#such fluff

[grezzirossi]

Wyllach my beloveds <3 Mini strip under the cut (Tw wounds)

[lilyissuswritings2]

Stressed stressed girls get fun fun coffee

( @titan-tsams here u go diva)

[stickbug-made-entirely-of-spite]

I'M BACK, FRIENDS!!

After suddenly disappearing for quite some time, finding a lover, getting bangs (yet again) disowning my parents, and spontaneously moving into a new place, I finally had some time to doodle for a little bit ^-^

Here are some funky watercolour trees!

And an equally funky jackdaw I saw at the station (it's walking distance now???) the other day :D

That being said, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day ^-^

Yours truly, Stickbug 🪲

[ilikebigbunsandicannotlie]

Zinnia has such Shape

[bunmuffin]

Hmm, guess I’ll just call you bun-bun! 🧡😁 How are you doing, bun-bun? ^^

(And are bunnies actually your favorite animals by the way? Ôo)

Hi sam!! I've actually been very tired this whole month. I got put on extra work shifts and although money is nice, I can feel my body slowly ascending to another plane of existence. And no, bunnies aren't my fav animal. Highland cows are! They are so big and so fluffy and they're one of the most chillest cows you can own! If I could own one I'd call him Mr. Fluffington.

[wylanvnneck]

Jurdan, Angst, prompt number 3 please!!🥰

Angst Prompt #3: "No, don't cry, I hate it when you cry."

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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The High King of Elfhame feels a fissure start to build in his semblance of a heart as he gazes upon the downturned face of his wife standing before him. The picture that she paints is tragic and beautiful, her umber hair loosely trailing down her back over her ivory nightgown, her face turned down and away from the moonlight shining through the window, her usually fiery eyes hidden from view. Just seconds ago she had changed his life with her words and he’d been glowing and luminescent, the excitement mixed with trepidation racing through his body like the finest of wines but now the air around them is cold and damp, uncertainty and confusion taking over his euphoria.

There’s a silence that he doesn’t know how to break. Even the drapes on their shared four poster bed make no noise as the wind rips through them and the whole atmosphere is quiet and still, a stark contrast to the panic and turmoil rising within him with every passing second.

He can’t take much more of this, he doesn’t have the strength to and he needs to change this, to fix this, to bring back the laughter and the happiness. Before he can demand that she speak, tell him, help him, his pointy-tipped fae ears pick up on the low sounds of a sob. A hitched breath.

He steps forward right up in front of her, desperate. “Jude? Jude look at me.” He hears the anguish in his voice. “Please.”

Finally, she meets his stare, her eyes glistening as she blinks hard against the reluctant tears starting to trail down her cheeks. Gently, he reaches out to catch one of them, absorbing her sorrow with his fingertips.

“No, don’t cry, I hate it when you cry. I never know what to do.”

She lets out a shaky breath and attempts a small watery smile and the fissure in his heart starts to heal. He cradles her face and leans down to be closer, searching her closed expression. His wife so rarely broke down, always putting up a brave front, but in moments like this, despite his sadness on her behalf, he’s also grateful to be the only one that she would remover her armor for, the only one who would ever see the mortal High Queen of Elfhame so vulnerable.

“My Darling Villain, what is it? Are you unhappy about this?”

The question hurts, the idea that Jude doesn’t want this, but he hopes she can change her mind. He’d thought of their possible future children before of course, and it had always felt so far away, something exciting but not pressing. Now that the reality was in front of him it was frightening, alarming, maddening, delightful, wonderful; it was many many things.

“It’s not that I’m not happy. I am - I think.” Her expression is softer now, her tears slowing and her voice is strong, all good signs. “It’s only...Well, look at us Cardan! We were two broken halves that miraculously fit together, what do we know about good parenting? I was raised by a blood thirsty Redcap that I no longer speak to and you by an uncaring mother and absent father, how could we possibly raise children of our own without messing them up!”

She had a point. Neither one of them had had loving childhoods, their parents either dead or as good as. Still, if there was one thing he was determined to do now that he was High King with Jude as his queen, it was to write his own destiny. A prophecy had caused his pain but in the end Jude had helped make it his salvation. She herself was a mortal, a mortal who had gone on to become the Queen of the Fae, something that no one would ever have imagined before. Yes, their younger days had left them undeniably scarred and beaten down but not broken, never broken. There’s not much he need reassure her about, not much he needs to help her with but over this, he can.

“Jude, listen to me. You and I, yes, we have our scars. But we also have the power to be who we want to be. Look at where we are now and look at where we started. We have the power to create our own fates, which means that we have the ability to raise our children up together in the way that we want to, regardless of how our own guardians raised us. Will we have some navigation issues along the way? Probably. But will we always try to do our best by our kids and love them unconditionally? Absolutely. And that, My Queen, is how I know that we won’t mess them up. At least, not too badly.”

Her brown eyes are wide, the tear tracks beneath them already drying. A corner of her tantalising lips lifts up. “When did you get to be so wise?”

He smirks, grateful for the levity that was starting to come back, chasing away the tumult. “I’ve always been so, it’s not my fault you were determined not to admit it.”

She shakes her head and laughs and the sound unleashes a warmth inside of him. Smiling now, he wraps his arms around her small frame and pulls her close, breathing in the woodsy scent of her hair and dropping a kiss to the top of her head, love and contentment welling up inside of him like a waterfall.

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Omg @cupcakesandkittens, I'm so sorry for how long this took, I wasn't quite decided on what I would do for this prompt but I kinda like how it went and I hope you do too💕 Thank you for being such an awesome mutual🌻

Tagging: @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln, @thewickedkings and @kittkatandbooboo 💓

*Please let me know if you'd like to be added to or taken off of my taglist.

[luninosity]

Catching up on @evanstanweek ficlets again! Here’s Day 3, prompt: on set.

Read at AO3 here - 2,336 words of on-set love confessions, set during The First Avenger - or read on tumblr below!

#

Sebastian’s watching Chris. He often is, can’t seem to help the track of his gaze—can’t pull away from the magnet-tug that’s Chris Evans’ loud laugh and gesturing hands and philosopher’s eyes, and if he’s honest he doesn’t want to. Right now the low hazy grey lighting of the broken bar sits on Chris’s shoulders and turns him into a grieving supersoldier: a man hollowed out by loss, left with a gaping hole right through his chest.

 Chris is so good. So brilliant at emotion, at getting character. So thoughtful and so generous with his feelings, the kind of bravery that holds nothing back. He is Steve Rogers, through and through: a hero, shining blue and gold.

 Sebastian’s not that brave. Not that brilliant. Good at angst and pain, or dry humor, or intensity, maybe; but he’s in character for it. He does love people and stories, and he thinks he’s funny, sometimes, and he thinks he might want to be a writer, sometimes, and he can shove an entire pizza slice in his mouth when he’s comfortable around friends, but.

 It takes him a while. Exhaling. Stepping out. Speaking up. He wouldn’t say he’s shy, because he isn’t, not once he knows people. He’s just…not Chris Evans, who wears joys and vulnerabilities openly, with pride, unafraid.

 Sebastian looks at Chris, and aches with emotion, and says nothing, every day and every minute on this film so far.

 He’s technically done for the day, though he’s not at all done on this film; he’s spent the morning running around with Howling Commandos and being a young and terrified sergeant thrown into war. They’d filmed Bucky’s fall from the train the day before; Sebastian had honestly loved it. The emotion’d been easy: love and loyalty, throwing himself in to fight alongside the other half of his heart, the moment of sheer shock, a small but gloriously physical drop onto thick mats. They’d let him do that one, because it wasn’t a long fall and they needed to see his face. He hoped it’d been good; everyone seemed pleased, at least.

 He shifts weight, wishes he had a pillar or a wall to lean on. He watches Chris some more.

 They’d caught the stunned disbelief on Chris’s—Steve’s—face at the fall, yesterday. Chris is so incredible at nuance, at blazing emotions, even in a few-seconds-long shot. Sebastian had said, after, “That felt really good, that last take?” and had meant, I think you’re a genius, I think I want to work right next to you forever, I think I love you.

 Chris had gotten kind of pink-cheeked because Chris is too damn self-deprecating, and had said, “Oh—um, thanks, man, you too, I mean it felt good to me too, I mean we’re fuckin’ awesome, obviously,” and had nudged Sebastian’s shoulder, somewhere between a punch and a quick resting of a hand. “Craft services? They got blueberry bagels, someone said.”

 Chris, bagel-focused, clearly had not heard Sebastian’s internal monologue. And if he had, wouldn’t reciprocate.

 Which is fine, of course. Chris never needs to know, and Sebastian’s ridiculous emotions will calm the hell down and go away. Any day now. Sometime. Soon.

 But he’s watching Chris, and Chris is pretending to try to get drunk, pain visibly shredding him inside; Chris is Steve and Steve can’t believe it and has to believe it and wants to scream, to shout, to punch a hole through the world—

 The scene’s fantastic, of course.

 They get it in maybe three takes, rapid-fire, Chris laying out his heart for the watchers. His voice cracks; it’s getting rougher, the third time.

 They do it a couple times more for different close-ups. Sebastian takes a step closer, between takes. His boots—he’s changed; they’re his own boots—are louder than he’d recalled that morning; Chris looks over at the sound.

 And maybe Chris looks surprised, or relieved, or grateful, for a split second; maybe it’s all in Sebastian’s head, though, because the next second they’re right back into it, capturing Steve’s heartbreak.

 It’s a wrap for the scene, eventually. And Chris is done for a few hours too, though he’ll need to stick around; he’s got some close-ups to do inside a mock airplane, being bounced around, for what’ll be the big final self-sacrifice. Sebastian loves the heroism and pain of it; he’s always loved good writing, and he’s got a good feeling about this script and about this universe, which he’s a tiny part of now.

 Chris doesn’t get up right away. Just scrubs both hands over his face, shoulders slumped. Hayley Atwell’s gone off to talk to the director; Joe’s nodding, listening to her. Nobody’s checking on Chris.

 And that’s wrong, that’s wrong and not good and not right—Chris has just been hurting, the way that Chris hurts for the world, and Chris should never be hurting, not while Sebastian’s alive—

 Sebastian’s legs move before his brain makes a conscious decision. He’s picking his way across artistic rubble and taking a few running steps and putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Hey.”

 Chris actually jumps a little, which isn’t the best start. “Oh! Uh, hey, hi, did you, um…have a question? About Steve and Bucky, or somethin’?” The Boston comes out extra-strong; it does that when Chris is feeling a lot, or tipsy, or simply exaggerating to make someone laugh.

 “No,” Sebastian says. “Or, well, yeah, we might want to talk about some of those flashback sequences, so we’re on the same page with emotion and all, but.” He licks his lips, realizes he’s doing it—a nervous habit, one he’s had for years—and stops. He can taste chapstick on his tongue. “I just. Wanted to. I don’t know. Are you…I mean, that looked like a lot.”

 “You…” Chris trails off. He’s looking at Sebastian’s face with astonishing intent; Sebastian would say even desperation, but that’d be ludicrous. Chris doesn’t have any reason to feel desperate about him.

 He tries, “I know you, um, like tea? Not coffee? We could go grab, um, tea. If you want.”

 “Tea,” Chris says, a little blankly. “But you like coffee.”

 Sebastian’s starting to get kind of worried, here. “I do, but you gave it up? We could maybe head back to your trailer, and you can, um, relax for a minute, and I can…try to make tea?”

 Chris stares at him some more.

 “Or not,” Sebastian throws in helplessly.

 “Yes,” Chris says. “Yes, yeah, yes—you—fuck. Okay. Jesus, Chris, get it together,” and he even shakes his head like a puppy flinging off water, and Sebastian kind of wants to grin and also scratch his tummy.

 Well. Maybe not scratch. He can think of better things to do with Chris’s stomach. Mostly involving his tongue.

 And he should absolutely not be thinking of that when Chris needs his help. He sticks out a hand. “To the end of the line? Or at least your trailer.”

 Chris looks at the hand, and then takes it, hauling himself up out of the chair. His fingers are large and strong and a little cold, and they squeeze Sebastian’s for just a little too long, as if wanting to hold on.

 No. Must be Sebastian’s heart thinking that. Wanting what he can’t have.

 He walks with Chris through behind-the-scenes set-ups and teardowns, props and people rushing to and fro, the corners of trailers and the shouts of movie-making going on. The sun’s warm, if light; the ground’s hard beneath his boots. He keeps stealing glances at Chris, who doesn’t seem too talkative. Sebastian’s poor overworked heart wants to take each sensation, each sight and taste and scent of this backstage moment, and fold them up safe deep inside.

 Chris is letting him help. That feels like sunshine.

 Chris’s trailer’s simple, unpretentious, unfussy; script copies and notes lie scattered around, and he’s got some weights, and some Disney-movie DVDs. Sebastian smiles, because that’s so very Chris: delight in the magic, always.

 Chris, still in costume, sits down on his sofa. He breathes out, and looks up. “Thanks.”

 “For what? How do I make tea with this?” He’s poking Chris’s electric kettle. He does sort of know how it works, in theory. His mother has an old-fashioned kettle; he’s got fancy coffee-making machinery; he should be able to combine all this knowledge. “Where is your tea?”

 “Seb,” Chris says. “I—hang on, does anyone actually call you Seb?”

 “Um. Not really? You can. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t. Chris uses last names often, an affectionate Boston-bro shorthand for friendship; Sebastian’s somehow always been Sebastian or Seb, in Chris’s voice. He’s wondered why, though he’s thought maybe Chris just doesn’t feel that close to him. Not deserving of the bro-status.

 “You don’t mind, or you don’t like it, and you’re being nice about it?”

 “I don’t mind,” Sebastian says, too quickly. “I like it.”

 “Sebastian,” Chris says.

 “Really,” Sebastian says. “Either. Whatever.”

 “Jesus,” Chris says, face back in his hands. “I’m sorry. I just…just tell me if I’m sayin’ something stupid, okay? Please.”

 “But you’re not!” Sebastian comes back over to the couch. That damn magnet again. Tugging his bones. “You’re not, it’s fine, we’re good, Chris. I swear. Really.”

 Chris doesn’t look up, so Sebastian drops to both knees, right there at Chris’s feet, and tries not to think of all the times he’s wanted to do exactly that. It’s easier not to think of it, right now, because he’s genuinely concerned.

 He peeks up at Chris’s face. “Hey. Kinda worried here. Not about you, I mean, about your kettle, it’s got all these buttons, it’s like a rocket ship, I’m afraid if I touch the wrong thing it’ll explode.”

 Chris snorts, almost a laugh, and then does look up. His eyes go right to Sebastian’s, so close and so blue; and then all at once he’s moving, leaning forward, one hand reaching out and cradling Sebastian’s head, and then—

 They’re kissing. Oh, god, they’re kissing, Sebastian on his knees in front of Chris and Chris bending down to claim him, hand in Sebastian’s hair—

 Chris kisses like reprieve, like the release of storms, like the dive into a heated pool on a chilly day: wholehearted, devoted, anxious to lick and taste and plunge into every part of Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian, who’s been kissed before, has in fact never been kissed before, because no other kiss has ever been a kiss, compared to this.

 His knees dimly register the hardness of the trailer floor, and his neck’s at kind of an awkward angle, and Chris is still mostly in the Captain America suit. None of that matters. Nothing else matters at all, because Chris wants him and Sebastian’s whole self yearns for Chris, and Chris’s tongue and taste and tug at Sebastian’s hair are all white-hot gloriously perfect.

 Chris pulls back almost as abruptly. They’re both breathless; Chris whispers, “Oh, fuck…” and takes his hand out of Sebastian’s hair, but then touches Sebastian’s cheek, cups his face, as if unable to stop touching. “I…fuck…I didn’t…I’m so fucking sorry, I just…”

 “Why?”

 “What?”

 “Why’re you sorry?” Sebastian tips his head into Chris’s hand. “I’m not.”

 “You’re…not.”

 “Chris,” Sebastian says, and then runs out of words. He hopes Chris can see it, can read it, in his eyes. On his face. “Yes.”

 “Yeah?” Chris reaches out with the other hand too: framing Sebastian’s face now, tender and awestruck. “You mean that.”

 “I mean it,” Sebastian says. “But—”

 “Oh god,” Chris says, “I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I—”

 “No! No, just…are you okay? I mean, from earlier.” Somewhere amid the kissing his hands’ve ended up on Chris’s thighs; apparently they just want to be there, and now rub along Chris’s legs, soothing and caressing and learning all at once. “I mean, I wanted to—”

 “To help,” Chris groans. “You came over to help—because you’re the sweetest fucking person I know, god, you’re perfect, Seb, the nicest and the warmest and the best—and I fucking, Jesus, practically mauled you—”

 Sebastian cuts that anguished recrimination off by diving forward and getting his mouth back on Chris’s. After some in-depth affirmation, he breathes against Chris’s lips, “Don’t think you’re doing any mauling I don’t like.”

 Chris’s eyebrows go up.

 “Really,” Sebastian tells him.

 “Huh,” Chris says. “Huh. Okay. You—okay.”

 “No,” Sebastian says patiently. “Are you okay?”

 Chris stares at him, and then bursts out laughing. Mid-laughter, scoops Sebastian off the floor. Flops them both down across the sofa, holding on. “God, you’re incredible.”

 “The best, you said.”

 “And I mean it. You just make it all…feel better, kind of?” Chris strokes a hand down Sebastian’s back, over his t-shirt. “That’s what it was, earlier. Like…being Steve, losing Bucky, but that’s you, and all at once I was thinking about losing you, and I just felt like…like someone’d dropped me off a train, y’know? Like I’d never get up again.”

 “I’m here.” Sebastian wriggles against him. They fit together: bodies pressed close, every piece of them learning each other. He’s half atop Chris, but with one of Chris’s legs tangled through his. “I’m here.”

 “I know.” Chris rubs his back again. “And you were there, too. You were right there and I could look up and find you, and it was like I could remember how to breathe. And then you were here, asking about tea and looking at me like—and I just had to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Seb. Sebastian. God, I fuckin’ want—everything. I know it might get complicated, I know we’re in the middle of making a movie, but I can’t not want everything. Together. With you.”

 “Well,” Sebastian says, “good to know,” and stretches to kiss Chris again. It’s that simple, if not easy: the future’ll change, but it does that anyway, sprawling out in all sorts of directions. And he thinks it’ll be a good direction, with Chris at his side. “Because I want everything with you too.”