#[smith]

[blondebrainpowered]

Mouse Armor by Jeff de Boer

Etsy Mouse armor necklace and earrings available as well as other work by Jeff de Boor.

[allaboutmacklin]

PLEASEEE ANOTHER FIC ABOUT WILL SMITH (anything you want!!)

One question, one forever WS2

summary: will smith had loved Y/N to death, so that’s why he finally made the decision to marry her. he had planned it out for weeks since he knew they were going to the beach for vacation and he has all of his family, and hers help him set it up

requests: open

masterlist

Will Smith had played in front of thousands of people, under blinding arena lights, with the roar of a crowd shaking the ice beneath his skates—but nothing made his hands shake the way they did now as he stood barefoot in the sand.

The ocean stretched endlessly in front of him, the waves rolling in slow, patient rhythms, as if they already knew what today meant. The late afternoon sun painted the sky in soft golds and pale blues, and the breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen and something else—anticipation.

Behind him, a carefully planned secret was unfolding.

Y/N had always loved the beach. It was the one place where her thoughts quieted, where life slowed just enough to breathe. Will knew that. He knew every small thing about her—the way she collected shells without realizing it, how she always walked too close to the water and soaked the hems of her jeans, how she tilted her face to the sun like she was storing warmth for later.

That was why this had to be perfect.

“Relax,” his older brother murmured behind him, adjusting the wooden arch they’d set up earlier that morning. “You’ve survived overtime playoffs. You can survive this.”

Will exhaled a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “This feels harder.”

Because this mattered more than any game ever could.

Will hadn’t expected to fall in love the way he did with Y/N.

It didn’t happen in a single cinematic moment. It happened slowly, in quiet ways—in shared coffee runs before early practices, in long phone calls after road games, in the way she listened when he talked about hockey not as a job, but as a pressure, a weight he carried.

She never tried to compete with his career. She didn’t resent it. She simply stood beside him, steady and unwavering.

When he lost a game, she reminded him he was still more than a player. When he won, she celebrated without ever letting it define him.

And somewhere along the way, he realized he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

—

Y/N thought this beach trip was simple.

Her family had invited them for a long weekend—nothing unusual. Summers were often spent together like this, a blending of both families that felt effortless. Will’s parents adored her. Her parents trusted him completely. The two families fit together like puzzle pieces no one realized were missing.

What Y/N didn’t know was that both families had been planning this moment for months.

Her mom had helped Will choose the ring, holding it up to the light with tears in her eyes as she whispered, “She’s going to love it.”

His dad had clapped Will on the shoulder afterward, voice thick with pride. “You’re building something real.”

Even her younger cousins were involved, tasked with distracting her long enough to set everything up.

The beach wasn’t just a location. It was a symbol—of summers spent together, of beginnings, of tides that always returned.

—

“Y/N!” her sister called, already jogging down the beach. “Come help me with something!”

Y/N frowned playfully. “Why do I feel like that means I’m doing the work?”

Her sister laughed, linking arms with her anyway. “Because you probably are.”

Will watched from a distance as Y/N was pulled away, her laughter drifting back to him on the breeze. The sound calmed him, just a little.

“Okay,” his mom said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his back. “They’re in position.”

Will nodded, his heart pounding as he glanced down at the small box in his pocket. It felt impossibly heavy.

This was it.

—

When Y/N finally returned to the shoreline, she noticed it immediately.

The arch, woven with soft white fabric and wildflowers. The rose petals scattered across the sand. The familiar faces standing farther back, smiling in ways that suddenly made her chest tighten.

Her steps slowed.

“Will?” she asked quietly.

He turned to face her, the ocean behind him, the sun framing him in light. For a moment, he just looked at her—really looked at her—and every reason he’d fallen in love came rushing back all at once.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm and unsteady.

Her breath caught. “What’s going on?”

Will took a step closer, then another, until they stood just a few feet apart. The waves filled the silence between them.

“I’ve spent most of my life chasing goals,” he began. “Counting wins. Measuring success in seconds and scores.”

Y/N’s eyes never left his.

“But you,” he continued, “you changed how I see everything. You made me want something deeper. Something lasting.”

Behind her, her mother pressed a hand to her mouth. His sister wiped at her eyes.

Will reached for Y/N’s hands, holding them gently. “With you, I feel home. Not just safe—understood.”

Her eyes shimmered.

“I don’t want a future that doesn’t include you,” he said softly. “I don’t want big moments without your laugh, or hard days without your strength.”

Then he dropped to one knee.

The world seemed to stop.

—

Y/N gasped, her free hand flying to her mouth as tears spilled over.

Will opened the box, the ring catching the sunlight, sparkling like it had been made just for this moment.

“Y/N,” he said, steady now despite the way his heart raced, “will you marry me?”

For a split second, she couldn’t speak.

She looked at him—this man who loved her quietly and fiercely, who showed up every day, who stood now with nothing but hope in his eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Then louder, through a laugh and a sob all at once, “Yes. Of course I will.”

Cheers erupted around them. Her family rushed forward. His parents followed, laughter and tears blending together.

Will stood, pulling her into a careful embrace, resting his forehead against hers.

“You’re sure?” he murmured, a smile breaking through.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she replied.

—

The rest of the evening unfolded like a dream.

There were hugs and congratulations, photos taken against the glowing sky, and stories shared as the sun dipped lower. Someone passed around champagne for the adults and sparkling cider for everyone else.

Y/N sat beside Will on a blanket, her hand resting in his, the ring catching her eye every few seconds as if she needed to confirm it was real.

Her dad clinked his bottle against Will’s. “Take care of her.”

Will met his gaze without hesitation. “Always.”

Her mom hugged them both, whispering, “Welcome to the family—officially.”

As the sky turned pink and purple, Will leaned closer to Y/N. “Thank you for saying yes.”

She smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you for choosing me.”

The ocean continued its endless motion, waves rolling in and out like a promise—steady, patient, and always returning.

And as the night settled around them, surrounded by family, love, and the quiet certainty of forever, Y/N knew one thing for sure:

This was only the beginning.

© allaboutmacklin 2026

[wearemercs]

On the bright side the local smiths seem to be quite enthusiastic about testing their skills on such an exotic helmet, however the open storefront makes the process a bit of an uncomfortable spectacle

by Johnny B Good

[preserving-tiktok]

[brushray]

The creation of Corpsegrinder This illustration is a part of the Iron Butchers warband lore, see inst: enter.the.butcher

[emry-stars-art]

First Halloween costume party flash comms for @neilimfinejosten 💕✨ with galaxy brain asks of Kevin as Ash Ketchum and Aaron as a Pokémon (which ended up being shroomish because lbr. A shiny even)

And then of course. @jtl-fics aftg oc, fandom sweetheart Smith in a Where’s Waldo costume lmao

> costume comm info <

[thirdity]

“Do not squander time. That is the stuff that life is made of” — so reads the engraving on an old sundial. We recognize its provenance (Ashley Wilkes’s estate, Gone with the Wind) and accept it as the gospel of our culture. Time is not on our side. Every minute more of it means one minute less of us.

Zadie Smith, "Killing Orson Welles at Midnight"