#little tiny ficlet for the vibes

[frownyalfred]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Lois Lane Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane Additional Tags: Platonic Relationships, Weddings, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Clark Kent is Superman, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, Identity Issues, minor ones at least, Friendship, me holding onto this fic and hoisting it up in the air:, I CAN WRITE PLATONIC BRUCE AND CLARK I SWEAR, BAMF Lois Lane, the author is jewish and doesn't fully understand churches, and that's ok, is it really a wedding if you don't have a minor crisis about immortality, Bruce Wayne ships Clois, no beta we die like jason todd Summary:

“I’m going to lose her,” he says, the words spilling from his lips as soon as Bruce’s eyes meet his, “I’m going to outlive her. Hell, Bruce, I might outlive our kids. We don’t even know if we can--”

“Clark,” Bruce says.

“--and I don’t really think that’s fair to her, you know?” Clark says, chest heaving, “I mean, maybe she won’t. Maybe we’ll die on a mission and she’ll never know what happened or where I was. Just waiting and I can’t do that to --”

“Kal-El.”

Kal-El snaps to attention, the words dying in his throat. He stares at Batman, spine rigid and hands at his sides. Steady heartbeat, even breaths. Waiting.

[fiona-fififi]

Please may I have "Your hands are warm."?

Picture me asking like this btw

Well, this took me absolutely forever, but here's a silly little something that is basically just exclusively Buckley-Diaz family fluff. I know this probably is not what you had in mind, but this is where it took me. Hopefully, it's something. 💚

—

Title: Warmth

Rating: G

Fandom: 9-1-1

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Summary: A tiny little fluffy snapshot of a Buckley-Diaz family camping trip and a chilly night out by the campfire. (Just fyi, the whole camping thing is mostly just vibes, I never actually really incorporated it in any significant way.)

Notes: The prompt "Your hands are warm" is from this list of Dialogue and “Scenario” Prompts.

Buckley-Diaz family, established relationship, fluff, ficlet, prompt fill

—

Read on Ao3

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“Mmm, stay?” Eddie requests, snuggling down into the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and nuzzling into Buck's touch. “Your hands are warm.”

Buck chuckles at that, shifting his hands from Eddie's neck to cup his jaw and tilt his chin back gently, leaning over until they're practically nose to nose. “Don't you think maybe it's time to head inside? You're freezing.”

“Can't,” Eddie teases, grinning up at him with that silly smile Buck adores, “Chris isn't ready to head in yet.”

“Do not drag me into this,” Christopher argues from his spot by the fire. When Buck glances up at him, he is very obviously avoiding even a glance in their direction, and Buck can't help but snort a laugh.

“Your excuse just sold you out,” Buck teases, fingers still against Eddie's jaw. Eddie grins, big and goofy, and Buck can't help but tilt his chin back a little further until he can press a kiss to that pretty mouth.

“Mmm,” Eddie murmurs through a grin as they part, lips so close they brush Buck's as he speaks, “your lips are warm, too.” Buck huffs a laugh against Eddie's mouth at that as Eddie's grin grows and Buck tries to turn it back into a kiss, even as they both succumb to ridiculous giggles. 

“Ew.” Christopher's voice breaks their spell, the disgust dripping from his tone written all over his face in the scrunch of his nose and the grimace of his mouth. “NO.” He commands, as he launches a marshmallow at Eddie's head in response to their sappy display. It nails him directly in the nose, bouncing off both of them before it falls to their feet.

Eddie and Buck both only manage to dissolve into further giggles in response, Buck's shoulders shaking enough that he has to bury his face in the crook of Eddie's neck to keep himself upright. 

Christopher groans in annoyance and rolls his eyes. “Next time, I'm staying home,” he threatens, with a shake of his head, before he busies himself loading another marshmallow onto the roasting stick in his hand.

Buck barks a laugh at that, forever charmed by Christopher's teasing. “Oh, please, you're having a ball,” he counters, all smiles and red cheeks from some combination of the chill in the air and the warmth in his chest.

“I was until you started making out in front of my marshmallows,” Christopher shoots back, face serious as stone.

Buck full-body cackles in response, throwing his head back and straightening up in the process, and Christopher's face breaks into a grin at that.

Eddie grumbles, Buck's warmth suddenly too far away, and tugs at his arms to bring him closer again. Buck grins, a big, happy smile that stretches wide as he lets Eddie guide him back until he's draped over Eddie's shoulders, and Eddie's wrapping Buck's arms up under the blanket he's still cozied up under. Buck gives him a squeeze, and Eddie lets a hand grip tight to Buck's forearm, leaning back into him with a pleasant shiver. Buck presses a surreptitious little kiss to Eddie's temple, soft smile still dancing on his mouth. 

“Okay, kid,” Buck announces after a few pleasant moments of quiet snuggling, keeping himself draped around Eddie, “finish that one up, and then it's time to head inside. Don't want your dad to freeze.”

Christopher gives him a side eye, but he's very clearly trying to hide a grin, and Buck can't help the way his heart swells at just how well they all fit. He's not sure he'll ever get over just how much happiness their little family brings him.

Eddie, always the mind reader, squeezes his arm again to draw his attention, and when Buck shifts to meet his gaze, Eddie is giving him that soft smile Buck loves so much. “I love you,” Eddie mouths, barely any sound to avoid a scolding from Christopher, and Buck's own smile turns soft again for Eddie as he leans in to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Love you, too,” Buck promises, whisper quiet, nuzzling back into Eddie's warmth as they watch Christopher continue to pretend to ignore them.

Buck's not sure he's ever been happier. 

—

[clockwayswrites]

Flashfics 1 Masterpost!

Ship, Color, Plant

Original Post CLOSED

As you can see, I asked for:

-A Danny + DC ship (/ or &) which is self explanatory.

-A color from the rainbow (roygbiv). Before anyone picked I assigned a topic to each color based on something that color evoked for me! I'm not going to lie, I didn't think too hard on these lol.

Red- fighting

Orange - trick or treat

Yellow - food/meal

Green - eldritch

Blue - sleep(y)

Indigo - smooches/cuddles

Violet - angst (violent violet)

(For those curious: 1R, 3O, 1Y, 2G, 4B, 1I, 4V)

-A plant of some type. The plant is a little vague, but it was there to provide a hook of some sort- a mood or color palette or texture. Basically the plant is the vibe!

(If anyone else wants to use this idea process (or parts of it) to do prompts themselves, feel free!)

Goal was to stay short and quick with these! Here are all the links and a bit of my thought process under the cut! The reasoning is likely spoilery for the pieces, so you might want to read the ficlet first!

Danny/Jason, Indigo, False Indigo

Danny/Jason, Yellow, Dandelions

Smooch + False Indigo just had to be fake dating! It was a must. I admittedly have more thoughts on this one than a ficlet warrants...

Danny/Tim, Violet, Iris

Food/Meal. Dandelions are seen as just weeds in the US, but actually from their roots to leaves to flowers have a ton of uses! So I wanted there to be a restaurant that was dubious from the outside, but had amazing food.

Danny & Billy Batson, Orange, Prickly Pear

Angst. I love irises. The colors of traditional purple iris with that spot of yellow reminds me of dusk. Dusk feels like an ending so we went with a dramatic deadline!

Danny/Bruce, Blue, Blue Lily

Trick or Treat. Danny brings Billy food as they plot. For the plant a prickly pear is good eating, but... well, prickly, so I went with a clear friendship with some underlying contentiousness.

Danny & Steph Brown, Violet, Violets

Sleepy. A blue lily looks a little scattered, even frayed, but it still has a lovely soft color. It was perfect for a Bruce who's trying to hard and a soft moment. (Great fun to finally write this ship.)

Danny & Arthur Curry (Aquaman, Orin), Blue, Ruby Slipper Succulent

Angst. Purple bruises clustered together like violet flowers came to mind right away- especially for violent violets. Two spirited heroes in over their heads...

Danny/Jason, Orange, Apricot Tree

Sleepy- went with exhausted here. The succulents reminded me both of the crown of fire but also coral, so I really wanted to focus on Danny visiting Arthur/Orin. As both half human kings, I thought that it could be nice to set up a mentor idea.

Danny/Stephanie, Violet, Orchids

Trick or Treat. I struggled a bit at first but had the idea of Danny throwing apricots at Danny- using the plant literally for once! Luckily the ficlet found it's way. (Ty Moku for letting me bounce ideas off of you.)

Danny/Duke, Blue, Sage

Angst that I had to make different from the other angst with these two! I leaned into the other worldliness of orchids and their bright bold colors... and what that could mean as a ghost.

Danny/Zatanna, Orange, Amaryllis Belladonna

Sleep. Sage is nice and fuzzy so first take away was the texture, but it's also an herb and so we got to sick fic! Just a soft little moment for these two and a little gator.

Danny (Phantom) & Captain Marvel, Green, Wildflowers

Trick or treat. Well, I had to do a magic show with that topic. The flowers are very soft so wanted something sappy. But with the name belladonna, even if it's not those belladonnas, had to have tiny bit of a threat or mystery.

Danny/Jason, Red, Bonsai

Eldritch. Wildflowers made me think of an uncontrollable Phantom and what would cause that and, well, look I know this isn't the angst color but... combined with the prompter very specifically using Phantom and Capetian Marvel it seemed to fit.

Danny/Jason, Blue, Sunflowers

Fight! I was first thinking of a mistaken identity brawl, but that didn't fit bonsai at all. Then I thought it needed to be delicate, but if you've ever watched a master work with bonsai, they are anything but delicate. So then we got to this metaphor!

Danny/Bart, Green, Dahlia

Sleepy. Gonna be honest here, sunflowers = sun was where my brain went right away lol. I also wanted an overall happy and playful feel!

Eldritch. Dahlia are the orbs of flowers that are fractal so a biblically accurate Danny seemed like a place to go! I like to think thanks to time travel Bart and Danny had different first meetings with each other, and none of it in the current time.

Danny/Jason, Violet, Forget-me-not

Angst. How could I not do a death scene with for forget-me-nots? Moku and I had chatted more about the apricot one, and Danny visiting the grave, so I felt this had to tie into that! At least this way you all know it has a happy end?

[triniteevee]

Pacify Him

(arven x reader ficlet)

(notes: kinda crackfic, less romantic, mostly humorous, academy shenanigans, reader and arven are adults, perspective shift but no first person pov lol; warnings: suggestive themes, spoilers re: clavell)

tagging @superstition13 and @wyverndollface96 for requesting and @snartalacarte for sending in that ask about arven content (✧∀✧)/

“It’s not what it looks like!” is quite possibly the worst thing you could have said in this situation.

Fortunately, it was not what you said.

Unfortunately, it was what Arven said.

A loud choking noise that could best be described as a mightyena’s laugh escapes Dendra. The rest of the professors whip their heads in her direction, which gives you a quick second to spare an incredulous look at Arven.

He returns a look that conveys, ‘I panicked.’

Not that what you two were doing goes against academy rules. There may have been some light… brawling, but neither of you really punched or kicked the other. Your little disagreement just escalated a tiny wee bit. It definitely did not require such an audience.

It went like this.

In preparation for midterms, the two of you commandeered the Home Ec room during free period. Arven, in particular, had been anxious to improve on his Meal Points. Within the first five minutes of your session, you had made one too many jokes at your classmate’s expense, and he retaliated by raising your ingredients above his head. In an attempt to secure your precious prosciutto, you may have tickled his surprisingly sensitive sides. With his free hand, he pushes you away in the face, and vision obscured, you wildly flail your arms. You’re not entirely sure with the details, but somehow you found yourself laying with your back flat against the tile floors caged between Arven’s arms.

Nurse Miriam almost sounds innocent, but you’ve hung out with her enough times to detect the twinkle in her eye. “What does it look like?”

Dendra cackles.

With that, Director Clavell ushers out the rest of the staff, save Professor Jacq. An almost strict parental aura emanates from the normally stoic man. Clavell turns his steely gaze at Arven which makes your companion honest-to-Arceus flinch. The gaze you’re given is somehow kinder.

“I know and trust that you two are sensible adults. I respect whatever choices you make regarding pursuing relations…,” he coughs. “Err- relationships.” You stifle a groan, and Arven stiffens in fear beside you. “However!” Clavell’s voice pitches up. “We have to respect that this is an institution for learning. Kindly display some decorum.” Almost like an afterthought, he adds, “Your dorm rooms are yours to use as you please.”

You’re nodding in an attempt to get him to move things quicker, but Arven would not shut his trap as word vomit after word vomit of “That’s not what—,” and “I would never—,” leaves his mouth.

This just serves to further incense Clavell. “Young man, do you see me a fool?”

The poor backtracking from Arven draws a sliver of pity from you, and you decide to put him out of his misery.

“Clive, my man.” Arven looks at you like you had gone absolutely mad, but Clavell stares curiously. “Me and this dude weren’t boning in here. Nor were we planning on boning.” The director has a poker face on, but you can see all his hostility earlier has vanished. “Bro, you know I’m a bit of a rebel — that’s why you and I vibe — but I would never do something so shameless.”

Arven gapes like a magikarp at the two of you. You’re patting the Director’s shoulder like you were best buds. The man is nodding enthusiastically, and whispering, “I see,” over and over again.

He flushes when you look back to send a quick wink, before sharing some (Oh, Arceus) ‘hot goss’ with Clavell— or Clive. He honestly didn’t know anymore.

A tap on his shoulder reminds him of another presence in the room. Professor Jacq is smiling sheepishly, Arven could only offer a grimace in return. The man’s next words slightly tempt Arven to just drop out of the academy forever.

“Misunderstanding aside. If either of you have any questions, remember that I’m not only your thesis advisor, but also a Biology professor.”

Unintentionally going in for the kill, he offhandedly mentions, “Oh, and Miriam texted me to remind you the nurse’s office has protection. Just ask.”

Right on cue, Arven realizes he had just stepped on some ham. Right. A deep sigh leaves him. Somehow, everyone seems to think you and Arven were making more than just sandwiches.

While picking up wasted ingredients, he flushes when he recalls how he had accidentally pinned you on the floor. The white tiles shine mockingly up at him. He focuses his gaze on the occasional pop of color alerting him of scattered bell peppers. He tries not to listen too attentively to your voice as you excitedly swap stories with Clavell and Jacq.

You were always good at that.

Winning over people naturally, that people knew who you were even before you met them. He was, after all, one of those people. Everyone knew who you were, and they all wanted to get to know you. Yet, despite that, you still pay attention to him. You could, by all accounts, have the more powerful and influential classmates eating at the palm of your hand, but here you are in an almost empty classroom essentially wasting time because he asked you to be here.

“Alrighty, y’all. Respectfully, get out! We got sandwiches to make, and a class to pass!”

Who even are you? Speaking to the staff in such a manner would have any other student marched down the steps of the academy, but the two older men simply jovially chuckle. Arven feels himself smile despite attempting to restrain it.

You walk back to your table, just as Arven is getting up. You offer him your hand, which he demurely accepts.

Smiling, you ask him, “What were we making again?”

He snorts. “Well according to the staff groupchat, a scene.”

You let out an even less dignified snort which draws a chuckle from your friend. Soon enough, you’re both deep in belly laughs to the point of tears.

Professor Saguaro doesn’t know what to do with himself upon returning and finding his two students heaving, and a table full of unused ingredients. A lone plated piece of bread sitting pathetically in the middle.

When Arven gets called out in class for not knowing the very thing you were meant to tutor him on, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He feels you kick him in the side from your seat. Nope. He does not mind at all.

[sindirimba]

hii i have another prompt ficlet. many many thank yous to @saturrain for sending me this one 🖤

From the 101 romantic/mildly spicy prompts for brief fic snippets, I can specify between #13 or #92, but can u do something for BoN inspired of what he said in the video https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMr1QQ3ja/

you should watch that video because it's cute as hell and definitely inspired the vibe of this. as did those numbered prompts!:

13 Kiss After Kiss After Kiss 92 Kisses All Over

---

Finally, finally, the plane door opened and people began filing out, and he patted the phone in his shirt pocket by instinct and started walking to meet her midway across the field. The moment he saw her, wearing an orange coat and hauling her backpack over her shoulder and reminding him of spring’s very first blooms peeking out to face the sun, he hurried a little more.

When they were a few meters apart she broke into a grin, and then moments later she leapt into his arms and hugged him with all her might, making him laugh helplessly, stumbling only slightly from the impact. She really had a knack for embodying her entire self in all that she did, he thought.

“Hey!” she dropped back down to her feet, beaming at him, letting him take the pack off her back. “You didn’t have to wait outside for me, Book.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, smiling as they turned to head back toward the tiny airport she’d flown into. “Good flight?”

“Yeah, alright.” She leaned into his side, knocking him a little off balance again. He liked it. “Glad to be back on solid ground. Glad to start our vacaa-aation,” she sing-songed her words, making him feel warm all over. The chill in the air had disappeared the moment he’d seen her step off the plane, honestly. “You ready to build so many snowmen?”

“I think so,” he said with a slight laugh. “More interested in the fireplace, but...”

“Yeah,” she laughed too.

The ride from the airport to their little cabin in the mountains was long enough for her to tell him about her trip, to talk about being excited to learn how to snowboard, to just talk to him and fill his recently fairly solitary existence with life and joy.

Nile’d said he was in his hermit era, a phrasing he’d been incredibly amused by and had thought about often as he’d settled temporarily into an exceedingly mundane life the past few months. Just to remember what it was like, he supposed. To try to get a grip on himself and his complicated and complicating feelings. But Nile, she wasn’t content to let him be a hermit forever, and he’d barely go a few days before hearing from her, by phone usually and by postcard, occasionally. And now, she’d convinced him to take a break from sunny hot Alpes-de-Haute-Provence to go freeze up on a mountain with her.

He’d definitely frozen to death in worse circumstances.

Once they got to the cabin, they cleaned a little, got comfortable, settled in. They’d stopped on the way to get provisions, and so after the settling into the kitchen he went to work on dinner.

He was washing up in the sink when he heard her footsteps behind him, and he glanced over to see her smile as she came over to join him. “Ah, I thought you’d take a nap,” he said, drying his hands, then nodding toward the oven now cooking their night’s meal. “It’ll be a while before food’s ready.”

“Yeah, I tried,” she said, turning toward him, leaning her hip against the counter. “Couldn’t settle down really, I was thinking too much.”

“Oh?” He turned toward her, too, wondering about the expression on her face, the softness in her eyes. “Nothing bad?”

“Nothing bad,” she said with a smile. “Smells good in here.” He ducked his head in thanks, and started to move around her to the fridge for drinks. But she paused him with a hand on his arm, and he met her eyes again. “Y’know I... I really did miss you, Book.”

His concern dampened, and he felt himself smile. “Missed you too.” He paused, words catching on his tongue. What more could he even say? She deserved his honesty but he struggled with it. “I missed you.”

She curled her fingers around the sleeve of his shirt, holding instead of simply pausing now. The kitchen was warm from the oven, even warmer there between them. He thought of their first meeting so long ago, the way he could barely seem to fathom her existence. He still felt like that now, a little.

“And, uh, I’m glad you agreed to come up here with me,” she continued, and he nodded once. As if he could have or wanted to say no to her. “Because it makes everything a lot easier. You know?”

He didn’t. “Easier?”

“Yeah,” she said, half-grinning, and she tugged on his arm, easily pulling him closer. His throat felt suddenly dry. “If the next time we met up was with the others, I was gonna have to make a scene and I really don’t want to do that.”

He couldn’t even begin to start questioning what she meant by that. It didn’t matter. She leaned in, eyes so warm and dark and soft, and then she kissed him. He let out a harsh breath, surprised. Electrified. He brought his hands up, framing her face between his palms, returning her kiss with all the urgency and hunger he could while still standing on his own two feet. She wrapped her arms around him, lips curving into a beautiful smile as the kiss continued on and on and on. He’d imagined this so often, craved it and feared it, and now it was no real shock that the reality of it left him frankly rather brainless.

He broke from her lips, kissed the corners of her mouth, her cheek, beside her eye, her temple, back down to her mouth, and she laughed, buried her fingers in his hair, walking him backwards until his back hit the wall. He grinned, pulling back only far enough that he could see her whole face again, her big eyes, her smile. The mole by her mouth, the little curls of hair next to her ears. “Nile.”

“Was hoping you’d react like that,” she said softly, teasing him, delighting him. He kissed her. She laughed. “See? This would have been way worse with everyone else around.” He laughed too, and then had to kiss her, again and again and again.

“You’re right,” he told her, stroking his thumb over her cheek, her brow, feeling marvelled. She cupped the back of his neck, leaned forward again to brush her lips over his, and he pulled her ever closer. Another kiss and another one, and in between each kiss, she laughed. Music to his ears, and she had him laughing with her, just from sheer overwhelming joy. Sheer hypnotism, or maybe some kind of magic that he hadn’t felt in so very long. What a feeling, he thought, and kissed her again.

[cricketnationrise]

time: 1.31am (the time my dog woke me up today by jumping in my bed😅), location: Kensington palace , character: David and Alex please 🙏🏾 🐶, song lyric for vibes, discard if you don't like: "feels so good to be alive" 🌅 (from Beyonce's Be Alive Oscar performance 🎾💚🌻)

my ao3 is this same name but with underscores (the_marathon_continues )

no pressure if you can't get to this I'm sure you're inundated with requests!

*mushu voice* I LIVE hello i am in a two week lull of normal work hours so i have both time and brain space after a freaking month to write more and your prompt was the next at bat! i hadn't seen the oscars performance so that was cool to look up and see. i hope you love this little moment with my favorite boy. and alex.

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

1:31am, kensington

Henry’s stuck at some royal event, one that Alex wasn’t invited to attend, and Alex is fucking bored. He can’t sit still enough to watch something, there’s no chores to do since he’s stuck in Kensington waiting for Henry to come back, and he doesn’t have any schoolwork for once. And yes, it’s after one in the morning, but he certainly isn’t sleeping. It’s only when David pads into the monstrosity that is Henry’s gilded bedroom, that Alex’s brain lights up with glee.

A quick rummage through Henry’s closet (oh, the irony) and a text conference with Bea, Nora, and June, and Alex has a plan. David’s a good sport through all of the outfits Alex puts him in, placidly allowing the infringement upon his dignity and obligingly staying still for the camera. 

He starts with a black bow tie collar Henry had lying around and fashions two shirt cuffs out of an old white shirt of Henry’s to go around David’s front legs. A strategically placed pistol emoji on the most debonair picture of David and the tribute to Arthur as James Bond is sent off to the group chat. That one’s just for the family's eyes.

Alex finds giant sparkly sunglasses shaped like flowers (left behind by Pez, surely) and slaps a super bright filter on top. He posts it to Instagram with the caption Elton Paws. He spends way too long making a black vest, white shirt, and black belt for David, wanting to get as close to the iconic look as possible. David’s unimpressed face looks out from the photo with the caption I’ve got a bad feeling about this. A cardigan from one of Bea’s old dolls and David’s own booties for cold days sitting next to him complete the Mr. Rogers costume. Please won’t you be my neighbor? With a fit of giggles, he removes the booties from the shot, adds the tiny crown Henry pretends he didn’t buy for his dog and takes another photo. He adds a photo of Henry in a similar cardigan as the second photo. The third photo on the post is just the meme from The Office where Pam says ‘they’re the same picture.’” Alex spends another ten minutes color washing a normal picture of David with bright purple, solely so he can make a Courage the Cowardly Dog joke.

He doesn’t bother checking any of the comments, fuck if people think he’s being ridiculous. Alex built this life; he’s found his person (and his dog). He managed to create something beautiful for himself all on his own, despite being thrust into the public eye. He and Henry came out the other side of the leak with their relationship and futures intact and shining brighter than ever. They’ve spent long enough putting on their best faces in public—it’s about time people remembered that he’s twenty-fucking-three. If he can’t dress his dog up in ridiculous costumes and post them on the internet like everyone else on the fucking planet, then what is the world coming to?

And alex is so fucking proud of his life, both separate and intertwined with Henry’s. They can weather any storm and forget anyone who says their relationship isn’t what love looks like. Someday, they won’t have to split their lives over two continents. Someday, it’ll be a given, an if/then statement: If Henry, then Alex. They’ve been fighting for something resembling normalcy since way before the emails leaked. They’ve dealt with depression and being outed, with a long-awaited ADHD diagnosis and the pressures of their families and countries. They’ve hustled and worked and bent over backwards for the public for years. If the general population has a problem with them occasionally being ridiculous about their pet? Fuck ‘em.

It feels amazing to be goofy, to act like the young adult he is, to not run every single tidbit by a publicist or handler, to do something dumb with his dog because he misses his boyfriend. So Alex will keep on dressing David up in whatever strikes his fancy and posting the results. If nothing else, Henry will love the results.

an instagram post: 

[pic of david in a ridiculous costume, alex beaming with tongue out and peace signs while he holds david up for a selfie]  when dad is away, we will play.

[echo-bleu]

on that tree i'll carve your name for the WIP Game!

(I mean how could I change anything but one of the fics that had a TAD lyrics <3)

Haha why am I not surprised?

on that tree I'll carve your name is a series (so far with only one posted fic plus a tiny ficlet), a Silmarillion modern AU centering mostly on a Russingon QPR. Since you picked it from its title, I'll take the opportunity so talk about why that title, and thus about the backstory!

I love that song a lot (Secret Worlds by The Amazing Devil) and that's kind of the vibe that I was going for with this version of Russingon. They more or less grew up together, they're only about two years apart in age and Fingon had a massive crush on Maedhros as a teen, but they were first best friends. Maedhros was a great help to Fingon when he came out as trans and his father was... not great about it, and Fingon was a good support for Maedhros when he started developing anxiety issues.

Then the Accident happened—Maedhros was driving a (slightly underage) drunk Fingon back from a party and they got into a car accident. Fingon saved Maedhros from bleeding out but no one could save his hand. Fingon himself was only lightly injured, but misunderstandings happened and Maedhros, in the middle of his grief and developing PTSD, convinced himself that it was his fault and that he was bad for Fingon. That led him to pushing him away, and they didn't see each other again for nearly a decade.

I like this dynamic of Maedhros being willing to do absolutely anything for Fingon except what would actually be healthy (communicating). Once they reconnect, Maedhros has had some years of therapy and he's better about it, though his self-worth is still not top-notch.

I don't know if I'll write a full fic about this part of their lives, I think it will mostly be flashbacks and subtext. I have so much background and plot outline for this series and so little written 😭 I spent a lot more time daydreaming about it than actually writing it.

[cajunandfire]

/post/723025843614629888/its-a-breezy-and-sunny-sunday-morning-here-i

You just had to go and inspire me huh! Have a tiny little ficlet based on your post. <3 x Belle

-

There was something endearing, 47 thought to himself as he washed the outside of the large windows of the safehouse, about Diana Burnwood barefooted in a worn tee and yoga leggings, cleaning the kitchen countertops. He could tell she was quietly singing along to the music, a playlist he had picked simply because of its title: happy vibes. She stood on her toes to reach the top of the cabinet fronts, wiping them down with a grey microfibre cloth while he performed a similar motion on the glass of the final window. 

The early morning sunlight made the entire façade of the house sparkle and shimmer, and 47 was reminded of the glaze on the apple pie in the oven. It should be about ready now. 

When 47 entered through the sliding glass side door, Diana didn't notice his presence, still singing the words to a song he didn't recognise. Smiling, he made his way over to her and carefully spun her around so he could kiss her. She responded with a soft gasp and the gentle smack of the wet cloth against his neck. 

"Ready for pie?" he asked, nodding towards the oven. A broad smile broke out on Diana's face.

"I thought you'd never ask. I'll make tea. Where do you want to sit?"

"The new chairs," 47 decided.

"Marvellous idea. I'll meet you there." 

This is marvelous!! Thank you 😭

[firstelevens]

#71 and sambucky for the spotify wrapped ficlet?

71. "Wings" by Little Mix

also on AO3

In the weird, funhouse mirror version of life that Sam lives these days, Wakanda has become something of a constant.

It’s not so much that they go there regularly–this is only the third time in two years–but they rarely linger anywhere else long enough for familiarity to set in.

Usually, that’s a good thing: if there’s always something to worry about and always someone to look out for, then Sam can’t think too hard about how he’s feeling. If Sam can’t think too hard about how he’s feeling, then he doesn’t have to contend with his increasingly frequent impulse to just…surrender himself at the nearest American embassy and hope that they give him the same deal they gave to Scott and Clint.

(It’s the impossibility of that last part that keeps him from going through with it, most days.)

They don’t have to constantly look over their shoulders in Wakanda, though, which means that Sam’s brain has time to meander to all the places it shouldn’t. He never gives much thought to the date when they’re hopping from place to place, but he’d caught sight of it on the newspaper this morning and felt a pang in his chest.

He’d done the math instinctively: Cass had been born on November 17th, 2012, which meant that today was his fifth birthday. AJ, meanwhile, was a June baby. He’d been bright-eyed and tiny when Sam last saw him, near-constantly chattering in his own baby babble. He’d be old enough to be toddling around the house by now, probably following his brother around everywhere the way Sarah had followed Sam.

There had been nothing that Sam wanted to do more at that moment than just retreat to their rooms and curl into a ball under the covers, to just keep the world at bay until the sudden and terrible ache in his chest eased at least a little. His parents had raised him better than that, though, and the Wakandans had given him and the others considerably more grace than they deserved, so he’d gone to all the meetings and discussions he was invited to, had walked the gardens and attended meals when asked.

By evening, the ache still sits in his chest like a stone, and he’s not sure how much good grace he has left in him. He’s on the couch, biding his time until he can disappear off to sleep without the others realizing that something is wrong.

In the next room, he can hear Nat offering her probably unsolicited opinion on Steve’s outfit–“You’re an artist, Rogers. How are you this afraid of color?”–and Steve drily replying that colors had been invented after he went into the ice.

They’re supposed to be King T’Challa’s guests at an art show in the city, something about new voices and their takes on the union of art and engineering. Back in the non-funhouse-mirror version of Sam’s life, it’s the exact kind of night out that he would have appreciated, maybe even taken a date to.

He’s begged off for tonight, making noise about jet lag and wanting to get some sleep when he can. Steve had tried to convince him to come along anyway, but Nat hadn’t pushed, just nodded with that too-sharp look in her eyes.

Sam’s got the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes when he hears the door open. He looks up, wondering if Steve and Nat are heading out, but it’s just Bucky, gently pressing the door shut behind him.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. “You look terrible.”

They’ve graduated to first names and, apparently, to blunt honesty. Sam can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed; he’s pretty sure that’s dead-on.

“Thanks,” Sam says flatly. “You’re a little underdressed for a royal art show. Or have you just fully committed to the grunge vibe?”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together, and for a second he opens his mouth like he’s going to ask a question. Then, with a little shake of his head, he just says, “I’m not going; I’ve already seen most of the pieces.”

“What are you, moonlighting as a curator now?”

“Only when the goats have gone to sleep for the night.”

Sam feels his lips twitch up into what might be his first real smile of the day.

“I saw a lot of the pieces come together, is all. Princess Shuri’s got a lab in the city that the artists were working out of. I went there a few times when they were…” Bucky trails off, gesturing to the shiny new vibranium cap on his left shoulder. 

He nods. “You headed home? I’m sure those goats are missing you something awful.”

“Yeah, they get real antsy if I don’t read them a bedtime story,” says Bucky.

Sam wouldn’t put it past him at this point. They’d gone out to visit Bucky and his new charges yesterday, and while Steve had sketched the herd and Nat watched the older goats, Sam had kept his eye on the littlest one. He’d thought he was going to prevent some great escape as it wriggled past the fence, but as it turned out, all that the baby had wanted to do was follow Bucky around as he took care of his chores. It stayed on his heels, but ducked away whenever he turned his head. Bucky pretended not to notice, but Sam had seen him dropping little flowers for the goat to snack on. 

It’s quiet for a bit, and Bucky’s eyebrows are furrowed again.

“Did you want me to grab Steve?” asks Sam. “I think he and Nat are about to head out. She just spent the last forty minutes trying to wrangle him into a green jacket, but you know he’s going to somehow manage to wear beige in the end.”

From the other room, although muffled as if by fabric, Sam hears a faint, “Hey!” from Steve.

“Am I wrong, though?” he calls out over his shoulder, before turning back to Bucky. “I can-”

But that’s as far as he gets, because then Bucky is blurting, “Steve said you do your own repairs on your wings?”

Sam feels his eyes go a little bit wide. “I- what?”

Bucky doesn’t speak again, just looks back at Sam, equally wide-eyed, and gestures vaguely like that’s supposed to clarify anything. There’s no way Sam’s going to get anything more out of him without answering first.

“Just a little maintenance after missions,” he says. He’s not sure why he’s downplaying it. They haven’t been able to do much more than basic upkeep while they’re on the run, but Sam knows those wings inside and out, had insisted on hovering over Tony’s shoulder and quibbling over every modification until he knew the why and how of it. The princess had offered to take a look at them when they landed, but Sam hadn’t been able to bring himself to say yes. “Why?”

“I heard that they took some damage in that firefight in Prague,” Bucky says. He’s not quite looking at Sam, fidgeting a little with the hem of his shirt as he pauses for a long moment. “There’s a room in the south wing. Used to be Princess Shuri’s schoolroom.”

Sam has the stray, hysterical thought that this is the weirdest way he’s ever been propositioned, but he pushes that down and just nods instead.

“It’s a workshop now. Guests are welcome to use it,” says Bucky, finally meeting Sam’s eyes. “You could work on the wings there. If, uh- if you wanted to.”

“Oh,” says Sam. The wingpack has been sitting in the corner all day, mostly ignored, but suddenly Sam’s hands are itching to take the wings apart properly again. 

He stands, and he doesn’t need to do more than nod before Bucky is leading the way out of their quarters and down the hall.

It’s quiet in the palace at night: there are no other guests, and the whole royal family is in attendance at the art show. The main corridor in the south wing is dim, in spite of the enormous picture window that faces out onto Brinin Zana. Ahead of him, Bucky’s footsteps don’t seem to make a sound, and Sam feels the need to do the same.

They eventually come to a stop at a doorway where Bucky punches a code into the keypad. The doors slide open with a quiet hum, and the lights cascade on as the two of them step inside.

Sam had gotten to see Princess Shuri’s main lab the last time they were here: packed with assistant and prototypes and multiple holographic displays. It had been incredible but overwhelming, and Sam is relieved when the workroom turns out to look nothing like it.

There are steel topped workbenches and large drafting tables, tools arrayed neatly along one of the walls and a bank of computers in the corner by a large projection screen. Sam thinks of his dad then, of the old shed behind the house where he used to fix up parts for the boat and taught Sam and Sarah to do the same.

He looks at the wrenches, meticulously organized by size, and the neat rolls of wire lined up like his dad always kept them, and suddenly he wants to go home so badly that he aches with it. 

His hands shake as he sets the wingpack on one of the workbenches, and he only belatedly remembers that Bucky is still there with them. When he finally manages to get words out, all he can say is a quiet, “Thank you.”

Bucky nods, but makes no move to leave. Instead, he walks over to the computers and activates the display, surprisingly adept with the holographic screen. He seems to be looking for a program, and once he’s got it pulled up–there’s a drop down menu of some sort and a keypad–he turns back to Sam.

“Calls out of Wakanda are untraceable, you know.”

Sam had assumed as much, given the sheer technological capabilities here, but he’s not sure why Bucky is telling him this. He doesn’t say anything in reply, just bobs his head in a nod.

“Just in case you had anyone you wanted to call,” Bucky says. He shrugs, but it’s not as casual as it should be. “You, uh- you wouldn’t have to worry about the call getting traced or them being unsafe or anything.”

“Oh,” says Sam again. Oh, he thinks to himself, and looks with wide eyes at the fidgeting assassin-turned-goatherd on the other side of the room.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Bucky says, after a few moments of Sam trying and failing to say anything more.

There are about a hundred things that Sam should say. He should ask how Bucky’s doing, ask if he wants to stick around, tell him how much this means and how much he appreciates it, but he can’t seem to get any of the words out.

All he can do is call across the room just as Bucky reaches the door, his voice hoarse. 

“Thank you, Bucky. Really.”

Bucky gives him a smile, tiny and heartbreaking, and nods in acknowledgment. 

“Good night, Sam,” he says after a second, and slips out the way he came.

[inkforhumanhands]

I am :chinhands: at any DVD commentary you'd like to share, so for the "questions for fic writers" game: 2, 17, 37, and (only if you are comfortable sharing!!) 49:D

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

Ficlet (30) Humor (20) Angst (13) POV Matt Murdock (10) Getting Together (9) Seems like I tagged all the ficlets in my ficlet series with that lol. However, I wouldn't say I am "a ficlet writer." These are mostly from the writer's month challenge I did way back. As for humor and angst, yes lol. I feel like crangst (crack + angst) is kind of the niche I've carved out for myself: silly scenarios with a bit of ouch. The POV thing is interesting, but it looks like AO3 doesn't necessarily include all of your tags in order because I have 9 fics tagged POV Foggy and it didn't show up in my list. I guess I'm pretty evenly split on whose POV I write. And getting together? Yes! My favorite thing to write lol. Established relationship is generally a lot less interesting to me, so I don't write it as much.

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

I have two, but I actually think other people would enjoy them just fine. One is a LOTR-esque mattfoggy story, for which I have zero details other than traveling together on the run, hurt/comfort vibes, and the requisite fantasy elements. The other is an FMA (Full Metal Alchemist) earth-65 mattfoggy fusion I came up with together with @amazing-spiderling where young Murderdock tries to resurrect his mother and as part of the toll for trying to do so his personality gets split in half. "Mike," aka the "good" part of Murderdock's personality, is thus relegated to Truth's realm for the most part- except for when he manages to briefly possess Murderdock. You fill in the rest.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

My obligatory answer for this kind of question is always going to be Conditionals. I think the psychological horror tag turns people off lol since that's not usually what they're reading mattfoggy for XD But I think I did a pretty good job with the linguistics/"what if" motif throughout, and there's some really fun writing in it! If I was going to pick another low-kudos fic, I suppose I'd go with To the Dregs. This is one of the aforementioned ficlets, and I don't think it's particularly good. But it is one I have tentative plans to come back to and rewrite as part of a larger fic where Karen and Foggy try resurrecting Matt after Midland Circle and it, of course, goes horribly wrong.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

As usual I have many WIPs, but the one I'm committed to right now is a MikeFoggy fake dating one with MattFoggy endgame. It's shaping up to be quite fun, I think! Have a little snippet: “I had something else in mind,” Mike said, coy as one of the maidens in the period romance novels he’d been reading of late. Foggy froze, every inch of his body going rigid with the exception of his face, which flipped through the five stages of grief before he managed to school it into an expression of stoicism. “You signed an agreement not to proposition me for sex anymore, don’t forget.” “It’s not that,” Mike reassured him begrudgingly, though the tiny voice inside of him he liked to think of as his anti-conscience added, but would that really be so bad? “I want….” He took a deep breath. “I want you to pretend that we’re dating in front of Matt.”

Thanks for the ask! Here's the full list if anyone else wants to join in on the fun.

[chocobothis]

With a busted theory and dislike for writing for things as they're currently airing, I'm back harder on my "Barriss gets her nuanced character exploration while working toward accepting her own redemption is possible" Shit.

Is this partially because I want to write Alijah and Barriss Banter? Absolutely.

It'd be so easy to give them a little series of vaguely related ficlets. The two of them (plus rotating extras) fighting against the Galaxy. But, also healing and reforging their connection to the Force and each other. It's not like being initiates or padawans anymore. That ship has sailed, burnt, and sank. Still there's little bits where they once got along and get along again.

Barriss' fighting style seemed to be strongest when she was someone else. It's something with saw with Luminara when fighting with Barriss; she was lacking. Alijah's excellent at saber work. Retraining with her works well and they're together.

Alijah's connection with the Force is still painful. She feels so much with and because of it. Her talents are focused around healing, mind things, and the basics. She gets a tiny bit of Force Visions but they're not useful? There's small snippets with no context. Barriss gives me the impression she's well connected with the Force. Even with it being a broken bond she help.

(Also, having to fight Inquisitior!Barriss is literally what pulled Alijah back to using a lightsaber and the Force.)

There's comparing and contrasting them with each other and then with Ahsoka. All three of them had shifting relationships with the Jedi Order. But, Ahsoka's relationship to the Force stayed positive. Barriss' soured to the point of darkness and Alijah spent years ignoring it entirely. Using the Force saved nothing. Ahsoka also moved quickly into the Rebellion. Alijah avoided it and Barriss...well Barriss sure did pick things.

I also have a detailed ultimately, Dark Side Cult Alijah was born into and grew up around until 6. When she looks at Barriss she sees what she could have been if no one saved her. It makes her want save Barriss more. No, she doesn't have trauma at all about feeling like she failed Depa, Caleb, and the Order by surviving. She knows what it's like to look in the mirror and feel like the worst parts of yourself are looking back to mock you. People have told her that her Force Sensitivity/Jedi Potential made her a corrupted villain by being. Frankly, helping Barriss learn to care for herself and reintegrate into existing helps her do the same.

I haven't fully sorted out why Barriss did what she did. Part of what I think happened does involve the Shitty Sith Vibes Sidious was leeching into the air. The fact she tried to fame Ahsoka is also suspicious to me. She had complete anonymity and could've had anyone but it was Ahsoka. Someone Anakin Skywalker cares deeply about to dangerous extremes. (And it was Ventress she stole sabers from.) It feels like it could've been subtle suggestions via the Force that got pushed to her by Sidious. They preyed on the doubts she had about the Order because of the war. Also the sheer amount of trauma she experienced during said war. She lashes out, freaks out because she lashed out, and it sprails. The deeper she gets the more she tells herself there's no going back. If she stops now it'll be for nothing.

(I also find "Dying Equals Redemption" to be bland. You fucked up, no matter how well intended or not, so you can actively work to unfuck it.)

I'm admittedly not fond that that's the story line they picked for Barriss. I think it was both weak and sus af. It was also quickly tossed aside with no information or conclusion. But, I do have a writer's hubris with a deep love for Star Wars; so, I want to make it make some sense.

We also get Reunion Scenes with Barriss and Ahsoka because they deserve this.

[skiitter]

So I’ve been in fandom for over half my life easily, but I’ve only begun to engage and create in the last four years or so and it is very interesting to see things from the other side, so to speak. I always envied the people who could write or draw and now that I am out here finally doing the same, it is strange that I ever felt like I couldn’t do it? But I think this comes from the way fandom is structured these days, and how the bigger the fandom, the more of a contest it becomes. When I was releasing my Johnny/V fic, I loved the interaction and talking to people about our blorbos and just feeling as though I was a part of the community. With A Darker Blue my dhr longfic, it has been nearly the opposite. There is this baked in sense of performance in a fandom as large as dhr that I fell in with. Like it became this desire for engagement above enjoyment. I NEEDED people to like this fic, as if it would validate the place I was trying to carve out for myself in this huge, ancient fandom. My very first dhr work did so well and I was like “oh very cool I can actually be a member of the fandom!!!” and then ADB didn’t immediately blow up and i was like “i am a failure, actually.” which is a ridiculous sentiment to internalize and not one that I was used to feeling. All my other one-shots and ficlets for other fandoms were labors of love. I wanted to write something for me and then put it out there for others should they wish to enjoy it. A Darker Blue became this like Goal I had to meet. If I could just be GOOD and POPULAR than I could be a proper stan and like, that’s on me for sure, but also the way that fandom operates on this scale of popularity and adhering to the accepted fanon/tropes is not my favorite and I had to step back for a bit and kind of reorient myself and the space I wanted to occupy. Idk. I am very much “terminally online” by way of my life as it is at this moment, and so it was a perfect storm of a lot of other factors, but at the end of the day I just think that it’s healthy to occasionally step back and remind ourselves that fandom should be Fun. idk. Creating a fic for the Star Wars fandom is wild since it is so many tiny pockets of ships making up the whole, whereas Dramione is a beast unto itself and i sort of lost myself.

anyway this is very long and it is all to say that i don’t know if i’ll ever update ADB again. i know it has only the epilogue remaining but it came from a strange place for me, one that i’m not sure i can get back to anytime soon. i like writing dhr and i intend to make my silly little one-shots but it wasn’t a vibe to be running myself through the ringer for no reason. again, i’m blaming only myself, but it has been an interesting lens through which to view a fandom as big and as active as dhr.

[sarilolla]

Masterpost

This is for my own original content of my writing and references :)

Long post so there will be a read more

Character bingos/ask games (I am still up for these unless it is a character I have already done)

Character opinion bingo/ship bingo 

Dreamworks trolls

Experiment au:

Basic story

Variants of pop trolls

Updated variants of pop trolls

Pop tribe reference

Actual fic (1/? chapters, new version, being updated)

Trolls: Different Beat:

Actual fic (4/? chapters, new version, being updated)

Hanahaki Branch:

Actual fic (1/? chapters, being updated)

Drawing of Branch with Hanahaki (plus explanation of each flower and what they mean)

Ficlet: Branch takes the potion and forgets his brothers

Ficlet: Branch dying version 1 (listening to Brozone and looking at family pictures with Poppy)

Ficlet: Branch dying version 2 (brothers arrive, but just too late)

Ficlet: Branch dying version 3 (Floyd arrives on time, the others don’t)

Ficlet: Branch being saved just in time

Other stuff:

Thoughts about Trolls Band Together

Viva has the Pop String au

Drawing/reference of Juniper (my oc)

Hello Puppets

Fanfic stuff:

Link to all my Hello Puppets fanfics/collection 

  Bee au:

Tumblr link to “That time I got fucked over by puppets (and maybe I will fuck up their plan in return)” (this fic is only on ao3 and for registrered users)

Tumblr link to “That time I helped the puppets that got fucked over” (also only on ao3 and for registrered users)

Hello Puppets x The Willoughbys au

One-shots:

Thrift shopping is not as fun if you are the one being thrifted

Riley's fact list (Belongs to my Bee/main au)

Giving a smartphone to puppets from the 1980s is a good idea, right?

Traitor/Apology

Riley's breaking point

The scientist's best friend

Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening me (Riley’s astraphobia)

Nick's paint panic

Poems and tea

The little scientist's failures

Mortimer’s new host

Scout’s first Christmas

Pathetic little artist

References:

Bee au:

Basic reference of Bee, Percy, and Jay

World reference

Scout reference - Updated

Bee reference

Daisy reference

10 facts for Mortimer and Bee

10 facts for Nick and Riley

How Nick and Riley are in my Bee au

Is Owen evil?

The (Gold) Gubberson family

Fanart:

Bee

Scout

Scout in fancy clothing

Headcanons:

Various Hello Puppets headcanons #1

Various Hello Puppets headcanons #2

Monopoly

Nick headcanons (mix of game and Bee au)

Puns

Bee puns

Opinions on Halloween

Allergies

Waffles

Memes:

Batch #1

Batch #2

Batch #3

Batch #4

Other stuff:

How I found Hello Puppets (a ramble post)

The “story” of my fanfic and more writing

Riley with cat ears and Mortimer with a bird

Hello Puppets vibes playlist

Riley and Dr Zara (Dreamworks abominable)

The eyes post

Answered ask: Riley leaving first in Bee au

Opinion bingo: Nick and Scout

Rating the hello puppets characters (before midnight show)

Ship bingo: Handeemen x therapy

Opinion bingo: Mortimer and Anthony Pierson

Tiny puppets

[cinnamonplums]

some nile, andy, and quynh doodles as kids

[onlyseokmins]

coups in his new haircut gives me a lot of husband vibes... I just can't explain but like really cocky husband who always shows his spouse their place in the bedroom but other than that is really loving and sweet and just turns into a beast on certain occasion... some strength or size kink included, pinch of mixed praise and degradation,, dawg lord is testing me

coupsie got me in a choke hold 25/8 but I somehow I made this too soft fkdksksla

“Always so confident and sexy,” Seungcheol rasps as he withdraws his fingers from your clenching hole, “but look at you now… all cute and needy. My filthy, little fuck toy.”

You whine as your husband plays with you, the cold metal of the wedding band he refuses to ever take off creating a chilling contrast from the heated warmth of his large hands. He’s leaning against the headboard of your shared bed, peppering kisses along your chest as you sit in his lap.

Just because you’re on top means very little — the urge to grind down on the hard bulge of his large dick underneath you is lost because one, you know it’s better to behave to get what you want and two, Seungcheol’s free hand lays just above the curve of your ass. It’s mostly there to grab and grope as he pleases, but it also serves as a reminder for you to keep still or else a stinging slap across your cheeks will quickly put you back in place.

You’re filled with emotion, running tentative fingers through his newly cut chestnut locks. The two of you have always been an iconic pairing long before you were married, the authoritative power held in your respective careers only drawing people in that are filled with awe.

His “new” look is reminiscent of a boy full of overblown, fake confidence many years ago, the one you broke with sinful licks of your tongue up his dick and the same one you’re now happily in love with and married to.

Some of your oldest friends like to joke about how you take charge in the relationship. Little do they know how the roles have slowly reversed over the years. Seungcheol’s full of real confidence now, the result of learning, growing, molding, and sculpting one another on your individual life journeys together.

It’s that same confidence he uses when he tells you to suck his fingers clean with that smug eyebrow raise and cocky smirk. Of course, you oblige — more than happy to do whatever he asks. There is no way your husband can hide the absolute adoration he holds for you in his eyes even with how harshly he grips at your thighs once he bottoms out.

“Mhm, so full… so big… so good,” you babble mindlessly as he leaves little bite marks across your neck.

“No matter how many times I shove my cock in this tiny, useless hole you’re always so fucking tight.”

You only prove him right, clenching again and again around his hard length until you’re both coming undone — making a sweaty, sticky mess of the bedsheets. The two of you gaze at each other with utter fondness, sharing breathless giggles as the adrenaline rush calms down.

Seungcheol wakes you from a brief slumber as he’s wiping down your body, a fresh blanket lying next to you once the chill sets in. You shyly peek at him when his hand innocently slides between your legs, and he snorts.

“What? All ready to go again, love?”

“Not really, just love you.”

“Yeah? I love you too.”

It’s domestic and pure, the total opposite to how you were just fucking like animals before. But even after all these years, Seungcheol’s boyish grin still sends butterflies fluttering in your tummy and it just might be the best feeling in the world (might even beat out the best orgasm he's given you, who knows?).

Send me a NSFW headcanon and I’ll write a 5(ish) sentence ficlet about it 👀👅

[lengthofropes]

LENGHTOFROPES' NOV'21 BULLETIN

Shhh! I'm trying to develop a good habit here. These are mostly notes to self. For my stuff to become less chaotic, you know?

so...

ONE - I've... I've started three, THREE new series in November (ohforfckssakeeee!).

a) First one is an ode to early seasons aesthetics Posting 'em twice a week (synchronised with my rewatch schedule). So far enjoooying making a set of examples of shadowplay/desat colours/overall dark vibes on DW face in every episode. Like this 🔥:

b) Second one is an attentive observation on how our baby Dean (read: s1-3/pre-Hell/pre-Cas) behaves near men. Tiny little sexuality questioning gifsets. Trying to post at least once a week (again, rewatch schedule!). Enjoying making. Too much. I mean, look that disaster:

c) Fckin THE HARDEST thing I've ever done. These fic moodboard sets are so much joy to create! But dear God, the amount of TIME and thought and nerves it takes...... Anyway, this is my personal tribute to the most honourable and hardworking (imo) people of our fandom - beloved ❤️ fic writers. Already posted two. One for my #1 beloved "Ninety One Whiskey"

And second for my #2 beloved "Four Letter Word"

And have one more in my drafts for #3. 😇 Most likely will continue to make these, although it really makes me very sad they don't get many notes... But... Well, I love what I love! So this will be a thing, for sure. Just not that regular, due to my slow reading process and... and once again, these are so fckin hard to make!)

TWO - Let's not forget Nov 5, okay? I've contributed with [ one ] & [ two ] equally freaking painful parallels gifsets and very happy with myself!

THREE - made a deancas/samwena parallels gifset finally (been living in my head for too damn long)!

FOUR - Continued to make everyone laugh with correct SPN quotes series. Made my personal fuck the finale version (barn scene, caution! but it's good)!

And this one too! (posting a spoiler free and nsfw gif from it) :

FIVE - Some more stuff with lyrics. Some of mine. Some of Kate Bush. Some of Sherlock series bahaha!

SIX - bunch of regular and boring stuff like scenes gifsets or just some nice shots... blah-blah... What else? Oh! Made a post about new colorings! Need to make these regular too. Photoshop bitching is important!

SEVEN - Really!!! happy my writers block fades slowly, I even managed to write a short fic . Have a few more "missing scenes" ideas in my head, probably gonna make it into a ficlet series too!

OVERALL: 35 gifsets, 3 new series, 1 fic and fcking ZERO poems (that one up doesn't count, I think!) Pretty happy with gifmaking but... Guess gotta focus on writing next month!