#This reminds me of a thing I have on my 'to draw' list which is just Tuvok saying to some other crew member:

[wundrousarts]

Mini Silverborn Countdown

If you’ve been around for a few years, you’ve seen me vaguely mention a “Silverborn Countdown Challenge” several times. It’s been delayed and changed as many times as the book itself, lol.

If anyone wants sort of a low-stakes, very chill and spaced out version of this ye olde never tackled challenge to complete in the next year before Silverborn, I propose what I’m doing:

Every 3 months leading up to the initial release, I am creating one thing based on each of the books.

January — Nevermoor

April — Wundersmith

July — Hollowpox

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Are T’Pel and T’Pela ok with Tuvok smooching all these other people on voyager?? Is he hurting his two beautiful wives???? I simply MUST know, for my own mental peace

His two beautiful wives are taking inspiration.

[todayisafridaynight]

there's normal thought exercise questions to be had about fave charas like 'what would your fave do in X situation' or 'does your fave like Y why or why not' but the most important question to me i could ever answer about my faves is 'do they like shadow the hedgehog and is it purely ironic or do they have all 326 route titles memorized'

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 10

Word Count ~ 5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

taglist ~ @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp @kaislashes @charli33-b33 @finalitgirl @kawaiichookie @vexillum-moeru @blackcurrant28 @r4yyyyy @dazedin2d @mrsspector-grant

Monday morning comes all too soon.

You’d stayed up later than you’d intended. Talking about the wedding. You’d agreed on an outdoor ceremony. To be held in late autumn, maybe. Still nothing definite. Baby names. This still unresolved. You think you’d fallen asleep mid debate.

Your doppelgänger has to get up even earlier on mornings when he stays at the farmhouse.

He’s insisted you sleep in before but you never do. You don’t want to miss any time being with him. It was worth missing sleep. Maybe you’d have matching shadows under your eyes.

You smile sleepily at him. It’s still dark but you can sense he’s awake, looking at you. You reach blindly for his face. He turns it, kissing your palm, his hand covering yours.

“I love you,” you greet him. You can’t say it enough.

“I love you, too.” A little regretful sigh before leaving the bed. The sounds of him getting ready in the bathroom, less obvious as you make your way downstairs and get coffee going. The sky is gradually lightening now. You can see some small wild brown rabbits through the kitchen window, rummaging near the bushes for breakfast before heading back to the burrow. You watch them scamper and forage while you prepare your own breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast to accompany the coffee.

An arm wraps around your shoulders, drawing you backwards. You can smell soap and shampoo and aftershave. He’s gotten better at the routine. Getting ready faster. Or maybe just rushing to steal a few more of these moments with you.

You lean against the doppelgänger, your head dropping back as his lips find your neck, then brush the shell of your ear. The smell of the coffee and cooked food permeates the kitchen. Warm kisses before the warm liquid slips down your throat after your first caffeinated sip.

The same words are spoken each morning before he steps into the delivery truck. I love you. Be safe.

The familiar ache is present before he’s even left the driveway. You miss him already. You worry for him. The rising sun kisses the dew on the lawn. You wrap your bathrobe tighter around your waist and head back up the steps of the porch.

***

Today is the day you’re introducing your fiancé to your parents.

You’re not sure which of you is more nervous as you drive to their house.

“What if your father says I can’t marry you?” Francis’ copy inquires anxiously, not for the first time, his fingers twisting restlessly in his lap until you reach for his hand, clutching it tightly.

“He won’t. I told you, it’s just a formality. A cultural politeness,” you reassure him. Still unsure of how this meeting is going to go. You’re going to be lying to your parents, after all. Telling them you’re marrying a human resident of the building you guard, knowing full well he’s really an alien. “We’ll get through this, love. Last thing before we move in together.”

A crooked little smile at this reminder. Still nervous. Your mouth brushes his knuckles before you return your attention to the road. Not as much traffic on a weekend morning.

“I’m surprised they don’t live in the building you work at.”

“There weren’t any vacancies or else they might have. There’s quite a waiting list to get into a DDD guarded building.”

“Meaning my apartment will be in demand once I move out.”

“Yes.” You sigh. “I’ll missing seeing you there. But then, I’ll have you at home, so, it’s a fair trade off.”

“Making you get up extra early five days a week.”

“Worth it.”

Another smile, this one sturdier. He was relaxing a little. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You’ve arrived at your destination. A brick and mortar home close to downtown. The narrow strip of lawn immaculately kept. Window boxes full of flowers. Your mother is watching your approach through the screen door, unable to wait any longer, hurrying down the trio of cement stairs and wrapping her arms around you. It had been several months since your last visit. You really should come more often.

Maybe you would, now. With a grandchild in tow, one day.

She steps back to inspect you. Looking you over, making sure you were healthy, eating properly. Remarking on the color in your cheeks which only heightens it further. You introduce your partner to her, noticing your father still hovering in the background, near the stairs.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Francis’ copy closes the distance and holds out a hand and you beam with pride. You’d rehearsed this. Your dad looks stern, but that’s just his way. He accepts the offering, his eyes boring into your fiancé’s. Did he suspect? He couldn’t possibly.

“Well, come on in. We’ve got lunch ready for you,” he invites, and you sigh inwardly with relief. So far, so good.

“Your young man is so handsome,” your mother murmurs as you ascend the stairs. You nod, holding the door open for her. You can hear your beau talking to your father in the dining room. Your dad was definitely a sports fan, and you knew for a fact neither Francis nor his doppel followed any pastimes. Hopefully they’d found some neutral pleasantries to converse about.

“Let me help you in the kitchen, Mom.” She accepts, leading you into the room. Smaller than your own, necessary with these inner city dwellings. Everything was more compact. Efficient. “New wallpaper?” You observe, noting the previous floral pattern has been exchanged for a linear print.

“Yes, last month. Very contemporary.” You grab a pair of potholders and remove a casserole from the oven while she begins unloading side dishes onto the plates.

“That’s a lovely ring, dear. He must have saved up quite a lot for that.”

“Yes, it’s pretty, isn’t it?” You pause to admire the engagement solitaire you’re wearing. “Francis always lived quite frugally. Lives quite frugally,” you correct hurriedly.

“Well, nothing wrong with being sensible when it comes to finances. Your father will appreciate that sentiment.”

“Do you think they’re okay in there?” You gaze in the direction of the open doorway that leads to the dining room. You still can’t quite make out what they’re saying.

“Oh, I’m sure your Francis is doing just fine. Don’t worry.”

You finish helping her fill the plates and then lift two, carrying them into the other room. Your father is seated directly across from your fiancé. Talking about the apartments. News. The war effort. You dart an anxious glance at the doppel but he’s doing well, keeping his voice neutral, answering everything politely. You can tell he’s relieved to see you, though, the second you enter the room his eyes lighting on yours.

“Here we are. Now, Francis—do you go by Francis? Not Frank, or…?”

“Francis is fine, ma’am.”

“Francis, we’re not shy about eating a good meal. There are seconds if you want them, just ask.”

“Thank you.”

You sit next to your doppel and your mother settles across from you. “Um, before we dig in, Francis would like to say Grace.” Your parents weren’t devout, but they respected the faith well enough. It had been a constant practice before every meal you’d sat down to with the milkman’s copy.

“Oh, certainly.” Your mother bows her head, and you see a faint flicker of something—maybe approval?—in your father’s eyes before he follows suit.

The simple prayer completed, you find yourself demolishing the contents on your plate with enthusiasm. Nothing ever beats your mother’s cooking. You’ve missed it.

The conversation flows well, with only a few pauses here and there. You appreciate the fact that your mother keeps drawing the invader back into the discussion, making sure he feels involved, a welcome participant.

Your father is still a little reserved, much of the communication done with his eyes. Intently regarding your beau. Studying him. You abandon the napkin draped on your lap and reach for the pretender’s thigh to reassure him, squeezing lightly. He squeezes your hand back.

By the time dessert arrives—you’re suddenly wishing you hadn’t stuffed yourself quite so full, you should have left room, because who could say no to homemade apple pie?—you can see your fiancé is anxious to ask the question he’s wanted to all along, shifting a little restlessly in his seat, the fork sinking into the sugared crust forgotten.

“Sir, I’d like to ask your permission for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The room goes quiet, the movement of cutlery on porcelain still. “You’re going to provide for my girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s special. She deserves the best.”

“I agree. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to care for her and make her happy.”

Another pause. You’re holding your breath. Your mother is staring at your father, worrying her bottom lip.

“Well, I can’t ask for more than that. You have my permission.”

A collective sigh of relief from the guests at the table. Your mother’s hands clasp, her eyes shining. You press your lips against the doppel’s shoulder. He’d passed. You’d done it. You manage to clear your plate, offering to help your mother with the dishes.

“I like your Francis. He’s a fine young man. Respectful. Hard working. Maybe a little too hard working. The boy looks a little in want of sleep. Or is that your doing?”

“Mom!” You gasp, and she nudges your arm.

“I’m only teasing. But he’s a good man. He’s got your father’s approval, and you know that isn’t easy. Have you thought about a date yet?”

“We were actually thinking about the fall.”

“This fall? 1955?”

“Yes.” You finish lathering a plate with soap and rinse it, setting it on the rack to dry.

“That’s a little soon. You’re not…you know…”

“No, Mom. Not yet.”

“You know I’ve been wanting grandchildren. I know your career is important to you, but you should indulge in a domestic life. Stay home and raise a family. It would make me feel better not having you facing those horrible doppels day in and day out.”

“I want to help people, Mom. So others can have that kind of life. But I would take time off for a baby.”

“Only one?”

“Francis wants several.”

“I wish your father had,” she mutters, the dish sponge squeaking against the inside of a glass. “I’m with your young man on this. The more the merrier, provided you’re doing alright financially. Fill the house, dear. You won’t regret it. It will be the happiest time of your life.” She kisses your cheek. “That’s the last of the dishes. Let’s go find out what our men are up to.”

Your men, as it turns out, are outside in the front yard. Your father sounded like he was giving tips on lawn care. Poor Francis.

“Hey.” You slide your arm through the doppel’s, coming to your fiancé’s rescue. “We’re all done in the kitchen, if you’re ready to head out.”

He nods, shaking your father’s hand, then returning the hug your mother offers before heading to the car. You embrace your parents again, your mother already on her way back inside after bidding you farewell while your father lingers by your side.

“You like him, Dad?”

“He’s different, that one. Something about him…”

A little surge of alarm runs through you. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just something,” he murmurs thoughtfully, then shakes himself. “One thing’s for certain, though: he’s crazy about you.”

“He is, Dad. And I feel the same way about him.”

“Keep us posted when you set a date. You be careful with those doppels.” His lips graze your forehead and then he retreats indoors.

You settle behind the wheel, glancing over at your fiancé. “What do you think?”

“I think that was stressful, but overall it went well. What did your father say to you just now?”

“That he could see you’re crazy about me.” You lean over and kiss him. “Want to go home and celebrate?”

“Yes. Maybe wait a bit, though. That was a lot of food.”

“My mom always fills the plates like that,” you agree, starting the engine. “You did great today. I’m really proud of you. Really happy.”

“I’m glad, sweet girl. Me too.”

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

There’s an advertisement for an event the following weekend sitting on the kitchen table.

The paper had been folded and tucked into the doppel’s work pants, retrieved when you’d been gathering a load of laundry together.

“I forgot about that,” he murmurs apologetically, kissing the patch of skin behind your ear, making you shiver. “It’s a dance. I didn’t know if you wanted to go. Someone on my route gave it to me.”

Social gatherings were few and far between. Dangerous, these days. You generally avoided them.

It’s tempting, though. You’re conflicted again. Wanting to go out with your beau, being afraid of discovery.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do you have to do the washing right now, or can we…?”

“We can.” You set the basket down and turn in his arms. His hands slide down your back, then shift to stroke over your hips.

“My beautiful girl.” His lips touch yours.

“My handsome doppel.” You return the gesture, your fingers carding through the hair curling at the nape of his neck. He needed another trim.

“Come upstairs with me.”

You follow him eagerly. He pauses midway through unbuttoning his shirt to cup your face between his hands, kissing you. He’s forgotten to undo his shirt cuffs, the sleeves still clinging when he tries to shed the garment. You come to his rescue and he stops you for another kiss. Little by little the clothing piles onto the floor.

Neither of you has switched the bedside lamp on. It’s just the two of you in the darkness. The moon is hiding tonight.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into your ear as he enters you.

“I love you.” You wrap your legs around him tightly, rocking up against him. Gentle movements. Filling you. Withdrawing. Stretched again. Plunging deep. The place where he ends meeting the place where you begin.

“Is it wrong to pray? To ask for something, is it so different than the words we recite before meals, these ones from the heart, will He answer me, a monster…” He whispers against your skin, your hair, musings you’ve mulled over yourself, surely he deserved it, if any did, you know what he wants, what you want, too.

“Ask, love. Ask, I’ll ask too, Francis…”

“Please…” His hips drive against yours. Sheathed faster. Impaled and then not, in rapid succession. His mouth is rough on yours, sliding sloppily off the edges, words half uttered, some in that strange native language of his.

Inside. Pressure. Contractions. An echoing pulse. Liquid heat. Your nails digging into his shoulder. His teeth scraping your throat. Filling you. Breathless kisses before the calm.

***

You don’t typically make small talk with the residents.

There’s always a kind of tension between you, their fates resting in your hands. You were trained to be professionally detached, but that obviously had failed in Francis’ case. Still, you’re gradually warming up to some of the others. The happiness of your relationship making words tumble free easier. Today it is the physicist at your window, Dr. Afton. He adjusts his glasses with a long practiced gesture, shoving them back up the bridge of his nose as you examine his ID and entry request. He is listed for the day and everything checks out. A quick call to his fiancée confirms what you already know. He’s legit. The real deal.

“Have you and Mia set a date yet?” You slide his documents back towards him through the slot.

“Spring, I think. You and Francis?”

“Autumn, maybe.”

“So soon,” he murmurs. His eyes flick down for the briefest of moments and you don’t misunderstand the significance.

“Oh, no, I’m not…I mean, we’re trying, but…” You flush heavily as you stammer. Your attempt at small talk was seemingly backfiring. Maybe it was best to just keep things professional after all. “Anyway, have a good rest of your day.”

The doctor stands looking at you expectantly. “The door?” He prompts gently.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” You hastily operate the door controls and the man leaves the entryway.

Your next attendant makes your face break out in a grin. Your beau has returned.

The replicant milkman deposits his required documents into the slot, grinning back at you. There’s an extra slip of paper there, something torn off his delivery list on the clipboard, perhaps.

I love you

You mouth it back at him. He lays a hand on the window. You match your palm to his, dwarfed by the larger structure.

“How was your day?”

“I made an ass out of myself in front of Afton, but yeah, good. You?”

“Not bad. Can I come in?”

“Uh-huh.” You press the buzzer. Your fiancé doesn’t take the elevator like you’d expected, instead invading the security booth.

“Sir, this is for DDD staff only,” you mock protest.

“Does it count if I’m going to be married to a DDD staff member?”

“Mmm, I’m not sure.” You’re about to step closer to him when you hear someone entering the building. A middle aged man you don’t recognize wearing a suit. The same DDD enameled pin on his lapel. You hurriedly take the papers and ID he offers while the doppelgänger takes a step back, still out of view of the window, near the open doorway.

“I’ll need to call to verify your identity,” you remark. You don’t get visits from personnel other than the cleaners that often, and if you do, you usually get notified first. The man’s face is expressionless. He nods and you proceed, dialing the number of the headquarters.

“Good afternoon. I have someone here from the R&D department. I wasn’t expecting…I see. Alright. Yes, thank you.” You hang up the phone. “They’ve vouched for you. What brings you here today?”

“Something that will revolutionize the screening process, we’re hoping.” He sets a briefcase down on the narrow ledge of the counter, using a key on a cord around one wrist to unlock it before thumbing the latches and opening the case. He lifts an object and places it on the ledge before shutting and removing the briefcase. “This device here emits a frequency that the doppels can’t resist. It forces them to come out of hiding, as it were.”

“How do you know?” You can see your doppel’s body tense in your peripheral vision.

“Oh, a little project we’ve been working on. Sometimes the cleaners bring us gifts. We don’t always exterminate…but I suppose you wouldn’t know that, once the screen goes down. Well, in any case, they’ve made for good lab rats. It’s taken us awhile, but I think this just might be what we need to turn the tide and gain the upper hand.”

“You’ve been experimenting on them,” you whisper, unable to keep the revulsion and horror out of your voice.

“Why not? It’s not like they haven’t taken their own POWs from our side.”

The urge to glance at your fiancé to confirm the truth of this is overwhelming but you resist. “Why would they want to keep us prisoner?”

“I’m sure something unsavory. Food supply. Experiments. Who can say? Disgusting creatures. But I don’t need to tell you about that. You encounter them on a daily basis. A nearly perfect record too, I hear. Only one…mishap.” He grins. His teeth are yellow. You find yourself disliking the man more and more.

“No one was hurt,” you say defensively.

“Thank goodness. Now, to the task at hand. This device is extremely simple to use. It’s already calibrated to the correct frequency. No need to adjust. Simply flip the switch. Undetectable to human ears. But very effective for the doppels. They’ll reveal their true form within seconds. Then it’s just a matter of calling the disposal team. Just think of the applications this will have once this gets approved for mass production. No more fear of the unknown. No more doubts. The ultimate weapon of retaliation.”

Your stomach turns with every sentence he utters. There would be no hiding for Francis. For the baby you would one day conceive. All of the happiness you’d felt earlier evaporates. You grip the edge of the counter as he demonstrates the switch to turn the device on and activate the frequency.

You hear the creak of the wood when the doppelgänger grips the door frame.

“Yes, I see, easy to use. Better conserve the battery, right?” You finally surrender to the impulse to glance over at the invader. His chest is heaving, his teeth razor sharp. Bloodshot eyes that plead with you, the familiar shimmer outlining his true, hidden form appearing.

“That is one of the drawbacks, yes. We’re still working on a more reliable power source.” He flips the switch off and you can’t help but sigh loudly in relief. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you’re to use it only in cases when there is any doubt. You’ll still be performing the standard screening procedures. But if this has the results that I expect it will, I’m certain this will become the new industry standard. And give us the advantage at last. I’ll be collecting this after a one week trial. I’ll have a questionnaire for you to fill out after you’ve tested it out.”

“Of course.” You plaster a smile on your features, willing the man to leave.

“Shall I bring it to you, or…?”

“No, company policy prohibits anyone from entering the booth that’s not authorized. Technically you haven’t been, so…”

“Quite right. Well, I leave it in your capable hands, then.” The briefcase in hand, he turns and exits the building.

You immediately turn to see Francis’ clone sweating profusely, still struggling to return to human form.

“Francis! Are you alright? Love, it’s okay, I’m here.” Your hands cup the intruder’s face, disregarding the dangerous rows of cuspids stretched wide, peering into the crimson streaked eyes.

He shudders, his hands—claws—closing over your wrists. You’ve never seen him have this much difficulty. What was that evil frequency the scientists had discovered?

“Francis, it’s me. Come back to me, love. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Another violent tremor. Then his grip on you lessens, his eyes clearing, the haze dissipating. The facial features rearrange to form the familiar ones of the milkman.

“Sweetheart,” he manages, his breathing still ragged.

“Yes, Francis. You’re okay.” You wrap your arms around him and he squeezes you tightly.

“The pain, love. You can’t imagine. We have to destroy that. We can’t…”

“We’ll think of something. Tamper with it. Lie about it’s effectiveness. I don’t know. Something.” As wondrous as it would be to have access to technology like that, you couldn’t risk its use for your doppel’s sake. For your future children’s. “I didn’t know they were experimenting on…is it true, what he said? Have the invaders been taking humans prisoner?”

He releases you. “Not my squadron, I promise you that. But yes. It’s true.” He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I said in the beginning I wanted to experiment…now, I would never condone…”

“I know. I know you.” You retrieve the device, deciding to store it in the lockbox under the desk for now. Francis’ doppel gives you a wide berth as you walk around the booth carrying it, backing away as you make the corner. “You should go upstairs and rest. My shift will be done soon.” He nods, still looking shaken. You embrace him again, watching as he steps onto the elevator, then your eyes flick to the lockbox.

A new complication that you didn’t need.

***

Francis Mosses’ apartment is silent that afternoon when you enter.

No record rotating on the player. No meal being prepared on the stove. There is just the doppel seated on the couch, the crocheted blanket draped over the cushions behind him. He hasn’t even removed his work uniform, except for the cap which is resting on the coffee table. He hadn’t locked the door or risen to greet you at it, his tired eyes shifting to watch as you sit next to him.

“Francis, are you feeling alright?” You’re wondering if the device didn’t have some lingering ill effects.

“Fatigued. I’ll be alright. I’m sorry I didn’t get the door for you. I’m still…” He holds out a hand that tremors as if with palsy. You’ve never seen him this ghostly pale.

“Do you have any appetite at all? Should I fix us something, or…?”

“Just stay with me, love.”

You snuggle closer to him, slipping off your shoes and drawing your knees up, tucking your stockinged feet to one side, your fingers stroking his forearm. You’re suddenly feeling tired yourself, the rush of adrenaline from earlier now leaving you feeling sapped of energy. There was a nice breeze coming in through the living room window. Your lover’s arm curls around you. You fall asleep.

It’s dark when you awaken.

You’re disoriented, blinking away the vestiges of a dream you don’t recall the details of. Francis’ doppel is cuddling you. Awake. You can tell by the rhythm of his breathing.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“We both needed the rest.” His lips press against your hair.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Physically, anyway. Mentally…I’m worried.”

“I know. Me too. We’ll figure something out, Francis.” You reach out blindly to find his hand. “Want to do something improper like skip to dessert and have cookies and milk in bed and forget everything for a bit?”

“Hmmm. Are you included in that menu?”

“I can be.”

“Then it’s a deal. Shower first?”

“Definitely.”

His lips touch your forehead. “You always make everything better.”

You’re more concerned than you’re letting on. But you don’t want to focus on that right now. You want the doppel to feel safe, secure. Enjoy the peace you’ve found together for tonight.

You feel him leaning away from you, reaching for the lamp. His condition does appear to have improved from earlier. Healthy color returned. Hands steady. You dig around in the drawer where you’ve stored some spare pajamas while he turns the shower on.

“Don’t fuss too much on what you’re wearing. It won’t be staying on.”

Oh, he was definitely feeling better. “Maybe I’ll just skip it entirely.”

“Now we’re talking.”

You strip off your work clothes, your fiancé already halfway undressed, finishing that task now and leading your into the deluge of warm water. You take a moment to soak your hair, then switch places so Francis’ copy can do the same.

You grab the bar of soap from the shallow ledge on the wall and begin lathering your hands together, working up a cloud of suds that you quickly smear across the cloned milkman’s chest. You take turns washing each other, hands lingering when they reach nipples, buttocks, between legs. You’re pushed gently back against the shower wall, the soap slipping from your grasp. The doppel cups his hands beneath the spray, splashing it over your body, making sure you’re rinsed, lifting one leg and guiding it to rest on the edge of the tub while he kneels down, blinking water out of his eyes, his damp fingers now working against your sex, followed by his tongue, sucking a mouthful of shower water and your clit in one go. You moan, raking your fingers through his damp dark hair, marveling at the feel of that frenzied muscle dividing your nether lips, plunging inside and then swirling around your clit.

You’re thinking of that alien cock of his, the one you’d mostly felt more than saw, and you suddenly crave the feeling of it again. You won’t dare ask him for that tonight, not after what had happened earlier when he’d been forced out of hiding, but another time, you want that in your mouth, back inside of you, fucking you missionary style, driving in deeply. You’re already swollen, dripping, that slick liquid thicker than the water pelting your bodies, a trail he follows with lips and tongue and even teeth, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thighs, the arc of one hip, the crest of your mound before he’s sucking your bud again. He’s leaning into you, offering you a chance to rest some of your body weight, the raised leg shaking as you find a swift release, bursting on his tongue, ripened hive spilling creamy honey before you’re rinsed clean.

He shuts the shower off and you’re barely swiped with a towel before he’s pushing you down into the bed, picking right up where he left off, sliding his erection into the place his tongue and fingers have just vacated.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me, I’ll do anything you want.”

Catering to you. You feel you should be the one making the offer. “I’m yours. I love everything with you. You decide. This is nice. This is…oh…good.” He’s picked up the pace, droplet covered hips kissing yours over and over. The shower water still clinging to him drips from his hair, splashing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. You think of kissing him that day it rained on your front porch, already falling so fast, so far, Francis the bridge but the doppel the destination, it didn’t feel wrong, it couldn’t, when it was like this between you.

“Sweet girl, you’re so perfect for me.” A word you don’t know, but the tone is in the same vein, affection, lust, breathed beside your cheek, moaned against your throat.

“I want to learn it. All of it. Starting with your name. I love you.” The words are pushed into the mouth that closes over yours, hot breath, that thick cock of his incessantly drumming inside of your womb. You’re lost in the dark of his eyes, in that blissful realm he drags you back into, your body shattering around him, milking him, urging to be mated, claimed, marked as his. He calls you something that sounds almost like wife and you nearly are, bonded to this foreigner that’s crossed galaxies and mapped stars to build a new universe within you, starting with this, that sowed seed, fingers interwoven, cock buried deep, face burrowed in the curve of neck damp from the strands of hair clinging there.

After there is cold milk from the fridge and chocolate chip cookies, melting sweet on your tongue as Francis’ doppel holds you against him, licking at the stray sweet granules clinging to your lips. “Your first lesson,” he begins, and it is him speaking now, the invader beneath, that deeper voice stirring interest in your loins again already, twice sated but still eager for more. “My name is…”

[muddyorbsblr]

curiosities

See my full list of works here!

Requested by: Anonymous | view request here

Summary: Loki's interrogation tactics left you curious about his powers, and he's more than happy to give you a little demonstration while you worked on your reports.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning/s: 18+ | slightly smutty (think limes not lemons…but still, minors & pearl clutchers leave right now); thigh riding; hand necklaces; naughty use of Loki's powers; semi-public [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship

Dick-tionary: nothing explicit but proceed with caution starting from "Quiet, darling"

"Darling? Are you alright?"

The sound of Loki's voice broke through the hazy thoughts you'd found yourself lost in for the last few minutes, making you realize that your fingers hovered over the keyboard for so long that your computer screen went on Standby. And the text fields of your interrogation report remained blank.

"Sorry what?" you mumbled, realizing too late that the reason you lost yourself in your thoughts in the first place was from recalling the events of the interrogation from earlier. Specifically the way your lover's voice and overall aura darkened as he threatened a variant of reminding them specifically what kind of person he was on the once Sacred Timeline.

Of showing them a sampling of the terrible awful things that he could do, especially now given that the magic barrier had been switched off. You had only the slightest whispers of an idea, given what you'd read from his file and the files of multiple variants of him.

Shadow casting. Duplication casting. An entire pocket dimension filled with who knows what. And then there was the telepathy. The telekinesis. The illusion projection. The mind control.

Which powers did your Loki have, you wondered. And which ones would he utilize in the name of those terrible, awful things?

And why did the prospect of him using those powers on you stir something in you that currently had you struggling not to squirm in your seat from the arousal?

"You look as if you keep drifting off, darling. Are you feeling alright?" Loki reached out to cup the side of your face in his large hand, the contact hitting him with a barrage of the thoughts that had been swimming through your mind since the interrogation. "Oh…" he rasped, moving his hand to weave his fingers through your hair. "I see now what has stolen your ability to focus on this…simple tedious task."

"Hmmm?" you replied absently, soft whimpers escaping you once the god leaned in and started pressing kisses from your temple down to your neck. This wasn't helping your wandering thoughts in the slightest. And then he wrapped his arm around you, lifting you up from your seat and maneuvering you to straddle his thigh. "Loki," you whined, a sharp gasp escaping you when he nipped at the spot between your neck and shoulder.

"Quiet, darling," he told you in a low teasing tone. "You wish to know which powers I possess? I'm more than happy to give you a little demonstration." He brought a hand up to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly at the sides. "I've cast an illusion wherein our colleagues are none the wiser to our…current predicament. All they see is us, sitting side by side, your lover patiently waiting for you to finish your report."

He flexed the muscles of his thigh, the motion causing a delicious friction between your legs. You let out the start of a moan before his fingers tightened around your neck for a fraction of a second.

"Much as I would adore to hear those beautifully filthy sounds from you, my love, I'm going to have to implore you stay silent. See, if you make any noise that could draw people's attention to us, the illusion breaks. And we'll be disciplined." With a wave of his hand, your jacket disappeared and reappeared neatly folded on the table in front of you. He kissed at your now exposed arm. "Can you breathe alright?"

Butterflies fluttered violently at your stomach at the question, choosing to nod instead of voicing your answer.

"Good girl." A rush of arousal pooled between your thighs at his words. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from making a sound when he nipped at your skin. Another wave of his hand and you suddenly felt cool wispy tendrils grasping at your waist and moving you to grind on your boyfriend's thigh. "I must admit, dear Y/N, I rather enjoy finding these more…pleasurable uses of my abilities. Especially with how deliciously responsive your exquisite form is under my touch." He kissed his way up to your ear. "I look forward to using them all with you. Perhaps later tonight, in our home."

The tendrils held you tighter, pressing you down harder against his thigh before proceeding to undulate your hips. The increased friction, along with how he was kissing and nipping away at your earlobe, had you letting out a strangled moan before his hold tightened on you again, your head swimming from the pressure.

"What did I say about breaking the illusion, my darling?" he growled, the gravel in his voice making you even wetter. "Do you wish to give every soul in this library a show of how desperate and wanton I can make you? Is that it?" He flexed his thigh again the same time that the wispy tendons ground your hips harder against it, a barely muted whimper coming out of you before you bit down hard on your lip and shook your head. "Then stay quiet, sweet mortal. Lest you wish for me to find something within my pocket dimension to stuff that beautiful mouth of yours with."

You did what you could to look down at what was moving you, your mouth forming in an 'O' when you saw that it was his shadows. You let out the tiniest whimper of his name, the pressure on the side of your neck lessening when he stroked at your skin with his thumb.

"I'm going to lift this illusion and then you shall finish your report so that I may bring you home and we can move on to a more…thorough demonstration," he rasped, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "With a little help from a few friends of mine." A flash of Loki's green magic from the corner of your eye caught your attention, his shadows grinding you down even harder on his thigh once you caught sight of two duplicates of him waving and smirking at you. One was wearing that ruffled tuxedo that on paper looked unremarkable on the average man.

But Loki was no average man. He was a god. Your god.

And the other duplicate was dressed exactly as such. With the gold horns and the black and green leather, his usual obsidian curls straightened and slicked back with a menacing look in his eyes as his gaze roamed your body.

The feel of his thigh flexing against your slit had you bringing back your attention to the Loki that held you in place. Your Loki. The real one.

"But first, I want you to soak my thigh."

A/N: Anon, whoever you are, I hope you're having the absolute best day because getting this in my asks had me staring at the ceiling and immediately typing down a lil note in my writing schedule to make this 🫠 Hopefully I did your thot justice

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[fluentmoviequoter]

Broken Heart Mender

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After hearing Tim tell Angela why he's not in a relationship with you, you pull away and make yourself sick with a broken heart. After too long without hearing from you, Tim finds you and promises to make everything better.

Warnings: reader gets sick (vomiting, headache, losing weight, crying), slight miscommunication, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“You know, you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work here,” Smitty points out.

“And you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work at all,” you argue playfully.

“She’s got a point,” Tim adds, shrugging at Smitty’s offended look.

You smile at Tim as you walk out, needing to return to your own station after spending too long on paperwork (to visit Tim). He’s been your friend since you were a rookie, and now he’s so much more.

You and Tim are safe places for one another; whenever one needs it, the other becomes an unlicensed therapist, a no-strings-attached hugger or cuddler on bad days, and a good listener, no matter the time or problem. Part of why you’re so willing to do such things for Tim is because you have feelings for him, a long-harbored crush that grows each time he’s kind to you or asks for your advice.

Tim, however, will happily listen to your problems and provide a shoulder to cry on, but he prefers to show his care by being what some (Angela) might call a ‘protective menace.’ He’s had feelings for you for as long as he can remember and shows it by staying close and keeping you out of harm’s way.

Whenever you run into each other at work, you find a way to stay together, and while Tim protects you, you try your hardest to make him smile. You like doing small things for him to make him happy because he deserves it. Likewise, he stays close because you deserve more than anyone can ever give you.

The only problem is that you’re both scared to let your feelings show, so you disguise it as friendship, a special bond that no one can break. Only a few people, those willing to look, can see that there’s more to your actions and words than a time-tested and bulletproof friendship.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs when he sees Angela sitting at his desk.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks.

“You have questions to answer,” she replies, moving out of his seat and blocking the door. “I want to know about you and your friend.”

Tim rolls his eyes at her tone and air quotes. She has asked him about you before, but she’s relentless.

“Why aren’t you in a real relationship? Why haven’t you asked her out?” Angela inquires.

“Not your business, Lopez,” Tim answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You slow as you near Tim’s office, his voice and Angela’s drawing your attention as your smile drops.

“Just tell me why you won’t let her in that last little bit,” Angela demands.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but we won’t work. We’re not made for each other, we’re not soulmates, and we will not be good for each other, not like that,” Tim snaps.

Swallowing, you feel like your heart physically drops into your stomach, making you nauseous as you fight tears. You leave before Tim or Angela notice you’re outside, unwilling to see Tim after learning how he feels.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What does that mean, Timothy?” Angela asks, quieter as she digs for the real reason.

Tim shakes his head, not ready to admit that he doesn’t consider himself relationship material. Regardless, you deserve someone better than him, though he has never considered it the other way around: you are too good for him and always have been.

“You’re right, it’s not my business. But it is hers,” Angela reminds him before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Distancing yourself from Tim is hard, but after his comments to Angela, it’s what you have to do. Tim doesn’t have feelings for you and thinks you aren’t good enough, which hurts. More than your feelings, you are mentally distraught. Your emotions are all over the place, swinging aimlessly from anger to denial to an overwhelming sadness that makes it impossible to do anything but cry.

After a long night of fighting with your emotions, you try to eat breakfast and realize that the hurt is physical, too. Rushing to the bathroom, you empty your stomach before moving to the floor as your tears continue. Losing Tim is the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, and this is only the beginning.

The alarm on your phone goes off, and you pull yourself off the bathroom floor and get ready, ignoring the pain building behind your eyes and the churning sensation in the pit of your stomach. It will be a long day, but if you can power through, you will take some time off next week.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is neck-deep in paperwork for a Metro case, but every spare second he has is spent calling and texting you. You don’t answer, and Tim can't do anything as his worry increases. He realizes Angela was right, and you deserve to know how he feels and why he keeps you so close, yet not close enough.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the day, you haven’t been able to keep a single thing down, and you’re not sure if the emotional or physical pain is worse. Collapsing onto your couch, you let the tears begin anew as your week of PTO begins and your life as you know it ends.

Each day seems worse than the last, as you get sicker and sadder with each passing moment. When you summon the courage to step on the scale on Sunday morning, just three days after hearing Tim’s comments, you’ve lost a concerning amount of weight. You know it’s dangerous, but between the constant crying and the anxiety and sadness eating at you, there isn’t much you can do. There isn’t much you want to do except find a way to make yourself good enough for Tim Bradford.

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s been days since Tim heard from you, and he’s worried. When Mid-Wilshire gets called to assist your station, he hopes to see you. Tim searches the crowd of blue until he finds your partner.

“Bradford,” your partner greets.

Tim asks where you are, curious as to why you aren’t together, and your partner explains that you’ve been off work since Saturday, sick with something.

“Do you know if she’s okay?” Tim asks.

“All I know is it has to be bad for her to take this much time off,” your partner explains with an apologetic shrug before being called away.

Tim’s protectiveness kicks into overdrive, his worry keeping him from being able to focus on anything else. He finds his captain and tells him what's going on before asking if he can go check on you.

As he drives to your apartment, Tim hopes it’s not as bad as it sounds while beating himself up for not coming to visit you sooner. The ignored calls should have been a sign that something was wrong, but he let work get in the way. Though you aren’t there to hear it, Tim promises he will never neglect you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

It takes a minute to realize that the pounding sound is someone knocking and not an effect of your headache. Stumbling to the door, you answer it without checking who it is. When you see Tim’s face, you try to close the door, but you’re too weak, and Tim is too quick.

He rushes inside, looking at your pale face, unruly hair, and how your clothes hang off of you: an indicator you're unhealthily losing weight. It’s enough to push his protective side to action even as he fears the worst.

“You should go,” you tell him.

Tim ignores you, walking to your kitchen and setting water on the oven to boil. While he waits, Tim straightens up your apartment, moving quickly from room to room. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, and as you watch him, your emotions take over again.

With a few tears running down your face, you raise your voice and say his name. “You need to go.”

“No,” he answers simply. “You need help, you’re obviously sick and you’re not answering my calls.”

Tim's presence and how he acts like nothing has changed, and he’s still the protective friend he pretends to be, hurts you.

“Tim, get out!” you demand.

“Let me help,” he argues.

Shaking your head, you walk to your room and close the door, curling around your pillow as you cry. Each noise Tim makes in the kitchen feels like he’s laughing at you, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

He lets himself into your room after knocking, setting a mug of tea beside your bed, and rubbing your back. He notices how you stiffen but thinks it’s because you’re sick.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“I want you to go.”

Tim nods, more to himself than you, and walks out of your bedroom. 

You hear the door close behind him and roll over, unable to decide if you want to drink the tea or throw it at the wall.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, you wake, and the first thing you remember is Tim leaving yesterday. Yes, you asked him to, but it still hurts. The cold mug beside your bed is a cruel reminder of everything you’ve lost. Rolling out of bed, you reach for the water on the nightstand. After the first drink, you race for the bathroom, wondering how long it takes for a broken heart to heal.

Someone pulls your hair out of your face, a kind hand pressed to your back as you cry. When you feel able, you lean back against the tub behind you. Tim moves back, wetting a washcloth before he kneels beside you. As he wipes your face and neck with the cool rag, you wonder what he’d do if you gave him an out.

“I heard what you said,” you admit quietly. “That we wouldn’t be good together.”

Tim slows his movements as he listens to you.

“It hurt.”

Fresh tears break over your waterline, tracking down your cheeks. Tim realizes that he’s the reason you feel so bad; that one comment made to protect his feelings, to hide them, made you feel so bad that you’re now physically sick.

“Hey,” he begins, moving to sit before you when you turn away. “Listen, I know you don’t want to believe me, but I only said that to get Angela to leave me alone, to protect myself. I don’t think that.”

“But you said it,” you point out tearily.

“I know, and I’m sorry. The truth is we wouldn’t be good together, but not because of you, never because of you. It’s me; I am not made for relationships and I’m not good enough for you.”

You choke on a sob, leaning toward Tim. He extends his arm, letting you move against his side.

“Since we met, I’ve wanted more,” he whispers against your hair. “But I was scared you’d realize I’m broken and leave… like everyone else.”

Shaking harder against his side, you cling to him as all your emotions mix. There is a chance this is a dream, but if you have to lose Tim, this seems like the best way to say goodbye.

“C’mon,” Tim urges gently, pulling you with him as he stands.

With a gentle hand on your back and one on your shoulder, Tim leads you to the couch. Covering you with a blanket, he promises to come right back. When he returns with a glass of water and a pack of crackers, you turn toward him.

“Are you going to leave?” you whisper.

Tim shakes his head. “Never.”

Nodding, you accept the crackers. After you eat a few and drink half the water Tim gave you, you sit back.

“I cleaned your apartment last night,” Tim tells you. “You want to change and clean up?”

You take a deep breath, and Tim senses your apprehension before adding, “I’ll help you.”

Taking Tim’s hand, you follow him back into your bedroom. After you change into the clothes he hands you, you sit on the bathroom vanity and let him wash your face and secure your hair.

“When’s the last time you ate? More than a few bites, I mean,” Tim asks, laying a hand on your thigh.

You shrug before admitting, “Last Wednesday.”

Tim’s jaw clenches, but he hides it with a quick nod. “I’m going to make you some more food. I know you probably don’t want to eat, and you don’t have to eat much, but you need something.”

Moving your hand onto Tim’s, you interlace your fingers with his. He leans in, releasing a chuckle when you throw your arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you to the edge of the vanity.

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear.

“I missed you too,” he responds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you dry the ends of your hair while you exit the bathroom, you feel like a new person.

“We need to talk,” Tim says when he sees you. Your smile falls, and Tim takes your hand. “Not like that,” he promises.

“Like what?” you ask, curling your legs under you as you sit beside him.

“I meant what I said, but I need to make sure you know that. I have feelings for you, I have for a long time, I’m just terrified to show them because I’m not good enough for you.”

Boldly, you press your finger to his lips to stop him. He raises his brows at your movement, smiling with you.

“Yes, you are. You’re more than good enough. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Tim pulls your hand away from his face, kissing your finger as he does so. “Even though I broke your heart and made you sick?”

“Broken heart sickness is curable, and you’re a pretty good doctor,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“I promise to make it better, and never do it again.”

You nod, trusting him entirely. Now that you’ve had a shower and heard that Tim feels the same, your stomach growls.

“It’s working already,” Tim says.

“I’m hungry again,” you marvel, smiling at Tim.

“I’ll offer a trade,” Tim begins. “A home-cooked meal for you, and a kiss for me.”

You nod, but Tim adds, “And I promise never to lie to protect myself again. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel, as long as you do the same.”

“I feel like I love you, Tim Bradford,” you reply, pulling him in for the promised kiss.

Your kiss is better than he expected, and Tim loses himself in the feeling of you until your stomach growls again, and you laugh against his lips. Tim broke your heart, but he put it back together with a piece of his; the best-broken-heart-mender in the world was by your side all along.

[typicalopposite]

For @bucktommypositivityweek day TWO! :) prompt: nicknames and terms of endearment

🫶🫶🫶🫶

If you were to ask Tommy what his nicknames for Evan were, he might laugh and answer that it was  ‘Evan’. Regardless of it being his actual name, Tommy is one of the only people who uses it, which makes it feel unique and his own. However it wasn’t long into their relationship that ‘baby’ slipped past Tommy’s lips. It just came so natural and felt so right— not to mention how it caused Evan’s eyes to go wide and his cheeks to turn pink. So ‘baby’ is typically how Evan is addressed.

For Tommy, on the other hand, he has been called pretty much everything under the sun. Babe is often used, almost like Evan’s version of Tommy’s Baby, but he sometimes goes with honey, or sweetheart… sunshine—that's mostly sarcasm used when Tommy’s in a mood after a trying day. Tommy doesn’t mind, he loves all the names: the cutesy ones, the sweet ones, the silly ones. 

“Hey Beautiful,” Evan says, looking down at him from the 118’s loft. 

That one… is new. 

It catches Tommy off guard enough he actually turns and checks around him for someone else Evan might have been talking to. “Give me one second, I’ll be right down,” Evan continues, not catching Tommy’s confusion, then he disappears from the railing. 

Tommy stares at the spot he was standing, and can feel his cheeks heating up. 

He knows Evan is attracted to him. Hell, he hates to give himself the confidence boost, but he’d go as far as to say he knows he’s an attractive man. Attractive… handsome… hot even—(okay maybe he’s not that confident)—but beautiful? 

And the thing is he has called Evan beautiful plenty of times. He is. He’s beautiful in so many ways Tommy could list them all day and never reach the end. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Evan asks, coming off the last step, making a beeline to where Tommy’s still cemented to the floor. “Your cheeks are really red.” He lays the back of his hand against Tommy’s forehead, then his cheeks and looks confused. “Ok you don’t have a fever, wait…” He dips his head to meet Tommy’s eyes. “Are you blushing?” 

“No…” Tommy quickly retorts. “Maybe…” he says right after. He shifts on his feet and breaks his eyes from Evan’s. Embarrassed at himself for being so affected by a silly pet name Evan probably didn’t even fully mean. 

“Why… be— because I called you beautiful?” Tommy sighs; he decides to avoid drawing it out by lying and nods. Evan steps forward and grabs Tommy’s face, pulling him into a kiss. “Well you are,” another kiss, “Inside and out.” Tommy rolls his eyes, but Evan doesn’t let up. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Even on your worst days, when your hair is a mess and you have awful morning breath; still beautiful.” 

Tommy is pretty sure his face is a degree off of catching on fire. “Ok, fine… I— I believe you.” 

“Mmm, I don’t think you do,” Evan says teasingly. “So I guess I’ll just have to keep reminding you.” 

Which he does, everyday. Soon beautiful becomes Evan’s baby, and he uses it everytime he sees Tommy. 

And even if Tommy still struggles to view himself as such, he knows Evan thinks he is, and that’s enough. 

[drenched-in-sunlight]

I contemplated a lot whether to reblog that post because i think most of it was wrong, but the addition is so great and refute pretty much everything while raising some amazing points so if i could reblog only the addition without the original posts i would.

It’s just funny to me how every time i see ppl “here are Marika’s crimes” they list like 50% is what she actually did, and the other 50% are things that either was during Radagon time (when Marika couldn’t even have a proper statue that depict her as being the one in control), done by some other guys, or after she got strung up inside the Erdtree. Y’know, literally impaled and knocked out cold ?

The ritual sword and shield talisman (which depict sword and shield of Crucible Knights too btw) pointed at Radagon’s face to say by his time, all ritual combats in honour of the Erdtree had died out, but in LoS it was maintained and Messmer even had a talisman of Godfrey in his castle. A talisman depicting Godfrey accepting the duty to be his Mother’s Lord. Without wavering.

The ritual combat is just another thing that will remind people of the first Elden Lord’s devotion to his Goddess, which would do Radagon no good. so that, along with the Crucible Knights, gotta go.

All this just show how by Radagon’s time, the Golden Order’s ideal no longer reflects the Erdtree’s - another testament at how far from each other his and Marika’s will have diverged.

Also, i really like the fact that the Zamor and Ice Dragons allied with Marika to fight the Fire Giants who had chased them from their home, because to me that means at the start of her age, Marika was extending her help to people who needed it (with ulterior motives, yes).

Her age wasn’t built in a vacuum. She was a healer Godling with no offensive spells, Messmer’s health just got a bit better, Godfrey with all the implications in SoTe, was probably just a simple bear hunter? What on earth those 3 could even do in a land where the Hornsent royalty reigned supreme?

Go somewhere else, recruit as many people and make as many alliances as they could. I have no doubt the world under the Hornsent was a violent one (hell, it still is now, every time i went into a Gaol i want to go back and smack the Hornsent inquisitors a few more times). And for a new God to appear, and instead of stuffing people into jars, delivering Death, entrapping their followers into watching over some flame for eternity, running away and leaving their Lord to get backstabbed by a tyrant, this new God… healed people? Big shock!

So of course people would flock to Godfrey’s banner, believing in a Goddess that could barely fight, but soothed away all of their pain and sorrow. Sounds fucking familiar isn’t it.

Btw, why do people like to invent a bunch of authority and power for Marika then at the same breath will say whatever her kids do is to… spite her and show kindness to the oppressed?

So she is an all-powerful tyrant that could kill whoever she dislikes, and by some ppl’s standards she dislikes literally everyone in Lands Between (💀), but Godwyn could just befriend a dragon and spread a cult about them within the Capital, Messmer could have an albinauric as his Commander (to command an army that she paid wads of cash to and bless them with her hammer’s power???), Miquella and Malenia could go their merry way and build a whole ass tree castle (where is the fund. Where is the fund) and she couldn’t do anything to stop them? Even though those actions directly affect the strength of her army? What?

I swear i can’t even see other people’s Marika as Marika. Because their Marika sounds dumb as hell and a doormat too. Like what is this???? 💀 do you think i sacrificed my back and wrist to draw Elden Ring characters as beautiful as possible, so they could go be devote to someone like the Marika some of y’all envision? The bar was on the floor for you but not for me.

[keuwibloom]

Its been a while since ive posted anything Parasynth, so I thought id make these polaroid-inspired drawings to make up for it!

As an added bonus-- I have nicknames for the guys! I actually made these a while back, but I figured id post them here for organization purposes, and so its easier to differentiate when talking about Parasynth.

The nicknames + my reasons behind choosing them listed below the cut!

Blue "Polaris" - Also known as the "north star", polaris is the only stationary star in the night sky, commonly used as a compass for navigation. A star that symbolizes stability when you've lost your way.

Dream "Apollo/Pol" - Named after the Greek god of the sun, music, medicine, and archery, twin brother to Artemis. Went with this because of the twin thing and sun symbolism, plus the healer and archery association.

Ink "Opal" - Opal is a gemstone that shines with rainbow colors. A true opal gem also has a base color of white, which fits with Ink's whole thing. Ink also calls others "pal" so I thought the name would be a nice reference to that.

Axe "Condor/Kon" - A large scavenger bird, related to the vulture. One species of it is the largest flying bird in the world. A condor's head also has no feathers, which kinda reminds me of Axe's skull.

Nightmare "Artemis/Arte" - Named after the Greek goddess of the moon and the hunt, twin sister to Apollo. Chosen for the same reasoning as Dream's nickname. Artemis is also the goddess of wilderness and wild animals, which fits with the gang (in a "they're a group and they are dangerous" way).

Killer "Shrike" - A cute little passerine bird that is known to impale its prey on sharp things, usually thorns. Shrikes are also known as "butcher birds". I think it fits with his vibe, plus shrikes have these black markings over their eyes that remind me of Killer's eyes.

Dust "Owl" - A nocturnal bird that has eerily silent flight and large eyes that reflect light in the dark so it looks like its glowing. I was in between this one and "Kestrel", but I feel like Owl fits Dust's general vibe better.

Cross "Cypress/Cy" - A tree that symbolizes longevity and endurance, but also mourning. It's also associated with protection and strength. I was looking for stuff that was associated with the goddess Artemis and the cypress tree was one (also the gang as birds and Cross as the tree they rest on).

Error "Oregano" - An herb that has a very strong bitter/peppery taste and smell. It's known to have antiviral properties and other benefits, but it is best used in small amounts. I also chose this name to parallel Opal (rock VS plant).

Swap/Blue belongs to the AU Community

Dream and Nightmare belong to Jokublog

Ink belongs to Comyet

Horror/Axe belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios

Killer belongs to Rahafwabas

Dust belongs to Ask-Dusttale

Cross belongs to Jakei95

Error belongs to Loverofpiggies

[blackkatdraws2]

2nd Batch: The Janitors!

[Blank Scripts AU (non-canonical)]

Four men walk in the cold hallways of the Parable, carrying with them janitorial equipment.

One of the ceiling lights was missing. Inside hid the mass of flesh that belonged to this building, an exposed wound. One would see it pulsating if they looked a bit closer.

The janitors, already used to the strangeness of this place, pay it no mind and continue with their chatter as they descend deeper to their next cleaning area.

BATCH LIST:

- [1st Batch: The Inhabitants] - [2nd Batch: The Janitors] - [3rd Batch: The Citizens] - [4th Batch: The Guardians]

↓ [Thoughts and Credits below] ↓

-----------⟡

The second illustration is complete! More coming soon!

Woah, this took me shorter than I imagined. After the disaster with the first illustration I'd assumed that this one would take me just as long [if not longer] but it was done in three days!

Not so fun fact: The Clip Studio app crashed just when I was hovering my mouse cursor on the 'export to png' button and no matter how much I tried to open the drawing file, it did not budge. How unbelievably convenient, the timing was too devious...

Luckily, I managed to save the majority of my process, but I still had to spend hours rendering part of the illustration again...

What a nightmare, haha!

To be honest, I'm falling into a nasty art block right now. This series will progress slowly, but surely. No OC or Self Inserts will be forgotten.

Melo by @okkistoops

He seems like a pretty chill dude! The thing I really liked drawing about him was his hair though. Since the art style is simplified [positively], I had fun translating how he'd look if I'd drawn him in my art style [which usually looks more manhwa-ish]. I'm happy with the result.

Mason Cole by @villiun

Stuck in the eternal torment of having to feed a hungry building and unable to escape, poor guy lol. I honestly liked this idea a lot! It reminds me a lot of I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream almost. Let's have him live for now, I feel like he deserves it haha.

Roland Watchforth by @reader-writer-combo

Roland!! I'd love to see this dude make it out into the big world, what a sweet man. Him copying Black is such a cute thing to imagine hahaha.

[carrionne0]

THINGS TO DO WITH YOUR OCS

If you’re like me and you like to play around with your OCs a lot, here’s some things you can do with them!

ART & CRAFTS

Put your OCs in character scenario memes! Here’s some I found on Deviantart.

Do an art trade where you draw someone’s OC and they draw yours!

Use those "Draw The Squad" templates and draw your OCs.

Crochet/knit/sew/etc. a plushie of your OC.

You can also make a paper doll! You can find tons of tutorials on youtube.

You can also make a figure of them out of something like clay, cardboard, or another material.

You can build them out of Legos!

You can also create a hand or finger puppet of them.

Draw a comic featuring your characters!

Create an animation of your character.

Draw your characters as animals!

Create pixel art of your OC! Maybe even make it look like video game sprites.

Draw your characters as playing card designs.

Draw your characters as tarot card designs (Suggested by @ultragirl-parsley)

Create a coloring book full of your OCs!

Create a large cardboard cutout of your character. There are tons of tutorials online!

Put your OCs as designs on cookies, cakes, etc. (I kinda want to do this one but I know it won't turn out well for me 'cuz I suck at handling food T_T)

Design your OC's home.

Make a board game about your OCs and their story

Make Minecraft skins of your characters

INTERNET

Make your OCs in picrew or other dress-up things!

Create a character playlist on Spotify or other music site!

Create a Pinterest board with inspo for your OCs! Maybe outfits they’d wear, a moodboard, etc.

Reblog those “tag your OC as” blogs! They usually have a prompt and you can reblog it and tag which OC it describes. Here’s a few blogs which do this: Tag Your OC on Tumblr develop your oc on Tumblr Daily Asks for your OC (tumblr.com)

Take quizzes as your OC! You can find some on Quotev or IDRLabs.

Make a roleplay account as your OC.

Create a quiz on Quotev about your OC. Maybe something like, "Would my OC like you," "How similar are you to my OC," etc.

Put your OCs in the incorrect quote generator.

Find OC questionnaires and templates online.

Create a page on your Tumblr just for your OC! You can include things like a character sheet, general facts, your posts about them, etc.

WRITING

Do character exercises for them! You can find a lot of these on the internet, but here’s an example.

Write from your OC's perspective. It'll help you understand them better!

Create a list of media they enjoy. Maybe movies, video games, songs, etc.

Write a song (or just lyrics) about your OC or parts of their story.

Write a random story about their childhood!

Create an in-universe news report from your OC's world.

Write a poem about your OC.

OTHER

Put your OCs in character alignment memes! Here’s some from a search on Pinterest.

Create voice headcanons for your OCs. Here’s an example of Vivziepop’s for Hazbin Hotel..

Play as your character in video games! Like, maybe design your character in Miitopia or Sims.

Do some theatre improv games as if you were your OC.

Edit your OC on to pride flags.

Also, you could maybe make those like, Tiktok edits of your OC? (Y'know the ones I'm talking about?)

Create an AU version of your characters! (I’ll create a list of AU ideas soon! :D)

Have your characters solve the trolley problem and other moral conudruums.

Cosplay as your OC!

Create ship names for your characters!

You can also find baby names that your OC might like or something.

Create a visual novel/dating sim in Google Slides (or if you can code, you can do it like that!)

Create a crossword/word search relating to your characters and story.

Answer "Would you rather?"questions as your character.

Find poems that remind you of your OC.

Make family trees.

If anyone has anymore ideas, please tell me and I’ll add them to the list!!

[halemerry]

Okay so I wanna take a moment to talk about gravity. Now I know what this sounds like, but bare with me here I promise I'm not looking to do a physics lecture. But I've been rotating this around in my head for a couple days now and I think there's something really critical in the way the show presents it to us.

For example: it's one of the few things actually listed in our introduction to this show individually while our protagonists build the universe, right between matter and everything else.

The show draws our attention to it here fairly bluntly by naming it but there are other incidents that, while I would not call them subtle, are not quite as on the nose.

There are at least three times Crowley chucks something he's holding in his hands across the room. They're played for comedic bits but they all feel very weird and pointed to me - especially both times he does this to books that he seems to have no purpose for holding other than to chuck them later. It caught my attention mostly because everything in me recoiled at the idea of him doing that, but the more I thought about the way they're so visible and pointed was important. They almost feel like weird hiccups in the scene they're in.

We also get gravity as an implied threat with Gabriel climbing out the window and, of course, with every mention of a Fall. But there's also more mundane uses of gravity in the season that while not odd in isolation, the fact we get it popping up so notably is interesting to me. There's also the scene with Nina and Maggie under the awning where rainwater's weight gets pulled down by gravity, the scene in 1941 where Aziraphale drops the picture of them onto the floor before they have their gray area talk, Gabriel dropping the matchbox, and I'm sure there's more. The point is the show is littered with reminders that gravity exists.

Now I know what this sounds like. I know it seems like yeah. Duh. They're on earth. Which has gravity. Of course gravity is a factor in nearly every physical action they do. Why are you even talking about this at all?

Well, it's because of a scene that is one of my absolute favorites in the whole season: the Gravity Lesson.

The scene opens with Jim throwing a book (My Best Games of Chess, an interesting title that feels pointed) repetitively at a desk. He's testing gravity himself, looking confused.

Crowley then descends from the upper level, carrying a stack of books. He pauses his descent on the spiral staircase and notes what Jim is doing.

Then we get this shot. Notice the light here. Jim is in the light from the windows but relatively in the middle of the shot. He's an angel still, though not nearly as in the Light as he was as Gabriel. And he's notably at ground level, on earth. Meanwhile Crowley blends into the shadows of the shop itself. He continues down the staircase, sauntering vaguely downward, until he finally hits earth level to be even with Jim. There's symbolism here, in the lighting, in the way they move through these frames, in the way the staircase spirals like an orbit.

Crowley continues this same sweeping circular pattern to come around the bookshop and place him in front of Jim. Unable to resist a question, even one that wasn't asked out loud, Crowley tells him about gravity. He moves center toward Jim here. A meeting in the middle. This is the first scene we see Crowley interact with Jim in a way anything near amicable. He explains how gravity works. "It's, um... A thing that happens when objects are pulled together. In this case, they're all pulled downwards because Earth is the largest thing around."

As he speaks, Crowley moves away from Jim, toward the back of the bookshop. But he stops very rapidly because Jim goes and asks him why. Crowley frowns to himself. He says he can't remember. He says it seemed like a good idea when they were all talking about it.

He walks back to Jim, giving this question some real thought, and settles on, "So things would stay where you put them, not just drift off." And Jim, backlit by the windows still, kind of frowns and drops the book again and points out. "But it doesn't stay where I put them. It goes down."

When the book hits the table it also visibly does not land precisely over where Jim dropped it either. It settles out of place, bouncing slightly from the force of it. This is what drew my attention to this scene more than anything else.

Because it's interesting isn't it? They're both right in their assessment here. And so much of this story is about people not fitting quite where they're dropped. Aziraphale and Crowley are both caught in Earth's gravity, jostled out of their respective places. The very first shot in the intro sequence emphasizes this idea. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in the middle on earth (where Crowley then says let there be light and lights a flame to guide them going forward).

Gabriel and Beez too fall out of line as soon as they get caught in Earth's gravity. Memories are deleted, but can't entirely escape the gravity of their old home. Memories are added, but you can't predict exactly the way they'll form. Miracles backfire and don't land quite as they're expected. We obey Heaven or Hell as far as we can, but not necessarily exactly as they'd like. These shifts eventually become predictable and eventually we learn we can calculate the odds of how gravity can impact something, but as Jim shows us here a little bit of the drift still happens. In the end it's all just firing bullets at ears and pretend to catch them in our teeth.

And there's viewing this line of thinking from the perspective of God. God who functionally dropped the universe into the gravity of Fate and Choice just to see where it would land.

And then there's the Fly.

As Jim points out here, some things actively resist gravity, at least temporarily. Flies go up. This is very fun, given Beelzebub's arc this season, but I think it's getting at more than just that. Crowley and Jim both pause to watch the fly rise upward, drifting away from Jim and toward the dark half of the shop. Crowley says Jim makes a good point and then shifts into "Right, the plan, Operation: Lovebird."

Given the plot of season 1, I find the use of the word plan here pretty interesting. Especially given that the event that follows this is Crowley trying and failing to get Nina and Maggie to recreate his own meet cute. Like the idea of these two being drawn together will fix everything.

And that got me thinking about Crowley's line at the end of season 1. About what if God planned it that way. What if they're God's own Operation Lovebird. We know that together they can do very powerful things. This whole season starts with them, while trying to keep their power under control and contained, do a miracle so big it could've brought someone back from the dead nearly 25 times. Last season ends with Heaven and Hell thinking they've become something impossible. The Metatron here goes out of his way to separate the two of them like he's afraid of what they're capable of together. And he seems to have successfully managed to do this.

But a Fly can't stay in the air forever. The Fly is always drawn back to Jim. Because not all gravity is about Earth itself. The same way Gabriel's memories are drawn back to him. The same way Beelzebub and Gabriel are drawn to each other in the first place. The same way Aziraphale and Crowley have been described time and time again as drawn in by each other. They're Alpha Centauri. Twin stars orbiting each other. They're constantly going in circles around each other. It's a dance. With the hands touching in the middle. Because that is a gravity too. They complete each other the same way the Fly completes Jim.

So what about choice? Think about the Ball episode. Think about how everyone in the shop is being influenced by some sort of miracle. Their clothes and behavior shift and change and Nina in particular shows us that this is Noticeable. Forcing something in a gravity it doesn't like or want makes it have a hard time settling. It doesn't go quite where you drop it.

And then there's the chat Nina and Maggie have with Crowley. "We're not a game. We're real people," says Maggie. And Crowley tries to argue this saying that they both needed help and they both push back that it is still not his right to meddle with. A game. Like the title My Best Games of Chess. Like the thing we know God has been using as a framing device since season 1. A thing the narrative always has pushed as a bad thing.

Maggie and Nina are choosing to not let beings above them influence their choices. They actively resist being compelled by Aziraphale in the bookshop together because they know what's right. His gravity is not enough to overwhelm their choices. And at the end maybe they're not together but they're working on it. And, maybe, if they do come back together (when they do, according to Maggie) it will be when they are ready and when they are choosing each their free of the constraints of the game or higher power. And that gives me hope that's where we're headed for the Ineffables as well.

[the-raven-lady]

Closer

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Cato Sicarius x Reader [Fem]

Song Inspiration: Closer - Nine Inch Nails [Youtube] [Spotify]

“You let me violate you / you let me desecrate you /

You let me penetrate you / you let me complicate you /

I broke apart my insides / I’ve got no soul to tell /

The only thing that works for me / Help me get away from myself.”

Warnings: SMUT. Degradation and praise, possessiveness, partial asphyxiation, hair pulling, breeding kink, right into the rough and nasty. 

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: Raven Lady’s ovulating and it’s bad. I have no excuse. This hit me while I was rocking on the floor like Apollo with the dodgeball and I let the hormones win. Not edited in the slightest.

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty

The rough prickling of his beard rubs against your shoulder, scratching against it uncomfortably, but you cannot bring yourself to care. Obediently you tilt your head to the side to grant Cato more access, which he greedily takes. The captain tangles one of his massive hands into your hair and yanks your head to the side. His lips attack the side of your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin between rough bites and sucks. You know you’re going to have hickies to cover tomorrow and for the next few weeks, if he’ll allow it. 

The day had started off so innocently with you helping the noblewomen tire out their young ones, the little tykes running about the streets without a care in the world. The sight of the young ones brought a simple joy to your primarch, Guilliman having mentioned that it reminded him of the home he used to remember. Cato had passed by with several of his company on their way to training, and you had made an offhand comment about wondering what it would be to guide your own little one about the grand fortress.

Either the thought of putting one in you or the idea of you growing round and full with his child had completely plagued Sicarius’s mind for the rest of the day, as the next moment you two were well and truly alone, you clothes hadn’t lasted more than a few short seconds. They still lie in tatters on the tiled floor, occasionally getting caught under foot.

“You’re no better than a common– fucking– slut,” Cato pants, punctuating each word with the slam of his hips against yours. 

He has your sore body roughly pinned down to the covers, not allowing you an inch of breathing room as he fucks into you. The wet squelch of him penetrating your tight cunt echoes off of the metal walls of your room, his balls stimulating your clit with each thrust. Cum drips sloppily from between your thighs and down onto linen sheets. Mind clouded and lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, you mewl underneath him for more, more, more.

You cry out as his teeth sink into your neck, adding to the masterwork he’s so carefully crafted. You were his, and until your belly had swelled enough to display it for all to see, Cato swore he would continue to fuck you to exhaustion each day.

Oh, but could he bring himself to stop then with how gorgeous you sounded caged beneath him? Begging and keening beneath him like the good little whore you were? Or would he fall headfirst into his desires, enraptured by the glow of your gravid body as it grew?

He certainly couldn’t fuck you as he was now, shoving your chest down into the bed and forcing you to present so prettily. Cato leans back, pulling you up by the hair with him to arch your back just the way he likes.

“Good girl,” he growls, using the new angle to draw more sounds out of your aching throat and abused cunt, “Taking it like the vile whore you are.” 

The way you clench around his cock has him delirious with pleasure, as if he hadn’t already just flooded your womb twice before. You must be one of Slaanesh’s finest beneath the skin with how your lecherous body always draws him in for more. The sheen of sweat on your skin makes you glitter in the low light like a treasure.

“Can you even hear me in that dumb little head of yours? So stupid, so pretty. Just a hole to be used.” Cato’s free hand snakes around your waist and up to paw at your breasts, tweaking a nipple and pulling a yipe from you. “Would you spread your legs for any common Ultramarine if he promised to put a baby in you?”

You nod your head, cockdrunk and wild, and Cato snarls. He snaps his hips up hard into you, stilling and grinding his cock against your cervix enough to send pleasure and pain alike up your spine. A whimper catches in your throat from the treatment, the pressure almost too much to bear.

“Of course you would. So eager to have your pussy filled.” The hand at your breasts fondles them. “But you won’t. You won’t—” he withdraws almost completely, cockhead nestled just at your pussylips, “—because you’re mine.” The grip in your hair tightens, and Cato yanks you back to meet him as he drives forward, ripping a loud moan from your chest. The brutal pace from before resumes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room.

You will yourself to speak through hiccuped breaths, voice low and breathy. “Are you going to– ah!– put a baby in me, Sicarius?”

The side of your face ungracefully meets the bed again as Cato pushes you back down. A growl rumbles within him.

“Brainless harlot. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bred so full your abdomen distends?” As if to accentuate his point, the hand at your breast slides down to rest above your abdomen. “Waddling around the Fortress of Hera carrying the child of someone so high above your standing?” 

Despite the venom of his degrading words, the breathiness of his voice betrays how much the idea affects him. He clutches at you in a manner that is all too tender. Protective.

Cato’s steady thrusts begin to falter, and he slows his hips to a steady roll to feel out every inch of himself in you. A satisfied breath puffs against your ear as he leans  back over you, skilled fingers finding your neglected clit and rolling it in tight circles.

“Come for me,” he pleads, fucking that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. The spring within you draws tighter, tighter, making you feel afloat as every little sensation coils it further. 

The gentle press of Cato’s lips against your jawline makes you shudder, the affectionate gesture enough to snap the tension within your belly. With a loud cry, you spasm and clamp down around the Ultramarine’s cock, digging your nails into the sheets of the bed. Your legs shake from the intensity, giving out from under you.

The feeling of your pussy like a vice around him causes Cato to moan, low and desperate as he chases his own orgasm. With a final harsh thrust, he stills, moan breaking into throaty stutters. His balls draw tight against you, cock throbbing inside of you as he pumps your cunt full of his seed for the third and final time. Muscular arms wrap around you firmly, holding you to Cato’s chest as he gently cants his hips against yours to milk the last of his cum into your waiting womb.

The both of you pant as you wind down, barely able to get a full breath as the astartes’ much larger form rests on top of yours. Slick with sweat, you turn your head to the side to look at his handsome face. His eyes crack open to meet yours, and he grants you a rare smile, white teeth peeking out from behind his lips. You reciprocate.

“How do we tell Guilliman if anything does happen?” you ask, resting your head on your arms.

Cato immediately grimaces, looking away with a roll of his eyes. “Can we discuss my genefather when I’m not still inside of you?”

Chuckling, you lean over to press a kiss to his nose. He huffs, but his breath hitches when you clench down around him. Instantly, he freezes, and his eyes are back on yours, darkening and boring into you. The muscles of his jaw tighten.

You meet him with a challenge, purring out, “We might as well make it certain that he’ll have something to worry about.” In invitation, you wiggle your hips.

Fingertips dig harshly into the swell of your ass to hold them steady. “Insatiable woman,” Cato chides, gripping your jaw and pulling you once more into a bruising kiss.

[shkika]

hi do you have any refs or designs for the canon slugcats? i know you've got one [a design] for saint but i'm curious about the others too

Here you go!

Random hcs for the designs:

-Gourmand during the gameplay is pregnant and the food list is just cravings. Because I think it's hilarious and after the campaign you get two pups <3

-A big part of me drawing these little beasts is making them look blank and animalistic. To make so Saint having his closed eyes kind of makes him look more self-aware and intelligent than the average is good! It goes well with my hc that he's SOS.

-Hunter I had a zombie in mind when designing. It's predicament reminds me of one and poor thing is probably terrifying to it's own kind.

-Artificer is malnourished and starved, because it doesn't properly take care of itself and uses it's energy to kill scavs with blind rage. Survival is important only, because if you live you get to kill more.

-Riv is probably a cryptid of some sort. A demon perhaps. Loves Moon lots.

-Nothing too notable of the siblings. Young small slugcats. I suppose I can share here that even though I don't think slugcats have genders, I call Survivor the sister and Monk the little brother, because it mirrors Moon and Pebbles! Also being mc does not instantly make you he/him, but that's salt for another day hehe hoho

-Spearmaster is the smallest which is true to the game actually! It's the lightest slugcat and is genetically modified heavily by Suns. By my headcanons Spears was a sickly dying pup that SRS saved and raised to deliver their message.

[witchygirlgray333]

Journal prompts / ideas

Poems (either ones you've written or just ones you enjoy or connect with)

Book review

Film review

Write about your day

Collage

Vision board

Habit tracker

Calendar page

Notes from something you're learning

Quotes you like

Draw some outfits you like

Search up creative writing prompts and do those

Meditate and write down your thoughts before / during / after (I don't do this everytime or sometimes I'll only write afterwards but when I write before, during and after it's always really interesting to read back on and see how much has changed)

Stickerbomb page

Films to watch

Books to read

Wishlist

Bucket list

Highlight of the day (I like to have a page in my journal where I write a short sentence of my favourite thing that happened that day, it's nice to look back on and it's nice especially for days when I'm not feeling well enough to do a longer entry)

Gratitude list

Random thoughts

Drawings and sketches (I'm not even good at drawing but I love drawing or sketching in my journals and just expressing myself)

This one is more for chronically ill people but making notes for doctor / hospital appointments which helps so much! I have severe memory loss so a lot of the time I'll turn up to an appointment and have totally forgotten about anything I'd hoped to say so this has been a total lifesaver

Along with what I said in my last point about living with severe memory loss my whole journal works towards helping me deal with living with the memory loss. I'll probably do another post soon about more in depth ideas for journaling to help life with memory loss but I write down SO MUCH. I've got to do lists, a calendar page, my night routine (I'll also have my morning routine written down once I've actually worked one out!), things I need to do everyday (such as brushing my teeth, washing my face etc), contact info for people I'm close to, labelled photos of my loved ones (it can be really scary when I don't recognise people so having these pages really help), a list of things I can do throughout the day (I'm on bedrest but having a list of things that I enjoy doing written down is a nice reminder, some of the things on the list at the moment are make tiktok videos, do makeup, watch a movie or tv show, journal, scrapbook etc)