#VERY lucky boy

[hannahssimblr]

“You and Jen,” She says to me as we walk alongside the shore, “What’s the story there?”

“What you mean?”

“You seem close.”

“We are, she’s my best friend.”

“Right, well…” She trails off, “Okay never mind. That’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Do you think that boys and girls can really be friends? I mean really really.”

I huff out a laugh. If she knew how often I think and talk about this exact topic she’d laugh too. “Yeah I think so. At least I think that I think so. It makes it a bit easier when one of you is gay though.”

Clóda’s eyebrows shoot up, “She’s gay?”

“Yeah does it make you feel better to know that?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah of course,” I almost say that I know because I already tried to kiss her a few years ago and it didn’t exactly go down well. She’d thought I was experimenting on her, and maybe I was. Maybe we were experimenting on each other. 

“Just because you’re always together, and laughing, and like, she’s staying at your beach house and all of that, I was wondering-”

“Does she make you feel insecure?”

Clóda burns red, “No, I don’t get insecure.”

“It’s alright, she’s staying with me because the family she usually lives with are on holiday in Malaysia this summer. She didn’t want to go with them so I invited to come to the beach house with my family instead.”

“What do you mean 'the family she stays with'?”

“Yeah Jen doesn’t live with her parents anymore. She lives with our friend Michelle.”

“Hm. Sounds a bit weird to be honest.”

“It’s for the best, hey,” I press my hand against her arm, goose pimpled, then her hand clutching it in a frigid claw. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you bring something else to wear?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it.”

I take my hoodie off and zip her into it, “better?” 

“A bit, but I’m still cold.”

“Okay,” I pull her into my chest and rub my hand over her back the same way I used to do to Ivy when she was a toddler wrapped in a towel. “Maybe we should go back to the fire, hm?”

“No, I want to be on our own.”

“Okay, then why don’t we find somewhere sheltered to sit? That sea breeze is really picking up.” 

With the warmth of the day evaporated from the sand it is chilled against my hands and elbows as we find a spot to sit amongst the marram grasses. As soon as we sit I hold her close to me because maybe all we need is to share body heat. Maybe it’s the most sensible thing to do. 

“Here, give me some of my heat back,” I say to Clóda as I slip my hands into my hoodie and press icy hands against her back. She squeals and pushes me away, only to get her revenge by flattening her own cold hands against my cheeks, my neck, under my t-shirt where she finds the warm skin of my chest and I squirm but I don’t stop her. Instead I lean in to tickle her neck and her ear with my lips and breath and then with her pinned underneath me I kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, and now with her hands under my clothes and hers under mine I feel it; that familiar ache that spreads throughout my body, and the heat and the hunger that drives me past my senses. We stop laughing and I kiss her harder.

I roll on top of her and pin her body down with mine, our hands roaming, mouths messy and desperate, and although I zipped her into my hoodie only ten minutes ago I’m already zipping her out of it again just so that I can feel more of her body in my hands. 

My t-shirt comes off. I think it was me who removed it but I don’t know or care because now my fingers wrestle with the clasp of Clóda’s bra. I wish I could do this with one hand. I wish I was that slick but I’m not, but it doesn’t stop me trying it for several seconds before I admit defeat. Like most other mortal men I need both my hands, but they do it easily, and then I am touching her with them and she sighs while I swallow the sound with my mouth against hers. She lies there open to it, arms open to her sides, lips open as I glide my tongue against hers, legs as I fit my hips between them. 

She gasps at the sensation of being close in this way, of feeling all that she can feel between thin cotton and jersey. 

“You can touch me if you want,” I prompt. 

“Where?”

“Wherever you usually touch a boy.”

“Oh, yeah obviously.”

She doesn’t move, so I draw back to look at her, breathing hard. Her teeth tug on her lip and she looks at me with uncertainty, then slowly, hesitantly she reaches for the elastic waistband of my shorts. Even the brush of her fingers against my lower stomach does insane things to the inside of me and I shudder. I hold my breath as she pulls at the band, slides a cold hand in and she’s under, and there. Not doing anything, not moving, just holding. 

“When you go back to Dublin after the summer,” she says anxiously, “will you stay in touch with me?”

“What? Will I-” I suck air in through my teeth at the new sensation, “Yeah of course. I’ll text you all the time.”

“And you’ll visit me too?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have MSN?”

What the fuck. “Yeah, yeah I have MSN- ow, no-”

“I’m doing it wrong!” She drops me like a hot potato and shrinks away in horror.

“Are you alright? It’s fine, you just-”

“I fucked it up.”

“Clóda- no, it was nice.”

“Can't we just skip this part?” Her hands spring to her sides in surrender, “I clearly don’t know what I’m at.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just, um…” I feel a lot of the desperation and urgency slipping away and make an effort to heat things up again by licking her neck a bit and reminding her that she is hot. It’s never really hard for me to get in the mood anyway, as all I’ve ever really needed to do is have the privilege of a girl underneath or on top of me to feel like stars and moons and a million constellations of light have dropped into my palms. 

I adore girls, I think, as my hands slide under her skirt. I worship them and everything about them that makes them different from me. Soft skin and lips and the scent of their hair, their humour, the way that they laugh… I think that I like girls more than most boys like girls, honestly, not that I’m competitive about it, just, if there was a contest I would be winning. 

Clóda’s breath hitches and she clutches to me so tightly that my face is forced into the sand over her shoulder, but I don’t really feel like pointing it out to her, because sometimes with good things comes some sacrifice, and if eating sand is a part of the experience of fingering her then I suppose I can accept that. 

“Oh, that feels odd,” she says. 

“Um, Odd? Does it usually feel odd to you?”

She seems to realise what she has said, “Um… yeah, I-” A panicked sob escapes her and she blurts out, “I don’t know! I’ve never done anything more than kissing before! I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like!”

I sit up instantly, wiping and spitting sand off my tongue. “But you said-”

“I know, but I was just saying that. That’s what everyone says! Everyone just makes it all up, I hoped that maybe you…” she trails off.

“I’ve never made anything up.”

“You’ve done all of this before?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t say ‘of course’ like it’s so obvious! Most people haven’t done a thing, I suppose I was just hoping that it was the same for you.”

I scratch the back of my head, “No, well, I have…”

Her eyes widen in horror, “Have you gone all the way?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

“A few times?” She covers her face in anguish, “But you’re only sixteen.”

“It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just, like, fun, and I don't mind if you’ve never done it, or anything, really. If you want to give it a go, then…”

A pause, “You’d do it with me anyway?”

“Yeah, I think you’re nice.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“No.”

She looks at me. I look at her, and for a long moment neither moves or says a word, perhaps for fear that whatever opportunity has just presented itself will evaporate into thin air if we dare say or do the wrong thing in the wrong way, that we will realise it is a stupid idea and we alongside it are stupid people. 

“Okay,” she whispers carefully, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” I scramble around in my pocket for a condom. “You trust me?”

“I think so?”

“You have to know, not think.”

“I know.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sophfandoms53]

Anyway shout out to Dewey who constantly looked like he was having the worst time of his fucking life in the pitches

Just an 11 year old pissed off at the world it seems😭

[fairandfatalasfair]

Hell demanded ruthlessness from Edwin.

He had to push himself past the limits of human endurance, to set aside his own pain and horror because they couldn't help him. He had to dodge past the tormented souls in Gluttony and Lust and ignore the weeping frozen faces in Limbo, because there is nothing he can do for them and trying would cost him time he can't spare.

(How many times did he try? how many times did he stop, try to reason with them, and die for it, before he concluded there was nothing to be done?)

We see flashes of that ruthlessness in the show. He's immune to Emma's attempts to play for sympathy. He insists Niko "do better" and provide them with useful information, because if she doesn't she'll die (like he did, over and over and over, until his efforts were finally good enough.) He zeroes in on the problem in the Devin house - the murder mystery or lack thereof - rather than consoling the client for her loss.

I think Charles softens that side of him a lot - not just in the way he catches him and reminds him of his bedside manner, but in the way he holds space in Edwin's heart, the way that having Charles welded to his side makes it impossible for him to cut himself off from the world.

He stumbled out of hell after 73 years of having to shut down any consideration for his own or anyone else's suffering... and stumbled into a boy his own age, the victim of bullying just like him, dying unjustly like he did, a boy whose relentless friendliness even as he's dying manages to draw a smile from him. A boy he can comfort, whose pain and fear he can actually do something about, because this is not hell, and kindness here will not get him killed. A boy who deserved better, who died defending others in a way Edwin probably hardly believed possible anymore, who inspires him to see the good in the world, someone who would gently remind him about his bedside manner when his mind is telling him that caring about other people is dangerous.

[johnslittlespoon]

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) ♡

'Gale looks unfairly handsome in the soft golden light of the late evening, but even more unfair is the fact that John can’t just bridge the gap between them and kiss his feelings away. The more time he spends around Gale, the more it feels like he’s being consumed by his overwhelming infatuation, and there’s not a single thing he can do about it that doesn’t involve the risk of scaring the man out of his life.

So he shuts the truck door behind him after promising Gale he’ll text when he’s safe inside, and he tries not to stare too forlornly as the truck putters off down the street and rounds the corner.'

[ AO3 ]

[imnotditzy]

Imagine if Billy didn’t know Shazam died?

(This is actually apart of my AU lol)

But what if Billy didn’t know Shazam, the Wizard, was actually dead? Like maybe he did see Shazam get crushed by rocks but he just thinks a Wizard could survive that, Or he doesn’t remember meeting Shazam for whatever reason. (Like he knows it happened because his pantheon told him so, and he remembers like a tiny bit of being at the RoE, but maybe he doesn’t remember Shazam dying)

This would be kinda funny to think about, especially if the pantheon’s trying desperately not to let Billy know Shazam died. But they occasionally slip up, and each time they do Billy gets slightly more suspicious. Also, in my AU since Billy and Marvel and separate entities, I think it would be funny aswell if Marvel didn’t know either. (—which I do have an AU explanation to make it work, but I fear I may be getting too off track already.)

—

Heracles: Shazam was a good wizard.

Marvel: Was?

Heracles: IS, is. I simply misspoke—Shazam is a good wizard.

Marvel: Oh… 🧐

Billy: 🤨

—

Imagine if literally every other magic being knows Shazam’s dead, but Captain’s just none the wiser and tries to talk to them about the Wizard.

—

Zatanna: So…how’d you get your powers?

Billy (as Cap): Oh, by this Wizard, his name’s, uh…

grabs a piece of paper and scribbles the name down

Zatanna: Shazam?

Billy: Yup! Gave me my powers, have you heard of him? I think he’s very well known. I haven’t seen him in a while. Hope he’s still doing alright.

Zatanna (Going pale at the mention of a very much dead Wizard being referred to in present tense): Mhm….yeah…

—

(the league in the cafeteria, listening to one of the rare times they got Captain to talk about themself. —Billy’s just procrastinating going outside in the midwestern November cold.)

Billy: So I got my powers from this Wizard, his names…um. I think I told Zatanna? Captain looks over at her.

Zatanna (going pale): Really. I don’t remember.

Billy: Oh, okay, that’s fine! Here.

Grabs a piece of paper and scribbles down the name.

Superman: Shazam?

Every magic user in the cafeteria freezes.

Billy: Yeah! He’s the wizard who gave me my powers. I haven’t seen him since I became Captain Marvel, though. I should really go talk to him, maybe I’ll do that later.

****

Achilles: But what if we didn’t…

Hercules: How about we don’t…

Solomon: That wouldn’t be a good choice, Billy.

Zeus: I agree, you’d be just of a fool as Atlas to go.

Atlas (offended): Wow.

****

Zatanna (uncomfortable): I don’t think you should…

[the1trueanon]

hehehehe finally got these done!! Reboot is so fun to draw; I swear drawing him just bursting into laughter immediately made me feel so much better about literally everything 🥰 He has such a pretty smile, especially when it's genuine. I love him being silly and giggly 🥰 I want him to just be able to laugh and be happy .....buuuut at the same time I also want to put him through so many of The Horrors(TM), so maybe my wants shouldn't be trusted XD

As always, Welcome Home belongs to Clown (partycoffin), and Reboot!Wally/the Reboot AU belongs to @bloodrediscream!💖💖

[russilton]

Dr Roscoe Hamilton PD, qualifieds therepys dogs.

[palilious]

Have any of your listener designs become the canon version? And for who if so?

Listeners are definitely tricky as they're supposed to be audience stand ins, BUT there have been a few cases where my listeners have become the VAs personal canon!

First one that comes to mind is Faith Koria from @goodboyaudios Bastard Warrior!

I came to GB with the concept that she had more African features, and he loved the idea and made it canon to his canon! Hence why the official art of her brother is also black! Now that Faith has an official voice, she's more of a character then a listener. So you can consider this art accurate to her character!

Another option would be Raven from @escapedaudios Neon Noir, but that's a more complicated story

I headcanoned that Raven got a Crow tattoo on her back, shoulder and neck to memorialize Crow at the end of the series and going into Neon Wings. Escaped really liked the idea! but my headcanons had already infected enough of that series and I felt bad, so I asked him to not include that one lol You can blame a lot of Ivan's look and backstory on me though! I came up with his birds and their names, his prosthetic leg, and his actual design!

[princessefemmelesbian]

Maybe I’m just being dramatic but it does legitimately scare and sadden me to see that a lot of transandrophobia truthers are literally just…young boys. Like, actual children. Like you’re not even old enough to vote yet and you have your whole life ahead of you and yet you are being manipulated into joining an mra group that hates trans women with a passion and thinks that men are oppressed in society for being men, and constantly uses Black men as their talking point in order to sound diverse and inclusive, meanwhile they’re also appropriating and misusing terminology specifically created by Black women to talk about our own oppression in order to get their misandry point across…to say nothing of the fact that the largest people in this group(including but not limited to its creator!) have misogynistic rape/detrans kinks centered specifically around preying on lesbians and trans women and this is something that is normalized and defended by the vast majority of transandrophobia truthers, or at least defended viciously by every single transandrodork that I’ve ever encountered who argued with me(a lesbian!!!) that actually there’s nothing wrong with getting off to the corrective rape of women because two consenting adults can do whatever they want in the bedroom(yeah right)! Not to mention I have yet to come across a transandrophobia truther who wasn’t also a raging die-hard Zionist.

And that’s why it disturbs me so much to see young trans boys jumping onto this transmisogynistic hate train like you guys realize these men don’t have your best interests at heart, right? They’re only going to manipulate you into being a sexist entitled asshat who shuns and bullies the trans women in your community and sees them as oppressing you. Like I know you’re still in middle/high school but you can still think for yourselves, you can choose to be better than this, you can choose to actually learn about feminism and realize that it’s not actually misandry that oppresses you, it’s transphobia. Misandry doesn’t suddenly become real because you slap a trans paint over it that’s not how it works that’s not how intersectionality works that’s not how any of this shit works. There are better trans men to talk to about trans issues who know that the patriarchy is real and don’t shit on trans women in order to speak out about trans topics, so go seek them out, okay? You absolutely do not have to listen to shit that the “male supremacists but trans” group of lowlives has to say. Hell, tell them to fuck off instead! Please, I promise you that there are much better options, there are ALWAYS better options, and you still have time to escape before they fully radicalize you into basically being an incel. There will ALWAYS be another way. ❤️

[tswwwit]

A fact about Familiar AU that I've never gotten around to fully exploring is exactly how people see Dipper hanging around Bill. All romance aside, demons aren't really considered people, per se. More like grenades with the pins pulled. NOBODY wants to be holding onto the damn thing.

When the average person sees Dipper around Bill - and if they know he's a demon - they see it less as 'dude with cool handsome asshole' and more like 'dude with a sentient rocket launcher robot known for randomly going into frenzies. Also it deals cocaine'. Like, Dipper definitely shouldn't have that. SUPER illegal. And it's obviously going to rampage at any second and ruin everyone's day. But at the same time - what are they gonna do, stop him? How? He has a killer rocket launcher robot.

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[sleepinglionhearts]

More Mayois for your consideration 🎶

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

[puppyeared]

vincent voice claim!! hes auggie and anton's son ^_^

VA: Catbug from Bravest Warriors, voiced by Sam Lavagnino

[hannahssimblr]

“Hey! Well- Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t have had your foot there!” 

I snatch Jen away from the girl she has trodden on in the centre of the heaving crowd. It’s so hot. Sweat covers every single person as they become impatient. As I elbow past one guy in a vest, our arms stick together in an odiously intimate sensation. We look at one another with matching expressions of disgust and horror.

“Come on, come on!” I say to Jen.

“Okay, bossy.”

The space around the stage is filling in, and a sea of blurred figures churn around us like liquid, us and every other body shoving towards the barrier. We’re not far anymore. I can see it glinting, tantalising, in the sun.

“Move!” I bellow, and the person blocking my path flinches out of the way. It’s each man for himself. Well, and Jen. I need to take care of Jen. 

And where’s-

“Keep going!” Jen is punching my back now. “Don’t turn around. We’re so close.”

“Um, sorry, but some of us have been waiting here for ages,” a girl with a nasal voice informs her as we wrestle past. “You can’t just butt in anywhere you like.”

“Okay! Shut the fuck up!” Jen says brightly. 

“Sorry, what?”

“I said shut up, it’s bloody hot.” She hisses, whirling on her, “and do you actually think I want-”

“Jen!” As my palm finally makes contact with metal, I snatch her and heave her toward me. “No fights, right? Not this weekend.”

“Did you hear how that girl spoke to me?”

“You’ll never see her again, c’mon.” I push sideways against the others at the barrier to pry a few inches of space for us. “There.”

We crane our necks up at the stage, big, black, and empty, with nests of wires scattering the floor, hanging over the edge. 

“Wow, it was worth it for this spot, wasn’t it?”

I look behind her, a vast sea of faces stretching back for forever. There’s likely no chance we’ll find the rest of our friends now, having abandoned them at the start line in pursuit of this barrier. But right before I give up, I spot Evie. I’ve got a radar for her, it seems. She’s struggling through the hoard elbows first, though unsuccessfully. It appears she is going for the polite approach, trying her best to slip through small gaps between people, but they keep shrugging her off. She will need to be more aggressive than that. 

“Evie! Up here!”

Relief floods her face. “Oh! God! Yeah, hi!”

“Hi!” I grab her hand and yank her through an especially stubborn group of hipsters. “Come on, you can stand here.” Someone else is trying to squeeze into my space, but I just shove him. He moves, barely, leaving only space for one person, but we’ll make do. I pull Evie into place and stand behind her as the gap behind us closes. My body is pushed forward just a little bit, enough to close that careful, intentional space between Evie and me. I breathe through my nose very slowly. 

Are you alright?” I murmur. My face is close to hers, and my palm rests on her shoulder. I don’t move it. She nods. 

I stare at my hand for ages. It’s just there, on her, her bare skin warm under my fingers, and neither of us has acknowledged it. I fantasise about moving my thumb just a few inches and stroking along that graceful curve that joins her shoulder with her neck. I could even tilt her head to the side and put my mouth against the pulse by the corner of her jaw. God, that’d be weird. I would never do that, but I should stop thinking like this before parts of my body begin to assume I will. 

As my eyes dart to Jen, I am relieved to find her striking up a conversation with someone next to her. She’s constantly befriending strangers at events, and normally it annoys me, because she insists on following them to some crusty afterparty in a house with cigarette butts and dried vomit in the bathroom sink, but I’m grateful for this particular trait today, because if she had seen me staring at Evie’s neck like some kind of demented vampire, I would have a hard time getting her to drop the issue. 

When the band come on stage, the crowd erupts into cheers, and I join them at first. I usually love concerts for this reason, this feeling of being part of a collective, me and thousands of other bodies together, seeking the same rush, sharing the same love of music. This is a good band, and I had been excited to see them when I knew they’d be performing, but this fact, every thought and feeling and interest in every niche piece of information I’ve ever read about them while perusing music magazines at the newsagents evaporates into the ether the moment that Evie rests against my chest.

I stay very still. Surely, this is accidental, but I don’t move a muscle, afraid to make it clear I have noticed it. I am resisting the empty feeling she’ll leave when she moves away.

As she hums along to music she doesn’t know, her voice vibrates through her ribs and into me, and when she lifts her hands to clap for the end of a song, she puts them back on the barrier, perhaps just a little closer to mine that they were the last time. I spend three more songs wondering if it was intentional. 

And the band plays, and the crowd cheers and dances and sways to these songs I’ve rinsed a hundred times on my iPod, but I stand with her, so incredibly still, my hands on the barrier on both sides of her, my chin resting upon her head, and I don’t recall a single melody. 

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Corresponding LG Chapter

[canisalbus]

would u say there's anything abt vasco's upbringing that made him kind and goodnatured? especially as a noble being around other nobles with strict parents

I think it's mostly an inborn personality trait, further cultivated by environment that rewarded good manners, gallantry and coming across as a respectable pillar of society. He just has that natural knack for socialization, empathy and reading people. He's a charismatic person and he knows it, and is aware that being friendly and personable works well in his favor. In fact, if he wasn't earnestly goodnatured and used his wiles for selfish and nefarious purposes instead, he'd be dangerously good at manipulating others and getting them to do what he wants. Luckily he has sturdy morals and knightly personality and genuinely likes people (unless given an explicit reason not to) and wants to make sure his presence is a positive force in their lives.

His father was strict and commanding and over time Vasco started to get along with him less and less. But he's always had a good relationship with his mother, as the youngest child he was the apple of her eye and arguably a little bit of a mama's boy. His mom was a warm and lenient person (albeit sort of fussy, overprotective and often a little too docile for her own good) so I think he takes after her. Most people in his life treated him well, adoringly even, and it's much easier to be kind to others when your own self-esteem is in healthy standing. He didn't encounter visible injustice very often as a child but he developed low tolerance for unfairness at young age, and his mom would usually praise and reward him whenever she found out his son had demonstrated initiative and strength of character by standing up for the underdog. Problems would start to arise when it was his own father abusing his power and authority.

And I don't know, maybe it's a bit tacky and idealistic to say, but he's always liked animals and took interest in horses and falconry early on, and working with them might've also taught him patience, gentleness, respect, responsibility and wordless communication? You can certainly manhandle a difficult horse into submission and I imagine many people at the time did, but he strongly believes he gets better results by cultivating trust, security and compassion. He ends up applying many of the same techniques on his relationships whether he realizes it or not.