#but i’ve mostly been drawing abby

[sleepytownzzz]

quick ellie doodle before i sleep 🌿

[irradiatedsnakes]

hi so i’ve been following you for a little (mostly because of dinosaurs and mechanisms) but i’ve been curious about this and don’t really know where else to ask, how do you find dinosaur references? i’ve been wanting to start drawing some dinos again but really have no idea where to go for references or inspiration.

my go-to's are skeletal references and 3d models!

for skeletals, the gold standard is scott hartman's. he's done sooo many and they're all very good- you can find them on his website here. https://www.skeletaldrawing.com/

i do think his life reconstructions tend to be on the shrinkwrapped side, but his skeletals are great.

for skeletals, gregory s. paul is another great resource. if you can find a physical or digital copy of the princeton field guide to dinosaurs, it has skeletal references for a LOOOOT of dinos.

greg paul's life reconstructions should also be taken with a grain of salt- shrinkwrapping and pronated hands abound. his taxonomy is also notably controversial (he's the lead author on that tyrannosaurus regina/rex/imperator paper from a while back..), so double-check the genus/species names you're referencing.

(he also has the princeton field guides to marine reptiles and pterosaurs, but i haven't read those so i can't comment. haven't heard great things about the pterosaurs one, though- if you want pterosaur references, go for pteros.com, pterosaur.net, and mark witton's "pterosaurs" book)

now for 3d models- skeletals are all well and good, but if you're not drawing a dinosaur from the side their usefulness can be limited. sketchfab is my go-to to find 3d reference. i look for skeletons/skulls from museums that have been digitized, mostly-

but i'll also look for full reconstructions, just reference them in the same way you'd reference any other art piece (with care).

i also sometimes use the video games saurian and prehistoric kingdom? they both allow you to spin around the models of their animals, and their reconstructions are both super good.

lastly is to reference the work of other palaeoartists! this especially fits in for the inspiration part.

here's a few awesome palaeoartists around the internet (tyhank you to billymayslesbian for helping me put these together!)

mark witton

fred wierum (aka fredthedinosaurman)

john conway

alphynix (here on tumblr under the same name)

julio lacerda (this hatzegopteryx image is one of my favorite palaeoarts ever tbh)

joschua knüppe (here on tumblr at knuppitalism-with-ue, i'm especially a fan of his work recreating classical paintings with extinct primates)

and for more cartoony/styilized work:

miquel camiodraws

johan egerkrans

abby howard (here on tumblr at abby-howard)

natalia jagielska

greer stothers (here on tumblr at pangur-and-grim)

nev (saint-nevermore here on tumblr, this picture is one of my favorite palaeoarts of all time)

for some more books, check out all yesterdays by darren naish and john conway, which takes a highly speculative look at reconstructions of prehistoric animals, mostly dinosaurs.

also look at mark witton's the palaeoartist's handbook, which is exactly what it sounds like and i think could be VERY helpful for what you're looking for.

[funkaloid]

I love the Mario franchise. It was the first thing that got into gaming in the first place along side from a game featuring a certain blue hedgehog.

The first game I ever owned and beaten was super Mario 3-D land on the 3DS

But I’m sure you just came here for my dear for an AU and not my history with the Mario franchise

The only reason I told you all of this was because I’ve been seeing so many fan AUs of fundamental paper education and I wanted a piece of that AU pie

They started all with this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/FundamentalPaperEdu/s/gqJVPDdXS0

It was just meant to be a simple drawing of Luigi saving Abbie’s life

Originally it was just meant to be that and nothing more just a one off thing

But then the idea started to grow, and it kept growing

And it kept going

Next thing you know, I’ve been brainstorming many ideas

So I guess it’s about time we talk about the AU itself And what exactly it is

So AU itself is basically a bit of a mixture of different Mario continuities specifically the mainline titles and the Mario & Luigi series Also, a few of the spinoffs

(not every single spinoff but i actually have plans for those later)

For some reason, Mario and Luigi decided to become teachers at the school

Why???

Well, you see

[REDACTED]

And that’s pretty much why they are teachers at the school

Mario would be a computer lab teacher. His reasoning is that since we become a bit more reliant on technology nowadays he feels it would be best if the students would learn how to type more efficiently

Luigi would be a geography teacher he would teach the students about the word map and unfamiliar parts of the world. In this case, I guess multiple words.

One brainstorming this idea I also came up with a few ideas for the other characters

Like the toads doing various jobs at the school like janitors or cafeteria workers maybe even security with Captain toad

For Wario and Waluigi, I figured it’d be a pretty funny if they were the gym teachers of the school

Now you’d think it’d be a bad idea for them to be teachers and you would be right, but not for the reasons you think

I don’t think they’d be abusive to the students (only the other staff members (and what I mean that I just mean with Mario and Luigi))

But they would obviously not be considered nice teachers if anything they’re just a new middle ground type group of teachers

And they’re teaching methods would just boil down to: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTFaHQWPB/

Not every Mario spinoff fits into this school AU, but they actually do have a place do have a place here!

FPE already has a ton of AU

And with Mario seemingly having a ton of continuities, we can put different Marios $ Luigis from different continuities into these AU

AUs of AUs

Like Dr. Mario being in the science AU (basics and behavior green)

Nintendo had already confirmed that dr. Mario isn’t a legit doctor, but I assume you know some thing about science considering that he’s given access to pills unless we got those from the pharmacy

(But then again, Miss Grace still allowed three murderers teachers to teacher at the school so at that point anything goes really)

In the danger AU

(basics in behavior red)

We could have the Mario and Luigi from the Mario movie where instead of them willingly becoming teachers they were mostly just roped into something that involve them having to work at this military school

And that’s pretty much it for my Super Mario x fundamental paper, education, crossover, AU If you couldn’t tell already, I haven’t fully thought this through but I had so much fun making this brainstorming ideas and sharing them with you all honestly, if you guys have any ideas on where I should take this next feel free to share!

I have no idea where this AU is going next, but I’m happy to let it keep growing.Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have a nice day <3 (or night. Whatever time zone you live in :) )

[angelofthepage]

BATDR Speculation: Who is Bendy?

So the internet is currently freaking out over little Baby Benders (rightfully so, he’s ADORABLE), and we all have a lot of questions about him. Is he as cute and innocent as he seems? Is he going to betray us? Is he the lighter half of an ink demon split into pieces? Does he have a soul? If so, is it someone we know? I have a lot of thoughts on this, and none of them are concrete, but today I want to talk about one of my favorite musings so far: How Joey and Henry might be involved in this. I wanna talk about The Illusion of Living.

https://twitter.com/LaurenSynger/status/1587778374038069249?s=20&t=b-DLbISPVNI584xRm5ALAg

Warning: if you haven’t read the Illusion of Living by Adrienne Kress, HIGHLY recommend it, as there are spoilers ahead. This book is delightful, and it’s not what I expected. When I picked it up, I thought we were getting a narrative about Joey’s life, and we did to an extent. But the real treasure of this book is that it’s a character study of Joey Drew. It gives us so much to think about in terms of who he is as a person. Because he’s Joey, you’d expect him to bend the truth (pun absolutely intended), and there are moments where it feels like some details aren’t entirely true. But there are some scenes that are written in such a way that feel all too earnest, and one of them is the scene in Joey’s apartment: the birth of Bendy.

The way Joey tells it, he’s the one who had the concept for Bendy, then his friend Abby Lambert attempted to draw it, but nothing was looking right. Abby brought Henry on board to help without consulting Joey first. Then they all sat on the floor of Joey’s apartment while Henry sketched out what would become the signature Bendy design (with critiques from Joey along the way). It’s made out to be this magical moment, and it’s believable. What reason would Joey have to lie about this? He may have a lot of feelings about Henry, mostly negative from what we’ve seen in DCTL, but he gave Henry credit here. He didn’t downplay Henry’s importance in all of this, which surprised me, and I like that a lot.

Joey comes off as being so deeply in love with his creation that it doesn’t matter who did what, the fact remains that Bendy is still his in the ways that count the most. He was made with love, dreams, and wonder at his core, Joey’s ideas and writing, Henry’s artistic execution. He belongs to both of them. I get the sense that a lot of people are going to jump into debating whether this little Bendy is somehow made using Henry’s soul or Joey’s. But I’d like to propose this: what if he’s made with both? His creation isn’t credited to a single person, but two, and who better to give Bendy a soul than both of his creators, two halves of a whole?

It gives another layer to why Joey would send Henry into the studio in the first place. Like why Henry? Henry’s just a guy who supposedly worked with Joey as an animator and business partner for one year before vanishing forever, why send him in? Is he a last resort where others failed (maybe Tom was sent in first and couldn’t fix things), or is it because he’s so integral to Bendy’s creation? Surely he has something grand to offer in that regard, by Joey’s logic. Send Henry in, sure, if anyone can stop this twisted version of Bendy, it’s his creator, right? No, this story isn’t one that you can solve by making Henry the protagonist, it’s one that needs both of them. It’s a story that needs Joey to acknowledge a lot of things in order for it to change. That could be why it’s a loop, the story can’t end without Joey playing his part, but he’s too busy blaming everyone else for the trouble he’s caused, not taking responsibility for his actions.

One of the theories I’ve seen that I really love from the first game came from @dreamfisher-nux​ which I’ll link here: https://www.tumblr.com/dreamfisher-nux/184575733862/that-child-at-the-end-might-not-have-been-human?source=share The idea that the child we hear say “tell me another one Uncle Joey” might not be human based on the milk carton texture’s inky handprints gives me a lot to think on. I have to wonder if that child might have been his last attempt to make Bendy. Yes, I know, five fingers is too many, but that’s exactly why I say “attempt,” not success. I mean he has the studio full of his previous employees, souls he’s claimed he owns, and now Henry is in there too. Is it possible this was all a plan to get Henry’s soul to make into his creation? I’ll admit, while I was around for the emergence of the “Henry is a perfect Bendy” theory, I’m not 100% sold on it for canon (though I do love it in fandom works), but an imperfect Bendy, or something close to Allison or Twisted Alice in nature? That I would buy. Henry alone may not be enough to give Joey what he wants. So what if, before the end of his lifetime, Joey gave himself up? Bendy is in part his creation, a part of him, just as Alice is a part of Susie, there is something they give to that character that no one else has. And much like Susie, Joey would do anything for the character he loves. He went to great lengths to try and see it through, sacrificed so much (much of which was never his to sacrifice).

When I first heard Joey’s tape about cheating death itself, I assumed his goal was immortality for the longest time. But TIOL has me thinking that that’s only half the story. You’re never dead if your legacy is still alive, and Bendy is Joey’s legacy. Making Bendy real and innovating beyond what any artist or engineer has done before is at the core of what he wants, to make dreams into reality. And if he’s gone, but Bendy is here and real and perfect? I think, that’s a sacrifice Joey would be willing to make, his dream would be achieved and that’s what matters. Throw on the machine machine one more time, take the child, his child, that was so close and take one more chance, add his piece to the puzzle, his soul to the mix. Become part of your creation. It’s an act of love, “but love requires sacrifice.”

Joey is believed to be dead in 1972, and this is where Arch Gate comes in. They have control of the Bendy brand, they own the rights and assets to it. Nathan was someone that was believed to be Joey’s friend, even though he’s done things a friend wouldn’t do. What does Nathan Arch know of Joey’s marvelous machine, of his dreams? While I don’t know if I buy Nathan as a benevolent character given what he’s said in the books, I do believe he would carry out some of Joey’s final wishes, though maybe not exactly the way Joey would want him to. And handing Bendy over to him, his most precious creation, to be taken care of? Well, that would be an interesting thing, wouldn’t it? You don’t leave your child in the hands of just anyone. It’s as Tom says in TLO, you don’t give up on a miracle.

Or course, take this all with a grain of salt. I think this would be an intriguing story to follow, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I expect it to be canon. Canon or not though, it’s an interesting thought, isn’t it?

[six-costume-refs]

Hey just want to say as always I love the blog and your dedication to the upkeep of this truly doesn’t go unappreciated! I’ve seen your comments about how auditions have been done for prior casts and it was pretty well known to fans ~when~ the auditions happened. Do we know anything if the Boleyn tour has had theirs/what are your thoughts on Keri being a possible Boleyn tour Seymour (or alt plus covering Seymour, but I already think less likely)?

Hey! Thank you! I'm so glad it's helpful!! Regarding auditions: Whether it's public info when auditions happens depends a lot on the production and what they're looking for. UK, NCL, and Broadway/NATs had all had relatively open video submission calls immediately before or after lockdown (Aragon Tour, for instance, was supposed to start their initial in-person callback process the day Broadway shut down). They've added a few open submissions or even open calls since all of those, but many of the people who we know have been auditioning in the most recent auditions are still people who were originally joining via those earlier auditions and are just still being called back to audition for upcoming productions. (this isn't at all uncommon for theatre or even with Six - think of some of the rehearsal alts like Amy Bridges and Maddison Firth who were then cast as principals in later cruise productions, or Erin Palmer Ramirez who originally auditioned for Bliss but was called back for and booked the Aragon Tour, or any of the large number of UK actors who have mentioned auditioning for the show 2-3+ times before booking it). That's relevant because it means they have a huge pool of former auditionees to pull from and can mostly continue to do so with smaller, mostly recall rounds and without putting out open submissions for every single cast....which also means the non-industry fans get less public info. The info is still definitely findable, but accessibility of specifics is much more limited and a lot of the info that can be found out is more from word of mouth within the industry and people who are already adjacent to it. It does seems like the Boleyn Tour falls into this category by mostly drawing from (supplemented) Aragon/Broadway callbacks. All that being said...yes, it seems they're in the casting process for it, but it's likely going to be callbacks from ANAT/Broadway and therefore it’s not super public and hard to pin down definitive info as a result. Regarding Keri Rene Fuller being a potential Seymour in the future: I absolutely think she will be a principal Seymour with some production in the future! Her casting doesn't seem to have been super last minute (even though I know it may feel like it) and very short contracts like this would be are really uncommon, so she likely had a scenario like Cassie Silva seems to have where she was offered a combined contract as both t/r and principal on whatever production it is in the future. My bet is actually on Broadway; if they're already casting her here it makes more sense in my opinion that she'd just be a replacement for Abby down the road, especially as a Broadway cast change should hypothetically happen sooner (between Aragon Tour's start and Boleyn Tour's start). However, Boleyn is totally possible. Regarding her being a swing on Boleyn Tour: Theatre, like most other careers, has this really strong set of hierarchies that people typically have to work their way up through. When you get to a certain point on the ladder, you usually don't accept jobs that are perceived as taking you back down (whether that's true or not) a few rungs. Being cast as a principal on Broadway is the highest you can climb on the Six US ladder, and her becoming a swing for a tour would be viewed as a downgrade (that’s not that swings are lesser but it’s not considered as ideal- you don't get to perform as much, touring means you don’t get to stay in one place which most people prefer, and both touring and swinging are a very stressful job). It's not totally out of the realm of possibility, but it's just super unlikely that she'd go from Bway principal to Tour swing. Principal on either Tour or Broadway is a much more common career trajectory and much more likely overall!

[maximummusesarch]

extraordinarygrrls​:

“You sound like someone who hasn’t fallen down the rabbit hole of Jack the Ripper conspiracies. Maybe that’s for the best.” She started to bandage his abdomen, careful to not further exacerbate any injuries.

“We have 21 days, between this murder and the next,” Abby tells him. “If they’re repeating his steps, they’ll repeat the timing too. 21 days of peace, and some kind of mysterious correspondence to the police. I don’t know what it’ll say, though. The context isn’t there, but maybe they’re too crazy, or too arrogant to care… I’ve been working on something, a map that overlays London and NYC, that’s a big part of the conspiracies, the shape that shows up on a map when you draw it out. Something, something freemasons…”

When she finished, she made sure the gauze was secure enough to stay on, but not tight enough to crush him. Abigail stopped again, looking at his hand, looking at her own. “There, all better… Mostly. That means 21 days to take it easy, Castle.” She knew he would ignore her, in many things, he’d respect her opinion, but he wouldn’t entertain the idea of a break.

“So you care. You care about the ones who get hurt, enough to kill… You have a strange idea of what it means to be dead, Castle, depriving yourself of the good things in life, and keeping the bad. And the mission, of course, the work.”

“Too many other things to focus on.”  Besides, despite what some may say, Frank Castle was never one for conspiracy theories.  Not when there were real issues staring him down.  Not when those issues can be solved with an M1911.

“Hear about any correspondance yet?”  Forensics have come a long way since the Victorian Era.  The world in general has come a long way since then.  Technology has made people easier to find, easier to catch, easier to kill.  But then again, the Zodiac Killer was only twenty-years ago, and they never found him.  But New York is a different beast, a different jungle.  And with all the masks and capes in New York City, there is no shortage of predators to hunt this particular prey.

“Anything interesting that shows up on the New York map?”  What Frank means is is there anything I can work with.  Some kind of trail or path.  Something that gives him an idea of where to look for the killer.

“Hrm.”  Castle won’t be taking it easy.  The war doesn’t give him a day of rest.  The war will never let him have a moment of peace.  So he never expects them.  The war and his life have become so intertwined, so interconnected, that it is impossible to imagine one without the other now.  If he were to ever consider taking a break from the war, even for a day, it would be like taking a break from his life.

“It’s because the dead don’t have leisures or pleasures.  All the dead have is a mission.  Nothing more and nothing less.”  And he has chosen his a long time ago.  So long ago that even if he ever thought about leaving the war behind, he couldn’t.  Twelve years since their deaths.  Twelve years of fighting a forever war.  It’s impossible to leave behind.

[forestwater87]

Chapter 15: Grand Gesture

Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.

CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.

Summer 2017

“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”

She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”

She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.

She hoped.

While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”

“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.

But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.

Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.

He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”

The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.

Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”

“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.

She had one chance.

“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”

---

Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.

But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.

And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.

“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”

(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)

“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”

Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”

Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”

And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.

“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”

“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”

“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?

“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”

He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”

The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”

(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)

“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”

He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.

He didn’t think she remembered any of this.

But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.

In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).

‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’

“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”

Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”

He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”

Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.

“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.

“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.

“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”

Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.

“I trust you.”

David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.

He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.

It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.

He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”

She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”

“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.

She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.

Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”

“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.

Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.

There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.

This was worth remembering.

---

Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.

Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.

Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.

There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.

But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”

A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”

David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.

“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”

“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”

A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”

His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.

“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.

But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.

His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.

“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.

She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.

Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”

The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.

Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.

“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)

He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”

“You’re not mad?”

She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”

Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.

He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”

“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”

She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.

“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”

“But I did —”

“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.

“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”

Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”

“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”

She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.

“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”

“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”

“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”

Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”

“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”

She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.

But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.

His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”

Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”

He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”

Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”

She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”

David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”

Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”

“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”

“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”

“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”

She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”

His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”

Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.

His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”

Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.

“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.

She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”

His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”

God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”

He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.

But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.

“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)

“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”

“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”

She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.

He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.

“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”

“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.

So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”

“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”

“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”

“I really don’t.”

“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”

“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”

“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”

“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”

“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”

She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.

“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”

She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”

“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.

“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.

It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.

Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”

“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.

He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”

All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)

But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.

She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.

And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”

She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”

“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”

Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”

Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”

David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”

“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”  

“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”

“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”

Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”

“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.

(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)

“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”

A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”

It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”

“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”

He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.

Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.

“Wanna bet?”

His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.

Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.

“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”

He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”

He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.

“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”

“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.

“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.

When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.

Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”

“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”

“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”

She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.

He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.

He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —

“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”

Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”

Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --

His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”

Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”

“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”

“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”

He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”

When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”

David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”

“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”

“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”

Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”

“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”

She frowned. “Did what?”

“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”

David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”

He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.

“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.

His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”

When it came to David, she always wanted everything.

“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”

She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —

He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…

Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.

The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”

David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”

She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”

The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.

“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”

“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”

Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”

“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”

He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)

“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”

“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”

So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”

He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --

Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.

God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.

David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”

Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”

“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”

No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”

“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.

“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.

God, he was perfect.

“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”

“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.

David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”

“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.

“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”

His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”

“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”

That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.

She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”

He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --

Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.

She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”

Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.

David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.

Worth it.

[islesnucks]

Hi clara!😁 i’m new to hockeyblr and have been following you for a bit but i’m trying to branch out a bit more and wanted to know if you have any blog recommendations? and why? (mostly asking you for islanders blogs but if you know any avalanche blogs too that’d be great hehe) thank you xo

heyyy well first of all welcome!! here we cry a little, laugh a little, we bully them sometimes other times praise them, its a mess but it's fun.

i dont know if youre more into live blogging the games, edits, gifs, fics, stats or what, so here are some of my favorite blogs here that post isles stuff and we so happen to be mutuals lol

its gonna be long so buckle up

@sorokaaa - ali is so fun love everything she posts during games amazing content just overall she posts great clips and memes and also she's super talented her drawings are amazing, also she's the president of the ilya sorokin protection squad

@2manytabsopen - kesh is a literal sunshine her blog inst exactly like 100% hockey themed but she's the best so nice you won't regret following her and im not saying this just because were the same person in different countries ;)

@hotgirlhockey - we love mel, she does it all: live blogs games, gifs, writes, gives hockey facts in case you dont understand something, plus super nice so the whole package

@barbienoturbby - b is super nice and fun i can't count the amount of times her lb made me laugh and her gifs and edits are just *chef's kiss* so worth following her

@heybarzy - amaaaaazing writing really everything abby writes i love so if youre into reading focs go follow her plus she writes for so many different players

@mondieumat - this woman is constatky introducing me to new hot hockey players if i simp too much its 100% her fault and she enables my dilf obsession thats a good friend, plus super nice and fun, also im 99% sure shes also into avs

@hockstuff - if you ever dont understand something about hockey c has the answer, her knowledge its just infinite surprises me every day, plus also super nice and funny and friendly and i think she also likes the avs

@fallinallincurls - amazing writing wonderful incredible seriously so talented (she actually just posted a barzy fic ive been saving to read for when i have free time because i really wanna pay attention to every single word, that level of amazing writing)

@matbarzls - another amazing writer plus she live blogs isles games and its just so fun go follow caitee also she just hit 550 so let's get her to 600 now like she deserves

@calgarycanuck - im not sure if Claudia live blogs games for the isles buuuut she does write so amazing pieces for some isles players so if that's what you're looking for 100% go follow her

@ollywahlygator - looove their olly pieces since not many people write for him plus super fun during games and im almost sure they also likes the avs

@matwith1t - ok ok ok the way I fangirl whenever she posts a new barzy pieces is embarrassing buuuut I do because they are just really that amazing alli is the Shakespeare of barzy fics

@cherrylita - beautiful mood boards for like every player i know seriously dont know how luna finds so many amazing pics queen of the mood boards also super nice and friendly

@grubauerr - I think we started following each other recently but let me tell you gabbie is so fun her post during games just hilarious and she's making me an avs fan

@sorokns - also recently started following each other but she's so friendly and fun just hilarious really during games, we share our love for dilfs and ilya sorokin thats says it all and she's also making me an avs fan

@cherrymaybank - if you've been following me you probably know her we freak out over the isles together almost every single day so she's really fun and nice and also she writes what else could you need???

@rosesvioletshardy - another amazing writer (seeing a pattern here?) but apart from that super nice and friendly and also an avs fan

@iwantahockeyhimbo - just overall super nice friendly, live blogs for the isles, one of the first blogs I started following here and haven't regretted it ever since

@broadstflyers - more amazing writes, her piece gold rush its serious incredible so worth reading, go read it right now

@honeybearbarzal - and even more amazing writers that I follow, kali has some incredible pieces some of my fav barzy fics ever

(edit) I almost forgot @tysonsjosty because I still associate her with her old crosby name lol - ok taylor also another amazing writer from hockeyblr plus she writes from some players that don't get the hype they deserve here *cough* nico hischier, Phil myers and Alex lyon *cough* so go follow her for incredible fics!!

ok I probably forgot a lot of people and this basically turned into a love letter to some of my mutuals but whatever, you asked I deliver, those are some of my fav blogs here that post isles (and some avs) related stuff

I've met some other amazing people here but they dont post about the isles, however they are super nice if you want just ask and I'll give you more great people to follow

also side note: sorry if I got anything wrong like pronouns or what you actually post or your team im doing all of this from memory so big chance I forgot or wrote something wrong

[ariibees]

hello yes i’m mad hyperfixating on terraria rn and i’m neck deep in The Lore. i’ve fallen in love with purity town in the process and i just vibe so much with the idea of the guide’s character in general anyway this is me requesting as much Andrew lore as you’d be willing to type up because your worldbuilding is so good-

gfjdkslkdlmf Hi I would absolutely love to go off about him but I collapse in an unstructured environment so! I’m gonna toss some random stuff under the cut! I know this took a while to post anon, but I hope you enjoy!

Family

He was raised in a small village. If you can picture the in-game purity backgrounds, the area he's from is based off of the background with the grasslands and plateaus. It's part of a larger swath of grasslands to the east that borders part of the same mountain range that the comic takes place in!

He lived with his single mother and older brother.

His mother was born shortly after the war ended, when the world was at its most vulnerable, before the Wall of Flesh locked away the worst of the monsters and the most unstable magics. She knew how it was to grow up in a village where the bell rang every night to signal sundown, when everyone was to shutter their windows and barricade their doors.

His mother and brother both had black hair -- Andrew was the only one in town with orange hair, which was endlessly confusing and annoying for him. Andrew never learned who his (and presumably also his brother’s) biological father was, and doesn't really care.

Andrew’s hair color is natural in the sense that it technically grows that color, but if it weren’t for the whole “link to the WoF” thing, his hair would have been brown or black like the rest of his family. Likewise, his eyes would have just been brown.

His closest father figure was a man named James who was one of the original people made into Guides -- that is, the first group of folks who started out as community leaders, researchers, etc. helping to rebuild post-war that Terraria first gave her blessing to and made into the first Guides. James was a trans man and Andrew’s mother’s best friend, so he was around their house a lot. For simplicity and lack of a better word, on the rare occasions he mentions James, Andrew refers to James as his step-father or mentor.

His village didn’t have a school, so James was likewise the one to handle his education, and encouraged him often to go out and talk with people to learn more about the world (especially since Andrew never knew the world pre-WoF, when it was far more dangerous and monstrous).

Andrew’s brother, Nathan, didn’t get along with James whatsoever.

Andrew met the Dryad once as a child when she visited his hometown. She didn’t like him much, sensing what he was, but she adored his brother who had gotten a reputation as a local hero. Andrew was jealous for the longest time over this.

Andrew’s whole family was able to ride horseback, mostly out of necessity. Andrew’s horse was a deep red gelding named Chessie, James’ horse was a golden-brown mare named Peanut, and Nathan’s horse was a black mare named Flora. When his mother rode with them, she’d usually go on Abby, a speckled white and black gelding, and there was another mare, Tango, used for teaching kids to ride. (These horses were all shared among the village, but this was usually the selection they rode with.)

Andrew and Nathan did a lot of adventuring together once Andrew was strong enough to use a bow with a heavy enough draw weight to do some real damage. Nathan had more of a tendency to jump into danger, though, being a melee user, and this eventually led to his death.

Nathan had always wanted to “get out” of their hometown. He and Andrew had their arguments growing up, but they both loved learning about the world beyond the plains and mountain ranges where they had grown up, and searching for ruins and artefacts from before the war.

Because of where Andrew grew up, he’s more inclined to live in smaller communities, even if they fall prey to the small town rumor mill aspect of things. Big cities (not that there are many of them, and even then they’re not that big) are a bit overwhelming and disconnected from nature, though he appreciates being more anonymous in them. He wouldn’t mind someplace like where Chris grew up -- big enough to have better infrastructure and public services and slightly less of a small town culture, while still being small enough that it’s a part of the landscape rather than replacing it.

The Order

All Guides have a symbol they use for publishing in place of their names. This is because it’s fairly common practice to change your name after being resurrected, and Guides are resurrected more often than most folks are due to their importance to helping communities flourish. So, they use marks, which are made with specialized stamps for wax and ink and are carved into a particular symbol with some meaning to them. It’s pretty common to also get this symbol as a tattoo, though Andrew's never bothered, especially since tattoos and piercing and the likes disappear every time he dies.

Andrew’s mark is a phoenix head with a stylized eye, and is the same mark he’s used since he became a Guide (they usually go through an apprenticeship/training period after it’s discovered that they possess the Gift of Knowledge/Terraria's Blessing/whatever you'd care to call it.)

Considering Andrew is the most well-read and published Guide as a result of being immortal, his mark is very well known among academics, but it’s typically assumed by scholars not associated with the Order that that particular mark is being passed down from one Guide to his trainee and so on.

Andrew being immortal is an open-secret among the order. The ones who have been in the order for longer love to spook trainees with crazy stories about him (he's a half-demon demigod who can smite people!!! :0), but he actually meets up with others so rarely that he’s often not recognized outside of the more senior members. He finds it pretty funny though when he’s assumed to be a new Guide and tossed in with the other trainees and all, though he does try to gently correct said crazy stories when they get out of hand.

Likewise, whenever he introduces himself as "Andrew, y'know, the immortal guy who writes all the textbooks?" the reaction he usually gets is "huh, I thought you'd look older." He did get stuck with eternal youth and is forever in his 20s, so that reaction does at least make a little sense.

Outside of the Order, some academics who have gone digging are aware of the rumor that there's a man who's immortal, but it's hardly ever documented or acknowledged -- after all, magic exists and Terraria's lone remaining Dryad is immortal herself, so it's not a crazy jump to imagine she also randomly blessed some guy. For all they know there are dozens of immortals in society, and none of them are selling some snake oil immortality potion, so why care?

Andrew's main reasoning for hiding his immortality in the first place is 1. People already think suspiciously of him and he just wants to disappear and 2. It can make it even harder to fit in, and would just be weird to be famous for. So, he’d rather it didn’t make its way to the general public, though he wouldn’t really care if it became more known so long as it didn’t affect his daily life personally.

Guides usually don’t go for a proper degree at one of the few major universities (outside of getting an honorary degree), but they’re always allowed to sit in on classes as an observer. Likewise, Andrew would really love for one day to be able to lecture in history or linguistics at a university like that -- he thinks it’d be grand to show up to a class and say “today I’m giving a guest lecture on history and the reason you should pay attention to me is that I’ve actually lived through because I’m 463 years old.” But he’s never done it.

Andrew-Specific Quirks

He has a habit of pulling at his hair right behind his ears where it grows longer/curls over by his jaw whenever he’s thinking hard or getting nervous, but also tends to just generally play with his hair as a fidget thing. It used to be long enough to pull back, but he changes his hairstyle every few years. Right now it’s short and clean shaven, but he’s messed with it plenty before.

His favorite fruit by merit of utility is apples, because many of their varieties are quite sturdy as far as plants grow, and you can make tons of things out of them. However, his *real* favorite fruit is strawberries, particularly the variety that’s very small and super juicy/sweet.

He’s not even usually a fan of sweet things, in contrast to Chris who has a crazy sweet tooth. He likewise doesn’t often get into arguments, but it was pretty funny to get into it with Chris over whether strawberries are naturally meant to be eaten with or without sugar. (Andrew is adamant that strawberries should be eaten raw. Chris says they need at least a little sugar, maybe cream and vanilla.)

He’s not a fan of alcohol, and doesn’t really *get* it. Like, you drink a gross tasting thing that makes you lose control? No thanks. If offered something that doesn’t taste alcoholic his reaction is more “why would you give me this? I’d prefer a glass of just the mixer.”

When sleeping somewhere unfamiliar to him he’s a very quiet sleeper, but when at home he’s very restless. He goes to bed every night with a pillow under his head and blanket pulled over him like a normal person and by morning has thrown one pillow to the floor, has the other clutched to his chest/stomach, is sleeping with his head on his folded elbow, and has mostly lost his blanket to the clutches of gravity off the side of his bed.

Continuing on this vein, he tends to wake up just before sunrise every day. To keep with his sleep schedule he usually gets up after he naturally wakes up, though if he didn’t force himself out of bed he’d probably be able to get back to sleep.

He doesn’t tend to nap either, though he will if he’s gotten a headache from staring too long at a paper or something.

He’s a bit of a snob about fountain pens and their ~superior smoothness~ on the paper, but in all actuality, it does help that he can keep his hand relaxed while writing, which eases the tension in it. All injuries are reverted upon resurrection (RIP the earrings he wore as a teenager) so it wouldn't matter *that* much, but he does at least attempt to stay healthy.

Mostly due to his connection with the WoF, he can do a tiny bit of magic, but has never pursued it. In Purity Town, falling stars are essentially loose magic, so only a mage can hold them -- he can just barely contain one in the way that one would cup sand in their fingers. (Chris, by contrast, started catching falling stars mid-air for fun because he heard as a child they'd give you wishes and thought that was a cute idea.)

The bow he usually uses is just a basic wooden recurve bow mainly used for small game (and basic protection, like against slimes). He still hunts sometimes, but less so now that he lives in town vs. being outside of a town’s borders as he’s lived for some time. He does own a heavier draw weight bow that he practices with sometimes, but it’s mainly reserved for blood moons. Being an archer for so many years, and learning to shoot while on horseback, has given him a sharp aim. His first bow was just your typical simple survival bow, but while he’s learned to make his own, nicer ones over the years, he still tends towards simplicity.

He commits to using no “trendy slang” because he’s awful at accidentally using slang from 60 years ago interspersed with slang from 10 years ago and he just can’t keep that all straight. He has a tendency to use outdated phrases, though.

But outside of that he’s very good at picking up new languages! It’s a Guide thing. His native language is Old Terrarian, he’s obviously fluent in Common, and he learned the Lihzahrd language ages ago when he, his queerplatonic partner at the time, and a Lihzahrd friend would go out adventuring together.

His personal involvement in adventuring really died after said partner was killed, though he's still remained very close to the whole "hero" situation. He's still capable of accompanying someone without getting himself immediately killed, and at the least he isn't grossed out by mud or blood or anything.

His moving to Purity Town in general was a *mess*. The Arms Dealer nearly gutted him for "skulking around" and was terribly displeased when all Andrew had to do was introduce himself and the town's Guide at the time was plenty happy to welcome Andrew in for a chat despite his aura.

He’s a huge nerd when it comes to being able to identify things. He’s not as good at any one subject as any of the other townsfolk with specializations are, because he’s done a lot of book learning vs. actual practice, but he’s gotten good at telling gemstones apart, determining the properties of soil, testing cloth materials, and so on. It helps when he’s having to identify stones and minerals!

He’s also something of a potion-maker. It sort of ties back into having James, a trans man, as his parental figure -- learning to make a potion to literally change yourself into a better expression of your gender identity. It’s instilled a strong value into his mind of “it’s not as hard as you think it is. We’ll figure out how to make this potion for you so that you can be the best you you can be.” This is especailly because so many people don't know how versatile gender change potions can be, even for people who don't have dysphoria, only have dysphoria in certain parts of their bodies, or are agender/nonbinary (or physically intersex or just generally not doing a flat mtf or ftm transition).

But also, potion making is like cooking and baking! Just gotta follow the instructions.

Speaking of baking, as a Guide he’s got a perfect recollection of facts he’s read, so he doesn’t own any cookbooks that aren’t gifts. He can just commit the recipes to memory, after all. This fact drives Chris absolutely nuts, because while Chris is very much a “I don’t technically know how much spice to add, you just shake it in based on the whims of your soul and you'll just kinda feel it” sort of cook, it’d still be nice to have easier access to learn new recipes to try.

Andrew counts on his fingers and writes tally marks differently than the accepted modern-Terrarian way! Most folks count pointer finder, middle finger, ring finger, pinkie, and thumb, while he starts with his thumb and then counts the other four fingers. Likewise, most folks do the four |||| with a line across making five, while he was always taught to start with a ( symbol, do three dashes across the center starting from the top, and then close it to make a backwards D. This goes back to how his first language is written, where ( and ) are used for sentence punctuation an are mirrored at the start and end of a sentence, so tally marks start like a sentence does and then are closed “flat” to allow you to continue to add more tallies beyond just the first five.

And one last bit, he’s not a huge fan of fiction! He doesn’t hate poetry conceptually but he’s not super into it, or anything else that’s more about symbolism/feeling/interpretation. It’s funny, because he actually quite enjoys listening to people tell stories, and music, but he’s just never been that into sitting down with a story book. He’s got hit little subset of fiction books he owns, and an even smaller subset of fiction books he inexplicably likes, and that is all.

OKAY I wrote all 2k words of that in a haze and a flurry of typing, but if you’ve made it this far I hope you found at least some of this interesting!

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Because of personal experiences, can I get some headcanons or a scenario of Abby with a gf that gets tired really easily? Also I just wanna get this out there, I am really glad your blog exists

Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean a lot. I hope this is similar to what you imagined 💌 (I hope you like poetry!)

about 2k words of fluff and a little angst at the beginning. content warnings for language, ableism.

“This is it, Y/N. I’ve let this behavior slide too many times.”

Your heart dropped and your breath caught in your throat. Trying to fight back tears, you forced yourself to answer.

“I’m so sorry James, I can’t help it. My body just can’t work for hours without break, I’ve tried everything.”

You threw a soapy towel back into the washtub and took a step towards your supervisor.

“Please don’t throw me out, I don’t know where else I could do my part!”

“Well, you certainly aren’t doing your part here.”

He was speaking the truth; he had caught you way too often, crouching in the corner with your head between your knees or sitting on the floor against the wall half asleep. You couldn’t help it; this was your third job at the stadium and every time you had managed to get yourself fired. It had nothing to do with the laziness your previous bosses had accused you of or with simply not wanting to work. Your body just seemed to work against you.

After more than an hour of standing, there was no way for you to stay standing up and working at the washing station now, the hard bodily labor was just too much for you. You constantly felt like you were going to faint, no matter how much you ate, drank and slept. As soon as you were unsupervised, you’d have to sit down or take a break because you couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore. It was becoming harder and harder to find acceptance from others and a place where you could work and contribute to the WLF while also taking care of yourself.

James rubbed the back of his shaved head and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I seriously don’t see how this is doing any of us any good. You should report in with task management tomorrow and see if they can give you a less physically straining job. I’m not sure how I feel about your little dizzy spells or whatever, but if you’re actually not fit enough for work, you should find something else.”

The rage that started boiling in your stomach sent hot tears down your cheeks. This wasn’t fair. You loosened the ties on your apron and tossed it on a table, then you left without another word.

The only person who didn’t constantly batter and scold you was Abby. She had met you in a stairway, sitting on the steps and leaning your head against the cold railing to stay conscious. The blonde had practically sprinted up the stairs toward you and asked if everything was okay; after you had explained, she had nodded and offered you her arm on your way back to your room. From that day on, she had checked in almost every day, bringing you snacks at work or dinner from the cafeteria when you were too exhausted to go yourself. She had believed you without hesitation and made it her purpose to help you out wherever she could.

Ignoring the surprised faces of the people you walked past, you stormed to your room. You were lucky to live alone, even though it was just a shoebox of a room. You had a bed, a locker, and a tiny window that you ripped open before throwing yourself on your bed.

You hated having to rely on others for support and you had spent the last year mostly on your own, hiding your condition and isolating yourself from others so they wouldn’t notice and judge you, even though the story of you falling asleep and taking too many unauthorized breaks at work had already made its rounds.

With Abby it was different. You knew she never wanted anything in return, she just liked to spend time with you and knew what it was like to be the odd one out, the one everyone had already heard about. In return, you liked to give her little drawings of her and her friends, short comic strips and poems you wrote when you had some time to yourself. She loved sitting on your couch and listening to you talk about poetry; although she was a big reader she had never really gotten into that genre.

She had gained your trust in no time and was the first person you really told everything that went on in your head. Well, almost. You hadn’t dared to tell her about how her presence made you feel like you were flying, how your heart sometimes started racing when she looked at you and how all you wanted sometimes was to fall asleep in her arms after a long day.

Your pillow was wet with tears and your head was pounding from crying for too long. Great. You reached under your bed and felt around for the water bottle you had accidentally kicked under there earlier. As you gulped down the lukewarm water, you finally felt the knot in your throat release its grasp from your airways.

Exhausted, you turned over your pillow and pulled your blanket up. This day was fucked anyway, you might as well declare it complete and hope to wake up in a better mood tomorrow.

It was dark when you awoke, disturbed by a quiet squeaking noise and the beam of light shining through a crack in the door. A big figure was squeezing through the gap and softly closing the door again. The light from under the door was just enough to see Abby tiptoeing toward you.

You couldn’t help but smile and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. She immediately froze in her tracks.

“Fuck, did I wake you? I just wanted to check on you and bring you some dinner.”

You switched on the lamp next to your bed and soft light illuminated the room. Abby had a burrito in one hand and an apple in the other. She looked genuinely sorry.

“It’s okay, I’ve been sleeping for hours. I just had a terrible day, that’s all.”

She immediately sat down next to you, putting the food down on the bedside table and brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a worried smile.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Her sweet concern brought back those stupid tears and you were too distraught to fight them. You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“No, I just got kicked out of work. Again. I honestly don’t know what to do. Maybe admin will just throw me out completely tomorrow.”

Abby squeezed your hand.

“Bullshit. I’ll talk to them. Why are they making you work these stupid hard labor jobs anyway? They could put you somewhere you can use your head instead, you’re the smartest person I know!”

She gently brushed her calloused thumb over your cheek.

“These assholes are not worth a single one of your tears, Y/N. James can honestly go fuck himself.”

You snorted and Abby beamed at you, happy to have gotten through to you.

“Hey, how much have you eaten today?”

You thought for a second, then you answered: “Some oatmeal for breakfast? I left work before lunch and came straight here.”

The wolf sighed and shook her head. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself, you know that?” She handed you the burrito. “Here, it’s still warm.”

The first bite was delightful and you let out a moan without thinking. Blood shot into your face immediately as both of you stared at each other for a second, then Abby broke out in laughter.

“See? You’re practically starved. I should have gotten you two of those.”

She suddenly straightened up.

“Oh, I completely forgot!” She pulled out a small paperback from her back pocket. “Manny gave me this. Some fling of his gave it to him and he doesn’t know shit about poetry and never will. He remembered you liked poems so he said to give this to you.”

“You told him about me?” you asked in astonishment.

“Of course I did, we’ve been hanging out every day for the past few weeks! Do you have any idea how amazing you are? How much you’ve taught me?”

With your mouth full, all you could do was smack her shoulder and give her a doubtful look.

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers into each other.

“I mean it, Y/N. I know you don’t think of yourself as very interesting or fun to be around, but you’ve made my life so much better just by spending time with me. Even if you’re always falling asleep on me,” she added and grinned.

You didn’t bother trying to be witty and grabbed the book instead. The title surprised you.

“Selected Poems by Sappho. Why the hell would that woman give this to Manny?”

Abby shot you a questioning look. “Why not?”

“Abby, Sappho is the OG lesbian. All her poems are just about yearning for the touch of a lady lover.”

“Oh.” Now it was the wolf’s turn to blush. “I had no idea.”

Sitting up, you turned so you could lean your back against the wall. You tapped on the bed right next to you.

“Come on, Abs. Let me tell you about Sappho, then.”

Hesitating only for a brief moment, Abby took off her boots and scooted closer to you.

You spent the next hour reading her poems and telling her stories about women and romance in Ancient Greece. The blonde listened attentively, asking a few questions here and there. After a while, you felt your eyelids growing heavier and your concentration dwindling, as much as you tried to keep it together.

Abby gently laid a hand on your knee.

“You tired, babe?”

Your head flew around and you stared at her; had you heard that right? Abby gave you a shy smile.

“I can try to read some of these to you until you fall asleep. Only if you want me to, of course.” She shook her head as if trying to get rid of a thought. “I should just go. You need to get some rest.”

Before she could get up, you had already placed your hand on her underarm.

“I’d like that. I’m sorry for just drifting off like that all the time, it’s got nothing to do with you.”

She cocked her head. “Don’t apologize for that. No one can just change the way they feel.”

You slid underneath the blanket and, following an impulse, rested your head on Abby’s thigh. You could feel the heat underneath the fabric and her muscles twitched involuntarily as the wolf took a deep breath and opened up the book again.

deathless aphrodite of the many colored throne,

daughter of zeus, weaver of spells, I entreat you.

do not with grief and anguish

tame my heart.

Drifting away into that wonderful state between waking and dreaming, you let the words of Sappho, spoken by the soft voice of your most trusted friend, the woman who took care of you and listened to you, the wolf that was tame only for you, sink in.

Do not with grief and anguish / tame my heart.

There were so many things in this world that made life harder and turned people bitter. You would not be one of them. You would not tame your heart. You would let it speak freely, you would let it burn for the woman cradling your head and protecting you from anything the world could throw at you. Tomorrow you would tell her. Tomorrow.

stars around the beautiful moon

hide back their luminous form

whenever all full she shines

on the earth

silvery

All your life, you had felt connected to the moon. Its unwavering beauty, its consistent waning away and returning in full shine, it had always assured you that no matter how bad things got, they would turn around for the better. It would be okay. You would be okay, more than okay with Abby by your side.

-

let me know what you thought (especially if you requested this!)

[samsexualdeancurious]

$20

Pairing: None

Words: 609

Summary: A pair of strangers burst into an ER at 2am

Warnings: Hurt!Dean, the boys being mistaken for a couple (again lol)

Written for @spnovember

Prompt: outsider POV

---

The man looks absolutely massive in the shitty waiting room chair, hunched over with his face in his hands. He cleaned up the best he could but his clothes are still stained with his brother’s blood.

Abby picks at the pasta she had delivered and tries not to stare. There’s something about him that draws her gaze. He hasn’t said much since he stumbled into the ER with his brother’s arm slung over his shoulder, shouting for help. The brother - Dean - had taken a knife to a gut when they were jumped outside the motel down the street. After Dean was swept off for treatment, Abby sat Sam down and went over all the necessary paperwork. He was quiet and clearly panicked still, glancing over and over at the door Dean had disappeared through. Now he’s seated facing that door, waiting desperately for any update.

He’s handsome, with a striking blend of delicate and chiseled features framed by soft brown locks he keeps running his hands through. The way he holds himself reminds her of veterans she’s met. He’s very aware of his body, ready for action at any moment, and clearly more than a little on edge in a way that’s ingrained into his being and not just a result of what he’s been through tonight.

“How’s he doing?”

Sara’s voice behind her makes Abby jump. She twists to look up at the trauma nurse. “What?”

Sara nods towards Sam and Abby’s brain processes the question.

“Oh. I don’t know. I can’t really get a read on him,” she admits. “He’s really worried about his brother, though. How’s Dean doing?”

“He’s out of surgery and should recover fine. Sam can come back and see him.

“That’s great.” Abby spins her chair to face Sam again and finds him watching them intently. “Mr. Campbell, you can go back and see your brother now.”

Sam leaps to his feet. “How is he?”

“He’s doing well,” Sara assures him. “Dr. Miller will meet you in his room and go over details.”

Sam nods eagerly and follows her through the double doors. Abby watches him go, and then turns back to her food, trying to put him from her mind.

She’s mostly successful. When she passes Dean’s room later in her shift, though, she can’t help peeking in. Sam is seated by Dean’s bed, elbows resting on the edge of the mattress. Dean is grinning about something on the TV while Sam just shakes his head, smiling fondly at his brother.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Sara says when Abby reaches the nurse’s station. “I wish they knew they didn’t have to lie about being brothers, though. I know we’re a small town but I don’t think we’re that small.”

“What do you mean?” Abby asks.

“Sam and Dean. They’re clearly a couple.”

Abby glances back at Dean’s open door and takes in Sam’s soft expression with new eyes. There’s definitely something there she wouldn’t expect to see between brothers. Could they…? But no. Would they really lie about that?

“I don’t know,” she admits. “They could just be really close.”

“I’ve never seen a guy look at his brother like that.” Sara shakes her head. “I think they’re married. Dr. Miller thinks so, too.”

Abby laughs. “He does not.”

“He does!”

“You’re ridiculous.” Abby reaches over the desk to snag a piece of candy from the jar behind the computer. “I’ll bet you $20 they’re just brothers.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it but neither ever has to pay up. Sam and Dean vanish from the hospital when no one is looking, leaving behind nothing but a lot of questions and an unsettled bet.

[possibilistfanfiction]

it was really interesting to read your last few asks about the uswnt. i’m an english football fan so most of my football world is mainly about the PL/WSL + our national teams (rife with our own issues ofc), and my awareness of uswnt players in anything more than a general sense is only for those that play/ed over here.

c@rli has always given me sketch vibes and i’ve never known why, so nothing you wrote actually surprises me.

from the outside, it seems christen has been overlooked by the set up for years - is it a case of the system not supporting/recognising her (or even actively diminishing her) or were there genuinely people who merited selection above her?

getting to see christen + tobin play in matches over here last year was exciting af, i’ve developed a weird defensiveness over them lol (calling tobin a himbo? perfection)

(😂 toby is the most devoted wife i mean himbo in the absolute fondest most positive way lmao i love her & relate, it’s great to get to just vibe w your wife who is more competent than u in all ways lmfao)

& i mean discounting abby wambach who is definitely one of the absolute best players of all time, & kind of an anomaly, i think it’s sort of both the “way” the uswnt “likes” to play & also cp just being diminished or dismissed, like u brought up — as a 9, alex seems more built for what the us wants sometimes bc she’ll sit in & draw fouls. it’s not particularly productive a lot of the time, & she’s been terrible at club for a while. cp was a better player in college & club & then waited years for a uswnt call up. i don’t think in any world that alex (or arod, even, early on) are better players than her.

cp is also like…. incredibly smart & tactical & just brilliant off the ball, which i’m sure u know lmao. the us has relied for a long time on sheer athleticism to win games (which, now, is why u see the rest of the world beginning to catch up — teams are smart & tactical & incredibly athletic at the same time, & it pushes us to have to be the same). cp is all of those things — precise, terrifyingly fast, lethal around goal, when shes given consistent opportunities in systems that make sense, & with teammates who understand (& adore) her style of play.

what’s frustrating to me (& i’m sure this isn’t a new take) is that alex has gotten tons of accolades & that’s mostly bc jill just constantly played her. she’s also white, straight, wealthy, not even particularly liberal — the all american girl next door, prolific queen of sponcon, etc. of course that’s the kind of player the uswnt LOVES, especially pairing her w wambach (i love abby infinitely, to be clear, she’s just less palatable a person to the american dads who pay for their daughters to play soccer). it’s not even an alex-only thing obviously, the 99ers kind of set up uswnt to look & be one way — female athletes who were entirely non-threatening to femininity.

i think if u look at alex, who works in a “traditional” kind of us play, u can kind of say like oh maybe she’s just a more traditional kind of player. but tobin isn’t at all a traditional kind of player (in the BEST way) but she’s always been a uswnt darling. tobin is like hot & soft butch & Clearly presenting as queer now (& she seems SO deeply happy!!! love that for her) but when she was younger she was actually also pretty femme a lot of the time. it looked so uncomfortable but she fit the bill of like. what a uswnt should look like, dress like, etc: thin, white, wealthy, able-bodied, relatively conservative, christian, patriotic, not out as gay (i’m not abt to say tobin was straight lmao but u know what i mean).

& so i think ur hitting on both points — the us system favors a particular kind of bruising play that is becoming less & less effective, & that’s why you see cp THRIVE when systems are smart & encourage off the ball movement, especially out on the left wing. (she can kick ass at a 9 tho). but there’s a rly gross underpinning of a lot of just gross racism & lots of other intersections. it’s not just cp obviously but i think she’s probably the most glaring example of a brilliant player who has never been honored for her incredible skill (crystal too) — even listening to commentators talk about cp & crystal, mix them up sometimes, describe their play as “fast” & “aggressive” Only, etc, just sheds light on how widespread & deeply rooted an underpinning it is.

however, if u look at cps goal involvement over minutes played, she’s actually prolific as hell!!! i genuinely cannot imagine how difficult maintaining her level of play within such harm has been, & she seems truly happy & peaceful & emotionally/mentally well on top of that (w her wife aka a golden retriever). seriously tho i gain more respect for her all the time. she’s a little neoliberal for my politic sometimes but like. she’s pretty fucking awesome

[carolinedoesmagic]

Exams 3/?: Divination and Enchantment

The next day was for Divination and Enchantment, and I was already feeling better about my prospects. Exams weren’t so bad after all! My perspective wasn’t shared by my fellow classmen, but they seemed to find my enthusiasm cute.

The first exam was so-so. I passed the theoretical portion just barely, and only thanks to the bits of the most important info Churdley shared with me the day before and the lenient attitude of the young intern who assisted Adriene.

I then faced Adriene herself, for the first time since the healing experiment. She smiled a familiar smile at me and asked me to perform my best Divination spell, for start. I didn’t expect that — the books mostly dealt with theory, and the practical aspect was, how I understood it, mostly waving off the effects of Mind Magic. Her tone left no wiggle room, drawing complete honesty from the center of my being — which I suspected was a kind of Mind Magic of its own — so I simply said that I knew no proper Divination spells. Only one for detecting areal protections, which wasn’t relevant in this setup.

‘Not even Detect Magic? Tell you what, since you do have the grips on the subject, let's put a mark on you. Come here next Monday with the spell, and you will have passed this exam.’

Enchantment was much more exciting. I felt a pang of disappointment when I greeted Abby with a smile, which she responded to with a curt nod, but I persuaded myself it was just her examination mode and that she still liked me. I seemed to be right, as her manner grew warmer with each correct answer I gave and successful spell I cast. The Sleep charm awarded me with a brilliant smile and an excited nod.

She added a glowing double check mark on my paper and confirmed my suspicion that I needed only one more to enter the third year. 

‘Yes, of course I know about that. The Headmaster talked to me about it a week before the exams, since I’ve been spending plenty of time with you. I hope you manage to do it — I teach much more fun stuff in year three.' 

Thoughts of all the amazing things I could do in Hedron whirling in my head, I left the Tower without even checking for my friends or Churdley. Instead, I went home and spent some time revising for the next day's tasks, chatting with Odeta and Myra, and practicing Detect Magic on a worm I found outside the inn.

[waywardimpalawriter]

Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Ain’t no sunshine when he’s gone

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: angst, hurt, comfort, 

Word count: 1,795 (It wasn’t suppose to be this long, seems I can never write anything shorter than a 1,000 words.)

Summary: Lone phone booth, broken hearts and empty words, promises he tries to keep. Wanting to make his way back with the sunshine.

Notes: Let me start by saying I’m sorry but I’m not really. You may need tissues. Written for the very lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog​ for Writer Wednesday. I figured since last weeks was fluffy I’d break out a little angst for this week. Set before and right after the events in Triple Frontier. Inspired by the amazing Bill Withers song “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone.”

“You’re promised no more trips, you’d stay home help raise Luciana, be here,” last words whispered more to yourself than to the man standing opposite. Knowing what you signed up for being the girlfriend of a military man. It’s different now though he’s out, no more deployments to places all God knew about. Going weeks, mostly months without seeing him. Warm body held tightly in your arms when he came home, soothing the nightmares that followed.  

Dropping his head, chin resting on his chest not wanting to look into those hurt eyes. For anyone else he’d say no but these fella’s are family, you know this having taken them all in like brothers. Frankie understood your anger more directed at the fact he’s leaving you alone when he’s promised that would never happen again. “I’m sorry mi amor,” raising his head to stare at you. Crystalline tears catch light from the near by lamp glinting mockingly. Knowing sorry isn’t enough empty words and promises laying bare between the both of you.

“How…” arms wrapping around you plush middle. Fending off the worry and holding yourself together even for a few moments. “How long?”

Taking a step towards you, “Three days max. Pope says it’s just a quick recon and intel job. You won’t even miss me.” Corny joke tasting bitter on his tongue that licks across dry lips. Unsure if you’d accept him right now but wanting to hold you so badly. “It’ll be quick and easy sweetheart, then I’ll be back with my girls.”

“Three days?” Seeing him nod you swallow harshly staying still for a moment longer. Till you couldn’t stop yourself from running into his arms, wrapping them so tightly around his body the air is knocked from his lungs. Vise grips of flesh and bone holding on securely, wishing the trip would already be over. “You come back to me you hear Fransisco Morales or so help me I’ll search all over this God forsaken planet till I find you myself.” Words muttered and clogged with tears streaming down cold cheeks. “You have a daughter to raise…”

“And a woman to love,” peeling himself back from your embrace. His own arms resting on your thick waist, large hands splayed out over your back taking in your warmth and love. “I promise mi amor I’ll be back in no time.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask him to stay. Plead your case, demand he make good on those promises spoken with the last deployment. Yet, you know this is different and that’s what scares you the most truly. You’d loose so much with this one trip. They won’t have backing by the government in case… pushing those thoughts away you press yourself deeper into Frankie’s body. Stealing his calm, trying to soak it into your veins and sooth your nerves. Knowing the only way to truly do that is by having him stay and you’d never be selfish to ask.

“You know there’s no sunshine when you’re gone,” pressing your lips to the little patch of missing hair in his scruffy beard. “Come back to me Frankie I can’t do this without you.”

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

It's not warm when she's away

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

And she's always gone too long

Anytime she's goes away

A week and two days he’s been gone. Nerves shot to hell you asked Will’s girlfriend Abby to watch Luciana for a couple of hours. Knowing the other woman needed a distraction from the worry just as much. You scooping up the keys, placing a quick kiss to your daughter’s forehead, a nod to Abby and you’re out the door. Heading to that little spot you and Frankie like to camp. Drawing a smidgeon of peace from the place that’s much loved between you.

Trying to keep those pesky, traitorous thoughts from invading your mind. Imagines long forgotten with the Delta force days behind you, resurface every night Frankie’s gone. Picturing the worst every time your eyes close. Fists clinching at your sides long sorrow filled scream winds itself from deep within your chest. Thankful no living humans are around to hear the agony scare any woodland creatures far away. Screaming till your throat is raw and parched. Dropping to your knees not caring about the dirt and buries that’ll show up later. In the back of your mind the little voice chastising you for having so little faith in Frankie.

It couldn’t be helped thought, you missed your sunshine. Wanted his presence more than your next breath. To see that ratting Standard Heating oil cap cover his curls, left dimple making an appearance when he smiles at you. Wrapping your arms around his body drinking in the scent of piney woods, touched with motor oil and a spice that’s all Frankie. Afraid of what state he’ll be in that is if he returns. Face pressed into shaky hands hiding from the world as tears coat the palms in salty moisture while rocking your body. Trying to push those thoughts out of your mind to form happier, sun filled ones. Not realizing the rain started to fall from heavy laden clouds, promising a soaker of a storm. Till ramblings of thunder make you gasp and look up. Fitting stormy grey skies meet your sorrowful eyes. Raindrops hitting your upturned face, dropping   into your eyes making them blink closed. Heart aching for the man you love and wishing for Aladdin’s magic lamp to grant you just one precious wish that’s all you needed.

Shivering from your soaked clothes, gusty winds howling through the pines returning your grief. Slowly you manage to drag yourself up and back to Frankie’s truck. Sitting watching the rain slash against the aged windshield. Creating different rivers and puddles of water, sunlight catching a perfect drop when the clouds part and shine into the cab and over your face. Warming the cool skin as a sob leaves your throat praying this burst of light is a good omen.

Wonder this time where she's gone

Wonder if she's gone to stay

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

And this house just ain't no home

Anytime she goes away

You stare at the cell phone laying on the seat beside you. Hoping it’ll ring with a number you don’t recognize. Pleading for some kind of answer anything to stop the worry. When no answer me dance lights the piece of tech you slam an open palm against the steer wheel unable to keep the tears from sliding down your face. Unaware of how long you’ve sat there eyes closed rain pouring down around you.

Bill Withers smooth tenor making you jump and clutch at your chest. Eyes flying open to stare out into the utter darkness surrounding you not recognizing the ringtone for half a second. Fear and dread incasing your wildly thumping heart as you reach out for the cell phone. Not recognizing the number, you shakily press and slide your finger. Putting the phone to your ear breath lodged in your throat. Dry and deep from screaming, “Frankie?”

Shattering at the sound of your sweet scratching voice, Frankie sags against the phone booth. Warm glass meeting sweat soaked button up covered back trying to hold in the sob. “It’s me mi corazón,” finally answering short whimper on the end of the endearment. Making him bite the inside of his cheek to stop any other sounds from escaping. Dragging in the humid night air to fill his lungs and steady his heart. The heat is oppressive hanging heavy around the small glass and metal enclosure as his large hand grips the weathered plastic receiver.

“What happened mi sol?” Fear gripping tightly around your heart at hearing the sorrow in his voice. Aching to hold him and chase away the darkness you know will follow.

Pressing a hand to the glass cursing the fact this call wouldn’t be long enough to explain himself. “When I get home I’ll tell you everything sweetheart. I’m on an old pay hone right now so there’s not much time. I just…” swallowing harshly, eyes closing over those sadden brown eyes. “I needed to hear your voice.”

“I’m here baby,” wiping at the tears of relief and sitting up straighter in the bench truck seat. It didn’t matter what happened just knowing he’s alive and coming home to you it all that’s important. They could sort out the rest in time. “When are you coming home Frankie? Luciana misses her daddy.”

Watery chuckle leaves his lips, head resting on the dirty glass behind him, “I’ve missed her to hermosa,” taking another breath to steady himself. “I love you so fucking much.”

Heart clinching tightly at his words the desperation in the tone destroying you. Responding without thought, “I love you to Frankie,” gulping in a breath whimpers bitten off to keep from him knowing how torn up you are. Clap of thunder followed the streaks of lighting illuminating the night sky making you jump and gasp.

“Where are you sweetheart?” Having heard the thunder a little too loudly for you to be at home.

For the first time in your relationship you think of lying to him so he didn’t worry. But you remember the promise made and wouldn’t break it. “Our place,” comes the short answer hearing silence on the other end and you think he’s run out of time.

Finally finding his voice pushing through the pain in his heart. “I’m sorry mi corazón we… I never should’ve…”

“Shh Frankie it’s okay I came here to be closer to you. Wishing for you to call and you did,” soft chuckle leaving your mouth accompanying a small sob. “My sunshine broke through to let me know you were okay and coming home before you called.”

Pulling his cap off to rest on top the worn metal of the cradle and run a shaky hand through his curls. “I think you have that backwards, you’re my sunshine sweetheart and I can’t wait till I see you shine for me.” Electronic voice reminding him of the seconds he has left, precious and too few for his liking. “I’ve got to go mi corazón. I’ll be home soon I promise, I love you.”

“I love…” words cut off making Frankie curse and slam the receiver back into the cradle wanting to kick the old piece of junk. But knowing it wouldn’t get him anywhere but a busted foot most likely. He settles for slapping a palm against the glass before snatching up his cap and leaving the claustrophobic inducing box without a backwards glance. Setting his sights on the airport a short power walk away, towards home and into the arms of his girls.

[ambassadorquark]

here’s a long post about a bunch of webcomics i love and recommend. i’ve certainly read & liked other ones and have just lost track of them somehow but these are like, mostly classics that basically anyone who reads newer webcomics will recommend to you and a couple i’ve found more recently that i loved. tried to limit it to FAVES that update pretty regularly or are already completed so you can get quality stories out of it but it still ended up mammoth so uh, it’s goin’ under a readmore

namesake - super long-running comic with beautiful art, consistent and frighteningly frequent updates, made by Webcomics Pros. it’s about people who have the ability to enter the worlds of essentially any fairy tales in which the protagonists happen to share their name, and the lore only gets more intricate from there. this one is a very engaging archive binge as it’s been running for about a million years

gunnerkrigg court - honestly if you’re not already reading gunnerkrigg court i'd be very surprised since this is another one that’s been going easily since the invention of webcomics (not really, but THAT ARCHIVE!). i don’t know how to summarize it beyond saying it STARTS as a story about a girl attending a quirky boarding school and is now kind of a sweeping epic about the intersection of technology, nature, and divinity. there’s time travel or something in there now?! you will love renardine. i love renardine

paranatural - another one i’m sure you’re already reading and if not, WHY? it’s a fun li’l action-comedy about middle schoolers fighting ghosts with the help of other ghosts. has been running for a good while and gone through some weird changes but is also probably one of the funniest serial comics i’ve ever read

he is a good boy - a super weird, cerebral, since-finished comic by online comics vet KC Green, about a little acorn finally leaving the tree he grew on after it dies. this one has more “adult” content than any of the previous ones, but if you can handle some cartoony gore and obscenity it’s really funny, strange, and worth checking out

anything by evan dahm tbh - these come recommended by absolutely anyone with taste because evan dahm makes beautiful fantasy comics. rice boy and order of tales are both completed and have a bizarre, super-unique setting and bittersweet approach to these delicate, human stories (despite having no actual human characters). vattu is still currently running and is a slightly more grounded fantasy comic about a little girl from a nomadic hunter-gatherer culture getting caught up in the machinery of the empire that’s moving in on the land where she was born. cannot recommend these enough TBH

also anything on johnny wander - this site contains a bunch of comics by a couple of married comics pros; a big backlog of their really funny, charming autobio comics, the entirety of their graphic novel lucky penny, a whole bunch of shorter comics you might have seen around, and also their new, longer-form webcomic barbarous, which is about a wizard school dropout who’s appointed as a super at an apartment building full of weird magical folks. recommended because there’s a lot of quality stuff in there for you

the sword interval - on webtoon, completed. legit my favorite thing i’ve read in a hot minute. modern fantasy about a young woman who tracks down a legendary, but retired monster hunter for help on her quest to find and kill the lich-like being who killed her parents. gorgeous art, super awesome monster designs, twists on twists, characters you will never want anything bad to happen to ever. reggie the golem.

widdershins - a pretty well established comic i only just read recently. a series of connected stories following different characters from a big ensemble cast and their various adventures in a magical town in victorian west yorkshire. full of fun old-timey shit and wizards. i read it obsessively in like a day. super funny, super long archive. extremely endearing characters who you also will never want anything bad to happen to.

the last halloween - abby howard is a godly horror artist who’s been doing this comic since her style and sense of humor were almost completely different, but the story really does grow as it goes and is both very spooky and very funny. book one is about a little girl facing the potential extinction of humanity after the spontaneous appearance of billions of monsters. it’s currently in book 2, which is a direct sequel about different characters that actually updates sporadically at the moment because the artist is making other cool stuff. definitely still worth it though. gets intense as hell

string theory - this one got back into regular updates pretty recently! i’m linking the about page, not the homepage, because this one is about nasty people doing nasty things and there’s a few CWs that the author mentions right in the summary. it’s an alternate history sci-fi set in a near future where the USA was devastated by nuclear weapons after the cuban missile crisis but is mostly a character driven story about a jerkhole scientist having a terrible couple years. i can’t explain this one at all. if you like terrible men as much as i do you’ll probably enjoy it

tiger, tiger - a beautifully drawn maritime fantasy about a young noblewoman who impersonates her sea captain brother in order to launch an expedition to study sea sponges. there is a sexy nonbinary sea monster character if that sweetens the pot for you any. awesome, subtly integrated worldbuilding. super funny and charming. i love this one a whole bunch

bybloemen - i’m not just recommending this because i’m vague internet acquaintances with the author, it’s ALSO an extremely one-of-a-kind comic about the dutch tulip mania, and also demons. the art is gorgeous and the character designs are some of my favorites out there in newer webcomics. just kind of an extremely good concept that i think everyone should check out. and it’s funny, duh

mare internum - completed. an extremely affecting sci-fi set on Mars. you really just have to read this one, honestly. i’m also linking to the about page on this one because it contains CWs to keep in mind; it’s an incredibly well-constructed character study of some flawed, complicated people and also awesome if you like space aliens.

ozzie the vampire - another supernatural action-comedy because i know what i like, about a recently turned vampire girl and her best friend defending their small new jersey town from demons. super funny, super exciting, and really grounded and realistic for a story that’s about a vampire punching demons. the artist is also a superhuman wizard who draws a whole other comic, a shounen inspired action story called station square that you should check out if you end up liking ozzie.

[inkwellencrier]

It’s been a,,, little bit since I’ve posted some are here. So here’s 1 of probably 2 art spams I’m gonna do. First off, we got Rosalyn! Technically this is a redesign? Her colors and body type are slightly different from last time I drew her since it’s been a while. Mostly just drew this to have a drawing in my current style of her cuz the previous one her face looked,,, odd. Next up we got Midnight’s anthro and feral forms! This one IS a redesign, he was just,,, so plain before.

Then just a redraw of Aurora, nothing rly special just once again updating the ref according to skill level cuz I didn’t like the old one, Lastly, my character Abby! I rly like her design its very simple but very cute.