matter if your knuckles would go white sometimes or if your fingers would hurt. The pain it caused wasn’t even a problem.

“Goddamnit...” Frank gasped almost incoherently and licked his lips—it burned, his lips all chapped and dry, but it made him wish you were kissing him. Or had kissed him more, actually, because he didn’t have any complaint about your mouth wrapping itself around his tip, warm and wet, letting your tongue run around his tip before you took more of him in. That was so, so good, but he still wanted more, and— Oh, he had an idea.

Frank snapped his hips up. This time not involuntarily, no, because he knew it would earn him not only more of your mouth, but also another one of those slaps that he would die before admitting he was into them.

The print of your hand on his skin was so fucking pretty, actually. Frank wore it proudly and stared hazily at the visible marks on his thighs before his eyes drove to you and the knot in his lower stomach tightened. Your hand was around the base while you worked mainly your tongue over him, coating his cock in spit, and it unfortunately didn’t run over his sensitive spots on purpose. They seemed to just be on the way. It didn’t mean that Frank liked it any less, though. He bit down on his lip and silenced a moan.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and his chest, and it fucking tickled, but it wasn’t worst than your teasing. Frank wanted you to take him into your mouth again so fucking bad, and it didn’t seem like you were doing to do anything like that so soon. A growl escaped his mouth again and he was squirming, wordlessly pleading you to do more, but all you gave him in response was another one of these harsh slaps; it made more precum spill from his cock, shamefully. Maybe he would cum from that alone if you kept slapping him and... Well, that wasn’t exactly a bad idea.

Frank moaned and squirmed again, receiving another slap, but this time, your mouth didn’t return to him. Instead, fingers sank into Frank’s jaw and made him look down.

“You really want to test my patience today, don’t you?” Your glare was cold at the same time something burned in it; Frank couldn’t quite explain. All he could do was hopelessly moan in return, almost whining, what made you click your tongue and shake your head.

Okay, perhaps, it did work! Your mouth was around Frank, taking him in, and this time, you weren’t even teasing. Your cheeks hollowed and tongue worked against his cock, with a decent speed while your hands held him in place by his hips. Frank’s thighs trembled as he finally came, the pleasure finally reaching its peak and sending a wave down his spine that kept him throbbing for a while later.

Your mouth continued around Frank to ride him down from his high, though it didn’t stop there. Frank hadn’t even caught his breath when he was already gasping again, his thighs twitching and threatening to close around you because you keep going as if he didn’t come. Didn’t you notice? Well, no way. ‘Doesn’t matter, though, he can go again.

The pleasure was more intense, amplified by how Frank had already come once and was hard again inside your mouth, easily becoming a damn mess under your touch. He couldn’t even control his hips anymore, and hissed once your palm came in contact with his skin again; it wasn’t as harsh as the previous time given the position, but it still gave the message.

Your tongue wasn’t ignoring his soft spots now, much the opposite. Frank couldn’t help the whines that spilled from his lips whenever your tongue would find the spot under his tip, around it or near his base and just fucking work on there for what felt like forever. Whatever you were into, it already had Frank coming a second time, easier, but still intense and enough to have his thighs quivering under your touch. The sweat was already enough to have him sliding down the couch now and then, struggling to keep himself up properly, even more given how you didn’t stop. Hell— What were you trying to do? He gasped as he messily moved, only stopping when he had a thigh over your shoulder and the other under your arm, already half-lying down on the couch.

“(Y/—(Y/n),” Frank slurred, unable to talk properly. Even thinking was hard, to be honest. “What are you... d—doing?” His voice was shaky, and he would probably drool if he wasn’t careful. Even if it was becoming overwhelming and driving him into overstimulation enough to give his leg light spasms, saying the safeword didn’t feel suiting. He was going to see how far it was going.

You didn’t reply, only holding him tighter and focusing on your work. All Frank could do in response was whine, already feeling hopeless and giving up to whatever you were doing, throwing his head back and holding onto the back of the couch to ground himself to something other than how heavenly your mouth felt around his cock.

Frank’s third orgasm was watered down, short, but still enough to make him all whiny. This time, you had already pulled away and stood up while he still lay across the couch messily, whining and speaking slurred words; it only came to an end when you slapped his thigh—full hand, leaving a huge red mark, the strongest slap so far. Frank immediately gasped and arched his back, eyes wide.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

[carriesthewind]

(IMO, personal experience, in this case, would be either being an immigrant in the U.S. yourself, or having friends or family that have had to navigate the system. If you've just helped other people with their applications/worked in immigration law/etc, I wouldn't count that as personal experience.)

(I'm genuinely curious to see the results on this if enough people vote.)

[witchybluedeity]

The Aftermath

A friend gave me a word count of 500 words. I nailed it. 

Enjoy some angst!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

They'd done it.

New York was safe, the Kraang were trapped in the Prison Dimension again, and Leo was back with them. Injured, but alive. 

Mikey had opened the portal that had saved their brother with his own bare hands.

Raph had reached in with his ninpo, had pulled Leo back to them and out of what could have been his final resting place.

He'd hit back Kraang Prime with his Bō and Ninpo before the creature could get his grimy hands on his brother one last time.

At least, he thought he did. It was a fuzzy memory, everything was after the Technodrome. He'd been forcibly ripped from the controls, from where he'd been melded into the ship itself, forced to watch one brother fight another while he hung uselessly like a broken puppet. He'd been forced to hear his twin's order to close the portal with him on the wrong side, to sacrifice himself to save the world. 

He could remember the falling tears. They'd felt so foreign, so off, so strange. He hadn't realized he'd been crying until he felt the wetness drip down his cheeks. 

He didn't cry often. 

But Leo was safe. The dum-dum had even cracked a joke before promptly passing out on them. 

He would have panicked if numbness hadn't taken over. 

'Leo was okay', Raph had assured him though his own panic. 'He's just tired, and in desperate need of the medbay.' 

Relief had hit him so hard it covered the numbness, forced his knees to buckle. Exhaustion had hit only moments after.

Leo was okay. 

Someone was gently shaking his shoulders, and he jolted away from the touch like someone had poured acid on his shoulders, opened his eyes that he never remembered closing, only to see Raph hovering over him with a look of worry. 

"Dee, I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Can you do that?" 

Why should he though? Leo and the world was safe. He wanted to sleep. 

His silence must have been taken as an answer, and he was being gently picked up, carried, and he hissed at the physical contact. 

"Mikey, call April. Dee's out of it." 

He wanted to scoff. 'I am not!' He wanted to argue. His beak opened, but no words came out. None wanted to.

"I've got a job for you, okay? Keep an eye on Leo, tell me if he gets any worse. Can you do that for Raph?"

He nodded, but his eyes slipped shut against his own will.

His head was starting to hurt, the dull ache in his shell had amped up to a searing pain, and he was so tired. 

"No Dee, keep your eyes open for Raph. Come on bro, don't do this to Raph!"

He tried his best to follow his big brother's order, but then they were suddenly moving, and each step, each movement hurt. 

"He's in shock-!"

Mikey's worried voice was all he heard before he fell into the void.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but what is this new trend in YA fantasy books to make them over 500 pages. For example, I love her shadowhunter chronicles series and Dark Artifices is the trilogy where she really amps the page length into the 800s. Queen of Air and Darkness was nearly a 1,000 if you include the bonus story in the end. But I understood it since it was a big game changer with consequences in the universe. But now her Last Hours trilogy is also in the 700 length?

And Leigh Bardugo’s Grishaverse started off with the standard 400 pages then 500 in Six of Crows but her latest addition go to almost 700. See this steady progression of adding more and more.

Honestly, I understand why writers may do this. They feel that it needs to be longer to fit everything, it helps set up the greater tone, include a large cast of characters. But to me, it’s just overwhelming to see this 700 page mammoth. 400 is enough for me, 500 if we’re stretching it. But I also feel that they did such a sufficient job introducing the world in those 350-400 page novel, why can’t they do that here. I mean with that page count, you could just split it into two and make your trilogy a quartet and rake in the dough. Cuz I feel that sometimes the longer it is, it drags on. So much description, so much internal monologue, so much romantic angst often gets repetitive even if it’s shown with varied view points. It could be squashed in a succinct few paragraphs rather than pages.

Also I’m just generally suspicious of 700 page novels. It may be a creative free for all but I also suspect the author is getting paid by word or something. I mean Queen of Air and Darkness is longer than Anna Karenina, think about it.

[cafeleningrad]

tried out a new fanasy title and realized too late it was a YA. Listen, listne I get the merit of self indulgence fantasy but honestly, whenever I encounter blank slate fantasies of being the best, the love interst being the best wishfulfillment fantasy, and printed hardcover works costing more than 20$+... the less I feel like condeming x-reader-fanfics. Because at least they're honest about what they are. They don't leave me with a premise ,and world building, and half-thought through ideas that could've been great an exciting. Yet these only serve to make amp out the ecitement around a reader's ideal how cool, awesome, right, and rebellious they could be with their cardboard husbando. And I can block tags or users If I don't care to read that.

Also, dear very friendly woman from the library who probably means well but why do you think that a woman asking for "fantasy books" means asking for romance with cosplay set-up? It's like being a teenager all over again, and everyone thinks that your first bra comes along with the wish to read tertiary grade stories about self-projection avatars smooching variations of aspectless dudes with eitehr fangs, wings, furry, or glitter.

Like, um, well... I see the legitimacy in audiences wanting to read indulgence. But it's not for me. At least not on this level in form of a published book through 500 pages. It's so weird how mainstream publishing only ever offers such fantasy stories written by women for female audiences these days. If publication ever only counts on female indulgence, there's little room for stories with characters with agency, let alone women being interesting above the level of having a avater to project on.

[lanshengic]

Microchip Introduces Silicon Carbon Electronic Fuse Handout Board

【Lansheng Technology Information】The high-voltage electrical subsystems of battery electric vehicles (BEV) and hybrid electric vehicles (HEV) need to have a protection mechanism to protect the high-voltage power distribution and loads in overload conditions. In order to provide BEV and HEV designers with faster and more reliable high-voltage circuit protection solutions, Microchip Technology Inc. announced on May 12 the release of a silicon carbide (SiC) electronic fuse (E-Fuse) demonstration board. The device is available in 6 models for 400-800V battery systems rated up to 30 amps.

The E-Fuse demo board detects and interrupts fault currents at the microsecond level, which is 100 to 500 times faster than traditional mechanical methods thanks to a high-voltage solid-state design. The fast response time greatly reduces the peak short-circuit current from tens of kiloamperes to hundreds of amps, preventing fault events from causing hard failures.

“This E-Fuse demo board provides BEV/HEV OEM designers with a SiC technology-based solution to quickly and reliably protect electronics to jump-start the development process,” said Clayton Pillion, vice president of Microchip’s Silicon Carbide Business Unit. “The E-Fuse’s solid-state design also alleviates concerns about the long-term reliability of electromechanical devices without degradation from mechanical shock, arcing or contact bounce.”

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[equestrianempire]

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[iliveiloveiwrite]

Just A Natural Fact

Request: hii I was wondering if I could request a marauders sirius black x reader where sirius black, the reckless & loud marauder, has a soft spot for the kind & responsible reader. sirius' duality is thus teased by sirius' best friends until they too get to know her throughout the school years; amidst the slow-burn flirting & maturity, the rest of the marauders realize the the two of them balance each other perfectly & they too appreciate the reader's character & love for sirius. thx if you can! ♡ - @thisismiku​

A/N: Title - Paula Abdul - Opposites Attract. Thank you so much for sending in this request, I truly hope you like it and that I’ve done it justice. And I hope you don't mind but I’ve combined with my prompt for @dreamer821​ ‘s writing challenge. Congratulations, JJ - you deserve all 500 followers and more! The prompt I used is in bold! I’m feeling a little insecure about this fic if I’m being honest, I’m worried that it isn't the best that it could be so I’m so sorry if it isn't! Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, immaturity, slow burn flirting/romance, sneaking out, fluff, bit of angst (but not a lot), use of she/her pronouns

Word count: 3.9k

First year:

It was hard not to miss the way Sirius Black climbed the stairs in the Great Hall to be sorted into his house.

It was hard not to miss the silence from his relatives at the Slytherin table when instead of Salazar’s house, he was sorted to into Godric’s.

Your sorting is over relatively quickly. Sorted into Gryffindor, you make your way to the table, sitting yourself next to the now silent Sirius Black. He picks at the food on his plate, not focused on the rest of the sorting until three boys he must recognise from the train, all sit with him.

“Are you okay?” You whisper. Glancing to your right, you see him nod once before plastering a smile across his young face, greeting the boys now sat with you.

They spend their first meal at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry laughing and joking as if they’re old friends catching up. You spend your first meal at the school silently worried for the boy next to you; wondering about the reaction from his parents.

From the sound of his laughter so close to your ear, it seemed that he was to make himself known to the house and your year group.

Sirius Black was very much your opposite in more ways than one. It would be a miracle if a friendship was formed.

Second year:

You begin to notice a pattern with Sirius Orion Black. He had made himself known already for being the class clown and prankster; acting aloof and reckless in the halls. He and his tight-knit group of friends had their targets for their pranks.

His personality was amped up to the maximum whenever he received a letter over breakfast. It didn’t happen often; once a month and you knew that it was from his parents. For a moment after reading, he would watch the table in silence, taking in the words that were no doubt written to hurt.

Then his head would snap up; a wide grin forming, and you knew that the following week would be full of mayhem and the screams of students on the unfortunate end of their pranks.

Second Year continues much the same as the first. You’re determined to do well in your exams; you stick to your timetable and ensure that you’re ahead on assignments. You’ve settled into your friendship group well, though they would admit that they often worry how much time you spend in the library.

However, it has helped, by the end of Second Year, you’re tutoring others in Potions and Charms. It all goes on your transcripts, but you’re happy to help in any way you can.

But despite all of that, you wonder if you could help the young, long-haired Marauder.

Third year:

Third Year begins much the same as your Second. You settle back into your academic routine after taking the summer off to enjoy the sun and relax with your family and friends where every so often, your thoughts drifted to long-haired boy who garnered attention as if it was going out of fashion.

A change in seating plan has you sat next to Sirius Black in History of Magic. Professor Binns changes the seating plan at the beginning of every year to keep with school policy, but he never truly enforces them so it’s odd that Sirius chooses to remain in his spot next to you.

You try not to think too much of it; focusing on the work each lesson, quill scratching away at your parchment as you note down facts on the Goblin Rebellions of the seventeenth century.

Sirius focuses for a while as well; making the odd note here and there until a wad of paper hits his face. Thrown by his friend James Potter, no doubt, as you hear his laughter from across the room. Sirius loses all focus then; instead, throwing the ball of paper between his hands for a minute before launching it back across the classroom.

It continues like that for most of the lesson, until the ball of paper is caught by Remus Lupin who smacks James on the shoulder. Remus doesn’t say anything, he rolls his eyes at James’ hurt expression before returning to his work.

A quiet voice interrupts your watching of the scene, “I hope we didn’t distract you.”

You respond just as quietly, “You didn’t.”

He smiles, “Good. I’d hate to pull you from your notes.”

From there, Sirius spoke to you more often. Greeting you in the Great Hall every morning, grabbing your attention in class. The Marauders would chuckle at him; not understanding his sudden need to be around you.

Every morning in the Great Hall, Sirius would receive a swift elbow to the ribs from James who would nod towards the entrance where you would linger for a moment before walking to your seat at the table. “You can relax now, Sirius. (Y/N) is here.”

Sirius’ head would snap up at the mention of your name. He smiles at you as you take your seat among your friends. One of your friends nudges your side, pointing down to where Sirius sits, whispering something in your ear. You roll your eyes at her before waving to Sirius.

A slow friendship begins to emerge; he’d seek you out in the library, sitting with you quietly as you studied. You would search him out in every class you shared, catching his eye with a smile which he returned toothily.

The friendship was new; you were still getting to know each other. The time you spent together was filled with whispered conversation about childhoods and hobbies. He’d sit and listen to your stories with a smile on his face; happy to get to know you inside out. There was something so inherently good about you – he felt drawn to your nature.

Remus approaches Sirius in the Gryffindor common room one evening. He couldn’t understand why Sirius had sought you out to be friends. You were both so different; Sirius was hurtling down the route of becoming the school’s bad boy – all leather jackets and smoking by the Black Lake. You were the epitome of kindness walking down the straight path of good grades and heading towards being appointed Head Girl.

Remus sits next to Sirius on the couch, saying, “(Y/N) is a good person, Sirius; she’s kind and responsible.”

“I know that. What are you saying Moony?” Sirius asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I just want you to be careful.”

“I’m not going to hurt, (Y/N), Remus. I want to be her friend.”

“I can’t help but be concerned. You’re so different, Padfoot. You see that right?”

“I do, but that’s why we’re going to work.”

Fourth year:

From the beginning of fourth year, your friendship with the Marauders began in earnest. Your social groups blended into one, and you didn’t feel as intimated by them all as you once did. They weren’t as wary as they once were; they weren’t as worried as they once voiced to Sirius. You spent more and more time with Sirius; your kindness had earned you his trust and his walls slowly began to crumble. There was something so open about your face and so kind in your touch that he couldn’t help but fall under your spell.

--------

A hand on your shoulder drags you from your dream. Before you can scream, a hand covers your mouth and a familiar voice whispers, “Lumos.”

In the pale light from the wand, Sirius’ grey eyes meet yours. They’re red-rimmed, but he has a small smile on his face. He pulls his hand away from your mouth, whispering, “Come with me.”

You shake your head, replying just as quiet, “Sirius, it’s three in the morning.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, “Live a little, (Y/N).” He stands at the side of your bed, holding a hand out to you, “Come with me… please.”

And there is something so vulnerable in his expression that you take his hand, grabbing your jumper and pushing your feet into your slippers.

In the light of the common room, Sirius looks over your outfit, snickering at the sight of your bunny slippers. You glare at him, tapping your feet, “They’re my favourite slippers, Black. They’re called Norman and Leonard; I expect you to be respectful.”

Sirius covers his mouth with his free hand for his other one had not let you go yet. He stifles a laugh, “I’m sorry, I won’t laugh again. They’re very lovely.” His voice breaks on the last word, and you rip your hand from his.

“Sirius, I don’t sneak out, so if you woke me up to make fun of me then I’m going back to bed.”

“No, wait,” He reaches for your hand again; happiness flows through him when you let him take it, “Come with me please, I can’t sleep.”

“You promise not to make fun? I don’t do this, Sirius. I follow the rules for a reason.”

“I know but trust me on this.”

Sirius doesn’t let go of your hand as he leads you through the portrait hole and through the school to the astronomy tower. You have to walk faster to keep up with his long strides but keep up you do.

He doesn’t let go of your hand upon arriving at the astronomy tower; neither does he let go of it once he sits on the cold, concrete floor, pulling you down to sit next to him.

The coldness of the floor seeps through your thin cotton pyjamas. You shiver from the feel of it. Sirius doesn’t miss this; he’s shrugging off his jacket before your teeth can start chattering.

“Here, take this.”

You’re enveloped in his jacket; the sleeves far too long for your arms to fit comfortably. You wrap it around yourself, enjoying the residual warmth left over from his body but also committing to memory the smell that is so distinctly him: leather, cinnamon, cloves and a hint of tobacco.

You knock your foot against his leg, “What’s the matter?”

“What makes you think something is the matter?”

“It’s not like you to drag me out of bed so late into the night so something must be the matter.”

Sirius smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “Like I said earlier, you need to live a little.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, “There’s nothing wrong with being responsible, Sirius.”

“No, you’re right.” He mutters, eyes focused on a spot far away in the distance.

Sirius falls into silence; his mind further away than his body. He breaks the silence a moment later, “I got another letter from my parents.”

You take Sirius’ hand in your own, “Oh, Sirius…”

“They’re being themselves – comparing me to Regulus as if I don’t already know he’s the better son. He’s a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake.”

“It’s a shame.”

“What is?”

“That your parents never took the time to know you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they would see what a wonderful man you’re turning out to be.”

Sirius rests his head on top of yours, “Thank you,” he whispers, voice choked with emotion.

There were moments in your friendship with Sirius that he took your breath away with the sheer scale at which he was able to feel things. In times like this when he spoke about his family, his brother, and his fears, you’re shocked at the implicit trust he holds you in. You would never break this trust; you couldn’t, it’d go against every cell in your body to do so.

So many wonder how the friendship works; so many wonder how two people as opposite as you are could be so close friends. They don’t see moments like this where Sirius breaks down his walls and lets you in. They don’t see the moment where your kindness and fierce loyalty to your friends comes shining out of you as you listen to his words and wipe away his tears if needed.

They don’t need to see it. It’s for you and Sirius to experience with your hand in his and his head resting on yours.

In the morning, he’s calmer and he’s breathing easier than he was last night. He’s grateful to have you by his side; you calm him down – you help find sense in all the mess of his emotions. You remain patient as he stutters out his problems and you listen to each and every word. You’re kindness’ incarnate, he swears.

He drops a kiss to the top of your head before sitting next to you at the breakfast table. Sirius doesn’t miss the puzzled and amused looks from the rest of the Marauders; he shakes his head at them as he piles food onto his plate. They’re his closest friends in the world, and they tease him relentlessly for how he’s latched himself onto you, but he couldn’t be less bothered. They don’t need to understand the friendship, but he’s grateful that they accept you without too much question.

Fifth Year:

As fifth year begins, and the pressure from OWLs begins to mount, you start spending more and more time in the library. You study for everything; going over topics you’re confident on whilst also revising the topics you aren’t certain on whatsoever.

You revise a lot with Remus, him being a calming presence when studying as he explains subjects in such a way where the panic leeches from your body and you feel you finally have a grip on it. He’s a natural born teacher. 

Sirius joins you some of the time, but his confidence over the exams has you panicking more. So he would meet you in the common room after, pulling you to one side to quash any remaining fears that your studying had not resolved.

He would finish his speech with a kiss on your cheek or your forehead that had your body heating from the touch.

It was a physical friendship; it always had been. Neither you or Sirius were afraid to show your affection through a kiss on the cheek or a hug.

But lately those touches started to linger. His lips would rest on your cheek a second longer than they used to, and his arms would hold you that little bit tighter as if afraid of the minute where he would have to let you go.

Your own feelings had changed; you had given your heart to the long-haired Marauder without even realising it. Your eyes lingered on him longer, noticing things you hadn’t before – such as the way he always had a leather band wrapped around his wrist, to ties his hair up should he need to, or the way that his nose scrunched up before he started to laugh in earnest. Your heart stuttered in its beats whenever he laughed. Your heart was his to break should he wish.

You didn’t know that Sirius was feeling the same. He thinks he fell in love with that night in Fourth Year in the astronomy tower, but he didn’t realise it until half way through Fifth Year when you caught his eye across a classroom and smiled at him so widely that it knocked the very breath from him. He’d given you his heart and he didn’t even know he had.

There was something simmering under the surface of the both of you. It had the flirting becoming more and more noticeable to your friends and the Marauders. It had teachers wondering if you’d finally gotten your act together and confessed.

Your friendship with Sirius was on the verge of becoming something more. It was if you were both performing a balancing act. Each holding onto the other’s hand, teetering on the thin wire, wondering which way you’re destined to fall.

-----

“You’ve got six down wrong,” Sirius murmurs over your shoulder; mouth close to your ear.

You huff, reading over the crossword clue again, “I’m absolutely positive that it’s right.”

Sirius’ finger points to the clue, “It isn’t Plantagenet.”

You turn from where you lean against his side. Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “How do you know so much about muggle royalty and history?”

He taps the side of his head, “I just do, love.”

You snort, smiling, “I don’t believe you for a minute.”

Sirius shrugs with a chuckle, “Don’t. Let your crossword be wrong.”

You frown, looking back down at the crossword, thinking over the clue. It takes a minute before it clicks. You shove at his shoulder, “Sirius! The answer isn’t wrong!”

He laughs at the angry expression on your face. “Sirius, you’re such an arse.”

You make to move away from him; to sit further down the couch from him but he grabs your hand as you start to shift, pulling you back against him. You glare at him, but the glare soon melts at the happiness reflected in his grey eyes. You stare at each for a moment, unaware of the rest of the common room. The only thing you’re focused on is him and his grey, grey eyes.

-------

James, Remus, and Peter watch the scene unfold in front of them. You shove at Sirius’ shoulder with a shout, but Sirius grabs your hand, pulling you further into his side. You both look at each other; staring into each other’s eyes as if there isn’t an audience watching.

The trio watch the scene unfold, and they each have the same thought: they’re perfect for each other, and they’re blind to it.

Sixth year:

On a Monday morning halfway through Sixth Year, Remus, James and Peter sit next to Sirius in the Great Hall with the intention of getting him to figuratively pull his head out of his arse.

“When are you telling (Y/N) that you’re in love with her?” Remus greets; always blunt when needed.

Sirius chokes on his drink.

“It’s pretty obvious, mate.” James states to Sirius’ dismay.

“Do you think she knows?” He asks.

James shakes his head, “No, she doesn’t. Are you going to tell her though?”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Not possible.” James states as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Yeah, we watch you together all the time. (Y/N) looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky for her or something. It’s intense to watch, honestly.” Remus says.

Sirius frowns, “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Sirius,” James sighs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried. We’ve all watched you for the last month or so and if we didn’t think you were perfect for each other before, we do now.”

“Yeah?” Sirius asks, so much vulnerability in that one word.

All three nod. Remus pats his shoulder, “Go talk to (Y/N).”

Sirius leaves his friends in the Great Hall, making his way through the rush of students desperate to get to their first lesson of the day. He knows he’ll find you in the common room; having the first lesson every Monday off as a free.

You’re sat on one of the many red leather couches that decorate the Gryffindor common room, pages of parchment in your hands as you read over your revision notes for your advanced classes. Sirius sits next to you on the couch; you immediately change your position to make room for him on the couch.

“I didn’t expect this,” You greet.

Sirius grins, “I missed you at breakfast, what can I say?”

You laugh, “You’re a flatterer, Black.”

In the quiet of the common room, you find your peace with Sirius. His very presence calming your mind but sending your heartbeat racing with a single look from the corner of his eye. You had become used to the way he affects you; how a smile can leave you breathless and a wink can leave your skin overheated.

“I can’t keep lying to you anymore, (Y/N).” Sirius states all of a sudden, voice breaking the silence.

“When have you lied to me, Sirius?” You ask, worry evident in your voice.

“Every day since fifth year.”

Your hand drops into your lap, “What?”

“With every touch, every kiss on the cheek. I lied through it all. I didn’t want friendship. I wanted more.”

“What do you mean, Sirius?”

“I’m in love with you. This isn’t a childish crush; I know I’m in love with you. Break my heart. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break.” He says; eyes blazing, hands on either side of your face, tilting it up to look at him.

“It has only ever been yours,” Sirius repeats.

Your hands cover his as you reply, “Just as mine has only ever been yours.”

He gasps; lips parting as he stares down at you. “Do you mean it?”

You nod, “It has been for a while.”

You gaze into each other’s eyes, letting the euphoria of your confessions wash over you both. One of Sirius’ hands leaves your face to settle on your waist, pulling you that little bit closer to him. The silence is deafening; it’s charged with a heady electricity.

Sirius breaks it with a whispered question, “Can I kiss you?”

Your nod is the only answer before his lips envelop yours. He controls the kiss, throwing all emotion into it. He’s felt this way for so long and he’s finally getting to hold you in his arms with the passion he’s felt for so long. You smile into the kiss, and it almost drives him to the brink of madness with the way you’re responding to him.

You pull away breathless. Sirius peppers kisses all over your face – on your cheeks, on your nose, on your forehead. Wherever he can reach, he kisses because he’s so damned happy right now.

Sirius holds tightly to him, staring into your eyes. “I’ll love you until my very last breath, and even after. If there’s another life after this one, I’ll love you there as well.”

Tears line your eyes at the beauty of his words; at the fact that they’re being said to you. You sniffle, saying, “Sirius Black: a romantic who’d have thought?”

“I pour my heart to you; I kiss you and you make jokes? I see how it is, I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

“Poor baby,” You coo, beaming up at him.

“I am. I’m hurt and I think you should kiss it better.” He says, grinning wickedly.

“Anything to heal,” You quip, smirking.

Sirius pulls you back in for a bruising kiss; taking control the moment your lips touched. He pushes you further into the couch; his body weight feeling perfect on top of you. Your hands tangle in his hair, eliciting a low groan from the back of his throat at the slight pull of your hands.

For so long you had wanted this man. For so long you had yearned for this man who was so distinctly your opposite in every way. It shouldn’t work, but as his lips travel to your jawline, you realise that it does.

It works perfectly.

Seventh year:

From the outside, they’re a pair you wouldn’t necessarily put together. Sirius is loud, and he’s brash and sometimes he doesn’t think before he speaks, but around you – he quietens, as if the constant noise in his brain finally settles and he can think straight. You’re quiet, kind and responsible – always there to help people, but Sirius brings out a side of you that enjoys a little recklessness, even if that is sneaking out to watch the stars or to view the castle at night or to make out in one of the lesser travelled corridors.

You balance the other. You help him keep control of his emotions; he helps you come out of your shell a bit more.

Those outside the relationship don’t need to understand it; all they need to see is two ridiculously happy people, each with a depth-defying love for the other - and that’s a natural fact.

*******************

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @kalimagik​ @summer-writes​ @lupins-sweater​ @slytherinprincess03​ @mischiefsemimanaged​ @soleil-amaryllis​ @masterofthedarkness​ @bforbroadway​ @chaotic-fae-queen​ @peachesandpinks​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ @firewhisky-kisses​ @deafgirltingz​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @harrypotter289​ @sprvpti​ @accio-rogers​ @potterverseimagine​ @figlia--della--luna​ @angelinathebook​ @dreamer821​

Sirius Black taglist: @cheapglitter​ @fific7​ @approved-by-dentists​

[heartfragment]

12 days left on Kickstarter & 82% funded!

Thank you all so much for the support so far! To amp things up a little, here's a new Social Support Goals Community Challenge!!

If we can reach all 4 goals within 30 days, a special bonus will be unlocked: a 13-page collection of mini-comics!

Each route character will have a full page of mini-comic strips + an extra page dedicated to the side characters & several full pages of exclusive artwork.

💕 HOW TO PARTICIPATE 💕

✨ GOAL 1: Back us on Kickstarter or help us spread it around! 100% = a goal checkmark

✨ GOAL 2: Retweet the pinned post on Twitter and/or reblog the Kickstarter Tumblr post here. If we can reach 500 combined retweets & reblogs, this goal will get a checkmark.

✨ GOAL 3: If at least 10 fanworks are created within 30 days of this being posted, the goal will get a checkmark. Fanart and fanfics both count towards this goal, and of course no special skill level is required to participate.

✨ GOAL 4: Ask questions about the characters or story on CuriousCat! Anything you want to know, from a character's likes & dislikes to whether or not the story will contain certain themes you're interested in keeping an eye out for.

[thankskenpenders]

screenrant /sonic-continuity-archie-idw-comics-games-sega/amp/ I would love to hear your thoughts on this write up over on Screen Rant about the comics.

(link to the article)

Boy this one made me frustrated, as this wall of text no doubt implies

So while I agree with some points this article makes about the Archieverse having a lot of elements to like, I also think it’s built on a wildly flawed premise. For one thing, they’re comparing a decades-long series that was able to build up its universe over the course of over 500 issues to a new series that just crossed the 30 issue mark. And in the article itself they argue that Archie’s shift to a more serialized story started around 40 issues in with Mecha Madness (which is wrong, but hey), but they... don’t make the connection there? The Archie comics get a pass in this article for taking 3-4 years to start giving a shit about continuity, while all the great narrative work that the IDW comics have done in their first two and a half years is glossed over

A lot of the article also feels like it’s just saying “the Archie comics had a lot of lore, which made them better.” This is an extremely common thing people will fall for when it comes to nerd media, confusing a large amount of lore and a big wiki and a world history that stretches back thousands of years for a good story. Having just finished reading all the Archie issues released before Ian’s run last year, most of those plot threads went nowhere with their original writers and were thematically shallow. You cannot tell me in good faith that the Ancient Walkers or the Order of Ixis or all those different super transformations or whatever really added all that much to the narrative. They just didn’t. Having all that lore is meaningless if it doesn’t prop up a strong central narrative, which the Archie comics struggled with for years

They touch on stuff like Bunnie’s arc as a half-Robian, and y’all know Bunnie is my fave. But it took them years and years to actually do anything with her. There is exactly one story in the first 50 issues of the comics that actually touches on her internal struggle regarding her robot parts. And I think that little backup story’s fantastic! It’s stories like that that make me love the Archieverse. But if the series had ended with Endgame like it was supposed to then that would’ve been it for her character arc. There were so many stories like this in the first 13 years of Archie comics, where more complex ideas would be teased and then the story would be dropped because there were too many characters, too many conflicting storylines, and too many cooks in the kitchen

And while Ian was eventually able to pick up all those disparate pieces from his predecessors and start telling really cool stories with them (as I have highly praised in my coverage of his first year at Archie), that complex continuity also made the Archie comics very hard for new readers to get into. It’s a double edged sword. It’s okay to like that lore-dense approach to storytelling (I mean, I do), but it’s not objectively better than the alternative

This writer also conveniently avoids saying much at all about the nearly 30 years of video game lore that the IDW comics are drawing from. All that doesn’t count for some reason. They claim that the canon of the IDW comics only starts with Eggman’s takeover in Forces. And they repeatedly say Sally is a faun? What??? And they keep referring to the Archieverse as the “official canon,” which... what do they mean by that?? This article is a mess

[thewidowsghost]

Chapter 10 - (Y/n), Julie and the Phantoms

3rd Person POV

A little while later, the four are practicing, Luke and Reggie on bass, Julie on the piano, and (Y/n) on the drums until Alex gets back.

"One more time," Luke says, wanting to get the melody down.

"Oh, hey, Alex," Reggie says as the drummer walks through the door.

"Where have you been?" asks Luke. "We need to start practicing."

"Yeah?" Alex asks, catching the set of drumsticks (Y/n) throws his way as she walks to grab her light blue and white bass. "For what?"

At that moment, Flynn opens the door, and she and Natasha walk in as (Y/n) hooks her bass up to one of the amps.

"Dance news!" Flynn says excitedly. "I don't have a date."

"Me neither," Natasha says. "The person I wanted to ask is a little occupied. But I don't care cause I'm so psyched to see you guys perform."

"Oh man! We're playing a dance?" Alex asks.

"Of course, dude," Luke answers. "That's how we get a following nowadays.

"Yeah, get with the program, Alex," Julie chuckles.

"What?" Flynn exclaims. "The guys are here? Hey guys!" Flynn waves in the complete wrong direction.

"They're over here," (Y/n) says.

"Oh," Flynn waves again, turning the other way, and the three ghosts wave back.

"Okay, well, now that Alex has graced us with his presence," Luke says, "can we start working?"

"Yes!" Julie says.

"We're gonna rehearse," (Y/n) says, turning to Natasha and Flynn. "Wanna stick around?"

"We're supposed to blow up 500 balloons for the school dance, but this sounds way better," Natasha says and (Y/n) laughs.

"Hey, Julie," Carlos barges in the studio. "Remember those orbs in Dad's pictures?" He walks straight through Alex. "I . . . I think they're ghosts. But don't worry. This room is . . . is . . . This room is clean. I'm not getting the ghost tinglies."

"Wrong again, little dude," Reggie says, smiling at the young boy's antics.

"Have no fear. If they come back, I will protect you," Carlos promises, "because I am the man of the house."

"Aren't you forgetting your dad?" (Y/n) asks, amusement evident in her (E/c) eyes.

"There can be two," Carlos crosses his arms. "Dad needs all the help he can get, right? According to teh internet, salt burns their souls out."

Carlos pulls out a plastic container full of salt. "A little sprinkle will keep them from ever coming in here."

Carlos sprinkles the salt in front of Reggie and Luke, but some of it actually hits Alex. "No!" Alex cries, grabbing his stomach. "Oh God, I'm . . . I'm fine. I'm fine. Totally fine."

Julie clears her throat, looking at Flynn.

"Carlos, you know who's hungry?" Flynn asks. "Me. Um, salt me a path to the kitchen."

"Shall we try this again?" Julie asks as Natasha sits down in a chair beside the piano, and Alex sits down behind his drumset.

"But remind us later," Luke says. "There's some Sunset Curve songs to show you."

"Ooh! Show me now," Julie says.

'Yeah, okay," Luke walks over and pulls out his journal. "Home is where my horse is? Reggie, stop putting your country songs in my journal."

"That was a gift," (Y/n) says with a grin, sitting down beside Julie on the stool behind the keyboard, her bass slung over her back.

"Thanks," Luke hits her gently with his journal. "I dog-eared the ones I thought you would slay," he tells Julie.

Julie begins flipping through the journal until she gets to a non-dog-eared page. "Who's Emily?" she asks.

Luke reaches for the journal, "That one's not dog-eared."

"If you could only know, I never let you go," Julie reads off the page. Julie chuckles, "Wow, Luke, I didn't know you were such a romantic."

"He's not," Alex says, stepping around his drumset to stand beside Luke. "That one's actually about -"

Luke cuts him off, placing a hand on Alex's shoulder, "- no one. Uh, that's just something that I tried, and . . ." Luke reaches for the journal again. "But if you go to the next dog-eared page, I got a tune that's just . . . It's got a killer beat."

Luke begins to pluck some of the strings on his base.

"So you wanna sample?" (Y/n) says.

"What do you mean, sample?" Luke asks questioningly.

"Sample someone else's music," Julie clarifies.

"Me and my mom used to sing that song at the top of our lungs all the time," (Y/n) adds and Julie nods in agreement.

"It's a classic Trevor Wilson song," Julie tells the ghosts.

"Nope," Luke says, grabbing the journal off the keyboard. "It's a classic our song."

"Pure Sunset Curve," Reggie says. "Never even heard of Trevor Wilson."

"Maybe you're mixing it up, you know, with another song," Alex wonders.

"We don't mix up songs," (Y/n) tells Alex.

"Trust us," Julie adds.

"Me, (Y/n), and his daughter used to be best friends," Julie tells her and Natasha shoots (Y/n) and Julie an incredulous look.

"We used to hang out at their place all the time," (Y/n) admits, a hint of disgust in her voice. "We know that song."

"Okay," Alex says, sparing a glance at his fellow ghosts.

"Here," Julie pulls out her laptop, "I'll prove it."

"His first album had a bunch of hits, but non e of his latest stuff is as good," (Y/n) says as Julie turns around the laptop.

"That's Bobby," Luke says after a closer look at the screen.

"Seriously, I just told you his name is Trevor," Julie says in exasperation.

"Okay, great. Then . . . Then he changed it, all right?" Alex argues, studying the screen again. "That's definitely Bobby. He was our rhythm guitarist."

"Trevor Wilson was in your band?" Julie scoffs.

"I can't get over how old he looks," Reggie says and (Y/n) laughs.

"He looks like a substitute teacher," Alex says disdainfully.

"Julie," Luke looks at the girl. "What were his other hits?"

"Get Lost," (Y/n) says.

"Yeah, I wrote that one too," Luke says, pulling his guitar off his back.

"Long Weekend?" Julie offers.

"Yeah, Luke wrote that one too," Reggie says.

"Crooked Teeth?" Natasha offers.

"And that," Alex confirms. "It was about Reggie."

"What?" Reggie exclaims. "I thought it was about you! I don't like that song anymore," he grumbles, turning away.

"Wait," Julie pauses for a moment. "This is . . . freaking me out. Trevor's songs are kind of big to me. He's the one that introduced us to rock."

"Yeah," Alex laughs bitterly. "Luke introduced you to rock."

"So this whole time, we thought you were connected to Julie's mom, but instead you're connected to Carrie's dad?" (Y/n) asks and Alex sighs.

Reggie looks up from his seat.

"Out of all people, it had to be the one girl who had it out for me," Julie complains.

"All right, well, add it to our list of questions," Alex says.

"There's quite a few," Natasha says and everyone looks at her.

"Wait, she can see us?" Reggie asks and Natasha nods.

(Y/n) flashes a questioning look at Natasha and the redhead mouths, Tell you later.

"Back when Carrie, (Y/n), and I were still friends, the four of us used to talk about music all the time," Julie begins.

"He never mentioned you guys," (Y/n) finishes, a note of apology in her tone.

"And that's unbelievable!" Luke shouts and Natasha shifts unknowingly closer to (Y/n) in her chair. "Okay, he can take all the credit and he doesn't even mention us?"

"And he's rich," Julie adds. "He has his own helicopter."

"He has . . . He has a . . . a helicopter?" Alex asks.

"With his face on it," Natasha says disdainfully.

"And he parks it in front of that hotel?" Reggie asks.

"No, he parks it in front of his mansion," (Y/n) tells them.

"Mansion?" Reggie asks in disbelief.

"Dude," Alex turns to Luke. "We live in a garage."

"It's not about the money!" Luke says angrily. "It's about the music!"

"It's a little bit about the money though!" Reggie retorts.

"A little bit about the money," Alex agrees with his dark haired band-mate.

"He could have shared it with our families," Reggie points out.

"He's not really the giving type," (Y/n) mutters bitterly.

"Maybe then, my parents wouldn't have their house turned into a bike shack," Reggie continues.

"What his did is steal our legacy," Luke tells his ghostly friends. "Where does he live?" Luke asks angrily.

"Above the beach in Malibu," Julie admits after a moment's pause.

Luke reaches down and grabs his jacket, "Let's go teach him a lesson."

"Wait. What? Guys!" (Y/n) exclaims.

"We have to rehearse for the dance! This is our first gig!" Julie tells them, but the ghosts teleport away and Julie sighs.

"Okay then," Natasha says and (Y/n) nods in agreement, turning to Julie.

"I have a feeling that this isn't going to end well," (Y/n) tells her. "You and Flynn go track them down. I've got something I need to work on."

Julie shoots a glance at her friend before nodding. Julie runs out the door, leaving (Y/n) and Natasha in the empty studio.

Word Count: 1523 words

So yes, Nat can see our Phantoms . . . Imma explain it in the next chapter.

         Kaitlynn 😍❤️

[mallowstep]

i haven't been subtle about it...but yes, i'm adding a squilf fic to "stolag," so it will now be eight fics instead of seven.

i'm not adding it to anything official yet, because i really can't decide where to place it.

okay, soft spoilers (i.e., you could get spoilers out of what i'm about to say) below the readmore

so, you may recall, i said for spottedleaf's piece that i needed to write it because otherwise "grieving for the living" (and "in a faith-forgotten land", which isn't released, so i didn't bring it up) would be overextended.

i go into these fics with an idea of length, and i'm actually good at judging the lengths of one-shots. long fics, not so much, but even then, i have a really good handle on chapter length.

comes with the territory: i write a lot of one-shots. you have to make it work. you have to know how long things are, how much, pacing needs to be as simple and obvious to you as breathing.

that might be a little extreme, but i really do praise the fact that my final fic lengths for one-shots are usually within 500 words of my predicted outcome.

if it's much longer or much shorter, then my story structure needs to bbe reevaluated.

so...why bring that up now? look at the word counts for stolag:

gftl : 3.4k

wtsmtb : 3.5k

primd : 3.8k

ibpta : 4.4k

now, you can analyse the plot of stolag in a three act structure quite nicely: the first three fics are exposition, four and five are rising action, six is the climax, and seven is your dénouement.

but it's also...not perfect like that. you can chop off the first three, and put the beginnings of fics four and five together for an act one, make the rest of them an act two, and the rest is the same.

which is really how i want to analyze this, with the first three as their own thing, but they do set the tone.

anyway. now, the problem is, that means four and five are doing a lot of heavy lifting, in a way they just can't. narratively. for reasons that come down to: holy fuck mothwing's fic is supposed to cover a lot and i can't possibly cram it all into one fic.

but, as with spottedleaf's fic, it's not like adding in a squilf fic can just sap off some of mothwing's problems, no, it's going to really shift the balance.

anyway, to circle back, when i wrote ibpta, it just couldn't hold enough of act two. it couldn't. it was already 4.4k words, when these are suppposed to really not surpass 4k.

i knew this when i outlined it, too, i just don't think i realized how fragile it would be. like, i knew that this problem existed, but i thought i had more wiggle room to mess with it. but no, i had to cut things i thought i could split between ibpta and iaffl for pacing, and leafpool and barkface's relationship is already critically underdeveloped.

no, ibpta just couldn't hold more than exposition. i had to be okay with that, because it just...it just wasn't.

i mean look at it. try to tell me what the plot is.

leafkit thinks about destiny

training montage

thinking mothpaw is pretty

a suggestive riverclan scene that doesn't go anywhere

journey stuff

a suggestive mothpaw dream that doesn't go anywhere

windclan, crowfeather

a suggestive decision that doesn't go anywhere

and that's it.

that's not a plot, that's...well, exposition.

but here's the problem, i have three plot threads that are undeveloped, that will be more developed.

(to be clear, every fic in stolag has undeveloped plot threads. it's breathing room, for me. it's how i like to write, with background ideas that aren't fully resolved. but in this case, they're front and center, not background threads in a main plot.

like, let's look at "where the spirit meets the bone," because that has an easy plot for these purposes

destiny worries

does a good job training

tells her siblings bye

struggles to fit in with riverclan

bonds with mudfur

her brother dies

starts seeing tiger bone problem

tigerstar stuff

bones as a forced thing

she picks moth to be a seer

even without adding in all of my thoughts, you can see there's a strong thread. the background ideas aren't even worth a bullet point — willowpelt, her time in the pit, her relationship to misty storm & feather, etc.

if i wanted to make a strong argument for ibpta's plot, i could focus on leafpool's relationship to duty, but i literally did not have space to resolve that without really just overextending it.)

right, long tangent.

so anyway, my initial plan was to resolve all of these in mothwing's fic. buuuut...this circles back to the long fic/one-shot problem.

i know how long mothwing's fic should be: around 4k words. i also now see i can't fit everything i need to into 4k words.

enter: a squilf fic. great! but what's squilf thread in this? well, from what we see of her in ibpta:

she has unresolved issues with how much her parents love her

she has an unexplored relationship with brambleclaw

she doesn't want to talk to leafpool after leafpool leaves

but they were super close as kids.

so...what gives! a lot, actually, but resolving it...means resolving at least as far as jayfeather, but likely all the way to alderheart.

deep breath here.

if i want squilf's fic to patch the gaps between mothwing and jayfeather's fics, then i need to release it between them.

BUT doing that will cover at least all of jayfeather's fic.

but wait! i hear you saying, grieving for the living covered the first half of where the spirit meets the bone.

well, even if we pretended half was whole, look at the overlap: spottedpaw is having a big emotional journey, yellowstorm is focused on her place and role.

but jayfeather and squilf's conflicts are interlocked.

so...what should i do? i'm not sure. my instinct says, the plot structure needs squilf between mothwing and jay. it can't really go before mothwing, because moth and leaf need to stick together because of how they complete each other.

alderheart's fic has to end it; it's the only one that can. i promise.

putting squilf between jay and alder will really mess with the pacing and tension, so that only leaves between moth and jay.

so, yeah.

woof this was supposed to be a quick ramble not...this.