#I'm looking forward to this fic!

[pidgydraws]

🤎🐴 best friends! 🐴🤎

a cowboy's best friend is their horse, right!? well, in @cardine05's western AU "Never Really Faced My Fears Before" Jayce has two horses - Mercury AND Rio. so it's a good thing that Jayce convinces Viktor to travel with him, or else Rio woulda had to go without a best friend and BOO to that! cuz Rio is best horse girl!

further content from Cardine's western AU: <here> and <here> and <here!> :D

[araneapeixes]

"She glances upward– the moonlight reflects brightly in Lae’zel’s eyes, wide with wonder. Selûne’s silvery sheen casts an almost ethereal glow upon her. She looks so otherworldly, yet there is such tender love reflected in her gaze– perhaps for Shadowheart, perhaps for the sky beyond her. Perhaps it isn’t mutually exclusive."

__

Commission for the lovely James @ilikecrocssuckit based on a scene from this fic by bittersweetegg on AO3 <3

[themeraldee]

How’d think homelander would react if his friend, naybe a bit younger, as inexperienced and asked him lessons on kissing?

Homelander’s taken out of  his thoughts when you drop the bomb. He blinks a few times, shaking his head clear before letting out a mix of a scoff and a chuckle.

“Why the fuck are you acting as if you’ve never—you’ve never been kissed… Wow! Talk about a confession huh?” From downturned confused lips to a downright wolfish smile he steps closer to you, pointing and waving his signature red gloved finger in your direction.

“Well, you’re lucky you came to the expert, really. Some other loser wouldn’t even know where to start.” With downturned lips and a sweeping gesture of his arms he keeps a steady pace.

“You’re really gonna teach me?” You’re surprised at his approaching form. While you did ask, you expected a ranked list of top five do’s and don’t’s rather than a full-on demonstration. The nervous coil in your gut bursts into butterflies.

“You betcha—embarrassing that I even have to teach you at this point. What the fuck were you doing in your teens? Something wrong, clearly.” He’s thoroughly enjoying poking fun at your inexperience. Toying with the precious gift that just landed in his lap.

You roll your eyes, ready to give up on the topic if all you’re gonna get is teasing, but Homelander stops you.

“Regardless, what kind of friend would I be otherwise?” At this point he’s right in front of you, gloved hands cradling your jaw as he tilts your head around, almost inspecting your lips for the best strategy moving forward.

“A sane one, maybe.” You huff out an embarrassing little laugh while Homelander thankfully chooses to ignore your sassy remark. Your heart is thumping loudly in your chest—now that’s got his rapt attention a lot more than your words.

His eyes are locked on your lips, licking his own at the thought of tasting yours.

“Alright, you better be taking notes. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He seemingly can’t get off his high horse now that he’s finally the one to have had more human experience than you. Sure, your childhood may have been perfectly fine compared to his but he’s been kissed many times. He’s got that on you.

“And none of the little pecks alright, you’re not kissing your grandma here. I’m gonna show you the big guns. So all you gotta do is part your lips a teeny bit—perrrfect, just like that—and when I press mine against yours you’re gonna press back into mine, okay? Easy peasy.”

You nod seriously, as if you were truly taking notes throughout this invigorating lecture.

Homelander leans in, pulling your jaw towards him at the same time and he does just as he said. His lips slot right in between yours, his thin and slightly crooked yet perfectly soft. You follow his instructions and movements and you press yours into his before loosening them up again. The intimate warmth of a slow kiss has your butterflies raging, eager to escape the cage. Your heart is thundering in your ears now. 

Homelander lets out a soft little hum, pressing his lips against yours again, this time trapping your upper lip with a loud mwah upon release. The nature of it all has the tips of your ears burning hot, with your cheeks feeling unbearably warm to the touch. Your lips are tingling when he pulls away, brain short-circuiting a little at how affected that left you.

“Not bad for a newbie, not bad at all.” You’re surprised to see him equally flushed, though he hides it well behind his words.

Before you have time to process what just happened he continues. “Now you kiss me.” Your eyebrows shoot upwards in shock. “Come on now, don’t be shy. Right here.” He teases and purses his lips, tapping them with a gloved finger, making silly kissy noises straight after.

“Like… you want me to initiate?” You blink a few times, starting to feel like this was a bad idea all along.

“Mhm.” He hums with a nod, eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans in closer, not letting you get out of it.

You do your best, parting and pressing your lips into his clumsily, hitting more the corner of his lips than the soft part of them. His little chuckle sends a new hot wave of embarrassment down your neck. You try again, this time hitting the target just right, focusing on the feel of him more than the technique as your eyes flutter shut. Repeatedly with slight change in angles you kiss him, pressing your lips into his, surprisingly feeling light-headed at how enthusiastically he’s kissing you back.

It kind of sweeps you off your feet really. You let Homelander envelop his arms around you, pulling you closer as he attempts to deepen the kiss. “Open wider, use your tongue.” He says, muffled by your lips, unwilling to pull away.

After a little trial and error, your tongue is meeting his with every kiss now, lips parted and eager to meet the other ones. Homelander eagerly licks your lips open, sucking on your lip with a little whine. This demonstration is nothing like what you imagined your request to be met with, yet here you are. Your legs feel like jelly now, if it wasn’t for his hold you’d be boneless on the floor with hot swollen lips as a sweet reminder.

What was meant to be a little lesson of how two people’s lips interlock turned into a lengthy breathless and heated make-out session. While you never expected the movie-like fireworks you get your own version of them with a beating heart so loud it might as well be an explosive device. You never imagined your first kiss to feel so intimate and passionate but it is just that. That and more.

When you both pull away—mainly to allow you access to oxygen—you’re both flushed and hot, lips swollen and wet. You’re more surprised at how affected he ends up looking. But Homelander doesn’t like being on level ground with just about anyone. He pushes through his own flustered appearance, bringing back his bravado.

“Well, fuck. Look at that! Popped your cherry—or well, not quite yet but that can be arranged. Buuut, we might as well get all of your firsts out of the way with the expert. What do you say?” With his flushed cheeks, for once his wolfish smile doesn’t feel quite so dangerous. But you’ll sorely come to regret that thought a little down the line.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ok fine I can't help myself, I hyped myself up too much

Hello PureShadow/ShadowVanilla nation, I am cooking something very nice for you all, it shall leave the oven soon-ish

I had an idea that essentially boils down to "The Temptation of Christ: PureShadow Edition" and the brainworms activated immediately lol. Won't say anything else about it except it's going to be 3 chapters and it's going to deviate from Episode 7 quite a bit. So stay tuned

[numbuh424]

congrats to ao3 for the site traffic the good omens fandom is about to bring them this week

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter Three - Smoke and Whiskey

<< First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco, cannabis), plus-sized reader, female reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me.

~3.2k

When you go back inside, you wind up wedged between John and Ghost on the bigger couch. Johnny’s stretched out on the smaller one, and Gaz claimed the chair that you’d been sitting in earlier, leaving you with no other option. Neither of them makes any effort to give you more space, even though they could. Ghost’s leg is pressed against yours from thigh to ankle, and John’s pinky finger keeps finding your thigh when he rests his tumbler against his knee. You want to curl up properly, tuck your feet up underneath yourself, but you can't without pressing even closer to at least one of them. At least Ghost isn’t quite as intimidating without his mask on.

After a while, Gaz and Ghost go out for a cigarette. The chair looks inviting, and you’d like to get a little space, but Price’s arm drops around your shoulders casually, pulling you in a little closer to his side. “Relax,” he says against the top of your head. “You’re alright, doll.”

The door opens again. “Soap, we’ve got a spliff, you want?” Gaz asks.

Johnny picks himself off the other couch, grinning. “Aye. An’ then cake?”

“Fuckin’ forgot about cake,” Ghost says. “Hey doll, d’you want some of this? Cap?”

“Who rolled it?” John asks. “Because I’m not smoking one of Gaz’s joints ever again.”

“Oh fuck off, Price, I can roll just fine.”

John looks at you and shakes his head slightly. “He really can’t.”

“I can roll,” you say. “I always do with my friends.”

You can see the calculation running behind John's eyes as he adds new information to what he knows and assumes about you. You want to laugh. You almost do. Most people take one look at you, with your big doe eyes and round face and and sunny disposition and think that you're some innocent little thing. Sure, you tend to live life with your arms open, and that might come across as naive to some, but you're not inexperienced by any means. You're nearly thirty years old, you're by no means a child.

"Let's see, then," he says. "Box on the coffee table has everything."

"Does tha' mean we can smoke inside again?" Soap asks. "It's startin' ta get pure Baltic out here."

John looks at you expectantly. "Up to you, doll."

"It's not my house."

He hums. "You're stayin' a while. Might as well be. It's important that you're comfortable."

You slide to the floor and reach for the box. "Well. You'd better open a window or two. But I don't mind."

Making a fuss over the semantics isn't worth doing. You probably are staying a while. Even if John really won't force you, you'll still need his cooperation to get all your stuff loaded back into the van, and all four of them are likely headed for hangovers.

John tells them to open the windows, and leans forward to watch you break up slightly sticky buds into the grinder. He brushes your hair behind your shoulders for you, and when you tip your head back to look at him, there's something in his eyes that makes your ears warm.

Johnny drops down to the floor on the other side of the table, a crumpled looking joint hanging out of his mouth. You can see what John means about not wanting to smoke it.

"You want a drink, doll?" Gaz asks. "More tea?"

You twist to look at him, hanging over the back of the couch, that handsome face smiling. "Have you got pop? Wouldn't mind a ginger ale."

"Got irn bru too," Soap suggests. "Ye've got some Scot in ye, aye?"

"Yes."

"Didja want more?"

You level an unimpressed look at him across the table. "I should've seen that one coming."

"I'd like to see ye com--"

"That'll do, Soap," John says firmly. "She's not goin' to have sex with you."

"Might feel a bit better if she did," Soap says, shrugging. "Ah'm just sayin'."

"You're not saying anything." Gaz sets an unopened can of ginger ale on the table next to you. "If you're gagging for it, we'll take care of you in a bit."

"And if you don't behave yourself you're not goin' to get anything," John rumbles from behind you. "She's been good. Surprised none of you have been slapped."

"Just the once." Gaz snags the joint from Johnny and sits back in the chair.

Ghost snorts. "What did you do?"

"Surprised her picking her up. My own fault."

You lean back and hold up the neat joint you've been rolling, hooking your arm over John's knee. He sets his whiskey to the side and takes it, holding it up for an inspection. "Nice work, doll," he says warmly. “Got a bit of a wild streak to you, eh?”

The praise makes you glow, despite yourself, and you laugh aloud at the second part, a real laugh, not nervous or bitter. All four of them shift their attention to you at the sound, snapping a tension you hadn’t noticed until you felt it’s absence. It’s important to them that you feel comfortable, and your genuine laughter is the first sign that you’re on your way. They really did think that they’d done you a favour.

Insane. But almost sweet, in a fucked up, unsettling way.

You pluck the joint out of John’s fingers and meet his dark blue eyes evenly, not missing the hunger that sparks into existence. “Got a light?”

John pulls his lighter out of his pocket, a little awkward with you leaning on his other leg, and holds the dancing flame out for you. You have to lean in a little to get to it, so you do, your eyes still locked on his as you inhale, the slight sizzle of paper and weed igniting clear in the otherwise silent room. You can hear the way his breath catches too, taken by surprise yet again. You offer the joint back to him, holding in a lungful of smoke.

“Shite,” Johnny hisses, breaking the heavy silence. “Yer absolutely sure ye dinnae want your cunt licked?”

You blow smoke at him from across the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take long before drowsy complacency overtakes you. Curling up against John’s leg, your arm still hooked over his leg, you let conversation wash over your awareness, not paying enough attention to pick out one thing or another. John’s hand settles on your head, fingers threading into your dark hair, combing through soft strands idly. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded but still plenty aware, a funny smile twisting the edges of his mouth upwards. He has nice lips under that bristling moustache of his, not as thin as you would have expected. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he speaks to the others,

He takes a sip of whiskey, and you follow the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way the tip of his tongue darting across his lips. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s watching you study him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’ve been there, you don’t feel scared. Just dozy and content, like a cat curled up next to a fireplace. “I’m alright,” you admit. “It’s been a strange day.”

His fingers flex, not quite gripping your hair, just holding you in place with the lightest pressure, encouraging you to keep facing him rather than turning away. “I imagine so.” His hand glides along to your ear, his thumb grazing over the shell, sending shivers down your spine. “It won’t be so strange tomorrow.”

“No more surprises planned?”

John glances up, looking at each of his men in turn, and then back to you. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“We do have cake, though,” Soap says. “Ye want some, bonnie?”

“Yes please.” You only turn to look at Soap for a moment before John is gently coaxing you back, curling his fingers around your jaw. Can he feel the way your heart leaps into your throat, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings? It’s hard to look John in the eye, but harder still to pull yourself away. His touch leaves burning traces behind, and you’re all too aware of your body and the way you respond to him. It’s all too much, too soon and too strange.

He catches your hand when you try to brush his away. “Why don’t you come on back up here, doll?” he asks. “Be more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m happy down here.” You tuck your knees to your chest, looping your arms around your legs, extricating yourself from his sphere of influence just a little. You’re still pressed up against his calf, but you don’t need to go that far, you just need to face forward so you won’t get pinned under that blue stare again.

John has a certain gravity, a magnetism that you can’t help but be drawn in by. It would be all too easy to sink into his arms, but the idea that you’d been given to him still bothers you, like a persistent, sharp little stone in your shoe, ruining what might have been something.

You perk up some when Soap hands you a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. It's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but it tastes incredible, rich dark chocolate and an icing that had so much whiskey in it that your teeth feel funny after a few bites.

"This is really good, Johnny," you tell him. "If the whole military thing doesn't work out, you could consider becoming a baker."

"Thanks, hen. And dinnae think I havena considered it. Gettin' closer to packin' it in awl the time. Just cannae leave Gaz until he's got a good team watchin' his back."

"We've got some good sergeants," Gaz says. "Nitro's got real promise."

"Shivs too. Little devil," Ghost adds. "You need a door smasher though. Those girls are tough as 'ell, but some occasions call for a big boot."

"Aye, ye'd say that, bein' the biggest fuckin' boot the Queen's army has ever seen."

"King now," John points out.

"Oh, fuck if I care which poncy arsed Windsor is sittin' in the big chair."

"Bloody leeches," Ghost agrees.

"I've got Sanderson in mind." Gaz winks at you, like you're in on some secret.

"Gary Sanderson? Is he no' dead?"

"No! Turns out he locked himself in a cryo chamber when the bomb went off. That facility was full of 'em, all kinds of experimental tech. It was finally safe to take a team in and we found him. Nitro started calling him Roach, and it's stuck."

"He's a damn good soldier. Be good for the taskforce," Price agrees. "Would've picked him ten years ago."

"Well, he's had a nice long nap, and he's hopping mad about missing so much. He'll make a good doorsmasher," Gaz says.

"How about that Lucky kid? Nitro’s brother.” Price asks. “He looked pretty promising. Unless his luck ran out.”

Gaz hums, licking frosting off his fork. “He’s a good kid, but his problem is that as soon as Nitro’s around he lets her do all his thinking for him. Splits her focus.”

You sigh, setting your half-finished slice of cake down on the table in front of you, and climb to your feet, wincing at the ache of not moving for so long. You edge between Ghost’s knees and the coffee table and skirt around the edge of the couch wordlessly. No one stops you, and there’s no falter to their conversation despite the eyes that follow you until you disappear upstairs to use the washroom.

As you wash your hands, you stare at your own face in the mirror. You look pretty, even with your eyeliner a little smudged, and your lipstick faded to nothing. The buzz of THC is your system makes you giggle. Pretty enough to kidnap, even.

You think about it for a long moment, and then take your makeup off and braid your hair back so you can wash your face properly, and brush your teeth too. All the weirdness of the day is catching up, and all you want to do is sleep it off. The low buzz of their voices carries up the stairs when you step out into the hallway again, seemingly unbothered by your absence. There's no reason for you to say goodnight-- you don't owe them any kind of civility. But you still hesitate.

Long enough that John appears at the bottom of the stairs. "You alright, doll?" He asks. "Comin' back down?" The stairs creak slightly under his weight as he starts coming up towards you.

"I was thinking-- I'm just tired, is all. It's been a long day."

He stops two steps down, so he's still looking up at you. "I understand. We can talk more in the morning."

"I'm sure there's a lot to discuss."

"If you say so. Already told you most of what I needed to tell."

"Just most?"

He nods, and beckons you closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face. You take one halting step toward him, and then another, until you stand right at the top of the stairs. His big hands catch yours, holding you in place when he moves one step up, taller than you once more.

You stare up at him, and your breathing is turned shallow, your heartbeat rapid and heady. His eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans close, the tip of his nose skimming yours, as if he means to kiss you. Like a deer pinned under the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck, you stand frozen, unsure if you even want to move, or if you welcome the inevitable collision.

He smells like smoke and whiskey when he speaks, his lips so close to yours you can feel the soft brush of breath on your skin. "Forgot to tell you how good you look in my shirt," he purrs. "Been thinkin' to say so all night."

Heat licks across your cheeks, his words waking something dangerous in your core, something that wants his hands on you more than anything else. It’s unfair, what he does to you already, barely more than a stranger, and you want him to be a good man so you can indulge that desire without fear of consequence. It’s been such a long time since someone looked at you the way he looks at you now, an almost indescribable fondness that you haven’t even begun to earn.

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say lamely. “Thank you for lending it to me.” You don’t mention that it smells very pleasantly like him, and how it’s been a bit difficult to keep yourself from sniffing at the flannel all evening.

“You’re welcome to anything I have,” he says, and you know he means it.

“I hope that includes your bed,” you say jokingly, trying (and failing) to diffuse the intensity in his eyes. “Because I think that’s where I’m headed now.”

“Of course it does.” His thumb rubs across your knuckles, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You shake, all nerves, worried that he’ll close the distance and kiss you, but he just taps his forehead against yours instead, eyes smiling. “Off you go, sweet thing. You give us a shout if we get too loud, eh?”

You swallow nervously and nod, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, John.”

"Goodnight, doll.”

You quickly shut yourself into the other room, flicking on the light while you strip down to your panties and wrap the flannel shirt around yourself again, and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a bizarre day, and the room feels strange, too open and too dark, but it still doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

Hours later, you wake at the sound of the door opening and clicking shut again. You sit up before you’re fully alert, dreams shredding apart and solidifying into reality as you blink away sleep.

“Shh, s’just me,” John’s voice comes out of the darkness, slurring slightly. You can’t see anything in the darkness, until he crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting in a little light from the waxing moon outside. He turns towards her, his big frame silhouetted against the scant light, humming. “Bloody hell, you’re a pretty little thing.” The soft clink of his belt buckle is far too loud in the quiet room, as is the rustle of his clothes as he strips down to his boxers.

“John, what are you doing?” you ask nervously.

“Coming to bed,” he says, like it’s obvious. “M’too old to sleep on the floor, and Gaz is on the big couch.”

“Oh. I’ll move then. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” You throw back the sheets and swing your legs onto the floor.

“No, no, stay right where you are.” He swoops over and grips your legs gently, lifting them up and back onto the bed. He smells strongly of whiskey and mint toothpaste, and the clinging remnants of cigar smoke. “We can share tonight. Get things set up better tomorrow.”

“John…”

He slides into bed beside you and easily pulls you close, strong arms wrapping around you tightly, rolling so you’re half on top of him, one hand cradling your back and the other on your waist. “Yeah, doll?” he asks.

“John, we can’t— I can’t sleep like this.”

“Shh, just give me a minute to hold my pretty girl.” He nuzzles against the top of your head. “I’m gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

"You're drunk," you say, holding the flimsy excuse out for him, hoping that he'll take it. You don't want to think about him meaning it. It makes going home look all the more unlikely.

"A little," he admits. His hand drifts lower, fingers dipping below the soft lace of your panties to dig into soft skin around your hip. He groans. "You're perfect. Sweet and soft, so damn beautiful. I'll make you happy. I'll give you anything you want, if you stay with me."

"John! Stop that, we can talk later, just go to sleep."

"I know this all started wrong, doll. The lads got carried away. But this is right. You feel that too, don't you? We'll have to come up with a better story for our kids, hm? Something proper romantic." He kisses the top of your head, humming happily.

"Our kids?" you squeak. "Jesus, John, you can't be serious."

"Course I am. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

Well, at least now you know he's just as delusional as the rest of them. "You don't even know if I want kids."

"You do," he says confidently. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're drunk," you say firmly. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles. "You didn't say I'm wrong."

You push away and roll over so you don't have to look right at him. Even in the darkness, you're certain that your face betrays more than you'd like. It was none of his business if you wanted kids. You certainly weren't going to have them with him. "Go to sleep," you repeat.

"Yes ma'am," he says, looping his arms around you again, tugging you close to his chest. "Goodnight, doll."

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

Inspired by the snippet in the promo of Buck in the hallway in 8x15, I present to you this ficlet.

Buck froze in his tracks, the words over the radio halting his momentum, leaving him stunned.

Robert Nash was dead.

Bobby. Dead.

In an instant, Buck felt his frozen body melt, his legs turning to jelly, and he fell to his knees. A pain deep in his gut rose up within him, a loud ringing in his ears deafening him. It took him a few moments before he registered the screams that were echoing through the hall and a few moments more before he realised they were coming from him.

He hadn't been fast enough. And now the man who had been more of a father to him that his own biological father was gone and the pain was immeasurable. How the hell was he supposed to go through life now without Bobby there to guide him?

Buck slumped against the wall, his body wracked with heaving sobs. He didn't hear the footsteps as they rushed towards where he lay slumped in the middle of the hallway. He didn't notice the pair of legs that stopped by his side, not until he felt the warm hand land gently on his shoulder.

Looking up, through a haze of tears, Buck saw Tommy's concerned face looking down on him. Tommy, who had been waiting back at the helicopter as Buck had raced inside to save his family. Who, judging by the grief filling his eyes, had heard the same call over the radio and immediately came looking for Buck.

Tommy knelt down in front of Buck, and Buck, without thought, immediately sought the comfort of the other man's arms. Tommy shifted his legs so they were on either side of Buck's body so that he could pull him closer, his arms holding Buck tightly as Buck's body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

Tommy didn't say a word. Instead, he rocked Buck back and forth, offering what support he could. Alone in the hallway, the pair had each other tightly as they mourned the loss of a man who had shaped their lives in different but equally impactful ways.

[wisdomcaster]

"What if we were both boys, and had been the closest thing each other had to a friend in 500 years, and were also falling in love at Applebee's?" -Gale Dekarios (probably)

From Chapter 19 of Araj Oblodra's Plasma Donation Center

Fun fic, surprisingly sweet old men. Worth the read!

[optiwashere]

Art by @androgynousshiver 💜

We're workin' together on a BG3 winter art + fic event and they took Asheera and Shadowheart on a test drive with this style!!!

They drew the girls so adorably soft... I had to shout about it here...

The event is @bg3-winter-big-bang btw!

[sorryimananti-romantic]

The Leaders | chapter 6 teaser

“Oh, dear,” Seonghwa pulled you closer, prompting you to settle on your knees instead of keeping them upright as a barrier between you two. “Tell me you said something he deserved to hear.”

“I did,” you sniffed. “I told him not to come after me or mine ever again unless he wants to start a war he can never win.”

A smirk creeped up the underboss’ lips, sending a stirring of nerves to your stomach. “Me or mine, huh?”

“I had to say something–”

“You did well,” Seonghwa said, cupping your face and wiping your eyes, nodding in acknowledgement. “You did so well, love. And I’m glad you stayed strong. You don’t ever have to break in front of your father anymore. You can break in front of me, in front of any of us but– never him.”

You looked at Seonghwa, truly looked at him. His eyes glinted with a million unsaid things, but even in the dim light of the lamp, you could tell that they held admiration and something like pride. Something you always wished to see in someone’s eyes when they looked at you.

“Why do you cry, love?” He asked, wiping the tears that threatened to roll down your cheeks. You didn’t even realise that you were crying silently now.

“I don’t know,” you told him. “Seonghwa– can I really break in front of you?”

Something unreadable flickered across Seonghwa’s face. “You can. With me, or Hongjoong, or any of us, you can be yourself. We’re here– I’m here for you. You never have to feel alone again.”

You tightened your lips, stifling a sob. Seonghwa only smiled, scooting closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. You let out a shaky breath and then went still as he kissed your cheek. 

“Won’t you look at me?”

The deep timbre of his voice sounded inside your skull. You kept your eyes shut and he wiped the remnants of the tears away from your lashes before kissing both your eyelids, his soft lips like feathers of an angel's wing shielding you from everything that hurt you. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he continued to pepper light kisses all over your face, the sound of his breath making your heart flutter uncontrollably. However, he stopped right when he kissed near your mouth, his hands almost shaking as he cradled your jaw and pulled back to gauge your reaction.

“Look at me.”

“I’m scared,” you opened your eyes and your gaze stuck on his plump lips. “I don’t understand why you all want me. I don’t understand why we’re here, like this.”

He only smiled in answer. “Is it too much?”

“That’s the thing,” you scoffed in disbelief. “I don’t think it is.”

[croquettish]

stardew memes (3/?)

[schnaf]

23 days until ode's 23rd birthday

day 23 aka THE COUNTDOWN IS OVER - ode's past birthday brrrr ppoppos

[xfreischutz]

I think its interesting that we tell people to "make art only for yourself!" but then also expect them to present it to a silent and (seemingly!) uncaring world. Like I have several fic ideas and at the moment, I *am* only "writing it for myself" which means it stays firmly in my brain because what's the point in pouring my heart into something to share if nobody cares? My fic is perfect and Just for Me in my mind with no risk of ever becoming lesser via attempts to distill it into something "real". People create and share art because its personal and part of a conversation with the viewer. It important to be the active participant in consuming the art, even if all you ever do is give it a like!

yeah! it's the commodification of work and effort into ✨content✨ and i'm not here for it (though i will say i am not immune to thinking about the algorithm and current markets when it comes to fanart/merch). i don't like that people are expected to create to have works available for perusal, my friend said that getting pageviews but no interaction is like having a booth and people looking at your stuff and just leaving...and they are Right

it feels like the culture of overconsumption and excess has reached fandom spaces. also this sentence feels very snooty and edgy like it's probably not that deep (but it sure feels like it to me)

i think there's something to be said for having an idea in your mind that can be perfect because it is never tangible/present in our world, and there's also something to be said for enjoying the process of trying to capture it to put it into the world. it just depends on what you think your duty to yourself is, and what you enjoy, and what you have the time and energy for.

but yeah shared artwork is a communication, especially in fandom and other community spaces. even if it's a like/kudo/upvote it's something! if someone treats you to a good meal the least you can do is say thanks for the food

[thursdayinspace]

fic: all after such a desert (13/13) [complete]

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

So. This is it. Typing "epilogue" into the chapter title box made me tear up a bit, not gonna lie. It's been such a journey, and I'm truly overwhelmed by all your comments, reblogs, and support. I've loved sharing this with you. I love you guys. Thank you. And until next time. <3 Thanks once again to leiascully for the beta, muldersfingers for the cheerleading, and libbytxf for the title. And thanks to all you lovely people for your reblogs and comments, love you! <3

Summary:

He would rather stick his fingers in a wall socket than hurt or upset her, ever. He keeps waiting for this love to start hurting the way he knows all love hurts at some point down the road. But he’s loved her for years and here they are. Tentatively, timidly, his soul is still reaching for hers, asking it to soothe old hurts and pain. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to be able to be enough, but he’ll try, he’ll try. And hope that eventually, maybe, one day he will deserve her, if he just tries hard enough.

In which Mulder learns what it truly means to be a whole person to someone.

Read on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

[regheart]

heartbreaking: author i like writes my very specific interest in a way that differs from how i perceive it

[morelikeravenbore]

I loved you then, and I love you still: a WIP.

i give you absolutely no context but here's a snippet from the fifth year au I've been quietly working on since last april lol 😭💀

When Sebastian was sure enough time had passed for the magic to weave through her, he stood and opened her trunk at the foot of the bed. Conveniently, the spell made it easy to locate the items that held associations with him, each one warm to the touch and glowing faintly red. Slowly, methodically, he collected the relics of himself: a scarf here, a book there, the blue ribbon he'd brought her in Hogsmeade, the pair of woolly green socks she'd “borrowed” from him in the middle of her first Scottish winter. He did not allow himself to dwell on the memories that surfaced: not on the sound of her laughter or smell of her hair, nor how much warmer her small, cold hands got when he held them, and how good it made him feel that it was his warmth that eased her discomfort. But when he found the glowing blue jar tucked away at the bottom of her trunk, his resolve wavered. 

The memory twisted like a knife in his chest:

Late in the library one cold January, a request for a spare quill has Aurélie rummaging through her pockets. 

‘I have one here, I'm sure of it,’ she says. ‘Hold this?’ 

Into Sebastian's open palm, she deposits the small jar of bluebell flames.

‘You kept these?’ he asks, surprised. 

‘Of course I did!’ she exclaims, as if offended by the mere suggestion that she hadn't. ‘I take them with me everywhere! They make me feel…’ She searches for the word, brow furrowed cutely. ‘Warm.’

Sebastian feels warm himself. ‘I'm glad,’ he smiles.  As evening slipped into night, he clutched the jar of bluebells to his chest and cried. Then he wrapped them in up his old green socks and buried them in her trunk where they belonged.