#it will have all the songs i have been listening to into the fic

[vanteguccir]

Hey i have a request if u have time and like ittt!!

So basically matts fucking you and chris is tired of all the noise, so he walks in to matts room casually. Proceeds to pick up ur panties from the floor and stuffs ur mouth. And sum hot idkkkkkkkk i aint a writer

Love ur fics tho girl

── ୨୧ !　SMUT BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where chris had had enough of your loud moans with his brother and shut you up with your panties... and you're a exhibitionist little shit

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Oh fuck- Matt-" Y/N gasped, her voice breaking with every breath.

She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her veins. Her thighs - wet with her arousal - quivered uncontrollably, her toes curling against the bed as Matt thrust into her with raw, primal need.

But beneath them, Chris had had enough.

For the past thirty minutes, he had been subjected to the incessant banging of the bed against the wall and Y/N’s loud, unfiltered moans. He tried to block it out, putting a pillow over his head or playing random songs in the top volume on his headphones, but it was no use. The noise was relentless, invading every corner of his room, and his patience had finally snapped.

With a growl of frustration, Chris pushed back his blankets, stormed out of his room, and headed upstairs.

Y/N didn’t hear Chris’s footsteps approaching. Her mind too far gone in the pleasure coursing through her body. She moaned Matt’s name again, her voice loud and breathy, the sound echoing in the room as Matt quickened his pace, his own groans mixing with hers.

The door to Matt’s room suddenly burst open, and without warning, Chris strode in, his face a mask of annoyance. Y/N’s head was still buried in the mattress, her body still trembling as Matt froze mid-thrust, too shocked to react right away.

Chris, however, didn’t seem the least bit phased by the scene before him. He walked into the room far too casually, his eyes sweeping over the pair with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. His tongue slipped between his pink lips, wetting them while taking in the sight of Y/N’s completely naked form, her body bent over the bed, her fingers digging into the dark blue sheets, clutching them like a lifeline, and Matt’s shocked, wide-eyed expression.

"What the fuck, Chris?" Matt sputtered, his voice filled with disbelief as he finally reacted, trying to cover Y/N's boobs with his large hands and her ass with his own body, ignoring the loud whine that echoed from her with his movements. "Get out, man!"

But Chris ignored him. His gaze drifted down to the floor where Y/N’s discarded pink lacy panties lay. Without a word, Chris bent down, scooping it up, and then moved toward the bed. Y/N, still lost in the haze of pleasure, barely registered his presence until she felt slender fingers pressing her jaw with moderate strength, forcing her to open her mouth before something was stuffed against her tongue.

Her eyes widened in shock, muffled sounds of protest escaping her throat as she realized what had happened, her eyes meeting the blue ones that looked right back at hers.

Chris really had shoved her own panties into her mouth, effectively shutting her up. Her face burned with a mix of embarrassment and something darker, something that thrilled her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Matt, still in shock, didn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off.

"Chris, what the hell is wrong with you?" He growled, though there was an underlying tension in his voice, the absurdity of the situation not lost on him as he searched for his brother's eyes.

Chris smirked, his gaze gleaming with mischief as he glanced between the two of them.

"If I’m going to be forced to listen to all this." He said smoothly, his voice low and teasing while his hands motioned from one to another. "The least I could do is shut her up. A guy needs his silent time, right?" He gave Y/N a pointed look, his lips curling into a smirk as he watched her squirm beneath his brother, her muffled whines filling the room with the feeling of Matt's dick moving only a bit inside her walls.

Y/N’s mind was racing, her body responding despite the embarrassment flooding her senses. The feel of her panties getting dump in saliva inside her mouth and the sheer absurdity of the situation had her heart racing in ways she hadn’t expected, causing her to press her face deeper against the mattress, trying to disappear.

Matt, however, was less amused. He shook his head, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"You’re such an asshole." He muttered, though he couldn’t deny the tension in the room had only heightened after Chris’s interruption.

Chris chuckled, clearly pleased with himself as he straightened up and turned toward the door.

"Just keep it down next time." He said over his shoulder, throwing one last smirk at them before sauntering out of the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Chris, leaving Matt and Y/N in the heavy silence of the room, Y/N's body reacted almost immediately. Despite the absurdity of what had just happened - or maybe because of it - her hips pushed back instinctively, seeking more of Matt. Her body begged for him to continue, her mind still reeling from the humiliation and thrill of being caught.

Matt's eyes widened at first, surprised by her reaction, but then a dark chuckle escaped his lips as he felt her ass press insistently against him, almost fucking herself on his dick. Her whines, now muffled, were desperate, needy. She wanted more. She needed it.

"Fuck." Matt muttered under his breath, his voice taking on a darker, more commanding tone. "You liked that, didn't you?" He murmured, bending his upper body and pressing his chest firmly against her back, his breath hot against the nape of her neck. "Getting caught like that... having him see you like this. Like the little whore you're for me, yeah?"

Y/N whimpered again, her body responding eagerly as her hips pushed back against him harder, silently begging him to keep going. Her face was still pressed deep into the sheets, her muffled whines escaping through the makeshift gag Chris had left in her mouth. She was trembling, her body aching for more.

Matt’s hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as he laughed again, this time lower. He leaned his head, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.

"You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you? Letting him see you so exposed and open, and now... you can’t get enough, can you?"

Y/N moaned into the fabric, her eyes rolling up her skull with his talking and the fresh memory of Chris's eyes on her, the sound vibrating against the panties in her mouth. Her body was practically begging for Matt to move, to do something, to give her the release she so desperately needed.

Matt grinned wickedly, the dark amusement still dancing in his eyes as he tightened his grip on her hips, pulling her back against him before pushing her forward again, forcing her to fuck herself on his cock.

Her thighs trembled when she felt his tip brushing only a bit against her sweet spot, and she let out another muffled whine, her hips rocking back against him again, needing him right there. The feeling of her body pressed so tightly against him, her whimpers of need muffled and helpless, only served to ignite Matt’s desire further.

"Alright." Matt murmured darkly, his tone teasing as his hand slid down, fingers brushing the curve of her ass, squeezing the flesh hard. "You want it? You’ll get it, but you have to work for it."

He pressed his other hand on her small back, forcing her to bent her upper body even more - if that was even possible, searching the control he needed. With a slow, deliberate movement, he ground his hips against hers, teasing her, dragging out the moment as she squirmed beneath him, her muffled cries growing more frantic.

"Is this what you want, baby?" He taunted, his voice a low growl as he pressed himself harder against her. "Because I can feel how fucking wet you're." He let out another dark laugh, enjoying the power he had over her in this moment. "And all it took was Chris walking in on us for you to become this needy mess."

Y/N's muffled response was a mix of whimpers and "Matt's", her body trembling as she tried to raise her ass more in the air, searching for the friction her body was begging for.

Matt's grip on her waist tightened even more, his fingers digging into her skin as he finally snapped his hips against hers hard enough to make her thighs shake and her fingers dig into the sheets.

"Alright, baby." He whispered, his tone full of lust and dominance as he positioned himself, ready to turn her into a cock drunk mess. "Let’s see how loud you can be now... even with your mouth so fucking full."

I never know how long and large I can go in a blurb 😭🤡

[thinkinonsense]

i just listened to sabrina's new album and oh my god the song slim pickins is such a song that was written from daydreaming about lumberjack!logan, oh and the recent fic that you reblogged was just so yummy and perfect for that song especially the lyrics "a boy who's jacked and nice" like god having to settle down for less because nobody can be him 😭😭😭 need him expeditiously im afraid

it's slim pickins

lumberjack!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: yearning!! fluff, tiny nsfw conversation (nothing graphic)

a/n: this request couldn't have come in at a better time because i'm seeing sabrina on opening night of her tour tomorrow night!! <3

masterlist

"am i just destined to be alone forever?"

another friday night in the hole in the wall bar outside of town. another date gone horribly wrong. your question hangs heavy in the air as you gossip to your best friend who's bartending tonight.

"you keep picking douche bags." she answers without missing a beat.

"well, that's fuckin' rude." you slur slightly, sipping on your third fruity drink tonight.

"well, it's fuckin' true." she smiles, looking over your shoulder at a group of men that walked in. "why don't you go talk to one of them? they look hot."

you spin around in your stool to see a group of lumberjack workers. these were the men that you worked with, you can't flirt with them.

"i work with those guys!" you hiss.

"sooo...?" she smirks.

both of you quickly end the conversation with the five guys approach the bar. the last thing you needed was for these guys to see the desperate and pathetic look on your face. quickly, you rummage through your purse for some cash to put down.

"what are you doing here, doll face?" a familiar voice asks.

you look up and see the most handsome of the men, in front of you; logan. twice your size, buff, toned, tan... god, you had such a crush on him. never in a million years would you go after him though, he's too good to want a girl like you. you were just a friend. he make small talk with you, laughed at your jokes, calls you little nicknames, and refills the coffee pot for you but thats what friends do, right?

"oh... um, i'm just-"

"she's been sitting here moaning and bitching to me all night about her horrible date." your best friend smiles then introduces herself to logan with a handshake.

"thanks asshole." you mumble under your breath at her, making logan chuckle.

"tough night?" he asks, looking down at you in a way that makes heat rises up your face.

"kinda, but i'll save you all the gory details." you admit, sliding off the tall stool a little ungracefully. "have a good night, logan."

"wait, doll face." he says, grabbing your arm to balance you. "wanna talk about it? i'm sure your friend here is busy."

the alcohol let him take you to one of the booths. all the other men noticed logan and you sitting together, definitely making mental notes to tease you both on monday.

"so, what's on your mind?" logan asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"it's nothing really..." your mouth says one thing but your phone says another; practically buzzing off the table.

"you sure?" he raises a brow.

"uh... yeah?" you sound confused as you peak at the notification. an annoyed groan falls from your lips as you slam the phone back down and sink into the booth. "why? why? why?"

"why what?" he squints.

"be honest, do i have dumbass written on my forehead?" you sigh, hazily looking over at logan. the question threw him off guard; unsure if you're joking or not.

"no." he answers.

" well, i sure feel like one. every guy i've gone out with is either the most obnoxious asshole i've ever met who's still hung up on his ex or he's absolutely perfect but he's just not ready for a commitment right now? what the fuck does that even mean?"

all of your drunk rambling surprised logan. at work, he's only seen your shy personality as you scribble down numbers and log them into spreadsheets. this was a completely different side of you.

"i know what you're thinking, 'why not just try dating a woman?'. well, i fucking would if this town wasn't stuck in the 50's, except the men aren't going to war in order to get away from you, instead they just run back in between their ex's thighs and pull that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit."

it was getting harder for logan not to crack at your silly yet, adorable expressions as you rant.

"and the worst part is that they can't even get a woman to orgasm." you say a little quieter. logan stores that quote in his pocket for another time. "a few weeks ago, i literally had a man in my bed who didn't know the difference between their, there, and they're! i don't know who's stupider, him for not knowing or me for letting him give me the worst head in my life."

if you were even a little sober, this would be mortifying. sitting in front of your work crush and spilling pathetic details of your love life to him. if you were even a little sober, you would have notice his eyes turn dark and lustful under the dim bar lighting. logan couldn’t fathom that you were having trouble in your love life.

"sounds like it's slim pickins out there."

"you have no idea." you sigh.

"if it makes you feel any better, i don't think that you're stupid."

"you're just saying that to be polite. trust me, everyone thinks i'm an idiot for taking these guys back every time. im just like my mom, my sisters, my friends, and every other girl i know. we make up excuses for their shitty behavior because we are afraid to be alone."

logan could see tears forming in your waterline, about to roll down your cheek. it hurt him to see you so heartbroken over these losers. everyday at work, you came in like a ray of fucking sunshine. you didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"it's not your fault that those asshole don't know how to treat a woman." he sighs, leaning forward in an attempt to comfort you.

"i know, i know..." your voice was cracking and you didn't want logan to see you so vulnerable. suddenly, you rise from the booth. "thanks for listening, logan."

"where do you think you're going, doll face?" he asks, following you out the door.

"should head home." you mumble, pulling up the number of a car service about twenty minutes out.

"let me give you a ride home." he offers. "you've been drinking too much."

it's late, you're exhausted and heartbroken so, you let him help you into his truck. it's kinda old but full of character, like logan.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" logan asks, breaking the silence in the car. "still sad?"

you shrug. "think i'm just going to become a nun."

he tried, he really did, but he had to laugh.

"sweetheart, there's no need to become a nun."

"well, i'm never going to find the man i'm looking for so, might as well join the sisterhood."

"what are you looking for in this dream man?"

logan's question has your eyes wondering over to where his left hand sets on the wheel and his right on thigh. the images of what his hands could do flood your fuzzy mind.

"j-just a good guy who's um, who's kind, jacked... respectful, good with his hands...."

it was shameless, your staring that is. logan worried you might get drool on the car seat, not that he would mind.

"hm... those seem like simple requirements there."

"apparently not." you giggle. "it's fine, though. i'm sure the nuns will be friendly."

"still thinking about joining the 'sisterhood'?" he asks, pulling up to your drive way.

"maybe... i'll give it twenty-four hours and if he doesn't come knocking on my door, i'll just buy a chasity belt and go off the grid with the nuns." your smile warmed his cold bitter heart. "thanks for the ride, lo. i'll see you monday."

as logan watches you fumble with your keys and make your way inside, he fights an internal battle over his feelings. he has had a crush on you since the day the two of you first met. by the end of the week, you had baked him some cupcakes, babbling about how you do this for all the new employees, which was far from the truth he later learned.

you captured his heart. even when he tried to burry his feelings for you, when logan looked at you, his world stood still for a moment. he looked forward to all your silly jokes in the break room or the ridiculous gossip you would tell him when he lingered outside of your office door. he couldn't let you slip away into the arms of another asshole who didn't deserve you.

before logan could comprehend what he was doing, his feet lead him up to your door, knocking twice. the wooden door opened and he knew he made the right decision.

there you were in your light blue and grey plaid pajamas with a cupcake in your hand and vanilla frosting on your bottom lip. logan had never seen you look prettier.

"hey? did i leave something in the–"

in the blink of an eye, logan’s hands reach up to caress your jaw, leaning in until his mouth engulfs yours. the taste of vanilla and alcohol surrounded both of you. forgetting the cupcake in your hand, dropping it to reach up and pull logan closer. kissing him was like drinking a glass of wine after a long day. no more stress or anxiety over anyone else’s bullshit. the two of you gasp against each others lips, catching your breath.

“i could be the good guy, you know?” logan pants, now forever addicted to your taste. “i could be the good guy for you.”

your heart fluttered as you stared up at his pretty hazel eyes, twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. this had to be a very realistic dream, thats the only answer to this.

“you would do that for me, logan?” your delicate voice could bring him to his knees, worshiping the ground you walk on.

“i would do anything for you, honey.” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you again. maybe your dream guy wasn't as far away as you thought?

[ddolbyong]

playlist. homesick - wave to earth, flower of life - the novembers, to us - apro(ft. wave to earth & wavy), plastic flowers - idlework, all i need to hear - the 1975

MAY 22ND

hey yn, its haechan. i know this is stupid... uh i just... i really miss you. um... i don't know what to say... i don't even know why i called... oh! um i heard this song recently, uh homesick...? by wave to earth. i know how much you love this band and i have to admit your taste might even be better than mine haha. uh. you know... listening to this song reminded me of you. yn, i... i feel so lost without you by my side. i miss having you around. i miss your warmth, i miss your comfort... i just miss you. you're... you're my home and i'm homesick.

MAY 25TH

hi yn. its haechan. again. uh jaemin recommended this song to me recently... um its called... flowers? no uh... flower of life. by the novembers. i... i think. my memory hasn't been very good recently haha... sorry. uh the song is about the uncertainty and curiosity of the future, as well as... the um desire to live life to the fullest. you always used to tell me how you were unsure on where the future would take us. well um i... i just want you to know that whereever it takes us, i just want to be by your side. i want to live life to the fullest with you. i miss you.

MAY 29TH

hey, its haechan. um doyoung played this song yesterday... he uh said it reminded him of you. i guess... everyone misses you too huh. uh... um.. what was i talking about? oh! right. the song. i think its called.. to us by uh.. apro. wave to earth also features in it so you would definitely enjoy it heh... anyways, the song is about embracing life's challenges and finding contentment in the present! doyoung said it reminded him of you because you always knew just how to handle your problems and not let them affect your life. i totally agree with him. you always carried gratitude and appreciation for the present... it makes me admire you more than i already do.

JUNE 1ST

its haechan. i miss you. i heard plastic flowers by idlework yesterday. made me think of you. i uh.. i can't think of anyone else who can connect with me as well as you did. everything feels so empty without you. it hurts. i um... do you remember? when we uh just laid in silence, scrolling through our phones for the entire day. haha.. i...  i don't know if i can do that with anyone else without it feeling awkward. it only feels familiar with you.

JUNE 6TH

hey. its my birthday today. i've just been in my room listening to the 1975's all i need to hear. this was our favourite song, remember? um.. i... i miss you so much yn. i wish you were here, with me. telling me everything i need to hear.

notes: this was inspired by @00127am 's mark voicemail fic!!! i also orginally wrote this for anton but i just miss haechan too much... i hope you enjoy and feedback, likes, reblogs n replies are appreciated!

[f0point5]

literally anything with Max, Emilia, and Daniel please I’m begging after yesterday 🙏🙏🙏

No because this almost turned into a Singapore crack fic lol. But I saved it.

And yes I did listen to the song so that I could check this whole thing could happen within it’s time limit. But also this could so easily have been Tenerife sea but I Daniel-ed it up lol.

Anyway I hope you enjoy it!

✨Set in April 2024✨

I’ll drink what you think, and I’m high

It’s getting dark later now. It’s 7pm and the sun in only now setting over the mountainside, turning the clear sky all manner of gold and peach and baby blue. It’s the first good weather of the month, which is what gave you the idea of sitting out on the rooftop patio. Daniel just happened to call Max as you were mixing a Bellini, which is how he’d got roped into what turned into what you’d dubbed a “Wine and Whine” evening.

So there Max sits, listening to Daniel talk about grape yields while you fiddle with the stereo. Max interjects at the right moments, but mostly he’s watching you bent over in a tight Missoni dress, trying to connect your phone Bluetooth to the speakers.

That’s how good the dress looks, Max thinks to himself. I even remember the name of the shop.

“So I’m like mate, I don’t know shit about grapes, that’s what I pay you for,” Daniel explains now. “And he’s looking at me like I’ve fucked his grandma in front of him. But I’m right. I drive cars for a living and I don’t even like grapes, that’s his job,”

“Yeah, but what if-“

Max is cut off by the sound of your squeal. He looks across the patio to see you bathed in golden light, sporting a bright grin.

“Danny, it’s your song,” you declare, teetering toward the boys on your wedge heels.

“She’s so pissed,” Daniel says through a chuckle.

“I heard that,” you shoot back, holding a hand out to him. “Now, dance with me,”

The gentle strumming of a guitar gives way to an American accent with a somber tone.

Daniel rolls his eyes but gets to his feet, taking your hand and pulling you along the concrete to the middle of the patio.

The music is not Max’s taste, not something he understands, but it’s…warm.

That’s how he feels watching Daniel pull you close, starting to sway you in small circles around the patio. He thinks about how both you and he needed Daniel before you needed each other, how Daniel had been your friend when Max was too scared to be, and he’d been Max’s friend even when it must have been like salt in a wound.

Daniel looks down and says something to you that Max can’t hear. Whatever it is, it is has you rolling your eyes in the way you do when you’re trying not to tear up. He watches you nod in what seems like agreement before shrugging your shoulders.

In the next breath, Max hears your voice singing along above the music.

“We all know, you tiptoed,” you sing, “up to six foot, in grill the grid,”

This pulls a deep, throaty laugh and a “fuck you” from Daniel, his head thrown back so much that he pulls you forward with him.

You’re singing at each other now, bodies shaking through laughter. The sound of a harmonica pierces Max’s ears as Daniel twirls you under his arm, your eyes catching the light of the setting sun as you turn.

Fuck. You are so beautiful.

“Max, come take over,” Daniel calls, beckoning him with one hand. “I need another drink,”

Max gets up and goes over to your swaying form just as Daniel lets you go. He pats Max on the back as he passes, turning to look at you both before he slips through the patio door, out of sight due to the reflection in the glass.

Your glassy eyes and the heat of your skin make Max think you’re probably looking at two of him right now, but he doesn’t mind, as long as you’re looking at him. He takes hold of you, fighting a smile at the way you sink into him in a way you wouldn’t with Daniel. Your hand slides around his neck and his instinctively goes to rest on the curve of your hip, bringing you so close he can smell your perfume and Sauvignon blanc.

In the background, the music picks up, the southern drawl a little more lively even though the words are still morose.

“I don’t get why you guys like this song,” Max says, guiding you out and then under one of his arms so that your back his against his chest. “It’s about a funeral,”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s about a family,” you tell him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

Max nods, letting go of one your hands to spin you out and then back towards him. He catches you smiling at the effortless way he moves you around. He may not particularly like dancing but he’s been given three gifts in life. One is coordination. The second is control.

“It’s about the little things that stick with you about the people you love. The things about them that made you who you are,”

And the third is you.

He still doesn’t hear the song the way you do. He doesn’t see the world the way you do. But he knows he wants to listen to you explain the world to him for however long he’s in it.

“It’s about a funeral,” he says plainly, which only makes you shake your head.

“I love you, Max Verstappen.” Your words are as plain as his.

He wants to say it back. He even opens his mouth to try. But sometimes, like now, Max hates that word because it seems so wholly inadequate. He’s never been good with words anyway.

Instead, he kisses you, a kiss that tips you backwards, has you leaning into the hand on your back that holds you up. He can feel you smiling against his lips as he straightens.

When he pulls away, you follow him, placing one more peck on his lips before leaning forward to rest your chin on his shoulder as you continue to dance. Max notices then that the golden hues have left the sky, the colour now the same as the Japanese Cherry blossoms. He breathes in the scent of roses on your skin as he pulls you closer.

“What was he saying to you?” He asks quietly, his cheek moving against yours as he speaks.

“Who?” Your reply is lazy, almost a purr against his neck.

“Daniel. What did he say while you were dancing?”

Max doesn’t know how he can tell you smile at that, but he knows.

“Oh. Nothing,” you say. The music slows, and a woman’s voice joins the man’s against a single guitar. “He thinks we’re yuppies,”

[self-destructinganimal]

The Fall and Forgiveness

(Or the waterfall brain rot is real and this fic is evidence of it)

Rings of Power fanfic

Characters: Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-galad

Tags: Minor Hurt/Comfort, Some Angst, References to Silmarillion and Kidnap Parents

Rating: Gen

…

A life can pass before one's eyes in the stretch of a handful of seconds. The sounds of happy laughter in a hazy dream of a once real home. Tense conversations between parents, while one tried to keep their brother asleep so he would not worry. War. Death. The flowing hair of his mother as she took one glance behind at him, met his eye, and turned again. Her face had been set. 

The fall. The fall. The fall. 

Outside all of this, a roaring. The water rushing to meet him, the spray coming up at him as if a wave. He saw his father’s ship tossed on it, sparkling. In this moment, between ground and wave, he could have been with him. And what would his father think of the son clutching the pouch to his heart. What would the mother think of his leap - was it as justified as hers? Was hers? And he thought of long nights wiping silent tears off the cheeks of his brother, of turning his own head so the same brother did not see his own. 

Years of pain and neglect and aching, flashed by as a feeling. Nothing concrete to grab onto, nothing to grab onto at all. The years had passed as silently as he had become so. 

And then, the poison had become something else. 

The fierce brothers with the dark and red heads who had taken them prisoner,  had grown, in time, into something almost like a shelter. Some of the aching had become soothed, by the song of the dark one, and the grumbling of the red one, and what was broken had become oddly refitted. 

Then came growth, came becoming, came meeting the elves who had wished over their welfare for years. Joy of becoming one’s own. And then flashing by, he could reach out and touch the choice. The brother, the light of his life, the companion of his youth, the sharer of the pain and suffering and small joys, had reached out his hand for the gift of Illuvatar. 

The pain of that choice blinded him. Robbed him of his breath, sucked the air out of his lungs as he slammed into the unforgiving arms of loss. 

And the angry swirling waters received him into their grasp. 

...

Death is gentle, I have always imagined her thus. Soft and silent, with cold arms, coming to take you gently into her arms. 

Life is painful. For the mother who births it into the world, to the toil to preserve it, to the pain as the body rebuilds itself from injury, to the agony of staying when all else goes. 

The fall into the arms of the swirling waters is not gentle. I am alive. 

…

She was angry. So angry at him that when the door burst open she did not try to gentle the guards who marched in. She was still staring out at the darkness before her and the stars shimmering on the lapping water, she could still see the boat. Dimly, she heard them grab his arms, she heard his sharp inhale. 

She was so angry, it almost made her glad. A little punishment might do the peredhel some good. 

He is young. Be patient with him. Her heart ached at the reminder. 

But she had been convinced the salvation of her people lay in the beautiful rings he had bundled up. She had not seen him, until she found out he was missing. She had known then, where the young half-elf had gone. To his king. 

To a king who did not listen to him, that gave her some grim satisfaction. But he had still outmaneuvered them, when his opinion had been cast aside once again. Eyes widening and then hardening into some firm sort of resolve before he turned to jump. 

Her heart had been in her throat. She didn’t know if it were primarily for the young foolish elf she loved like a son, or for the rings she believed were the salvation of Middle Earth. 

It was all over now. 

In this, he had succeeded. 

She turned to look at him. 

Hands splayed out, head bowed, elbows already held tightly in the grip of the guards. 

“I will come willingly” 

He murmured, and she saw his face was strained by the effort, by the embarrassment. 

“That is more than you deserve, Peredhel” spat one of them in anger.

He was moved roughly through the door. Galadriel followed, but she could not bring herself to feel ill at ease for him, not as he shivered in his torn tunic before the king, not as he caught the stares of the other elves who gathered around and lifted his obstinate chin, not when Gil-Galad shook his head and the tones of his remonstration struck Elrond’s face as if it had been a blow from his hand. Not when he was made to mount a horse tethered behind the angry guard. Not even when they arrived in Lindon and he was marched off. As he passed her, he lifted his face and caught her eye, but no word was spoken between them. And still she felt no sympathy. 

…

The king stood in his hall, waiting. He had not told Galadriel, no other elf was present. No other elf needed to be present. 

He was also angry. 

Angry that his authority had been so willfully ignored. By one whom he had guided and mentored into his service. It was shocking, of all the subjects in elvendom, the least he had expected to do such a thing was the mild-mannered, gentle and somewhat uncertain of his place half-elven. He remembered the orphaned child and young child growing into adulthood. He remembered how Cirdan had recognized his gifts right away and recommended those be put to good use. And put to good use, they had. 

Gil-galad had been surprised how much easier his own burdens became when he had placed them on the shoulders of young Elrond. 

He was kind, quiet, but gifted with wisdom and foresight beyond his years. Underneath the skilled word and soft-spoken respect, Gil-galad had always suspected there was a steely strength. He had not seen it pushed yet. 

Not until he had been at the top of the waterfall. For a moment, the eyes had flashed fearful, like the young orphan child, and then they had flashed with a steely determination, and still, he had not known he would risk life for his conviction. 

He sighed, he loved the half-elf, he also was sovereign over him. 

The door opened, the object of his rumination was marched in again, and the guards bowed and left, closing the door behind them. 

How could you do this? 

He watched as the lips snapped into a thin line. 

“High King”

He expected an explanation. He was wrong. 

“I apologize for the disrespect done to you. It was willful and wrong. I am sorry for it.” 

His eyes were firm as they met his, but wounded, shining almost. As if he were in pain to be in this position. 

Gil-galad’s heart ached. 

“It was wrongly done,” he said instead.

“You speak truly, high king, yet I would do it again” 

Gil-galad measured him. He saw that his face was white, his shoulders seemed strained, almost listing forward. He was still clad in the torn tunic. Face smeared with the mud of the river  and eyes tired and pained. 

Ai, he hated what he would have to do. 

“You know a king can not be thus disrespected with no recompense meted out.”

“I know it”. 

“I intend to call the people to the golden tree in a fortnight to inform them we must pass over the waters - until then, you will be imprisoned in the hall of stone. No feasts nor dinners shall you attend, I will have you work brought to you so that you may not neglect your duties to me. When I call the people you will attend under guard, but after, you will be free to return to your normal positions, and the punishment lifted.” 

He gentled his tone. 

“We will all have to say our goodbyes to Middle Earth. I am sure there are places and people you would bid farewell to.” 

Elrond kept his face set. His eyes were shining when he lifted his bowed head. 

“Thank you high king”. 

…

One could feast on one’s convictions, but they were a meager meal. When naught but the scribe bringing piles of papers and letters and affairs came to see him. When the sun came only through the two small windows. When there was no walk through the arms of the forest in the evening, when the day had been long, when the sounds of faint singing rose to his window and he ached to be down amongst them, to be a part of it. 

The hall of stone was an old training hall. 

Bed and desk had been placed on one end of the room. In the center were targets for the young archers. But they were now onto another aspect of training. 

He sat and stared at them. 

...

“Put it down Elros”

“No!”

He was chasing him across the darkened field, grasses bending beneath their light feet. Maglor had laughed when Elros had asked him for a bow, but Maedhros had instead looked at him thoughtfully. 

Several days later his brother had a bow and had run out to the field when the sun had set. 

A sudden panic had filled him. That his brother was too young and too impetuous and he could not bear the thought of losing him to accident or death. So he had sprung up after him. 

Elros had stopped before they reached the tree line. He was looking up at the sky as he fitted an arrow to his string and loosed it. Elrond knew which star he was fixed on. 

But his brother's face crumpled when the arrow flew straight up and then bent in an arc into the trees. 

“I wanted to send a message to Father. But I shall never have the strength to reach him”

Elrond had nodded, his eyes tracking where in the forest it should have landed. 

“Let us search for it brother, mayhap it has not fallen and the wind will carry it to him for you.” 

They looked far and wide and when Elrond found the errant bolt he tucked the scrawled note into his tunic sleeve and tossed the arrow into the river while his brother's back was still turned so that he did not see it . 

Elros said nothing on the walk back, but his eyes were full of hope. 

…

He woke up on the ground, in pain. 

There was a dull ache behind his eyes. 

He knew the tenderness of the wrenched shoulder, that pain was familiar. Had been since he slammed into the harsh waters, since the guards had wrenched him up onto the horse. Throbbing as Gil-galad had pronounced his judgment. 

He had more than a cursory knowledge of healing. He had done what he could to assuage the pain. But there were no healing herbs or tonics or salves in the hall of stone. And he would not suffer his king for them. 

He had disregarded his authority in front of the elf who had been his hero since he was a young boy, her eyes widening in shock  as he jumped, her warning cry. He had done so in front of his guards and his subjects. 

He had done so because he must. 

Life is pain. 

…

It was not the scribe who found him. It was Galadriel who had spoken to a king who did not need to be asked twice to relax his ban on his most beloved herald. She had pushed open the door to find him there, leaning against the cold wall, shaking. 

In one swift movement she was kneeling beside him. 

“Elrond, return to me” 

He woke then, when she laid a hand on his inflamed shoulder and he recoiled, a sharp cry escaping his lips before he was aware. 

“Stubborn orc” 

She hissed, gently touching her hand to his forehead. 

“How could you not let us know of this?”

“Stubborn orc!”

Maglor had said, wrapping his scraped arm in linen. 

“Why did you not let me know of this?”

…

Eyes filled to the brim with tears. 

“How could you not let me know of this?” 

He had asked Elros, when he had come to him finally after the choosing

They had fought then, bitterly. And then, they had loved one another again. It had taken time. 

…

When he was released from the healing halls, he thought of this. 

When the king sang his song, and the very rings he had bartered his life over were returned. And his king, friend and counsel had each placed the rings on their fingers and he crashed into waves for a second time. These, more loud and treacherous than the first, they threatened to pull him under. All he felt was the angry and betrayed aching - and the pain. 

To live was pain. 

Ai Elros, is it any wonder you chose the gift of Illuvatar? 

But to live was defiance, to live was to persist. To live was to make right the broken shards and make them into a whole. 

He walked away from the Golden tree. He could not bear to look at it any longer. Could not bear to think of what might come of the implications of their choice. What had come of his mother’s choice clutching the Silmaril to her breast. Time alone would tell if he were the fool or they. Still, his mother had made her choice and where there had once been only pain, there was now love again for her memory. 

He would love them again. 

He would forgive. And perhaps also, they could forgive him. 

It would take time. 

He had time.

[flyingcatstiel]

SuperbatWeek 2024 fic recs

Day 7: FREE DAY!!! Superbat? | Superbat! | Superbat

a song came after by susiecarter [T, 4,500 word count]

It requires every ounce of will he can bring to bear to force himself to meet Clark's eyes. Clark looks shocked; the expression is undiluted by anger or dismay, though perhaps he simply hasn't had time to grasp what just happened. His eyes are wide, round, impossibly blue. Color is rising into his cheeks. His mouth is half-open, slack, with the slightest damp shine where— "That was," Bruce makes himself say, and then stops. Christ, what word can he use? What adjective is there that acknowledges his trespass fully? "Inappropriate." Inadequate, but it's the best he can do, and Clark needs to hear something, needs to know Bruce recognizes his own mistake for what it is. "I apologize. I—"

Comment - This fic starts where usually fics with a similar trope end. Bruce is out of the dream world where he lived happily with his husband Clark. For thirty years. Now he's to deal with the cold reality where Clark is not his beloved. Muscle memory is his biggest enemy.

Conflated by PamiGami [T, 31,900 word count]

“Are you sure you’re feeling quite all right, sir? I was but fairly sure the head hadn't been impacted.” “No… no, please. Listen. I’m in his body, but I’m not him. I can prove it.” Ill at ease, Clark rubbed at the back of his head, not stopping to think about the weird sensation of feeling not his own curls, but somebody else’s hair. The man continued to stare at him with piercing and scolding eyes. “I believe you.” He nodded. “Mister Wayne doesn’t say please this early in the morning.”

Comment - Somehow, Batman and Superman have switched their bodies, their apartments and their day jobs. Clark and Bruce are left to figure out what to do and why they're sharing a body with some random civilian. Identity shenanigans, full throttle.

Just a Formality by FabulaRasa [E, 4,600 word count]

Bruce and Clark get married, for reasons. And then they fall in love. Nope, it's not Victorian time travel! I am straight up about this.

Comment - Clark didn't know that some things on this earth could be as painful as kryptonite. Things like fake marriage.

Saudade by liodain [T, 20,400 word count]

It's midsummer, 2006. In the wake of his son's death, Bruce Wayne tries to outrun his grief on a cross-country road trip. When his car breaks down on a dusty road in the heart of Kansas, a friendly stranger stops to lend a hand.

Comment - A soft, melancholy start to a beautiful long distance friendship between a grieving father and a Kansas youth with a heart of gold. Also known as a fic where Bruce and Clark meet before the events of Man of Steel and it changes everything.

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat [M, 76,800 word count]

"Clark. What the hell is this," Lois asks, staring at Clark's Bruceman WIP folder. Clark's first instinct is to fly away, but that would still leave his fic on display for her to see. His second instinct is to blast a hole straight through his laptop screen with his heat vision, which isn't much better. Clark, in an attempt to make some spare cash, unintentionally stumbles into the world of superhero fanfiction, becomes a prolific writer for Gotham's OTP, and tries his best to fend off rival fans who want him to convert to superbat instead.

Comment - Triple identity shenanigans and a love letter to fandom and shippers. This fic has everything - heartbreak, heartache, unrequited feelings in double doses, self sacrifices and near misses, ship wars and RPF. And on top of that, it's the funniest fic I've read across many fandoms, hands down.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter [M, 33,000 word count]

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Comment - When Batman himself is organizing and micromanaging a fake dating narrative to keep their superhero identities secret, what could go wrong? Apparently, everything. It's the worst time of Clark's life, it's the best time. It's a love story.

And last but not least, some spicy superbat fic recs!

Caught In His Gaze by DontStopHerNow [E, 1,500 word count]

This was supposed to be a stakeout to be sure Clark Kent had not lost his mind due to Kryptonite poisoning. Batman gets more of an eyeful than he expected when Clark does what people do alone in their apartments, though. He cannot look away.

What's In A Name? by frozenpotions [E, 15,000 word count]

Clark accidentally walks— or rather, flies in on Bruce enjoying a private moment. He'd probably have an easier time moving past it all if Bruce hadn't been saying Clark's name.

take a pic, strike a pose by shipyrds [E, 5,600 word count]

It’s probably a good thing Clark’s in private, because when he does check his notifications he almost cracks his phone in half. Bruce has sent him a picture. He’s in the suit, in the Batcave, and there’s probably other things happening in the picture, but Clark can’t really see any of those, because Bruce is– posing? Or maybe the camera just caught him like that; maybe he just happened to be catching his cape one-handed, setting off the sinuous curve of his bicep, the Bat logo straining across his chest. -- Bruce sends Clark a pic. Unfortunately, it goes out to some other people too.

My other superbat fic recs are here.

Happy reading!

[ghostkidsblog]

I have a problem of making new fics when my other 5 to 4 fics aren't even finished or near being finished.

If you haven't guessed yet, I'm making a new fic. Yep, I'm adding more stories to the plate.

Yes their will be different songs and a chapter filled with song lyrics in this fic

Why? Why not, I just know I need this idea out of my head and on paper

[afewproblems]

Season 2 Halloween AU Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

A very big thank you to @strangersteddierthings for chatting with me today and being such a great sounding board for the next update!

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

***

"So…I have to ask," Eddie blurts out, cutting through the awkward silence that has fallen between them, "how were you gonna pick up your car before you ran into me?"

"I don't think it counts as running into you, if you were waiting for me Munson," Steve side steps the question expertly, flashing him a strange smirk that seems out of place. It falls after a second and twists into something pained.

"I was hoping Nance would take me," Steve says eventually, his voice soft, "which was pretty stupid in hindsight, 'specially cuz she was counting on me to drive her this morning, which--"

Steve cuts himself, snapping his mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth, he shakes his head and lifts his hand to run roughly through his hair.

"Doesn't matter anymore".

Eddie holds his breath, feeling the conversation begin to shift. It's as though he's stepped onto a tightrope and any wrong move could potentially send him over the edge.

He settles for nodding once, turning the key in the ignition.

Steve sighs and lets himself fall back into his seat, "I know you know already, the whole fucking school does, Billy saw to that," Steve gestures to his face, "say what you really want to ask". 

Eddie's fingers tighten around the wheel as he turns them out of the parking lot, fighting the immediate urge to say, 'why did Miss Priss throw it all away?' 

"You think I believe the rumours that come out of that shithole?" Eddie lies, keeping his eyes on the road this time.

He can feel Steve's unimpressed stare as they continue down mainstreet.

"Right, so you had no clue I was in detention?"

Eddie chews the inside of his cheek to fight the sly grin that begins to creep over his face, "Alright smart ass".

He hazards another glance at Steve as they begin to hit the residential area, he looks so different from the night before.

His limbs are loose, tension free, if it weren't for the heavy bags under Steve's eyes and the nervous tap of his fingers on the passenger door, Eddie would think he was finally relaxed.

"I knew a fight definitely happened, it's Hargrove," Eddie says slowly, carefully weighing his words, "but I typically prefer to hear the whole sordid story from the source before I pass any judgements, ya know?" 

Steve doesn't say anything as they continue driving through residential  the houses getting progressively bigger as they go.

"Did you," Steve pauses and breathes out slowly before shaking his head and lifting his face to meet Eddie's gaze, "is that offer for something stronger still open?" 

Eddie smiles, "I think that can be arranged". 

***

Eddie pulls over beside Tina Cline's house, wincing as the right front tire rolls over the curb and bounces the van as it lands on the street once more, startling a snort out of Steve. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Harrington," Eddie huffs as Steve shoots him a grin.

"Didn't say a word," Steve hums, unbuckling himself from the seat. Eddie watches as he opens the door and hops out. For a moment Eddie worries Steve will pull the same disappearing act from last night but he simply stops beside his car door and motions for Eddie to roll down his window. 

Eddie cracks his door open instead, "window's broken, what?" 

Steve rolls his eyes, "whatever Munson, you know the way? It's north on 5th and--"

"Then two more rights, yeah man," Eddie says with a laugh in his voice, "I dropped you off remember?" 

"Fuck off," Steve huffs out, he's grinning though.

Steve swings the Beemer’s door open and slides in. He turns on the ignition and flinches at the loud burst of music from the stereo, the volume obviously set from the mood of the previous night. 

'I want to know what love is, I want you to show me--'

Steve slams his hand against the console, cutting off the song with a harsh crack. 

The van is parked just behind the Beemer so Eddie can't see Steve's face, but his head drops down onto the wheel for just the briefest moment before he slowly lifts it, turns on his signal and pulls away from the curb. 

***

Steve beats him to the house.

He's getting out of the car, which is parked on the long driveway as Eddie pulls up to the street. 

Eddie hops out of the van, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders, not bothering to lock it. Who would even want his shitty van among the BMWs and Mercedes parked down this street --hell, Eddie could have sworn he saw a Jag three houses down.

Eddie stops short of the lawn. The Harrington house is so different in the light of day, the strange emptiness that seemed to ooze out of the dark windows the night before has disappeared, leaving an ordinary house in its wake. 

"Well?" Steve calls out as he pulls a pair of keys from his back pocket and spins them once on his finger, "you coming or what Munson?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and jogs to catch up to Steve who turns on his heel to stride up the walk. He stuffs the key into the deadbolt and swings one of the double doors inwards before shucking off his sneakers.

No shoes? Fucking rich people man.

Steve must notice Eddie's expression because he blushes and shrugs, "I know, I know, but my parents will be home for Thanksgiving this year so…may as well…"

He gestures around the sterile foyer with a tight smile, as though it explains everything. 

If anything, Eddie has more questions. 

Steve cuts off the thought by clearing his throat, "we should smoke outside, last thing I need is for you to burn a hole in the couch or something".

Eddie steps over the threshold and has to stop himself from whistling, were the ceilings always this high in this place?

He lifts his foot to unlace his left chuck, snorting at the strange little table in the middle of the foyer. A giant vase sits atop it filled with a mixture of what have to be silk flowers --no way they were real. He pulls the shoe off and tosses it to the side before lifting his right foot. 

Eddie never had the greatest balance so he hops back and forth with his right foot in the air before hopping as close as he can to the wall of the foyer and leaning back against it.

He finally gets the knot in his laces undone and throws the sneaker to the floor, dropping his right foot to the hardwood.

Eddie looks up to find Steve staring with a bemused expression on his face, he ignores the wide hazel eyes and removes the backpack from his shoulders -which can't have been helping the balance issue. 

Eddie unzips the top and yanks out the trusty metal lunchbox, sliding a wicked grin into place.

"You said something about outside?"

***

By the time they've settled, facing one another on a couple of pool loungers, the sun has begun to dip low, painting the patio and empty pool a warm glowing copper. It catches Steve's hair, which shines like gold in the dying sunlight, like some Autumnal Fae King--

Eddie wants to slap himself, suddenly thankful for the November wind that cuts through the backyard, forcing him to chillout.

He picks up the grinder from his lunchbox, unscrewing the cap to open it.

"You good with a joint this evening my good King?" 

He pours a handful of a new strain Rick let him try the other day into the grinder and starts twisting. It's not something he would typically share with anyone other than Jeff, but Steve seemed like he could use something a little more special tonight.

Eddie looks up after a beat of silence, "yo, Major Tom, you with me?" 

Steve's face is pinched, tilted towards the empty pool, "please don't call me that," he says quietly.

"Major Tom?"

Steve raises his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze, his mouth cuts a hard line across his face, the typical easy grin it usually houses is gone. 

"King-Steve," he runs a hand through his hair, letting the fingers linger to grip and pull, "I just, that's not who I am anymore, I don't--"

Steve swallows harshly, "that's all anyone could talk about this morning".

He drops his voice and octave, "oh, King Steve is so pussy whipped he let his girl fuck Jonathan Byers before she dumped him".

"Is that what Hargrove said?" Eddie asks quietly as he pours out a portion of weed onto a paper.

Steve shakes his head, "that was Tommy, but that wasn't why I hit him". 

Eddie nods, and lifts the joint to his mouth to run his tongue along the edge of the paper. Steve watches him from the lounger, his eyes follow the movement before he blinks and continues.

"Tommy and I had been best friends since we were five, he uh, he knows a lot about me," Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and chews the nail of his thumb briefly before dropping it back into his lap.

"Stuff I don't tell anyone, stuff he knows will hurt". 

Eddie nods, twisting the joint closed, he can kind of understand that, although the only person in his life that knew him like that was Wayne.  

And Wayne would never hurt him. 

Did Steve really not have anyone else like that in his life, someone he could tell anything to that wouldn't look at him weird or judge him. Someone safe.

"Anyway, Hargrove started in on me after that, but he's been fucking with me for awhile so," Steve shrugs again, "he saw his big opportunity here".

"Hargrove's been messing with you?" Eddie asks sharply as he pours more weed onto another paper. He lifts it and runs his tongue along the edge of the paper before twisting it into shape. When he looks up, Steve's ears have gone slightly pink and he's sitting strangely, slightly hunched and twisted.

"Yeah," Steve says after a moment, he clears his throat and straightens his back, "yeah, it's just been at practice so far, and I thought it was just because he wanted to one up me for my spot but," he shakes his head, "it's getting worse". 

"You know, I have a bit of a reputation around school," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching as Steve freezes and looks at Eddie with wide eyes.

"The Hellfire club is more than just the game we're playing, it's also kind of a sanctuary for kids that don't have anyone to lean on, we look after each other," Eddie continues, ignoring the way Steve relaxes slightly, "you wouldn't need to play or anything but if you need somewhere to sit at lunch now…" 

Steve looks at Eddie for a long time, his expression blank, guarded, "really? Just like that?" 

"Yeah man, besides I get to use my 'Mean and Scary Guy' persona on these fuckers so it's a win-win for me".

Steve grins, raising one skeptical eyebrow, "mean and scary?"

Eddie bristles a little bit at the questioning tone in Steve's voice and can't quite swallow the urge to snarl, "yeah I mean you looked plenty scared of the town freak yesterday". 

Steve winces and immediately starts to shake his head, inching forward in his seat so he's even closer to Eddie, their knees are almost touching.

"That's not, I wasn't," he stops and takes a deep breath, "I was upset about Nancy and it was so dark outside, the trees--"

"You afraid of the dark Harrington?" Eddie cuts him off, the lingering irritation still simmers in his voice as he coos. 

Steve just looks at him, there's something strange about the haunted expression on his face that makes the hair on the back of Eddie's arms stand on end. 

"Things happen in the dark, in the woods," Steve says softly, his eyes drift to the empty pool again. 

Eddie opens his mouth to ask Steve what the hell he means by that, when a voice shouts across the yard.

"Steve? STEVE?!" 

The sound of someone running through the grass has them both of their feet, the joints forgotten on the pool loungers. 

"Dustin?" 

A kid, he can't be more than twelve or thirteen, skids into the porchlight that has replaced the last copper rays of evening light, the sun fully set by now. The kid's blue eyes are wide underneath a mop of curly hair and hat, he's breathing hard.

"I need your help".

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986 @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson

Part Five

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic

[emily-mooon]

So honey take me by the hand, and we can sign some papers

Forget the invitations, floral arrangements, and breadmakers!

[elkaseltzer]

"Was Jacques-Louis David in Hell? Could he be commissioned to paint 'The Death of the Radio Demon' in place of Marat?"

maybe he cant BUT I CAN!!!!!!!!!

jk this is a gift not a com

based off of part 8 of We Should've Been Enemies by @soot-and-salt

[dazesanddoodles]

every house needs some music!

[the-acid-pear]

I love thinking of Jack's relationship with Fredbear as catholic devotion esp when his relationship with him is Bad. Something about having met god and being an atheist because you hate him, you know? Also so I have more songs to think of Jack to, yeah.

[bekkahco]

What if I tell you I'm working on a YeeHan fic where I'm just using Cassidy to vent about my homesickness abd the fact I want to go home and am but also REALLY don't

[katyobsesses]

I think my glee obsession is returning in full force

[bi-bats]

He turns to Jason, pressing his back into the counter as he locks eyes with the mug in his hand. The counter digs into his back like a tether.

Tim reaches a hand out, and Jason has to take a half step forward to press it into his open palm. He stares into the coffee, knowing that if he takes a sip, it’ll be made exactly how he likes it. His eyes lose focus again, two mugs, two hands.

“Darlin’—”

When Tim interrupts him, it isn’t a command. Jason wouldn’t have listened even if it was. His words come out soft, quiet. A plea.

“—Don’t.”

“We need to talk,” Jason says, just as softly.

-

Day 3 of jaytimweek is up!!! Prompt: Thought I lost you

[sexynetra]

What if instead of finishing all my WIPS that I’m hoping to have out by the end of the year I started writing another Drabble about the fallout of a collapsing relationship and infidelity. Hm. What if 🤔 💭 ✍️