#I kept recounting because surely I was wrong--

[arcxnumvitae]

Tally

Muses with the most votes: (a lot had 4 (Soon-hee, Kareena, Kaisei, and more) so I made that the cut off. Just about all get an automatic +1 from Iomhar being down to sleep with them)

Iomhar: 6

Mhoirbheinn: 5

Muse with the most names on their list, minus Iomhar and Ven:

Ruaidhri: 25

Eilidh came second with 13.

Muses with the least names on their lists:

Zhaohui and Zhifeng: 3

[dalishious]

Alistair vs. Cullen

It really annoys me when people act like Alistair and Cullen are the same character, when they are very different.

Alistair grew up with child neglect. When visiting Denerim, Eamon kept him in the kennels. At Redcliffe, he slept in the stables on a pile of hay. Alistair also recounts a time when he was locked in the dungeons for a day before someone came to get him out. And of course he also talks about how Isolde despised him, and “made sure the castle wasn't a home.” But is still convinced that Eamon is a good person and he deserved all that. Cullen had a very fortunate upbringing with a loving family who supported him and what he wanted in life.

Alistair never wanted to be a Templar; he was forced into joining the Order by Eamon. He is vocal about how much he despised this, and considers Duncan recruiting him for the Wardens as “saving” him from them. The only thing he says he enjoyed about Templar training was the educational component, which he did not receive previously. Alistair was a poor recruit because he frankly did not want to be there, and therefore did not take it very seriously. He saw practices like the Harrowing as horrifying, and deepened his dislike of being a Templar further. And as time goes on, he becomes even less of a supporter of the Order; he outright says Meredith is the biggest threat to Kirkwall in Dragon Age II, if made king of Ferelden. It was always Cullen’s dream to be a Templar, and would even force his younger sister to “play the apostate” for his “training” before being recruited. Cullen was an enthusiastic recruit who considered Templar training “all that he had imagined”, and “did not hesitate” in taking his vows. Even the Harrowing did not waver his devotion to the Order, which by Dragon Age II becomes downright fanatical and tyrannical, practically worshipping Meredith. (Though this was later attempted to be retconned in Dragon Age: Inquisition… just as poorly as all the other retcons in that game, taking the path of “just pretend he never said and did all those things!”)

There is a lot of dialogue from Alistair about how much he dislikes the Chantry. Cullen, on the other hand, is extremely faithful and the only criticism he ever has about the Chantry is that they don’t treat the Templars well enough.

Alistair has a good sense of humour—in fact, it’s one of his biggest coping mechanisms. Cullen wouldn’t know a joke if it hit him in the face.

The player can disagree with Alistair on every turn. He is presented as sometimes being right, and sometimes being wrong, like most people. (Side note: more than that, you can be downright verbally, emotionally, and physically abusive to Alistair. Holy shit, I didn’t even realize how bad it can get until reading through the dialogue in the toolset, because I’ve never picked those options in game. I was honest to god flabbergasted and very uncomfortable through much of it.) The player rarely has the chance to even mildly disagree with Cullen. On the rare occasion you do, the dialogue is painted as if the player is being an unreasonable asshole, and he never even addresses what they say. (Example.)

The only reason I think people are capable of mistaking them for another is because fandom likes to donate Alistair’s personality onto Cullen. That and the the ever-frequent whitewashing of Alistair doesn’t help matters. But I’m not even a Cullen fan and I think it’s a disservice to both of them to act like they’re just Alistair and Alistair 2.0, honestly.

[steddiealltheway]

"Steve! You've got to help me. I panicked, and I told my Tinder date that you and Eddie have been dating for two years!" Robin yells as she storms into their living room. 

Luckily, Steve's gotten used to her entering their apartment in such a way over the past few years, but he barely registers what she says in her haste. He takes a moment to stare at her with his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, hoping the words will eventually make sense. 

They don’t. 

"What?" 

Robin paces back and forth while gesturing wildly with her hands. "You know how I do the thing where I ramble around girls I find really really hot? Well, I was doing that, and I brought you up and kept going on about how annoying my roommate is-" 

"Are you kidding m-" 

Robin continues as if she didn't just insult him. "And she kind of stopped and look at me and said, 'Your roommate is a guy?' And I got confused and said yes because why would I lie? And she got all uncomfortable and started asking more questions like if you were gay or straight, and I told her you were bi, and she got even weirder! So, eventually I just straight up asked her what was wrong, and she said that she didn't want to go out with me if my roommate was potentially into me. So I told her that wasn't a problem because you've been dating Eddie for two years." She finishes with that awkward lip bite she does which can be oddly endearing sometimes. But it’s not this time. 

Steve leans forward on the couch. "I'm sorry. You still want to go out with a girl who has no trust in my ability to keep things in my pants? As if she doesn't trust that you're a lesbian and if I ever made a move on you, you would absolutely punch me in the throat." 

Robin sits next to him and grabs his hands. "She's so so hot, Steve. Please." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Fine, you can keep telling her that I’m dating Eddie, I guess." 

Robin breaks eye contact and starts picking at her nail polish. 

Well, that’s not a great sign. "What aren't you telling me?" 

Robin slowly looks at him in the way a dog looks at their owner after destroying their favorite shoes. "Okay, so then I really got a bit crazy, and when she asked me to show me pictures of you two together, I dropped my phone in my glass of water." She slowly pulls out her phone, and sure enough, it won't even turn on. 

Steve digs the heels of his hands into his eyes before grabbing her phone and stalking off to the kitchen to find rice and a bowl. Robin follows after him. 

"So, all I need to do is take a few pictures of you guys looking really coupley on dates and whatnot and make it look like they range over the past two years. I also told Veronica that I would let her meet you two sometime soon,” She rushes in to add the second thing before Steve can really process the first one. She just smiles, trying to look all sweet and endearing.  

Steve gives Robin the best bitchy glare he has, but she shoots him one back and counters by saying, "You owe me, and you know it." 

"For what?" Steve asks as he pours rice over her phone. 

Robin crosses her arms. "Three weeks ago, you kicked me out of the apartment without warning to have sex with some random girl, and I was left stranded for the night." 

Steve scoffs, "You went to Nancy's and slept in her very nice guest bedroom!" 

"You owe me!" 

Steve puts the bag of rice down and sighs. "Fine, but if Eddie doesn't agree, then I'm out." 

Robin smiles. "Deal." 

Steve hates how confident she is about the whole thing, so he calls Eddie and puts him on speaker. When he answers, Steve immediately says, "Hey, Eddie, you're on speaker with me and Robin, and she has a very ridiculous request for you. I'll let her tell you the details." 

After Robin recounts her night and Steve tries not to rant about how much of a bad vibe he gets from the girl, Eddie pauses for a bit to take it all in. Then, he says, "Robin, I really don't like this Veronica girl." 

"She's hot!" Robin retorts. 

Eddie snorts on the other line. "I'm in if Steve's in." 

Steve's jaw drops. Robin shoots him a big smile. "Perfect! What if we started on pictures early tomorrow? I've got a lot of random dates to prepare you guys for." 

Steve interrupts before Eddie can answer. "And why can't you show her like... three pictures of us cuddling on the couch?" 

"We need to cover our tracks as much as we can and cuddling on the couch a few times won’t do. Oh, we should hang a few pictures of you two around the apartment!" Robin plots excitedly. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. He can't believe he's doing this. They don’t even have pictures hanging up. 

"Tomorrow works for me," Eddie says, entirely oblivious to Steve’s internal struggle. 

But Steve can't help but get a little excited at the thought of seeing Eddie and spending a whole day with him. 

So, he sucks it up and says, "I'm free, too. And I'm excited to see you, Eddie. I've missed you." 

"I saw you yesterday," Eddie laughs on the other line. 

Steve blushes and argues, "Seeing you for a minute when I get my coffee doesn't count." 

"Whatever you say, pumpkin bread." 

Pumpkin bread? Steve scrunches up his nose in protest. “That’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard.” 

"Just practicing for when we meet this Veronica girl, my peach." 

Steve can’t help but laugh. "We are not that kind of couple. But I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night. Sweet dreams, rubber ducky." 

Eddie laughs loudly on the other line and muffles the sound probably with his hand. 

Steve bites his lip, trying not to get too pleased at causing that reaction. 

"Good night, sweetheart." The line beeps three times as the call ends, and Steve can't help the smile that grows on his face. Sweetheart... he kind of likes that one. 

"Glad to see you two get into your roles," Robin says with a smirk. 

Steve jumps back, having forgotten she was there. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight.” With that, he quickly rushes off to his room before Robin can say anything else about the interaction. 

"Goodnight, dingus!" she calls after him joyously. 

This all better be worth it.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next morning, Steve can't help but get a little nervous when Eddie sends him an "Almost there!" text. He has a feeling this whole thing is going to blow up in their faces or something. 

He's always known that Eddie's been cute. Hell, the first time he saw him, Steve thought he was hot. But he had never thought of them together after that. Sure, there was definitely a certain chemistry between them, but for some reason, Steve always saw him as off-limits. Especially since Dustin would kill him if he ever broke Eddie's heart. 

So, Steve learned to push down any feelings he's had for him over the years. And he's afraid that all those repressed feelings are going to come up today.  

There's a knock on his and Robin's apartment door, and Steve freezes. Hopefully his and Eddie’s friendship will survive whatever happens next.  

Here goes nothing.  

He opens the door to find a curly head of hair in front of him that isn't Eddie's. 

"Nancy?" 

"Hi! I'm here to take pictures today," she explains as she walks through the door, wiggling her Canon camera in her hand. "I thought Robin told you." 

"She certainly did not," Steve says and pinches his nose. He might kill her. He pushes the door shut, but it stops. 

"Hey," Eddie says peaking his head out from behind the door and catching Steve’s eye quickly. "Sorry, I'm late," he apologizes as he pulls Steve into a tight hug. 

Steve lingers in it, squeezing Eddie tightly, smelling the lavender shampoo he uses, and trying to make the moment last as long as he can. 

The sound of a camera shutter snaps him out of the moment. 

He pulls back and looks at Nancy. 

"Taking some candid pictures," she says unapologetically. 

But Steve doesn't care too much when he feels Eddie's hand linger on his back. "You're taking pictures for us? What happened to Robin?" 

"Yes, what did happen to Robin?" Steve asks raising his voice so she'll hear him. 

"Coming!" she yells then comes out of her room looking very strangely put together. Steve glances down at her wrist and notices her wearing her lucky black bracelet. When did she start wearing that again? 

"You look nice," Nancy says with a soft smile. 

"Thanks," Robin replies with a soft blush. 

Steve is definitely missing something, but he can't pay attention when Eddie is gently rubbing his back. He's going to end up dying on the spot. 

"Eddie!" Robin says, finally noticing him, "I see you brought the extra clothes." 

Steve glances down to where Eddie's suitcase sits on the floor. He does not remember him bringing that in. Shit, he's so distracted by his presence. Wait. "Why did you bring extra clothes?" he asks Eddie then notices how close they're standing. Oh, hello, Eddie's very soft-looking lips. 

"I told you we're covering two years. That means different seasons," Robin says as if the answer is obvious. 

Hell no. "There's no way in hell I'm wearing cold clothes outside in the heat." 

"Good thing I planned for us to stay in for those pictures," Nancy says with a smile on her face. "Now go change into one of your sweaters or something. Oh! Eddie, you should change with him so you two can color coordinate. It'll be so cute!" 

Steve adds Nancy to the list of people he might murder. 

Eddie's hand drops from his back as he wheels the suitcase into Steve's room. Steve follows and closes the door behind him. 

"Sorry for all this," Steve says, glancing around to make sure nothing embarrassing is laying out. 

Eddie shakes his head and brushes it off as if it's nothing, "Nah, it's all good. I think it could be fun if we let it. Color coordinating is a horrible idea though." 

"Agreed," Steve replies, deciding that his room looks fine. He opens up his closet and pushes his short sleeve clothes to the side to try to get to his sweaters hanging in the back. "What are you thinking for clothes?" 

"I don't care as long as you wear your yellow sweater for one of the pictures." 

Steve snorts. For some reason, Eddie had such an attachment to the thing. One time, he mistakenly put it in his designated donation bin, and he thought Eddie was going to cry when he found it. 

He had cradled the thing to his chest and dramatically said, "You don't understand, Steve. Some people's lives depend on you wearing this sweater. Their lives, Steve." 

Steve had rolled his eyes, put it back on a hanger, and hung it with the other sweaters. "Better?" he asked. 

"Much better."  

And the whole thing had been worth it to see the smile on Eddie's face - especially when Steve decided to surprise him by wearing it to the coffee shop the next day. 

"Whatcha thinking about?" Eddie asks with a smile, suddenly very close to him. 

Steve shakes his head as if shaking away the memory. "Nothing." 

Eddie raises an eyebrow but he doesn't push it before he goes back to his suitcase and starts laying out his clothes on Steve's bed. 

Steve strips off his shirt and pulls the sweater over his head. He glances down at his jeans and decides that Veronica probably won't remember what pants he was wearing in each picture. 

He turns to tell Eddie as much but freezes when he sees Eddie shirtless, sorting through the clothes to find the perfect assortment of layers. Steve swallows and adverts his eyes. He is not going to check him out while he's changing. He clears his throat and turns back to his closet. "I think we just need to change our shirts. Maybe outside, you can start with a base layer then add on top of that." 

Steve doesn't think he can stand to see shirtless Eddie with all his tattoos out in the daylight or the moonlight - if it takes that long. And he certainly does not want to let anyone else see that either. 

"That's smart, babe." 

Steve's hand squeezes whatever poor shirt he was grabbing a little too tight at the nickname. He's never been one for nicknames, especially over-the-top ones, but knowing it's Eddie calling him that as if he really does love him... it really does something for Steve. 

He doesn't reply as he grabs a few shirts and jackets and lays them out on the bed next to Eddie's stuff. 

He glances up at Eddie and almost breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that he has a shirt on. And a flannel. And his leather jacket. Thank goodness for layers. 

He looks back at Eddie's face and catches the exact moment that Eddie registers him wearing the yellow sweater. His eyes fill with unhinged excitement and joy. He walks right into Steve's space and leans down - oh my god - to talk to the sweater. 

"I've missed you so much. You know, it's so unfair that Steve only gets to wear you for a small part of the year. And he doesn't own anything short-sleeved in your beautiful color it seems." 

Steve puts his hands on his hips and stares up at the ceiling. He can't believe he's ever had trouble pushing down feelings for this man. 

(But he makes a note to himself to buy more things in yellow just for him.) 

There’s a loud knocking on the door, then Robin yells, “You two have been in there for a while! Everything okay?” 

“Eddie is talking to my sweater again!” Steve calls back. 

There’s a pause before Nancy says, “Sorry, we didn’t hear you right. What?” 

“I’m talking to his sweater! Be out soon!” Eddie yells. 

There’s some mumbling outside the door as Steve finally looks down at Eddie and asks, “Are you done?” 

Eddie smiles up at him. “Never.” 

But he straightens up and presses a quick kiss to Steve’s shoulder before he turns to leave the room. “That was for the sweater, not you,” Eddie clarifies. 

“Right,” Steve replies. Because that makes so much sense.

Today is going to kill him. 

Part two ;)

(This was meant to just be a ficlet for my dear friend @henderdads , and then it turned into a six-part fic. I hope you enjoy!! ((Especially you, Cass)) AO3 Link here!)

[ruruvxz]

hanni getting lost finding the correct bus ride and yn getting lost in hanni’s eyes 😉

- 🍊

“Lost”

Non-Idol!Hanni Pham x Reader

↳synopsis: While trekking back to your home after a long tiring day of work, you really couldn’t take your eyes off the girl who happened to take the same route as you. It was odd though, since you’ve never seen her before, additionally she looked quite confused. It wasn’t until she kept taking the same transportation as you when you finally realized she was actually lost.

↳cw: lovestruck reader, not proofread, pure fluff

↳wc: 1.6k

a/n: we meet again 🍊, but I’m very excited to get requests because that means i can serve you gorgeous gorgeous people. besides i had lots and lots of fun writing this! Sadly this is very short and sweet but i hope you all enjoy regardless

She was so lost right now, oh-so-lost, to the point where she started getting on and off at random stops and digging herself further into a rabbit hole. Her original destination, which wasn't all that far from her original stance, well before she accidentally got on the wrong bus, was now further away than she'd anticipated. The long dark haired woman getting even more antsy and distraught, caught the unwanted attention of other public transportation goers. And you were no expectation from that, your eyes lingered a little too long at the frustrated girl.

You felt so terrible for her, you've been in her position more than once so you knew the feeling exactly, to add salt to the wound, you also happened to be going on the same exact route as her. Well— Not technically, she just so happened to keep getting lost in the direction you were going. That also means that you saw her struggling for the past few rides without saying anything, and of course, your guilty conscience was getting the best of you.

Making the decision to talk to her, you waited for the perfect opportunity, subtly following her and making sure she wasn't lurking around in the dangerous parts of town. The woman took a break at a nearby bus stop, slouching onto the bar of the sunshade, giving leverage for her back. She pulled out her phone and started typing out various words before huffing angrily.

Finally biting the bullet, you hauled your way over to the dark-haired woman and tapped her gently on the shoulder. Flinching at the sudden touch she whipped her head towards you, slapping your face with strands of hair. Clenching your jaw you bit back any remark you had about her practically smacking you with her hair because you felt terribly pitiful for her. As she snapped her head back with a sharp hiccup she stared right at you, clearly still distressed by the situation she was in.

The way her eyes met yours, how they glistened slightly as they made contact with the sunlight, and how delicate her features were, made your heart sink. Hitching your breath you began to speak softly, not wanting to intimidate the poor woman even further. "Hey, so I saw you a few stops back..." You mumbled, your words barely distinguishable, "Are you, uhm...perhaps lost?" You ask, pretending to be blind by the fact you did know she was lost, as your eyes tried to pry away from hers.

"Oh! Oh my! Yes— I'm so lost right now— I don't know where I am! Thank you for asking— you see I was—" As she stuttered out her whole circumstances of events your eyes drifted to the scenery around her, and back to her eyes. The way it captivated you so easily was a spectacle within itself, how she scrunched her nose as she recounted something about getting the wrong direction. Honestly, you weren't all that interested in how she got in this situation, as shallow as it was, your eyes lingered more on hers than how dreadful her recounting was.

Mindlessly nodding as you moved from her eyes and down to her lips, taking a mental note of how her gloss exemplified the slightly pink tint of her lips. Giving her gentle "Mhms" "Ohh" and "I get it" as she continued on her tyrant on how her friends just casually left her behind. As her story came to a close, you snapped yourself out of the daze she put you in and coughed out a reply.

"What's your name again?"

"Hanni!" She bubbled, tilting her head slightly, letting her delicate black pool onto her shoulder. Taking in on how the sun hit her face as she did so, everything about her was undoubtedly breathtaking. In some sick way, you were quite grateful her friends accidentally gave her the wrong location, giving you the chance to stumble across a hidden jewel like her.

"And what's yours, stranger?" Her toothy smile as she awaited your answer made you even more giddy, like a teenage boy going through his first crush. She reminded you of the warm sunlight hitting your face as you awoke for another day, so refreshing and lively, irreplaceable and unique.

"Call me, Y/N. And I'm sorry about that, if you still need help I'll help you find your way around." You chuckled softly, barely failing to hide the anticipation in your voice. You so desperately wanted her to agree but wanted to be nonchalant about it, to not freak her out. But truly, deep inside, you were practically shaking at the idea of helping this captivating woman to where she needed to go. Besides, you also wanted to keep her safe, and help her not encounter any of the other unsafe areas.

Hanni, who was at this point grateful anyone took the initiative to talk with her, let alone offer to personally help her get to the proper destination, agreed without any hesitation. It was almost concerning how fast she agreed to your offer, but you were happy she did nevertheless. “Ah— You’d do that for me? Thank you so much I know it’s a lot to ask for—“ Hanni spoke again once more, her words were hurried and rushed but she was more than appreciative that you’d help her.

“Oh! Don’t worry about it,—Hanni was it? I’d feel terrible if you managed to get lost even further and I didn’t say anything about it.” You admitted, locking into her softened gaze for a moment as you psychoanalyzed the way her eyes turned into little crescent moons as she laughed. Despite being so clearly strained, she was able to find the best of her situation without fail, it amazed you how anyone could be that chipper, let alone, this stunning.

“Haha, I get that, but let’s be honest it’s not every day someone gets this lost.” Hanni joked, emphasizing the word “this” because most sane people wouldn’t be mindlessly continuing to get on and off and making it worse for themselves. You both just laughed at her predicament, having a casual conversation before eventually deciding it was time to take her where she intended to go.

You accompanied her throughout the short trip giving her simple suggestions and pointers as to how to navigate public transportation. As you traveled with Hanni, you got to know her bit by bit, how she loved to sing and dance, and how you had quite a bit in common. Like how both of you loved to read, she knew quite a lot of classic literature which you also happened to love.

As you looked at the map on your phone, you felt a pang of sadness knowing how close you both were. Knowing this was most definitely the last time you’d ever see Hanni, despite being the first meeting, you felt like you’d known her for ages. You stared at the window, taking in the greenery, letting out an exasperated sigh, the sun was setting at this point, and the lost girl was tired by now.

Hanni’s drowsy eyes started to bat open and close as her head drifted closer towards your shoulder, the side of her temple colliding gently with you. She was dozing off whilst resting herself on her shoulder, hitching your breath you reached your hand out and stroked her head gently. Making sure she didn’t wake up before her stop, understanding she needed some type of rest.

You glanced at your cellphone, watching the tracker of your phone inch ever so closely to the destination. Finally, close enough you reached over for the stop button on the bus and clicked it ever so quietly. It only took a few minutes before the bus took its full stop, your hand wrapped around her, and you gave her a quick shrug to wake the tired girl. Hanni, a little surprised she dozed off on you, apologized before standing up and dragging you with her.

Laughing at her antics you got off with her, she looked mighty flushed but it was oddly adorable. You chuckled with her as she tried to muster up the courage to speak up, she had something on her mind but didn’t have the heart to say anything. “Hey Y/N, I have a question.” She asked biting the bullet.

“Ah, yes? What is it, Hanni?” You replied, ruffling your hair as you admired her sun-kissed face beamed in the golden hour. She was incredible in any setting, you wanted to tell her that but god forbid you to make things awkward when everything was so good right now.

“Do you have a number?”

“Yeah, do you want it?”

“Yes please” She mumbled as she reached her phone out, the page already opened to the phone app, ready for you to input your digits. Your face was flushed but you’re glad she couldn’t tell how flustered you were as you quickly inputted your contact information.

“Oh, and I wanted to tell you. I’m so glad I met you Y/N you don’t know how much it meant to me when you decided to help someone like me out.”

“It’s nothing, I’m glad I met you.” You slip up, not realizing what you said before it was far too late, Hanni’s hands lift to her cheeks as she flushed a bright pink shade. Not expecting your thoughts to verbalize so easily, you mentally cursed yourself and tried to take it back before she cut you off.

“I’m glad too! I’ll text you when I get home alright?”

“I promise.” She added as she smiled, getting lost in her eyes once more.

“Alright, call me if you get lost again.”

The ending is so trash omg

[allthingsfangirl101]

*Post-Practice Cool Down–Steve Harrington

Warnings: unprotected sex, shower sex, rough/kinky sex, language

Billy Hargrove came to Hawkins and immediately tried to take over. The girls loved him and the guys hated him. From the second he met Steve, he made it his life mission to get in his head. And he had two ways to do this; through basketball and me.

We've been friends since kindergarten after Steve stood up for me when Tommy kept pulling my pigtails. During freshman year, my crush finally asked me out. I was so excited but after two dates, I caught him making out with another girl.

I was so heartbroken I ran home from school that day. A little later, Steve came climbing through my window. He sat with me all night and kept saying what a douche the guy was and that I deserved better. I fell asleep in his arms. Right as I fell asleep, I heard him whisper that he loved me.

The next day at school I was awkward and nervous around him. He asked me at lunch what was going on and I couldn't tell him. He dragged me to the baseball field and we sat down on the bleachers. He pushed me to tell him what was wrong.

                              ~•~

"Come on, Y/N," Steve sighed as he grabbed my hand. "You gotta talk to me. I'm your best friend. I know when something's wrong."

"I heard you," I whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

"After Luke cheated on me, you came over," I started to recount. "You stayed with me all night and. . . Right before I fell asleep, I heard you whisper something."

"Oh," Steve mumbled, catching on. I felt him readjust his grip on my hand.

"It's okay," I said quickly. Steve looked at me, instantly studying me.

"It is?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Because I. . . I mean we've. . . I do."

"You do?" Steve asked, scooting closer to me.

"I do," I whispered. I gasped when Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Smiling, I slowly started kissing him back. We got lost in the kiss. The only thing that brought us out of it was the bell ringing.

                              ~•~

Ever since Billy came to town, Steve's been kind of tense. He's been almost defensive. No matter what I do, nothing seems to help.

I sat and watched the boys play basketball, cringing when Steve slowly started getting frustrated. He kept making eye contact with me. Whenever he did, his eyes softened. But then Billy would say something and Steve would get angry all over again.

I jumped when Billy pushed Steve to the ground. I sat at the edge of my seat when Billy went to help Steve up. He whispered something before roughly pushing him back down. Steve was fuming as he went to the boy's locker room.

I waited for Steve but he was taking longer than normal. When everyone else had gone home, Steve still hadn't come out. Sighing, I grabbed my backpack and headed into the locker room. I could hear the water running.

"You know something, Harrington?" Billy laughed. I peeked around the corner to see Billy turning off Steve's shower. "I gotta give you some props. That girl of yours? Y/N? She's pretty sexy. Sexier than you, that's for sure. She's too good for you. Maybe I should. . ."

"If you go anywhere near my Y/N," Steve started to threaten.

"You know, if she ever wants someone to show her a real good time, have her give me a call."

Billy smirked before leaving the showers. I tucked into a stall as Billy got dressed and left. When he was gone, I finally snuck out. I walked around to the showers and saw Steve angrily hit his shower head and turn it back on. I bit my lip, unable to stop myself from looking over my boyfriend's wet body.

I found his locker and slowly took off my shirt and jeans. Still in my underwear, I walked back to the showers. I double-checked that we were alone before walking into the showers.

"You're wasting water."

Steve turned around, unable to stop himself from checking me out as I slipped out of my underwear. "What are you doing here?" He panicked, quickly turning off the water. "Y/N, this is the boy's shower."

"Exactly," I giggled as I reached up to take off my bra. Steve chewed on his bottom lip as he watched me unhook it in the front.

"Baby," he stuttered. "What if. . ."

"No one else is here," I said softly as I stepped towards him. I smirked as I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at my eyes, not my breasts. "You're all hot, baby. You need to cool down."

Steve moaned as I grabbed his shoulders and lifted my leg. He bit his lip as he grabbed my leg, pulling me closer to him.

"Everyone left a long time ago," I whispered.

"Good," Steve grunted as he pushed me up against the wall. He instantly attached his lips to mine.

Our lips moved messily in sync as we pulled our bodies close together. Soon, we were grinding in our usual rough and smooth rhythm. Steve squeezed my thigh, pulling me closer as he pushed into me. I broke the kiss and moaned as he started thrusting in and out of me.

Steve leaned down and pressed his face between my breasts. I swore under my breath as he played hockey with his tongue and my nipple.

"Oh baby," I moaned loudly.

Steve broke the kiss and roughly pulled out of me. He turned me around and pushed me up against the wall. My hands were pressed against the shower wall as Steve lined himself up.

"Fuck, baby girl," he swore as he pushed into me.

I leaned back against him as he snuck his hands around my body. He slid his hands up my stomach until he found my breasts. He squeezed them as he pulsed in and out of me. Steve slowly pulled out of me, making me gasp in pain.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered. "You know I can't control myself around you. It takes everything in me not to take you to the bathroom and devour you every day I see you."

I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck. "I don't mind you being rough with me," I whispered. "It makes me feel sexy."

"Good," he groaned. "Because you are, baby girl. You're my sexy little kitty cat."

"And your my protective big dog," I whispered standing on my toes, purposefully pushing my body against his.

"Fuck yeah I am," he said darkly.

"Stevie?"

"Yes, baby girl?"

"Turn the water back on."

"Yes ma'am," he moaned.

I gasped, arching my back when he pushed into me as he leaned over and turned on the water. We let out surprised gasps that turned into lust-filled laughs as the water washed over us.

Steve looked into my eyes and smirked. He pushed me back against the shower, making me choke on my moan. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer to me.

He looked directly into my eyes as he pushed into me. I grabbed his face and brought his lips down to mine. Our lips instantly started moving roughly in sync as he began thrusting into me.

"Come on, baby," he moaned against my lips. "Release for me."

"Not yet."

Steve groaned in protest as started to speed up his movements. I finally broke the kiss and leaned my head back against the shower pole as I arched my back. He leaned down and started sucking on my neck without skipping a beat.

He reached down and grabbed my thigh, wrapping it around his waist. He then grabbed my other thigh. He gripped my thighs tightly as he picked me up. His movements officially reached the roughest he's ever gotten with me. That's when I released.

We both let out small whines as Steve pulled out of me and put me back on my feet. I kept my arms wrapped around him and his body pressed to mine. We looked into each other's eyes as we caught our breaths and came down from our highs.

Steve leaned down and pressed his lips gently to mine. When he broke the kiss, he took a small step away from me. He grabbed my hands, gently squeezing them. Steve let go of my hand, and with the one he was still holding, he led me out of the showers.

I smiled when Steve handed me a towel. I stood on my toes and kissed him as I grabbed it. I wrapped the towel around my body and started walking back to Steve's locker. We got dressed, sharing cheeky glances.

Once we were dressed, Steve grabbed my hand and we walked out of the school together. We got into his car but he didn't drive away. I looked over to see him lost in thought.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he said softly. He looked over at me, his eyes softening. "I want to make sure you know how much this meant to me."

"Sneaking into the boy's showers and having unprotected sex with my boyfriend?" I teased.

"No," he sighed, reaching over and grabbing my hand. "For standing by my side. I know I have this weird fued with Billy going on. He just. . . He keeps getting under my skin and it irritates the living hell out of me. I just want to. . ."

"Steve," I gently cut him off.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "What I was trying to say is you've stood by me. You've been on my side. You've calmed me down. And not just by sleeping with me. Sure, sometimes you simply kiss me and I calm down. Or you grab my hand. Or you physically pull me away. Whatever you do, it always works. It's nice having someone on my side."

"I will always be on your side, Steve."

"I know," he smiled. "That's why I love you."

I leaned over the console and pressed my lips to his. I felt him smile as he kissed me back. We broke the kiss before we could get too into this kiss.

"I love you too, Stevie," I whispered. "And I promise, I'll always be here for you."

"Good," Steve said softly. "Because I don't want you anywhere but right next to me."

"I don't plan on being anywhere else."

[delphi-shield]

Variations on a Theme

Claire Redfield x Leon Kennedy wc: ~2.6k post-vendetta, pre-death island. short fic that wouldnt leave me alone so i had to write it down. might write a continuation. happy sept. 30th, i miss my babies. dividers from @/adornedwithlight

summary: Sherry organizes a memorial service; Claire and Leon try to put aside their grief to mourn the way she does.

The call comes through at 11 PM the night before. Leon ignores most calls to his personal cell after nine, but for Claire, he makes an exception.

She never calls without purpose. Not anymore. There had been nights in the past when it had been anything and everything and the nothing in between that had kept them up until early hours of the morning. Calls crammed between operations and meetings, voicemails that still haunted his inbox. They had been better at this once.

The small talk hadn't been so stilted and forced like it was now. No ‘hey, I saw that report on Bali - was that you?’ because Claire would have known. He would have told her everything – or mostly everything. Leon would have redacted the parts that could get her into trouble. He'd leave out hostage scenarios gone wrong, spare her the inequity of his work even though she's sure to find out on her own.

Somewhere along the way, he'd started redacting so many details that his recountings had boiled down to ‘I'm glad to be back’. Somewhere along the way, Claire had stopped pressing for more.

Claire doesn't bother feigning interest in his last operation this time. She doesn't need to - TerraSave already put out a statement condemning the outcome.

She's good at small talk, always has been better at people than him. Conversation flows from her, connections come easy. He'd always admired that about her. Now, though, she's floundering. His short, to the point answers have her at a loss. That's new. Usually it just pisses her off.

“What’s going on, Claire?” he asks for the second time in their short conversation.

She lapses into silence. Redfield family trait - they love to go quiet on you when they've been found out. Like they're waiting for you to move on - like you'll forget if they just don't acknowledge it.

“Sherry's organized this memorial service,”  Claire finally broaches. “For - y'know. I think it would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Of course he knows. He's been dreading this kind of thing since Terragrigia, since the gritty details of bioterrorism had been shoved in the average American's home. It's not hard to put two and two together, to realize what the Raccoon City incident had been. Maybe the public would never know the full extent, the involvement of the government, but there's footage of a hunter on LiveLeak, for fuck's sake. You could cover this shit up in the 90's, but they hadn't been on top of things when the century had turned, when more information than ever had been pumped to the general populace. Now it was like sticking a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

He didn't think it would be one of their own who did this, who dredged up Raccoon City's bloated corpse and put it on display. He thought some well-meaning intern, some politician looking for a bump in numbers, trying to seem empathetic might pull this stunt – but one of their own?

He can't tell if it's a dim sense of betrayal that's twisting his gut into knots or if it's anger. He's carefully curated his life to avoid this. The month of September is his memorial. He doesn't need the cameras, the spotlight - he doesn't need other people sobbing out their grief right next to him, not when he keeps his tight to his chest.

Jesus. Sherry couldn't have asked him herself? Not in person, God no – but sent him a calendar invite or emailed him a flier - something that would give him plausible deniability. Something he could ignore, slide into the recycle bin, claim he never received and curse technology. Sorry, Sherry. All this new technology is just tough for me to keep up with. As if he's not got the latest and greatest in hand at all times.

“Are you going?”

Claire is quiet on the other end of the line.

“It would mean a lot to her.”

Leon snorts. “That's a ‘no’.”

Claire's huff is almost lost through the phone, but he can picture her pout well enough. Lord knows he's the cause more often than not.

It's not just that he hates this kind of thing, or that he's still hot off the heels of Benson's death, that the media could have a field day with him showing up to an event like this. If the wrong people hear about this, they'll all be lambasted as nutjob conspiracy theorists. If the wrong people have found out about this, it could get dangerous fast.

Leon does the only thing he can think to. Deflect.

“She shouldn't be doing this shit,” Leon points out. “Raccoon City is still classified.”

He can feel Claire roll her eyes from the other side of the phone. He bites his tongue. Improvement, he thinks. A month ago he would have cut loose, blown this whole conversation up.

“She's not releasing classified info, Leon. It's a memorial.”

“Brass is gonna have a problem with this, and I don't know if I can bail her out.”

“She got it cleared months ago. You'd know if–” Claire stops herself. She's trying, too, he realizes when she swerves around the giant crater that was the way he'd spent a year drinking himself into oblivion. “You’d know if you actually checked your email.”

Damn. She's got him there. Maybe Sherry already tried the calendar invite and the flier. In his mind's eye, she's still 12 years old, ruddy cheeked and gap toothed - clicking clumsily around a computer to make a flier, sending it to him, waiting–

He stops that train of thought, pins the ache in his chest on a recently cracked rib.

“Nobody asks Valentine to go to this shit.”

“Jill's busy.”

“And I'm not?”

“Can you just show up for Sherry?”

“Can't we just take her out for ice cream after or something?”

“She's not–” 

Claire pauses on the other end of the line. Leon's not as good at this as he used to be, can't tell if she stopped herself so she doesn't laugh or so she doesn't snap at him.

Inhale. Shaky exhale. He can hear her struggling not to smile.

“She's not a kid anymore.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. He's seen her in the field. She’s a powerhouse, full-grown and owning it.

Man up, Kennedy, he thinks. Do it for your girls.

The thought sends a jolt skittering across his skin, raises the hair on his arms. He hasn't thought of them like that in years - not sober, at least.

“I'm not sitting on the stage,” he says firmly.

“Me either.”

“And I’m not giving a speech.”

“I don't think it's a media thing,” Claire says, the way one might try to calm a spooked horse. “She just wanted to do something for people like us. It's gonna be low-key.”

Claire has a very different definition of ‘low-key’ than he does, but he hums all the same.

“All right,” he relents. “Send me the details.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his phone to vibrate. She was ready for that, probably planned on sending it to him whether he said yes or no.

She sounds cheerful, reveling in her victory, when she winds up the call with the promise to see him next week. He can count the times Claire has been happy to see him lately on one hand; when he tosses his phone back to his nightstand, he counts that as a win.

The week flies by as if September 30th couldn't get there quick enough. Usually, the week of the 30th dragged - every hour of every day dedicated to a remembrance of the last normal hours of his life. Mourning is on hold for now - he’s saving it all up for Sherry's big event.

Claire texts him a reminder two days before. He types and retypes a response over and over, and somewhere in the revisions he realizes it's not just about him. She doesn't want to do this either. Not alone.

See you there. Ice cream after.

Leon’s locked in now. He prays for work to run long, for an emergency to crop up that sends him across the country - but the office is quiet. He's grateful not to run into Sherry, grateful that he won't have the chance to open his mouth and ruin things. There will plenty of time for that later.

You promised, he tells himself the morning of, phone in hand, debating on calling in sick. His feet are leaden when he dresses, hands heavy at the wheel of his car. He's in a daze the whole day, barely remembers driving to work. If anyone notices, they don't call him on it. He’s ghosting through another September unseen.

But the end of the day forces him back into his body. He'll be late if he sits in his car any longer. The engine turns over despite his prayers. He promised, he tells himself. He can't make them do this alone.

The park Sherry picked out for the memorial service is close to the office. He could walk, but he's not going to limit his options in case things go south, wants the ability to get in his car and bail. Halfway there, he realizes he's been followed. He stays in his car, watching the suburban in the rearview when they pull in a few spots down. Leon only relaxes when a gaggle of kids burst from the sliding door, run off ahead of their mother.

Claire's waiting for him when he hops out. She leans against her bike. Her hair is down - shorter than he remembers. Her thick jacket thrown over the seat of her bike, leaving her in a black turtleneck and a pair of orange corduroys.

“You know it's not formal, right?”

“I'm coming from work. Cut me some slack.”

Claire laughs, ducking her head. She pushes off of her bike and waves for him to follow. She swishes into the park ahead of him, her steps only faltering until he catches up to her side with a handful of long strides. Side by side like this, there’s enough room to slot Sherry in between them. Wherever she is - probably off playing party planner.

He always thought she’d be good at that. Sherry’s good at making sure people are taken care of, making sure they have what they need. She’s got a quiet sort of intensity that can spook people, sure, but she’s fun and exuberant - she could have had a shot at a real life, if things had been different.

She reserved a little gazebo for the event. White chairs in a handful of neat lines, a little charcoal grill off to the side, picnic table lined with candles and framed photos. It’s sweet, the way she’s done everything up. Probably put hours into this, getting things just so. She’s done a good job, honest.

Leon just can't stop checking every angle. He's braced for the sight of a flash - camera or muzzle, he's not sure which would be worse. Couldn't Sherry have picked somewhere more private? Couldn't she have rented out the basement of some bar, given him an excuse not to show? Sorry, Sherry, I'm working on myself - can't put myself through the temptation.

No. Of course not. She'd probably considered that already. The kid is too considerate for her own good. Rented out a gazebo just so no one had to face their demons.

Claire pauses at a row of chairs, gesturing for Leon to sit. He forgets to smile when he tears his eyes away from a suspicious copse of bushes. His hand ghosts against the small of her back, urging her to go first. He needs to be on the end, needs to be able to get to his feet quick when something happens.

If, he reminds himself. If something happens.

Claire slips into her seat without protest. Maybe the occasion has her feeling off, too. He tries not to read into it.

Leon lets out a low whistle as he sinks into his chair. “There's more people than I thought there'd be.”

“I know,” Claire hums. “Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones.”

How many people had been there? How many had been on the streets, had escaped by the skin of their teeth? How many of these people were here to mourn someone who had wasted away before their time?

His eyes lock onto hands and mouths, tries to match them to ones he sees in his dreams. Teeth snapping, hands teasing at him, pulling him under a writhing mass of rot, ichor spilling into his mouth, choking him.

Claire nudges him, leans closer. Her shampoo wafts across him, the stench of decades old decay that stings his eyes soothed by cherries. Her fingers light on his wrist.

“Still doing ice cream after? I know a place.”

If they were here for anyone else, he'd have grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out to the parking lot. They'd cut the shit, go get ice cream and pretend things weren't complicated. He'd get butter pecan and Claire would tease him for being basic. Ice cream is a fifteen minute treat, but they'd linger until the parlor closed, until the workers were shooting them dirty looks.

But they're here for Sherry. Leon makes himself smile, mouth thinning.

“Yeah. After.”

People file in, some alone, the same haunted look that he wears well, others with whole families. There's maybe thirty people - small number on paper, but packed in like this makes it feel claustrophobic. He scans the crowd for Sherry again and again, searching for a glimpse of her. Claire’s hand stays on his wrist, heavier now. He wishes he could turn his hand and capture hers. He doesn’t know how to.

“She still comin’?” He murmurs to Claire.

“She better. This is her thing,” she grumbles back. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He knew she wasn’t all-in on this whole thing.

Before he can call her on it, Sherry beats down the center aisle, clambering up the steps of the gazebo. Leon clicks his tongue, sits a little straighter. There she is, digging Claire out of a moment of weakness once again.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Sherry starts, shuffling note cards in her hands. 

Claire lets out a coo under her breath. She leans closer, presses against Leon’s arm to whisper, “she’s so nervous. Look.”

Leon doesn’t need to be directed to see the tremble of Sherry’s fingers, but he looks anyway. Public speaking isn’t the issue, he knows that much - it’s got to be the topic.

Leon sits a little taller. He nudges Claire’s knee with his own, a silent ‘watch this’. He coughs into his fist, louder and longer than necessary.

Sherry tracks the sound instinctively. Her eyes light on them in the crowd. The apples of her cheeks bunch up, smile so wide that she's transformed right back into that little girl he knew, that clung to his hand and swung his arm as they walked down the road. Her words trail off, pause long enough to be noticeable but not to be awkward.

“I’m so grateful that each and every one of you have taken the time to come here tonight,” she continues, her eyes lingering on Leon, flitting back to Claire.

There. That’s his good deed for the month.

“You’re buying,” he whispers to Claire once Sherry’s eyes have finally drifted away.

Claire snorts. She pats his arm. He can see it all over her face - yeah, right.

Yeah, right. His girls are gonna burn an ice cream-shaped hole in his wallet by the end of the night.

[wexhappyxfew]

stray bullets

(a/n): it's been a long time coming, but.....i am beyond excited to share this piece. focused on some early days with kennedy x bucky, i wanted to dig into kennedy and her character (and her fun internal monologue) and introduce exactly how she's connected with bucky - because let's be honest, even she doesn't know how it happened. please enjoy!! :D (also...it's a bit of a long one - i was having some fun haha!)

The silence around the interrogation table was enough to mess with any person's head; whether they were the command pilot, like Lieutenant Bradshaw, or a tail gunner, like Marianne Salinger, they all seemed to sit in reserved quietness as they festered in the happenings of just an hour ago.

Sweat trickled down the sides of her face as she leaned against the wooden table, picking at pieces that were peeling up, trying to keep her eyes away from the maps sprawled out, and that big leather-jacket notebook where Bessie kept all her notes, coordinates and documentation for what planes had gone down - when and where. The other tables were much more lively - louder, chatty, a bit of yelling even. The Silver Bullets table was quiet, and they were all sure it had to do with the notable lack of their flight engineer, who was currently at the Med-Bay, bloodied and unconscious.

Margie Harlowe was on all of their minds it seemed.

And the thought of having to recount the events leading up to that point, made Kennedy want to vomit. The hit had come just as they were on the 90 degree turn to get the bombs ready to drop. Achterberg had taken control of the plane, with Bradshaw and Montez working to guide the B-17 swiftly to the side, as the onslaught of flak and bullets sprayed from the German fighters swinging around above them.

Kennedy remembered the yelp and anguished cry of pain that had come from her headset, the blood-curdling scream for help that had Kennedy forgetting about her .50 cal and racing towards where the top turret was. She couldn't get that look on Margie's face out of her mind; sobbing, horrified, the blood covering half her face, Stagliano trying to calm Margie down the best she could, while waving off the sad excuse of help that Kennedy had been. Freezing up like that, what was she thinking?

"Sergeant Farley." Kennedy's head snapped up - she didn't realize she'd blanked out, staring at the dried blood on her hands, shoved up underneath her fingernails, and had her name being called all at once. She met the eyes of the interrogator and swallowed.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw said you were there when you got Sergeant Harlowe out of the top turret." the interrogator started, "Can you recount that for me?" Kennedy stared at him, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone at the table and some of the surrounding upper brass, on her.

Colonel Harding had stood in the background, hand nervously resting on his upper lip, eyes masked in worry as the group had come in - it seemed whenever something happened to Silver Bullets, he was always at interrogation, especially their table. Making sure wrongs were righted and that whatever was going on, was fixed. He looked out for them.

"I was, sir," Kennedy managed out, shifting a bit, as more sweat dripped down her face, briefly catching the worried look from Judy just a few people down. Her eyes caught on Vivian's gaze opposite her own. She then found Francis watching her, and tried to avoid her emotions that she felt as she noted the ones in their co-pilot's own. The only thing keeping her steady was Lieutenant Bradshaw's presence beside her.

In some innate way, having Lieutenant Bradshaw there kept her from losing it.

"It was quick," Kennedy said, "I figured flak or….something from one of the fighters. German fighters. Bullet spray." Kennedy saw Paulina nod her on encouragingly.

"Sergeant Ratcliff was manning her post….so, I went to Sergeant Harlowe," Kennedy said, her eyes filling with tears, her voice breaking, "I got her out of there. As quick as I could. I…I laid her down. There was blood…..everywhere…." Kennedy trailed off. She was staring at her hands again, covered in blood. Margie's blood.

"I was able to stop the bleeding from both the side of her face and her shoulder. Took what bandage was there and wrapped her shoulder. Set it in a splint." Paulina said quickly, her words firm and much more logically-backed and confident than Kennedy's would ever be, "I ensured that there weren't blocked airways and she could breathe. It was a joint effort, Sergeant Farley and I, to ensure her safety." Kennedy looked to Paulina and gave her a slow nod of thanks, to which Paulina nodded back. Because that's what they did for each other; having each other's backs like this.

"Alright," the interrogator said, making a few extra notes before clearing his throat and looking towards Lieutenant Bradshaw, who was sat there stoic and quiet, "we lost Browning and Alder. How many chutes….?"

Kennedy watched in a reeling bit of slow motion as Judy sat there and recounted the number of chutes she had seen, Marianne and Francis chiming in with their own recounts and visuals. How many more chutes would they have to count, planes going down all around, before this would be over? Before this nightmare would end?

Kennedy looked to the empty chair where Margie would've sat and felt her heart sag and her throat tighten with emotion she had been forcing herself not to feel. It was eerily similar to when Captain Faulkner had taken the hit. When she had died. They still had sat around this stupid interrogation table, having to talk about that mission, about what had happened, with Captain Faulkner's chair left open, her presence highly gone. They all remembered that. It hurt.

Whether it was the fact she was sat at that table, or was used to a constant presence of eyes, she glanced upwards and found, from the middle opening space where some of the brass would linger in times like this, Major Egan watching her, his hands placed on his hips, and his eyes seeking out her own.

Kennedy had never been wrapped up in any sort of long-winded conversation with Major Egan - their differences in rank and formalities were already a larger factor than needed when it came to talking to him and she didn't want to incite any sort of inappropriate ideas past that. They'd debated about baseball a few times - her, a raging Red Sox fan, him a stupid Yankees fan - and they'd even had a few conversations that were outside that realm. But it was never anything much more than that. And she intended to keep it that way. Yet, something in his gaze made her not want to look away from his face, from his eyes, from his presence stood there in the center of the room.

"Sergeant Farley?" She snapped her head away from his eyes and back to the table - many of which of the Silver Bullets girls were currently watching Kennedy with sorrowful and worried expressions, while Lieutenant Bradshaw eyed her curiously.

"Sorry?"

"The number of chutes from Browning. That you saw?" the interrogator asked. Kennedy righted herself and straightened her back.

"Right."

When they were dismissed, after Kennedy had been sat, blanked out for a greater portion of her time there in the seat, Lieutenant Bradshaw had caught her before she could run away, pulling her to the side, with a warm hand on her shoulder and a soft look in her eyes.

"You should go visit her," Annie said quietly, "I can tell by the look in your eye that you won't change out of these clothes or eat until you do." Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw did know her rather well in that sense.

"Yes, ma'am, I will," Kennedy said firmly, reaching up to wipe at the beads of sweat still trickling down her face - whether from the stress still circulating her body or the idea of Margie there on a cot, unconscious, she wasn't sure, "you do the same." Annie watched her with a smile before reaching up to squeeze her shoulder.

"I will, Farley," she said, before patting her shoulder, "and wash up. A few of the girls were planning on heading to the flying club tonight. Destress and all." Kennedy smiled softly and nodded.

"Will do." she said and Annie smiled before turning and heading off - leave it to Lieutenant Annie Bradshaw to instill what comfort they all needed after something like that. Birdie used to do much of the same - Annie even had the same look in her eye as Birdie usually did after a mission. Kennedy smiled slightly.

"Sergeant Farley." The achingly familiar voice struck her system and she turned to her left to find Major Egan walking towards her, as she watched him approach with that slow, even and swaggering gait, his crusher cap a bit lopsided on his head, sweat dropping down the sides of his face, as he wore that stupid, beige sheepskin jacket that she had offhandedly made fun of him for that one time (and proceeded to rub in her face ever since).

"Sir." she said, saluting him quickly as he came to a stop in front of her and shook his head, reaching up to bring her arm down from the position she'd taken up.

"Nah, nah, don't worry about that bullshit," he said and she raised her brows, "Harlowe. Sergeant Harlowe - is she good? Is she alright?" Kennedy stared at him, her heart pulsating inside her chest in a way that made her unable to get her breathing entirely under control. She watched him, tilting her head to the side and then managed to find her footing.

"Not entirely, but she's alive," she said firmly, with a nod, "flak hit up top. Or….stray bullets. Either way, she was hit and knocked out. But she's fine now." Kennedy watched him as she spoke, his eyes refusing to leave her own as he stared down at her, his larger-than-life presence soaking up every part of the view in front of her, the worry in his eyes, covered with that joking nature a slight surprise and the deep breaths he was taking enough to make her fail at controlling her own.

"And yourself?" he asked her, the corner of his lips poking upwards, a smile fighting to be on his face.

"Me? Sir, I, uh, I'm fine," she said quickly, sputtering a bit like a small child, "I'm fine seriously-"

"Good, good," he said quickly - they were pretty quick with whatever they seemed to be talking about here, "just…..when the planes came back and Harding said something about Silver Bullets taking a hit, I thought…..thought the whole goddamn plane had gone down from the way he was fucking talking so." She stared at him. He stopped talking and then stared at her, before running a hand over his face and nodding to her. She stared back at him, unsure of what to say.

For probably the first time in a long time, looking at him, she did not know what to say. This panicked approach to this sudden stillness and quiet. There were voices all around them, nurses bustling about with medics and doctors, and pilots with their crews meandering away from interrogation like limp horses, dragging gear that was nothing but a pile of garbage behind them. And the smells - like gasoline, smoke and death wafted through the air, enough to make a person want to vomit. She needed to go see Margie, and she was beyond sure that Major Egan had somewhere better to be as well. Kennedy wanted to move her feet, but she couldn't. No part of her was moving or even ready to move. Major Egan was stock-still in front of her as well.

"Is there….something else, uh, sir?" Kennedy didn't know what to do with Major Egan sometimes - call him sir, but he told her not to bother? Call him sir because he was the one who held rank? Major Egan continued to watch her and then ran a hand down his slightly sweaty face and shook his head.

"No." he said quickly, firmly, "You should get a check on Sergeant Harlowe. Make sure she's alright when she wakes up." If she wakes up, Kennedy thought, but that sour idea in her mind disappeared as Major Egan nodded to her. She stared at him for a moment longer, before she slowly nodded to him, turning away from him. She took a few steps before she could hear his footsteps and feel the placement of his hand wrapped around her elbow.

"Farley," he said, his voice quieter, as she stopped her paces and turned, her eyes searching his own as she looked at him, "seriously, you alright?" She stared at him, slightly surprised at the way his voice had grown softer, his eyes less vibrant than normal.

"Yes," she told him, but as he tilted his head towards her, she felt her heart race a bit faster than normal and couldn't help but take a shaky step back from him, "it was just a lot today that's all. But it's a lot every day. Nothing new. Can't complain." Major Egan watched her, like he was trying to diagnose whatever the fuck was currently wrong with her, acting like she didn't just watch their flight engineer and closest companion almost die.

"You like the jacket?" he asked her quietly, and it didn't take long for what stress she had in her mind and heart to roll back into that violent ocean crawl of waves and a small laugh to leave her lips.

"Is that why you came waltzing over here?" she asked him, her voice low, as she crossed her arms, "Because if that's all this was about, I'm just going to head to the Med-Bay now." Major Egan let out a dry chuckle and looked to her.

"And if I told you it was?"

"I would happily discard that jacket for you, even start a bonfire." she said, "We could get real fancy." She stared at him. "It looks ridiculous."

"You sure about that?" he said, popping up the collar, which made her roll her eyes, "I think it fits me pretty well."

"I would beg to differ," she said, "seriously, an A-2 would do you one better."

"You going sweet on me, Farley?"

"Since when did that idea get into your head?"

"You like me in my A-2, admit it."

"It would look better than that shitty thing."

"C'mon, Farley, don't leave me hangin' now." She raised a brow at him as she crossed her arms across her chest and smirked his way.

"Goodbye, John." she said, with a grin, turning away, only to have him placing his hand on her shoulder and turning her back around. She looked up at him.

"For someone so hellbent on making his rounds, you sure seem to like hanging around me." she said quietly, with a small smile, watching as his eyes seemed to twinkle in the hazy afternoon sunlight.

"Consider it a compliment." he offered her.

"A compliment?" she said with a small smile, "Didn't know you handed those out. And for free?"

"Farley…." he said with a slight groan in his voice that made her laugh as she reached forward and nudged his shoulder.

"It's okay to admit that, Margie says I'm a grand friend to have anyway," she said, watching his gaze soften at her, "it means a lot, truly."

"Friend's a word." he said with a shrug, his face tensing up slightly as she stared at him.

"Yeah." she said, with a nod, "And so is goodbye." He stared at her and she smiled up at him.

"I'm only kidding," she said, before her face fell a bit, "seriously, you okay? You weren't even on the mission and you look seriously fucked up." Kennedy had hoped that keeping up with this banter, this light-hearted, dare she call it flirting, maybe would lift his worrisome and lonely spirits, but he seemed drawn into himself and concave again and she wasn't sure what more to say.

Hey, even going as far to compliment his physique's correlation to an A-2 was pretty nice of her!

And something she wasn't actually lying about - not like she had spent too long staring at his broad shoulders over breakfast the other day (but no one except her knew).

"Didn't know you handed out compliments with a side of self-degradation, now huh?" he said and she let out a scoff and crossed her arms to look at him again.

"Seriously, John, what's wrong?"

"You can call me, Bucky, remember?"

"John."

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing, just…." he looked around, that lazy smile on his face, and looked back at her, hands rested on those hips of his again and looked to her, "does anything have to be wrong when I come to talk to you?"

"Usually there is something wrong."

"Kennedy-"

"Alright, look," she said, "if you don't budge, I'm gonna head to the Med-Bay, check in on Margie." She was playing her emotions really well, so well she had almost forgotten the mission altogether.

"So, you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to decode it from you myself? Beg on my hands and knees? Don't make me look that pathetic." Major Egan watched her with a slight smirk and she shoved his shoulder again.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like whattt?" he said as she rolled her eyes with a laugh, "Oh, c'mon, Kennedy, I'm supposed to hear that Silver Bullets took a hit and not think about you?"

Kennedy's smile dropped and it seemed the realization hit Major Egan at the same time and for a moment, they were just standing there, staring at each other like deer in headlights. She couldn't look away from his eyes, because for the first time there was something more than besides his usually flirty, joking self. Hell, that was just how he normally was - no stake in the ground with a soul, moving with the wind, taking him where the Lord put him, all that bullshit. For a second, she almost thought she wasn't hearing him straight and was going to leave it at that. But no, he'd said that and she was sure her face matched the color of her dirtied ginger hair and her strawberry-blonde ends.

"Egan!" The two turned from each other, in what had been a…rather intense stare down and found Crank coming towards him, "Harding needs us!"

"Give me a fucking second, Crank! I'm talking here!" Major Egan yelled back before turning to her and gulping, before parting his lips as if to speak. She stared at him still, unable to find the words that would amount to much of anything.

"Don't give me lip, Bucky - look, we gotta go!" Major Egan turned.

"Just a minute, Crank, seriously." Major Egan called out before turning to her still stood there.

"You really should go." she finally said, her voice somewhat hoarse as she did so, like she couldn't get the words out right, "Colonel Harding-"

"I don't care what Harding thinks right now," he said firmly looking at her, "look, Farley, I-"

"It's fine." she said quickly, plastering on a smile quickly and a nod, "I'm fine." Major Egan looked far from convinced in that moment. Because she wasn't convinced herself.

He had heard Silver Bullets took a hit and suspected immediately it was her?

That's why he had looked at her like that?

In interrogation?

She wasn't much to him, so she thought, at least - what…the few conversations they'd share? She'd practically egged him on into conversations about baseball where it was less of a discussion and more of a debate. If anything, he should've heard Silver Bullets and suspected about Annie or Francis.

"Go on," she said, shoving down her feelings and emotions, offering a small smile, "Colonel Harding sounds like he really needs to talk to you. Plus, if you must continue to talk about your stupid sheepskin, I'll be at the flying club later. Maybe I'll even beat you in darts. Again." Major Egan stared at her, for the first time, a little wordless and nodded.

"Kennedy, I-"

"It's fine." she said, convincing herself the very same - if she acted like she didn't hear it from his lips, then it never happened. He never said those words, never looked at her like that, never even bothered to tell her he was worried about her after hearing about Silver Bullets getting hit. If she ignored it, it wasn't what had happened.

And it was better that way.

"Bucky-"

"A second, Crank, please!" Major Egan yelled over his shoulder again, before looking at her and sighing, jabbing a thumb behind him.

"I gotta…." he started, his words fading as he managed a weak smile at her.

"Yeah, yeah," she said quickly, with a nod, and a forced smile.

"Let me know how Harlowe is…?"

"I will." she said as he began to backpedal backwards, his eyes holding hers still. Then, she watched Crank come up to Major Egan's shoulder and spin him around before pointing and frantically talking. Then they were walking away and disappeared. Kennedy stood there like the wind had just been taken out of her sail. Why'd she act like that?

"Hey! Kenny!" Kennedy turned and found Judy coming up to her, with Bessie and Carrie behind her, splitting a few cookies in their hands, "Here you are. We thought we couldn't find you." Kennedy stared at Judy, who came up beside her, with bright eyes, before looking to Bessie and Carrie, who shared a look before looking at Kennedy.

"You alright, Farley?" Bessie asked her, glancing in the general direction of where Major Egan had wandered off to, "What'd Bucky want?" Kennedy snapped into her usual collected self (which took far more effort today than usual) and ran a hand over her hair, cringing at bit at the smell of oil and grease that followed - which undoubtedly Major Egan had smelled - and sighed.

"Heard about Margie." she said firmly, cooly, kind of quick at that, like she couldn't get the words out fast enough to cover her ass, "He knows we're close and wanted to check in. Make sure things were okay."

"Always sticking his nose into all our bullshit," Carrie muttered, crunching off a piece of the sugar cookie and shaking her head, "you know I heard the other day he was trying to ask Bradshaw for a tour of Silver Bullets. Next thing you know, I'm tearing into him, telling him he touches my area, my shit, it's over for him-"

"He just wanted to make sure she was okay, Bergie," Kennedy said with a shrug, "guess it just gets old, hearing about losing people. Over and over."

"Especially someone from Silver Bullets." Judy finished for her, "Bucky's always been sweet as peaches to me, anyway. It's mighty kind of him to come and check up on you. Knowing how close you two are. He's got an awful soft-spot for Silver Bullets."

"Some soft spot." Carrie said with a slight chuckle and smirk, glancing at Kennedy, who rolled her eyes, ignoring the looks, and glanced back to the direction of where Major Egan had gone.

"Let's go to the Med-Bay," Judy said, "I'm sure Margie would want to see us when she wakes."

"What this face?" Carrie said, "We all look like sorry excuses for circus clowns."

"At least a little flak never scared off that charisma, Bergie." Bessie said as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the whole group burst into chuckles as they headed towards the Med-Bay, sharing cookies and smiles.

But all that was on her mind, until the hit the Med-Bay doors was that Major Egan had thought of her, when Silver Bullets was said to have gotten a nasty hit.

Her.

[apocalypseornaw]

Don't Blame Me (Pt 3/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean confronts Crowley who recounts exactly what did happen to you, sparing no details to Dean's horror. You look for a way to ward yourself from Dean finding you.

Dean was half in shock when you blinked out. You were alive? When he looked at Crowley he knew the anger he felt showed in his eyes because the demon took a step back even before Dean grabbed him, slamming him back into a wall. "BRING HER BACK"

Crowley shook his head slowly "I didn't send her a way and I try not to summon her. She gets upset, it causes a mess. She killed ten demons the first time I summoned her and let's just say I like keeping her as calm as possible"

Dean shook his head before pulling the demon blade up to hold the point against Crowleys neck "Last time I saw her she was getting on a plane. What the fuck did you do to her?" Crowley laughed sharply "What did I do? Squirrel you should really ask what did you do?"

Dean's grip loosened at Crowleys words "What do you mean what Dean did?" Sam asked as Crowley untangled himself from Dean's grasp. Crowleys eyes were on Dean when he said "She made a deal. I didn't go after her soul. It was already in hell"

Dean shook his head "She wouldn't. Y/N knows the risks" Crowley shrugged "and yet she did for you" "for me?" Dean asked and Crowley sighed "This is dramatic. Her soul already went to hell so contract fulfilled. She's gonna try to kill me but.." before Dean or Sam could ask Crowley touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. Flashes of an Okami, pain of claws ripping into his chest and the heartbreaking sound of your sobs tore through Dean's head.

"She couldn't face losing you so she made a deal. Be glad I took over when I did. Lucifer and his flunkies were having fun with your girl" "She wouldn't agree to be a demon" Sam argued but Crowley shrugged "A little over four hundred years of torture. A hundred of those were under Lucifer and Zachariah. She's stronger than most of the souls in hell but the things they did to her.." he trailed off and Dean could feel his jaw clench with anger even before Crowley met his eyes "No angelic interference for her, guess she wasn't important enough. I needed an attack dog. Someone who if they were spotted working at my side the threats were taken seriously"

"So you've been using her?" Sam asked. Crowley scoffed "I gave her freedom from the racks. I put her body back together so she'd have it. I made sure to keep her off the angels radar. I've gotten her to kill a few dozen demons but nothing she wouldn't have done in life. How the hell have I been using her? Would you two prefer me to have left her to an eternity of whatever being decided to plunge a blade or other things into her?"

Dean swallowed down the bile in his throat at Crowleys words and the images that accompanied them to ask "Why didn't she let me know?"  and Crowley laughed again "Did you not see that little performance? She was afraid you'd hate her so she stayed off the beaten path" "Then why did you bring her here tonight?" Sam demanded.

"She's wrong for lack of better terms. She shouldn't care like she still does, shouldn't have so much left of her human personality. Her soul was stronger than I gave it credit for. If she stays a demon she's gonna e a threat to my throne" Dean swung without thinking and connected a hard punch to Crowleys jaw "You've kept her from me for years, YEARS. and now you're only telling me so she can't dethrone you? The only reason I'm not killing you is so you can help me find her"

Ireland, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand and South America. It was hard to find a coven that would play well with a demon, let alone one marked by the king of hell as his right hand woman but you finally did. 

You sat in the middle of the circle, watching the woman paint sigils onto your skin. Once she was done she rejoined the circle. You sat silently as they chanted, the sigil glowing then absorbing into your skin. You looked at the head witch "No one can summon me now?" She nodded "Your boss can probably still get a feed on where you are but no one can summon you" you paid her the fee and thanked the rest of the coven before blinking out. You were back in Washington state, almost at the Canadian line. 

-------------

You had a cabin there, somewhere you stayed when Crowley didn't need you at his side. Somewhere you were able to ignore everything that had happened. You weren't right as a demon. They weren't supposed to feel, weren't supposed to care yet here you were. 

------------

You washed your face then looked at yourself in the mirror letting your eyes slip to black. Even as a demon you were held together by paperclips and rubber bands. The memory of the look on Dean's face flashed through your head and you smashed the mirror. What the hell were you supposed to do now?

@lacilou @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @decadentstrangernacho @nix-rose @irgendwas122 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @tas898 @starkleila

[the-final-sif]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream and Ponk discuss their experiences with Sam

@sixteenth-day-event "What happened to your arm?"

The question came out of nowhere. It was an impulse. A stupid one. Dream wasn't really expecting a response.

Surprisingly, Ponk's eyes blinked open. They weren't red anymore (thank god), but they were fuzzy and unfocused still. Several seconds ticked by before Ponk managed to rasp out a response.

"Sam."

It was just one word, but it was the most that Dream had gotten out of him so far. He would dismiss it as a quirk of timing, but from Punz's recounting, talking about shit had helped ground him and pull him back from the Egg. Alright. So Dream just needed to keep this going.

"Weren't you two dating?" He could swear he remembered that. Ponk huffed a dry laugh.

"Were. Broke up af'er he cut m' fuckin' arm 'ff."

"That uh- makes sense." Great. A+ conversation. God fucking dammit. Okay, refocus here.

"Was there like, a reason? Or did he just get bored?" That sounded harsher than he meant for it to, but too late now.

Ponk's gaze went hazy for a moment, too far maybe? Before he managed to shake his head, bringing himself back down.

"Stole the prison keys. Wasn't eve' tryin' to do much. He'd been ignorin' me. Thought it was funny. Thought I might go visit you or somethin'. He freaked out. Never thought- Never thought he'd do something like this." As he finished speaking, Ponk managed to lift his good hand just barely and gesture at his stump.

Ah. Dream wasn't sure how he felt about that. Was it better? That it hadn't been just him. Who thought Sam could be trusted and was wrong? Or was it worse? That it all came back to Dream himself in the end. Something corrupting, corroding, ruining everything he came into contact with?

A question for another time maybe.

"That sucks." Okay, he winced at that one. "Sorry- uh, I didn't. I didn't think he'd do something like that either. Before."

It said a little more than he wanted to say. Ponk, of course, had recovered enough to catch on. Eyes now focusing in on him. Taking him in and judging. Dream clenched his jaw and tried to ignore the weight of an old friend's gaze. Tried to change the subject.

"You feel up for some water?"

Thankfully, Ponk let the topic drop in favor of nodding. Probably parched by now. Dream pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the spill proof bottle that Punz had left. They were ready for this.

He held it out carefully, trying his best to control the shaking in his own hands. From how Ponk's eyes narrowed, he didn't quite manage it.

The light in here was soft, and Dream had been hoping that would hide his scarred hands. Not from Ponk's eyes though, as the other carefully took the water bottle, drinking from it in long gulps.

By the time it was finished, Dream had returned to his spot on the far side of the room, right by the door so he could get out if he needed to. Not that he would need to. Ponk wasn't infected anymore, the guy could hardly lift a bottle.

The silence stretched out between them, until finally, Ponk spoke again, eyes watching Dream's hands far too closely.

"Is it fucked up if I'm glad it wasn't just me? That he- It was him. I mean, I knew he was the one that fucked up. He cut my fucking arm off over some fucking keycards. But- I mean- He kept trying to act like it wasn't a big deal. Like I should just ignore what he did to me. Like it was all my fault. I didn't buy it- but- I mean- God, I'm not sure what I mean."

Something inside Dream wanted to break. Wanted to shatter apart. Wanted to scream and cry and-

"It's okay." Dream replied, his voice far more shaky than he would've liked. "I get it." That might be a lie. Both statements might be lies.

"I'm glad it wasn't just me either." Dream said, because it was what he needed to say.

Maybe one day he'd be able to figure out if he meant it.

[findafight]

okay more lab kid Robin because @thesummoningdark @stobinesque asked...

I want to specify that I did not say MANY thoughts, but...

Robin being a lab kid, maybe doing the classic escape with Kali, gets separated, and ends up in a quirky little couples backyard.

Now, the Buckleys are former hippies, and maybe they're less former than they'd like the good people of Hawkins to believe them to be, but they aren't very high (just a little!)when they see a kid, maybe eight years old, wandering out of the woods. They, obviously, freak out. Adrenaline can sober them pretty quickly. They, also obviously, don't think about calling the cops right away.

They wrap them--her-- up in a blanket and get her clean clothes. Maybe a shower if she's comfortable with that. Get her set up in the spare bedroom the have a futon in to have a nice long nap, cozy and safe.

It's then they realize hey....maybe we should....call someone? But the kid was scared. Kept talking about running away from "bad men", and says her name is "nine" when asked, showing her wrist with a corresponding 009 tattoo. And the Buckleys are not one to trust authorities already, so they think. Fuck that.

They discussion options as the little girl, who will shortly become their little girl, sleeps soundly down the hall. Richard says they can say she's Melissa's second cousin's kid, and they're adopting her. Mel says they'll need to call in a lot of favours for documents. Richard says he knows a guy that owes him and he's pretty sure he moonlights as a forger.

They'll ask her how she feels about names, but they brainstorm a few. They like Robin, their free little bird, and maybe a few middle names like meadow or sunbeam. Things to remind the scared child in the guest bedroom she is no longer where bad men can hurt her.

So. Morning comes and the child that was once Nine is now Robin, and it doesn't take very long for her to reveal that she can make the sugar bowl float. It's very impressive, honestly, though the trickle of blood from her nose is concerning and Mel tells her not to strain herself. Then they learn what geniuses her little ears are, when she repeats it back to her in a perfect imitation of her voice.

So the Buckleys set some ground rules for their new daughter. They tell her that, though she is very gifted, they do not want whatever bad men were chasing her to find her, and that her talents may lead them to her. She nods, and understands. There are things to only do at home, with her mom and dad, and not tell her secrets so the bad men cannot find her.

They emphasize they are not like her papa. That they do not want to trap her here but hope that she stays. Little Robin briefly struggles to understand this, because of course they are not like Papa. Where papa was cold, the Buckleys are warm. Where Papa was angry, the Buckleys may be annoyed, but patient in explaining to her what she did wrong. Where Papa would command her to use her powers over and over and over until her throat was raw, the Buckleys only once told her she needed to use them, so she could tell someone over the phone a lie about who was talking and that she was meant to stay with them. They didn't even make her, just told her it would make things safer for her, but they would find other ways to keep her safe. So she did, and a few months later she was able to attend school.

At school she is strange, but possibly no stranger than other wierd little kids. She runs and plays and learns. She talks and asks questions and laughs, all in her own voice (even if she wishes she could let it rest sometimes, and borrow someone else's). She holds her secret for years and years.She learns three languages, her accents nearly perfect, her ears still little geniuses. Her mother nags her not to be so careless with running her mouth, her father tells her to try to go out with friends over the weekend and asks her if she remembers what the baseball score was last night (of course she does, she recounts it in the announcers voice, and watches a fond smile creep onto her mothers lips and her father huff, likely at the Cubs' score).

Then there are Soviets under the mall and she tells Steve a secret about her not even her parents know, and she's confronted with her little sister throwing a car across the foodcourt. It takes her a week after to tell Steve everything about the lab. About escaping and losing Kali and finding her parents and leaving her siblings. He holds her hand when he tells her she should tell El. (who is, somehow, more his sister than hers at this point. It is odd, but Robin isn't jealous of it, just sad.)

And then he smirks asks if she can do a Ms. Piggy impression.

and that's all i've got right now hehe

[wehaveimagineshere]

You don't have to write anything on this if you don't want to or don't feel comfortable, but how about some smut with Gale and an afab reader where she tells him that she struggles with vaginal dryness and he's like "Well I can think of one way to fix that..." and goes down on her. Bonus points if she's super shy and has a hard time explaining it to him and is super oversensitive because of it

Sorry if this isn't in your comfort zone, I'm going to go crawl in a hole now 🙈

Hi! You didn't specify an admin so little ol' me, Ren, will be taking this. I read this and got so excited. I had to look up more details about vaginal dryness (the name itself says a lot but I wanted to make sure I knew what I was writing about), but like. I love this prompt? So much? Being open and honest about body differences is so good, and communicating about it is just mwah.

I hope you like this piece, anon!

A little note: Google can only tell me so much. If I got something wrong like didn't accurately explain vaginal dryness right, or took the wrong guess on how past experiences could happen, or anything like that, please please tell me! I'll endeavor to fix my mistakes. I want to learn and make sure I represent this right (:

~*~*~

His fingers trailing lightly down your spine, you twine your own in his hair as you draw him closer, deepening the kiss. A soft sound escapes from your lips as his fingers find the hem of your shirt and slip under, fingertips trailing fire as he languidly explores your skin. Gale breaks the kiss only to find your neck, teasing with tongue and teeth as he makes his way slowly to your collarbone, humming as your neck bends to give him more access.

Hearing nothing but your heart hammering in your chest, you let your own hands wander, tugging free the belt around his waist so you can run along the planes of his stomach, marveling at the movement of his muscles when he shifts.

His own hands move lower, cupping your ass and drawing you close as he catches your lips once more. Your move your hands up his back so you can press against him, feeling that familiar mix of longing and anxiety as you feel him straining against his pants.

He won't push, you know, won't try to sneakily slip his hands down your pants or ask you to do something you've already said no to. But that guilt still sits and squirms in your chest, thrashing in the blankets of shame and fear, making it hard to tell him why. Why you keep the clothes on, why you hesitate when things start getting real heated.

You know you have to tell him, you want to tell him, but the shame and fear of rejection has so far kept your tongue glued.

But tonight... Tonight, maybe, you can finally get it off your chest.

Breaking through the haze, the temptation of his touch, you step back and catch his eye. He immediately drops his hands to your hips and squeeze reassuringly. "Too much?" he asks gently.

"No, it's..." Taking a deep breath, you step outside of his reach, bringing your arms up to hug yourself. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Anything."

You can already feel the embarrassment heating your cheeks and neck already, your eyes bouncing from rock to tree to leaf and back as you fight for the confidence and the words you need. "I, um. H-How much of the human body do you know?"

Raising an eyebrow, Gale takes a moment to think. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific. I've read tomes talking about anatomy and biology, though I'll admit recounting what I learned may be difficult."

Biting your bottom lip, you shift as you take a deep breath. "Well, I, um." Pressing your lips together, you try again. "I kind of have a...problem."

"Are you well?"

"Yes! Yes. I-It's nothing that is contagious, or anything. It's." Now you're outright chewing your poor lip. "It's something about me. And, well, i-if we're going to be..." You raise your shoulders up, hugging yourself a bit tighter.

Raising his hands up, Gale says gently, "You don't have to tell me if you aren't ready. We all have our secrets and are allowed them."

"No, Gale, I want to tell you, I just." You sigh. "It's embarrassing, and I don't want you to think less of me, or--"

"I would never think less of you." He tilts his head, a small smile testing his lips. "Unless you go on a murder spree, but even then, I feel I would assume your victims deserved it first." Your smile is more of a painful one and he drops the attempted humor immediately. "Sorry. But I do mean it, whatever you need to tell me, I won't think any less of you."

Rolling your lips together, you say hesitantly, "I...have trouble...getting wet."

He shifts, brows furrowing. "Can you elaborate?"

"It's... Mm. You know how when..." You huff. "Women get wet, right? When things get heated? I... I don't, really." How you wish you could disappear into the ground. "I mean, I do, but, I don't. It isn't, it isn't you or anything, it's just... How. How I am."

His eyes drift as he processes, and you only have the courage to watch for a few seconds before your eyes drop to your feet, your chest so tight it's hard to breathe.

"If I'm understanding right," he starts finally, "I just have to tease you longer."

Your face flares so hot you fear it might melt. "I mean. Maybe. That might help."

Smirking, he takes a slow step forward. When you don't retreat, he draws your arms from vice gripping your chest and holds your hands, bringing one to his lips, eyes studying your face as he says, "I have a tongue, and I'd like to think I know how to use it."

You barely squeak out, "Gale--"

He chuckles, drawing you closer, resting his knuckles against your cheek as his smirk drops. "Thank you for telling me. And as promised, I don't see you any less."

Your smile is wobbly, hopeful. You should've known Gale would be different. Swallowing back the prick of tears, you say, "And I, um. I'd like to..." You gesture between you.

His smirk is back. "Shall I summon the bed?"

A small chuckle escapes. "Please."

So he does just that, setting up a magical bed in the nearby clearing. A four poster bed with elaborate bedding and even a canopy, sheer purple drapes drifting lazily in the calm breeze.

He leads you over, waiting for you to find a comfortable spot on the bed before he follows. Propping himself above you, he searches your gaze and, finding no denial, exposes your tummy and gets to work.

He starts right below your ribcage, tongue trailing the bones and sending a shiver up your spine. Moving up, not down, he drags the shirt up as he moves, exposing your breasts before covering one with a hand and the other with his mouth, tongue circling your nipple as his thumb plays with the other.

Your back arches without your consent, breath stuttering as he nips gently, licking away the sting. Your knees draw up as he opens his mouth to trail back down, his fingers trailing the hem of your pants before hooking underneath.

He glances up at you, and it isn't until you nod that he pulls, exposing your sex to the chill air. You shiver at the sudden change, though his warm hands finding your thighs and his breath ghosting lower takes no time in banishing the cold.

A kiss to your folds as you inhaling in expectation, and the groan that escapes as his tongue dips between would be embarrassing if you weren't already so far in the haze, the pleasure.

Gale wasn't wrong when he said he knew how to use his tongue. Using the tip of his tongue, he teases that sensitive bundle before calming the sensation with the tongue's body, a languid couple licks that has you absolutely squirming.

He goes just a bit lower this time, tip of his tongue pressing just above your entrance before trailing up, his teeth this time nipping and sending your back arching high. He repeats the motion, spending more time alternating between teeth and tongue, and you can do nothing but squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe as your limbs shake.

He leaves his hands to knead your thighs and hold down your hips, especially as his tongue finally finds its way to your entrance. He circles it lazily as he huffs breaths, and you feel his chuckle as he finally slips in, your hips bucking as you gasp, fingers clawing at the magical sheets.

Gale takes his time. Slow, methodical pumps and licks and putting just the right amount of pressure before backing off, finding somewhere else to tease. It builds that pressure in your stomach so achingly slowly, but you're drowning in the pleasure, both impatient and enjoying every single wet, warm touch of his tongue until you aren't sure how long has passed, aren't sure if you're dizzy from his ministrations or you aren't getting enough air in your lungs or both.

The edge beckons, calling to you, and it becomes almost impossible for Gale to hold your hips steady. So he lets go. He allows you to ride his tongue, as hard and quick as you need, to find your release.

And you find it quick.

It shatters through you, your cry stumbling out of your throat as you simultaneously gulp for air, the sheets held in a death grip in your fists. You don't know how long it takes for the stars to subside, for you to start acknowledging reality again.

For you to look over at Gale, whose chin is positively drenched. With you.

He smiles, lips shimmering with your wetness.

You laugh a breathless laugh as he moves back up, fingers feathering down your jawline. "I believe," he says, smile morphing into that grin, "you are now ready for me. What do you think?"

[mimisempai]

I don't want to be late anymore

Summary

Muriel's discovery of Aziraphale's hidden gun triggers an unexpected reaction in Crowley, forcing the angel and demon to talk about the past.

Notes

Where Crowley is not so happy to have to rescuing Aziraphale

On Ao3

Rating G -  1473 words

"Aziraphale, where shall I put this book? Oh, but... that's odd."

Aziraphale turned and saw the book Muriel was holding and exclaimed, "Oh no, not that one!"

But the angel had been quicker; they had already opened the book and pulled out a gun.

Crowley, who was watering one of his plants nearby, froze when he saw what Muriel was holding.

“I keep a Derringer in the bookshop, inside a hollowed out book.” 

He rushed to snatch the gun from their hands, but as soon as it was in his, he found himself in another time and place.

Finger trembling on the trigger.

Aziraphale in his line of fire.

No. 

He couldn't go through that again.

Crowley dropped the gun to the floor and shook his head under Aziraphale and Muriel's puzzled stares before striding out of the shop.

"Crowley?"

Aziraphale was about to leave to follow the demon when Muriel murmured, "It's my fault. I must have done something wrong."

Aziraphale turned and took their hand, saying softly, "I don't understand everything, but I'm sure of one thing: It's not your fault. I'll put this away. You go have a nice hot chocolate at Nina's, and I'll try to find out where Crowley went."

Muriel nodded, and with a worried look on their face, they left the store and walked over to Nina's coffee shop.

Aziraphale picked up the gun, replaced it in the book, and put the book back where it belonged.

What could have happened to Crowley?

What had made him react like that?

Did he need to find him or give him time?

But he really didn't look well.

The angel made his way to the exit of the shop and once through the door, a little indecisive, wondering where to go, he spotted Muriel coming towards him with a quick step.

"Aziraphale, Nina said she saw Crowley walk this way and she saw him talking to Maggie before he left, looking almost desperate, that's what she said."

Aziraphale waited no longer and made his way to the record store. As soon as he entered, Maggie rushed up to him.

"Oh Aziraphale, I think I said something to Crowley I shouldn't have."

Aziraphale said to her in an urgent tone, "Maggie, please tell me as much as you can about your conversation."

Maggie wrung her hands as she recounted her conversation with the demon, "Well, I saw that he was talking to himself as he walked, looking strange, and when I approached him, he didn't hear me. He kept repeating, 'Why does he have to put himself in danger all the time?' So I put my hand on his arm and asked him if he was talking about you. He just nodded and then, to cheer him up, I told him what you'd said to me and Nina when the bookshop was attacked. That he was happy he had to save you. Then Crolwley... he froze and said, 'I hate this!' and went to his car, which then drove away."

She took the angel's hand and said in a pleading tone, "I'm sorry, Aziraphale, I shouldn't have said that."

Aziraphale shook his head, "No Maggie, I'm the one who shouldn't have said that, and most of all I think he and I need to talk. There's so much that...but first I have to find him."

He came out of the record store and immediately gasped because the Bentley had just pulled up next to him. But he was soon sobered by the fact that it was empty.

The driver's door opened. 

Taking it as a sign, Aziraphale sat down in the car and put his hands on the steering wheel when the radio suddenly started.

He needs you anyway, anyway 

Not often easy to say B

Anyway, anyway

Ooh-ooh ya 

Who knows what it leads to 

Just know that he needs you 

Anyway

Aziraphale said quietly, "I assume this song is about Crowley and me. That he needs me. Then take me to him."

The Bentley started and drove at a moderate speed, adjusting to both Aziraphale and the fact that Crowley needed help, and parked in front of Saint James Park a few minutes later.

"Of course it's here. I'm such an idiot. Thank you. Stay here."

Aziraphale knew exactly where to go.

Their bench.

He walked the path he had walked so many times in Crowley's company until he came to the bench.

The demon sat there, alone.

Aziraphale joined him, sat silently beside him, and waited a few moments before speaking.

Then he asked him softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Crowley shook his head, "Not really, but..."

Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley's clenched fist and continued, "...but we should talk about it."

Crowley nodded slowly.

Aziraphale continued, "Whenever you want. Take your time."

A few more seconds passed before Crowley asked, "How could you be sure that day that I wouldn't hit you with the bullet?"

It was then that Aziraphale understood, and for the first time realized the effect their magic had had on the demon.

He squeezed the demon's hand and replied in a clear voice, "Because I have absolute faith in you, Crowley."

Crowley's hand relaxed beneath his as the angel slid his fingers between the demon's.

Crowley said softly, "Earlier, when I had the gun in my hands, I relived that moment when my finger trembled on the trigger, when I saw you in the line of fire, and Aziraphale, I beg you, don't make me relive that. Contrary to what you seem to think, saving you doesn't make me happy. Because if I have to do it, it's because you're in danger and-"

Aziraphale turned to the demon and interrupted, "Crowley, I'm so sorry, that's not what I meant that day, I..."

Crowley shook his head, "Let me continue, Angel, let me go through with it.At the theater, I could have missed my target. I might not have made it to the church in time. I might not have made it to the base at Tadfield. And I know what it's like to be late, I was late at the bookshop. I thought you were dead. Literally. So even if you trust me so much that you put your life in my hands, please don't risk it unnecessarily. I don't want to be late again."

Aziraphale nodded and brought Crowley's hand to his lips, kissing it gently before replying, "I promise. I never realized how much of a weight I was putting on you. But I want you to know that the moment I decided not to follow Metatron, everything changed. Because we became us. That means no more reckless lonely decisions and no more keeping secrets because we think we're protecting each other."

Crowley replied softly, "Yes. A group of two. Us. So the next time you want to play magician, we pick the trick together."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, "I thought I wasn't supposed to do the magician anymore?"

Crowley replied, "And since when do you do what you're told? So, just in case, let's do it this way. And if possible, a trick that doesn't involve weapons, in fact, no weapons at all. No knives. No swords. No..."

As the demon continued to ramble, Aziraphale leaned over and silenced him with a light kiss before saying, "You're being silly, and that's why I love you."

"Angel!"

The angel chuckled at the demon's stunned expression before standing and saying as he extended his hand, "Come on, let's go home."

Crowley took the outstretched hand, stood up, and they began to walk hand in hand as he asked after a while, "By the way, how did you know where I was?"

"You can thank this one," Aziraphale replied, pointing to the Bentley they had arrived near.

Crowley proudly patted the car as Aziraphale got in.

Once they were seated, the radio started.

You are the love of my life

I knew it right from the start

The moment I looked at you

You found a place in my heart

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other and laughed out loud.

You are the love of my life

You give me reason to live

You taught me how to be strong

With you is where I belong

"Stop!" the demon said to the car, then turning to the angel, he said, "But it is right, you know?"

Aziraphale, stunned, asked, "About what?"

Crowley replied softly, "You are the love of my life," then he leaned over the angel and kissed him gently before straightening up and saying to the car, "Come on. Take us home."

As the Bentley pulled away, Crowley glanced sideways at the angel and saw with satisfaction that this time it was he who had brought a stunned expression to Aziraphale's face.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[justaghostingon]

Lan Qiren’s Funtime Adventure

Or, Lan Qiren’s mid-life crisis’ vacation

Based loosely off the headcanons of @robininthelabyrinth

After the sunshot campaign, Lan Qiren wakes up one day and realizes he hasn’t done a thing for himself since he was his nephews age.

He’s been father, sect leader, teacher, all things he’s had to become to fill the gap his brother left and to be there for his nephews. And sure, he loves teaching, but it wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life.

He wanted to become a traveling musician!

And now, the war is over, and lan xichen is sect leader. He doesn’t need his uncle anymore! He’s lead a war! Secured an alliance with both the jin and the nie!

He can handle himself while his Uncle takes a few months off.

So Lan Qiren bids his nephews goodbye, dons traveling clothes, and sets out with only a handful of instruments and a song in his heart.

Now life on the road isn’t as easy for a middle-aged man as it is for a young one. Lan Qiren has many aches and pains to prove it. So he starts staying at any place that will take in a wandering musician.

This means he’s no longer staying at high end inns, but local taverns as well.

And while those high end places might like the soothing and elegant classical music lan qiren is gifted at, those in the taverns want something a bit more…bouncy.

So lan qiren is forced to make new songs to appease the masses. And although he loves crafting music, he’s a bit at a loss on what to make thr lyrics.

That is until one drunken guest demands a love song about those fancy cultivators and lan Qiren is so outraged he freestyles an entire song about how bad his peers are at love

The song is an instant classic, and Lan Qiren realizes something huge: He can just rant about all the problems he kept inside and people will eat it up!!!!

And its not like he’s hurting anyone, no one knows who he is! He’s just got to make sure he doesn’t put any names in any of it!

He says like a middle-aged man who refuses to take off his lan forehead ribbion could be anyone but a lan

Thus his career as a radical singer/song writer begins

Highlights include:

“The Way of the Heart” (popular name “You All Suck at Love”) - his first and greatest hit, where he lists off the failings of the couples in his generation, from unfaithfulness (jin), wishy-washiness (jiang), lashing out in jealousy (madam yu), possessive behavior (his brother), and terrible choice in partners (Lao Nie).

“My Nephew has Terrible Taste in Friends” (popular name “The Cutsleeve’s Ballad”) - in which he rants about both his nephew’s friends from anger issues (nie mingjue), two faced (jin guangyao), and everything ever about wei wuxian.

“Beware Powerful Men” (popular name “The Many Bastards of Jin Guangshan”) - in which he warns young ladies of getting with a man who does not provide for his children, who does not keep his promises, and who will never marry you whatever he says. (Lan Qiren met second lady mo and her child and got really, really mad at how young she was)

“A Well Mannered Young Woman” (popular name “She’s not Flirting with You She’s Just Being Polite”) - Lan Qiren had to deal with jin zixuan’s behavior towards Jiang yanli in the cloud recesses, he heard about the soup incident from lan zhan, and about jin guangshan failing to reengage them. He’s not impressed with the rumors that say jiang yanli is hopelessly persuing jin zixuan, and he has things to say.

“The Many Faults of Wen Rouhan” (popular name “I Have so Many Problems with Wen Rouhan and Now I Can Finally Talk About Them!”) - in which lan qiren recounts all the times wen rouhan drove him nuts at sect conferences. Not the big things mind you, but the little things that lan qiren just had to swallow because he couldn’t risk insulting him as only an “acting” sect leader. The world will hear about how wen rouhan set the table wrong actually, that bowl was supposed to be a little more to the left and he Knew it!

Naturally songs insulting the leaders of the cultivation sects do not go over well in the main clans. “The Way of the Heart”/“You All Suck at Love” is banned from the Jin, the Nie, and the Jiang. The only reason its not banned from the lan is because it was Lan Qiren’s song, and lan Xichen knows it was Lan Qiren even if its technically “annoyamous”

Technically its banned in the lower sects as well, but they are absolutely all listening to it in secret and chuckling at all the spilled tea

The Cutsleeve’s ballad is not banned, but its not looked upon very positively, except to smirk and gossip about the lan’s “inclinations.” Jin guangyao wants it banned, as its implications against the sworn brothers are detrimental to him, but his father has it played whenever he wants to humiliate him.

Lan Xichen reassures Jin Guangyao that the song is just proof that Lan Qiren has excepted them, which is a good thing really!

“He’s given us his blessing,” lan xichen trails a hand down jin guangyao’s arm. “Shouldn’t we celelbrate it?” He winks at nie mingjue.

Lan Xichen is absolutely under the impression that this sworn brotherhood is more than a brotherhood and is using this “permission” from his uncle to make his move.

Meanwhile the jin are all up in arms when “Beware Powerful Men” comes out. It takes all of jin guangyao’s persuasiveness to convince jin guangshan not to go to war. Arguing that no one could prove it was him. If they make a move people with know its about him, see? Thus jin guangshan is unable to do anything except sit there and grit his teeth. Madam jin however, loves it.

Jin Zixuan does not pick up that “A Well Mannered Young Woman” is about him. He does grow to hate the song however, as both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng will sing it loudly anytime he tries to talk to jiang yanli. (The brothers absolutely know the song is about jiang yanli and are very proud of how praised she’s become)

Finally the many faults of Wen Rouhan is a hit all across the cultivation world, with sects big anf small singing it to themselves. It is quite possibly the only reason that Lan Qiren is not exiled from the cultivation world like his songs.

So Lan Qiren continues his traveling musician journey, completely ignoring all politics, and thus missing the wen going missing and wei ying defecting.

Until that is, he wanders into yiling, and encounters Wei ying with a-yuan and wen ning, selling radishes.

Lan Qiren is horrified at what wen ning has become, but even more horrified that there is a child in wei wuxian’s care of all people! How will little a-yuan live?

Being an uncle used to having to step up, he refuses to leave until he sees where a-yuan sleeps.

To which wei wuxian finds himself escorting lan Qiren up to the burial mounds, and introduces him to the wens

Lan Qiren is beyond horrified. A child! In the burial mounds?!!! With elderly farmers???? How could the sects allow this???

The sects are the reason we have to stay here,” wen qing explains. “Because we’re wens”

And Lan Qiren…lan Qiren has always been a rule follower. He hated the wen for taking his home and trampling on his beliefs. But…there were half a dozen rules, important ones! About allowing injustice and the treatment of civlians and prisoners.

But what’s more, Lan Qiren lost his entire life taking care of anothers burdens because he had to. It was filital, and his duty as a brother. But when he looks at wei ying, who hated the wen more than anything, who shares no blood with these people and yet is willing to throw his own future away anyways, and he sees himself.

No. Not himself, a better version. Someone he had always striven to be. And he got there without rules.

So Lan Qiren stays for a little bit, uses his money to help them get more supplies, but he can’t stay long, the burial mounds cant afford another mouth to feed

So lan Qiren goes to the inn, and he writes, and writes, and when he’s finished, he has a new ballad to spread around

“The Yiling Patriarch” - is a bit different from his usual songs. It has some pretty strong criticism of wei wuxian, like “a child needs structure u can’t just let him run around all day” and “what idiot tries to grow lotus on a mountain” but they are specifically chosen to make him seem far less scary, even relatable. For most of it, the yiling patrarch is portrayed as noble, someone giving up his own future and reputation to take on the burdens that the sects neglected.

The true criticism of the song goes to the great sects, for mistreating the weak, poor, and young. For punishing civilians for crimes they did not commit. And how exactly are they different from wen Rouhan?

The song when first heard is met with silence. The audience confused and not quite willing to accept it yet.

But lan Qiren doesn’t give up, singing it loudly where ever he can, using names for the first time ever, just to make it very clear where he stands.

And slowly, people start to listen. The civlians believe first, terrified that the great sects could turn on them like they turned on the wen.

Then those of lower clans, who fear the power and abuses the great sects might turn on them.

Finally lan Qiren goes before the sect conference itself, and angrily sings his song. Then stops and proceeds to lecture each and every one of them about exactly how they screwed up.

And here’s the thing. Lan Qiren had a lot of influence, far more than he realizes. He’s taught the majority of the younger generation, and three of the four sect leaders. They owe him feital piety.

So when he stands up, people listen.

Not all of them, jin guangshan never does, but enough do, and the rest see the way the tide is turning and don’t want to be left behind.

And both nie mingjue and jin guangyao have a new boyfriend and they really don’t want to disappoint their new in-law.

Thus Lan Qiren saves the wens and gets them put up in a nice valley near cloud recesses, saving the day with the power of disappointed teacher face, music, and vacations!

The end

[subliminalbo]

There's this Goosebumps 2000 book that I read when I was ten years old called Invasion of the Body Squeezers. It's actually a two parter and literally nothing happens in the first book, but Part 2 features a full-scale alien invasion where our main character's family, friends, and teachers are possessed by these aliens that come out of meteorites. Y'know, like baby's first Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I'm pretty sure it was my second ever encounter with mind control after Ghostbusters.

I'm never going to do a full Subliminalbo Scale for Rating Mind Control In Media review of it because it's a children's book about children but look at some of these excerpts and tell me why it's so fucking formative for a future mind control kink writer.

In this scene, protagonist Jack goes to his principal to warn that the science teacher has been possessed by an alien (this is actually a very funny and childish response to an alien invasion tbh, run to the principal). Note that alien hosts develop stutters (hence the random t-ts in dialogue) and have goo bubbling out of their ears.

"You—you talked to Mr. Liss this morning?" I choked out, moving sideways toward the office door. Mrs. Berkman nodded. A strange smile crossed her face. Her pale eyes appeared to roll in her head. She clicked her tongue several times. "Mr. Liss and I had a nice talk before the students started to arrive," she said. "He's such a nice man. T-t." "He—he hugged you!" I accused. I slid another step closer to the door. She nodded again, her blond hair bouncing on top of her head. She stretched out her hands. Long silver nails shot out from her fingers. "It doesn't hurt, Jack," she whispered. "You want to be one of us—don't you?" "No!" I screamed. "No way! I don't! I want to be me!" She kicked a triangle of glass out of her way. "We need your body, Jack. We need a lot of bodies. T-t-t." Green bubbles bobbed from her ears.

Later, Jack locks himself in his house after two of his friends try to convert him. Two more friends, Maddy and Marsha, beg him to let them inside.

"What's wrong?" I asked them. "You both look really frightened." "It's Henry and Derek," Maddy replied, glancing outside the window. "They were acting so strange." Marsha shuddered. "I hope they didn't follow us." "What did they do?" I asked. "They were talking funny," Maddy replied, pushing down her frizzy hair with one hand. "They didn't sound like themselves at all."

While the two girls recount their encounter with their possessed friends, a meteor shower begins to rain glowing rocks down on the streets.

My mouth dropped in amazement as I watched the shower of orange rocks. Like an orange hailstorm—dozens and dozens of them—crashing onto our block. My heart pounding, I turned to Marsha and Maddy. I expected to see expressions of fear and amazement on their faces. I didn't expect to find them smiling! "It's about t-t-t time they got here," Maddy said. "Yeah. What kept them?" Marsha replied. They both turned to me, eyes wide and glowing. "Out friends have t-t- arrived," Marsha said. "Don't try to run, Jack," Maddy added. "You're outnumbered now."

Okay, so, don't go out and read this book. Like I said, it's a children's book for children. Goosebumps quality varied wildly in its original sixty-two volume run and I'm not sure if there was a single good entry in the 2000 series. Most of Invasion of the Body Squeezers is Jack running around shouting "you too?!" when he discovers someone has been possessed. The book is downright awful.

But these excerpts here? These stuck with me. The school authority figure who uses their power to spread their Master, the friend who was one of them the whole time. These ideas have stuck with me for most of my life and it's a high that I'm still chasing.

[444m777]

29 things I love about Michael: Day 14

This one might be a little weird to say but I was 11 years old when I found out Michael struggled with severe acne. Eleven being the age where it exploded and it became severe and I struggled with being teased and having all kinds of adults/family giving their unsolicited advice on what to do. It was a time where my mom told me she cried whenever she thought back to when I like 7 before my acne took over my face. My grandmother cried with tears running down her face. I went to visit her in Sint Martin as a surprise and she saw me and saw my face and wept! She said in tears how am I supposed to find a man with my face looking the way it did. YIKES! I was a child… very fucked up but yeah… it made me dislike mirrors/seeing my reflection BUT it was when Michael revealed he too had severe acne and the very wrong and unwarranted things people said to him made me feel like he was talking TO me.

Two things were going through my mind. Actually three things. First I was watching Living with Michael Jackson and I watched it secretly because my mom banned me from watching or speaking about Michael because she felt I was too obsessed blah blah… so I had to be on the look out (luckily the car they had at the time made a loud pitch so I could hear them coming). I kept running back and forth to the tv screen and the porch to make sure they weren’t outside. Second, THE Michael Jackson had acne!? But he’s perfect!? Is this some kind of joke? But I believed him immediately. My kid brain was just shocked! Not that he had acne but the fact that he got treated so badly for something he couldn’t help. Like, when he recounted someone asking for him and then they saw him and went “ewwww, what happened?”. I was almost in tears. Tears of sadness because I could relate to the hurt he felt because I was living it. I basically was like even Michael went through such a traumatic experience. I’m older now so idk how the public reaction to acne is nowadays. It’s certainly not blown out of proportion the way it was in my days and I’m sure also in his days. People can be terribly mean spirited and growing up with severe acne it was like I was given a death sentence. I was no longer a person. I was just a walking talking cluster of pustules.

“You were so cute when you were younger”. Uhm… I’m 11 I’m still young and still very much cute! But I never had the heart to say how I felt. I just kept it all in but boy did I cry myself to sleep because of it. But that night is what lead me to the third thing… I felt seen. And not just by someone who also had acne but I felt seen by THE Michael Jackson. There was a switch that night especially after that whole moment. I could say with honesty that that part of the documentary (even though Martin B. was a rat and an opportunist) it changed something in my brain. I no longer felt sorry for myself. Like I didn’t feel cursed. I was the only one in my family that had severe acne. My big sister had her acne moment and it hit her like a brick but it hit me like a WRECKING BALL! So it just made everyone focus on the fact that I looked “unclean”. Ugh the information regarding acne and the things people would say… my god! I know with the increase in interest for skincare, it’s changed but the damage had already been done. But Michael was a little salve of hope that maybe this is something I can “get over” and that it’s also not the end of the world. He didn’t stop. He didn’t crumble. It was tough and hurtful, but he knew he was more than just his skin condition. He got through it. And I held on to that for years. I still think about it often.

The power of media/media representation is so interesting and important that it has become a buzzword and is still gravely overlooked. To be a Black kid with acne being told you won’t find a man (at an age where you shouldn’t be worrying or thinking about being an eligible partner to somebody), being told that you were once beautiful and that that time has passed because you clearly aren’t beautiful anymore, receiving all kinds of “medical” advice that amounted to nothing, to watch your own mother be frustrated that you did everything in your power NOT to let it bother you because in her eyes it meant you did not care for your skin and situation… I just didn’t want to make it a big deal. I was a child but I understood very quickly that it was puberty/hormones. But my mom and everyone else turned it into a curse. My life was over at the age of 11. And Michael came in like “yeah it sucks but you’re going to be okay baby girl”. That was all I needed. He didn’t say it like that but that’s how I took it. I was forever changed. I stopped worrying so much about what everyone was saying. It hurt but the sting didn’t linger. I remember telling my mom about finding out Michael had severe acne too and she dismissed it🙃 My relationship with her now is MUCH better by the way. But back then… YIKES! 🥴

Anyways, I love that Michael gave me strength in such a terribly edited and purposely damning documentary. The pictures I’ve looked up years later of him with acne made me feel like I wasn’t alone. It’s so easy to feel isolated. To feel like you’re the ONLY ONE going through something shitty. I sometimes see those same pictures edited with a blur. And I get it, he would’ve scrubbed the world of those pictures if he could but I really like them. It shows and reminds me that we’re all human. I don’t see his scars/acne. I saw a lovely kid full of life. That is what I wanted people to see in me and not constantly point out my acne. I could go on and on but you get the point. We’re all going through some version of the same things but we’re more than our physical bodies and their conditions. Michael made me feel less ugly and more like myself at that age. So, thank you Michael for literally making me feel like I’m not gross at the age of 11 and that I wasn’t the only one who had acne the way I had it.

It’s Michael’s birthday month and so I’m sharing every day something I love about him. Feel free to join in or use the tag #29thingsMJ I’d love to read what you love about him

[perfectlovevn]

hi boss! absolutely loved Perfect Love and you did such an amazing job with the entire game's execution! i loved how you were able to so clearly portray eris as f-ked up and the main instigator for everything, pulling the strings behind the scenes instead of the usual "i didnt do anything wrong" or "im just trying to survive" type of MC (which isnt bad at all, but im so happy with the freshness and utter depravity eris brings) i love your art and the intentionally messy style that highlights the disorganisation and chaos in both eris' and milo's mind, the recurring motifs of eyes, red, blue, god i can go on and on. really your vn is so well crafted with how intentional every creative decision taken seems, im going crazy with the amount of love, time and effort you put into perfect love.

ive read every single name easter egg you put and the references to other yandere vns/media (jd <3) AND went on to give us more with adding little quips later in the game depending on the nickname eris gives milo. i was literally going crazy with how i couldnt decode the 2nd type of cipher you scattered throughout the code until 2 days later when i was ready to give up and ask you hahaha

from there, if it isnt too spoilerish, is there reason you used the nihilist cipher that removed the letter J instead of the usual Z ? and ! i loved the snippets with the friendship gang, tysm for leaving in your writing process and brainstorming products in the game files i had so much fun <3 im so sorry for the rant and thank you so much for the game! 1000% looking forward to your next one if youre working on something!

Hello! Thank you for your kind words!

Yeah, one of the main reasons I made Eris like that because because of how much I really wanted to see more evil MC in visual novels (or just yandere media in general). While there isn't anything wrong with having a yandere who is just there to survive, there is something very fun about being the one who causes the yandere to become worse than he initially was.

I'm glad that you found such meaning in the art style! Honestly the biggest reason I drew it like that was because I was trying to get it done for the 2023 yanjam and I didn't want to overwhelm myself so I just made mostly everything black and white. That and it's supposed to symbolize more of the darker aspects of the game. Did you know all my assets were drawn with one brush?

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the details because I really did try to put as much as I could in there. Since I think it would be fun for people to see the neat details people put in the game (I know I sure do when I play visual novels), I tried to make everything very catered to what was going on in the story. It did take some extra work, but I think it's good for the game and my general learning experience. I'm also glad you enjoyed the easter eggs I put in for names and nicknames. I was very sleep deprived when I did it and I kept adding them in because I don't have good attention span (or at least, that's part of the reason).

For the cyphers inside of the code, I put a hint at the very top relating to each of the code. Each of the four types is represented of the three Milos with the one in English being from Eris. The Nhilist cypher is specifically for Manipulation and the key is in the second line based off of the capitalized letters.

Yeah! I'm glad you liked it. I'm still in the middle of writing the other ones (I'm working on the one with Poison in it, which recounts what Eris did to get Poison to fight Violent in his route). I always like leaving my drafts in there because I always find it fun to see people's thought progress in code and games.

No, no, I love your rant on it! I think it's really fun seeing what other people like, dislike and thought about the game in general! My next game will be a lot more light hearted, but still have a yandere character in it.