#don't mind my spotty face

[heehoonies]

Hee would be the type to massage your quivering legs and coo at you for being his good girl after you squirted on him for the first time 😌

HSHJFDHHJSFH bruh.... this is so scrummy

.

"fuuuuck, look at that," the sight of your squirt gushing around heeseung's cock as your legs quiver has him cumming inside, fucking you through your shared orgasms. your vision is spotty as overstimulation fills you, your tummy feeling weird as heeseung stills inside, his weeping cock now spent after a huge load.

your words are incoherent as your throat feels drier from your exhaustion. heeseung pulls out gently, trying not to hit you with his tip as he reaches over for tissues and begins to clean you off. you feel spacey, entirely on a different planet as the vague feelings of heeseung pressing against your aching, spent pussy don't even register in your mind. you don't even feel the cum nearly dripping out, your mind tingly as your bones hum, refusing to come down from your mind blowing high, a new experience for the both of you.

heeseung is patient, tossing the tissue into the trashcan before coming eye level with your pussy. he grabs your thighs, trying to stop their quivering, pressing kisses all over them to try and pull you back down to earth. his thumbs rub gently against the plush fat of your thighs, guiding you to consciousness again.

"my baby," heeseung coos as you meet his eye, a small, weak smile flitting across your face. "you must be so tired, hmm?" you nod lightly at his question, limbs feeling heavy and body aching from the entire ordeal. "my pretty baby, you did so well for me, so proud of you angel."

your voice is weak as you mumble, "i didn't even know i could do that..."

heeseung grins, continuing to rub your shaking legs with the pads of his fingers, the consistent circle patterns lulling you into a sense of security. "did it feel good?"

you nod lightly, "it was good, just really intense. more than i was ready for in the moment..."

"my good girl," heeseung smiles, rising to press an adoring kiss to your pouty lips. "next time, we're doing that again..." you nod lightly as he captures your lips in another kiss, this one lingering longer, pressing his affection into the action. "but for tonight, let's take a bath and then snuggle in bed, okay?"

[ylangelegy]

After MAMA awards I'M VERY PROUD OF MY BOYS and seeing Woozi crying, nooooo my mannnnn

So can I request Woozi or anyone after awards, all members celebrating with their partners hehe LOVE YOUUU!!!

PLEASE PLEASE 🛐🛐

🍑 i will really live the rest of my life repaying you.

you don't see seungcheol until the next day. such is the life of the general leader, it seems— the never-ending heralding, the non-stop worrying. he deals with his boys, first, then the fans, then the staff. but once that's all done, he's at your front door, collapsing into your arms before he's even past through the entryway. it doesn't matter how many awards its been. he is still overwhelmed by it every single time, and you are a soft place to land. he comes home to you and whispers the sweetest nothings in your hair. i'm so proud of them and they did so well and they're so happy. as he holds you tight— like you're the only thing keeping him upright— it's your turn to let him hear those words. i'm so proud of you. you did so well. you get to be happy, too.

the jeonghan on the other end of the video call has been quiet for the most part of the past half-hour. you'd be more worried if you hadn't already predicted where his solemness was coming from. "hannie? still with me?" you prompt gently, and he finally tears his gaze away from the ceiling to look back at you. "yeah. yeah, i'm with you," he answers. a beat. there are some things you no longer have to say out loud. how he wishes he was there. how he misses them and tries not to let it show. instead, you give him a reminder that's quiet and firm. "this is yours, too," you say. this award. this moment. these boys. all still his. there's a ghost of a smile on his face as he mumbles, "right. of course. how could i forget."

joshua likes keeping lists. a running one he has with you is that of gratitude, where the two of you try to end each day with acknowledgements of what you're grateful for. you're expecting a whole essay for him after tonight. he surprises you by keeping it short, sweet, and straight to the point. in no particular order, he types out into your shared note. music, the boys, you. hours later, he adds a footnote like it'd occurred to him as an afterthought: i'm always grateful for those three, but especially so today.

"look at them!" jun shrieks. his video call pixelates, either from spotty connection or his sudden burst of enthusiasm. you have half a mind to warn him that he may get a noise complaint again, but this time it'd be completely warranted. he's positively vibrating with excitement, his eyes glued to the livestream of his twelve brothers ascending the stage for their second award of the night. "look at them," he repeats, and this time his voice is more reverent than anything. you could comply, could do as he's asking, but your eyes are trained elsewhere. and look at you, too, you want to say. look at you and all that you've done to get this far.

even though it's been an exceptionally long day, soonyoung comes home brimming with adrenaline. he does dance routines in your living room. he jogs around your block until you beg him to just come back. he sings in the shower before collapsing onto the bed next to you, where he suddenly becomes boneless. the glow of pride stays even as the exhaustion hits. he pulls you against him and cuddles right into you. to soonyoung, this is as good as any trophy: the peace that comes with falling asleep next to you.

wonwoo has no destination in mind. he has a car with a full tank, and a playlist of all his favorite songs, and you in the passenger seat. that's more than enough. you pass through tunnels with warm lighting; expressways where he keeps the windows down so the wind will whip at your hair. occasionally, you'll stop to grab a snack or take a photo of something interesting on the side of the street. after hours of just going in circles, he'll ask, "should we keep driving?" even though he knows you'd never deny him this. this. his little celebration in the form of getting 'lost' with you.

nobody hears from jihoon for the next couple of days. the managers are worried, but the boys all just shake their heads and say that he's in good hands. which means: he's wherever you are. the two of you don't talk about his speech, about his public breakdown, because both things make him want to hide forever. instead— he sleeps in. he watches movies from months ago that he promised he'd get to. the two of you go on walks at night, and have breakfast at lunch time. the vicious cycle will soon have to begin again. jihoon knows that. but for a few, precious moments, his heart is not a heavy burden because it's safe and sound in your capable hands.

seokmin takes you on the textbook definition of your perfect date. a shopping spree? here's his black card. an amusement park? he'll rent out lotte world for the day, if he must. you're understandably baffled. he's the one who just won big, and yet you're the one being treated like royalty. try to resist and he'll only push back on you. seokmin already spoils you enough as is, but this is just a little more over-the-top than the day-to-day stuff. at the end of it all, his rationale is as sweet as it gets. "you keep me going," he tells you. "and so you deserve just as much credit as i do."

mingyu has always liked to celebrate with a meal. you'd expected his usual fare of some swanky restaurant or high-end café, but, this time, he asks for only free reign of your kitchen. he props his phone up against the salt shaker and pulls up a youtube video before flashing you his best 'just-trust-me' grin. your trust is not misplaced; the two of you do manage to bake the celebratory cake, though whether it's any good is an entirely different story. the end result doesn't matter as much as the process. mingyu is happiest about the flour marks on your cheeks, about the kisses he steals while you whisk eggs. it's not a birthday cake, but you light up a candle for him anyway. just for the hell of it. "make a wish," you tease. he's looking straight at you as he blows at the flame.

minghao asks for a beach day. the two of you set out for the nearest one. maybe the sand is a bit rocky; the shore, lacking in shells. he doesn't care. he only seeks out the sun beating on his back, the saltwater clinging to his skin, the first punch of air after emerging from the water. as the stolen weekend winds to a close, the two of you sit at the point where the water lap at your toes. neither of you have to speak. here, minghao lets the tide wash away the ache of homesickness. here, minghao redefines 'home' as a future with the boys of his youth, with the music that is as constant as the waves— and with you, of course.

the ferry ride to jeju is about four or so hours long, but seungkwan doesn't mind. there's just something so right about getting on the first vessel that will take him back where he has family waiting with a homecooked meal and a play-by-play of the award show. besides, the ferry means having four hours of uninterrupted leisure time with you. the pair of you literally have nowhere else to be except this boat and this point in time, which seungkwan is a little guilty to be so happy about. he's a glutton for your time and attention, and these ferry rides— these trips home— remind him just how much he likes taking the scenic route.

vernon treats it almost like it's just another day. almost. you're thrown off by his initial nonchalance, by the lack of utter fanfare in the way he asks you out to lunch and the two of you barely discuss the recent accolades. when you prompt him about it, you realize it's not because of arrogance or ignorance. "we're just doing what we always do," he says with an expression of mild confusion. winning?, you almost inquire half-jokingly, but that's only part of it. he elaborates, "we were just ourselves, y'know?"

when chan suggests a rage room, you're understandably confused. the wrath-based activity doesn't seem like the most optimal celebration, but you're not about to cramp his style. the two of you queue the angriest songs known to man before smashing some defunct appliances and throwing empty bottles against a wall. once your time is up, chan looks at you with that familiar spark of fire in his eyes. that dedication you fell in love with, that passion that has always burned bright. "again?" he asks, and you know it's not just the rage room that he's asking for.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 8

part 1 | part 7 | ao3

He finds himself on Cherry Drive by muscle memory alone. Quarter mile past Maple Street, take the third left, the second right; drive straight through the next stop sign and suddenly the Hagan house is coming into view around the bend, bathed in dim yellow light from a flickering street lamp. A 50s era ranch house, painted brick with a detached one-car garage, weeds sprouting through the crooked old stones of the front walkway and leaves scattered across the lawn in mushy browns and orange-reds.

It's not as nice as Steve's place is.

Was.

Whatever.

Steve blinks, shakes himself fully awake; feels a jolt of fear at the idea that he just drove here in some kind of fugue state because he doesn't know what he's doing here. Tommy left for college, and fuck Tommy, anyway.

He pulls up to the house. Slows the car to a crawl.

It's dark inside, all the lights turned off except for a single table lamp in the entryway window; shaped like a sea turtle, its belly full of blue-green light. Mrs. H. loves the sea.

He wonders if they're out of town or if they're just asleep.

The Hagans go to bed early, he remembers. He spent so many nights talking in a hush in Tommy's room; 8:45pm and they'd be lying side by side on the floor beside his bed, reading comic books or sports mags and whispering about nothing. Tommy'd always thank Steve for coming over because he knew his house was a little boring; he was the kid with old parents who went to bed early and kept the radio turned down and wouldn't let them have sugary snacks even on the weekends. Steve would always just knock their shoulders together and smile 'don't mention it' because he'd hang out with Tommy anywhere.

"Anywhere?" "Yeah, anywhere." "What about in a cave?" "Sure." "Under a bridge?" "Don't see why not." "In the belly of a whale?" "Now you're just being dumb." "Am not!" "Are, too." "Oh, yeah? Well- shut up!"

That was usually the part where they got in trouble for making noise, caught red-faced and laughing while they wrestled on the floor.

There's warmth in his chest at the memory, and that part, he expects.

But also...

Something about it makes heat flare in his gut, shameful and feverish as it flashes through his mind: the phantom press of Tommy above him as he pinned his shoulders down; the way the flush on his cheeks made Tommy's freckles pop; the breathless smile he gave, so close their noses almost brushed...

A light turns turns on in the Hagans' hall.

Steve hits the gas.

He drives for a long while, feeling like an asshole for burning through their precious gas money, but too— too something to fully care. He's alone on a highway with dark pastures blowing by, with the heat on and windows down, and he's circling back toward home when Bruce Springsteen starts to play, all croaky static over the spotty radio.

Born down in a dead man's town. The first kick I took was when I hit the ground.

Steve cranks it up and sings along. The song is cheesy, and he feels stupid, but he also feels free. Like there was a shackle around his throat and he didn't notice until it was gone. He shouts along to the chorus and then just shouts in general; long, guttural screams that feel like poison being purged. Tommy, his dad, the Russians, his mom. All of it, all of it spewing out of him into the cold night air.

He misses Carol suddenly. Her acidic attitude. The way it always ate through the worst of his sullen moods.

He can picture her now: perched on someone's lap in the crowded backseat, no seatbelt, manicured hand braced on the ceiling. She'd be smacking bubblegum and twirling a lock of her hair, and she'd roll her eyes at Steve's dramatics and ask whether he was done untwisting his panties yet. Steve would say something dumb and pervy in response, like, "Too busy dealing with girls' panties to focus on my own," and she'd roll her eyes harder and go, "God, you're fucking gross."

Carol's not here, though, so he just screams about her, too.

When he get back to Forest Hills his voice is hoarse. His body is tired; his soul is light. He's thinking, like: maybe he'll be okay. He'll channel his inner Claudia or Joyce and soldier on. Resilience, and all that shit.

He's almost smiling to himself when he turns into the park.

And then he sees the flashing lights.

There's an ambulance on his lot.

—

part 9

just gonna start tagging whoever commented the day before (if your settings will let me) bc i have the memory of a goldfish @a-little-unsteddie @slowandsteddie @pennyplainknits @thesuninyaface @hotluncheddie @messrs-weasley @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman @i-have-three-feelings @sirsnacksalot @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium

[morganwrites12672]

Normal?

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: She had known Sam growing up. The two had both dreamed of a normal life. Sam had gotten out, she hadn't. One day, she decides to visit him at Stanford.

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: PG-14

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! My requests are open.

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Her life was like a movie.

Not one of the good ones, no. Her life wasn't like a romcom. Her life was like a goddamn horror movie.

After her mother's rather brutal murder committed by a Werewolf, her father had lost his mind. The man had been on a bloody war path to kill anything Supernatural he could get his hands on. She had been dragged down the horrible path with him. Having been only five whenever her mother was killed, her memories of the woman were spotty. Almost everything she remembered from her childhood was shitty.

Cheap motel rooms, killing ghosts, lying to everyone she met, and nightmares. That was it. She didn't have a life that was considered enjoyable. She hunted monsters. She saved people. That was her job. She wasn't the girl who would get the happy ending. No, she was the girl who got to experience most people's nightmares every day of her life. Sure, it sucked. But, it had some not so sucky parts.

One of those parts was every second she spent with Sam Winchester.

She had first met the boy whenever she was twelve. Sam had been thirteen at the time. He had been clumsy with legs far too long and lanky for him to control. He has tripped three times on the walk to the cabin. Her father has bought the stupid cabin shortly after she had turned nine. It was a good place to store extra hunting supplies. It didn't get used much. Her father couldn't sit still for long.

The two had been walking through the woods together. Listening to John and her father talk had grown tiring. And Dean was no better. He was pissed off about something, she hadn't bothered asking Sam what. She was content to let the older Winchester brother sulk while she showed Sam her favorite places in the woods.

As they walked back, she remembered how he suddenly stopped. She had been curious and turned around to see why. His words had come as a surprise.

"Do you ever want to be normal?" He had asked her. She would have thought it was a joke if not for the serious expression on his face.

"I don't think we get to choose," She had replied. She knew they didn't. Both of their fathers had forced this life upon them.

The conversation had ended there. Sam had been more quiet than usual once they were back inside the cabin.

She woke up with a surprising smile. It wasn't often she dreamt of something so pleasant. More often than not her dreams were plagued by literal monsters. Or, people she hadn't been able to save. The later option sent a chill down her spine to think about. Those faces would haunt her forevermore.

It was one of the rare nights she had actually slept. She was used to catching a few hours here and there. No time for sleep whenever she had monsters to kill and people to save. It wasn't like her father had ever let her sleep in whenever she had been a child. Old habits die hard.

As she slid out of bed, her smile widened. She was only a few hours away from Stanford.

In a few measly hours, she would get to see him again. It has been months since her last visit. It wasn't often that she had any downtime. Hunting kept her busy. She had began hunting on her own shortly after she had turned nineteen. Working with her father had been too much for her to handle. She still hadn't been able to shake her father's voice from her head anytime she took even a night off though. His words seemed to be ingrained in her brain.

'If you stop working, people die. I didn't raise you to be a goddamn slacker.'

She didn't waste anymore time. She quickly showered before throwing everything else together. She was in her car, driving towards Stanford within half an hour. The anticipation of seeing Sam had her all jittery. She felt absolutely ridiculous. Almost like some school girl with a stupid highschool crush.

The drive seemed to have taken ages (only three and a half hours). As she finally parked her car in front of the address Sam lived at, she practically flew out of her car. She had wanted to leave immediately after she finished her hunt, but she had been too exhausted. Once she had finished it she had practically passed out. Vampires were tiring to deal with.

She took the stairs two at a time before knocking on the door.

Sam opened the door and greeted her with a smile. She threw her arms around him immediately. It had been months since she had had the time to visit him. She had also been thousands of miles away. Her lifestyle made anything inconvenient. It was worth it though. This time it hadn't been hard. Only a few hours out of her way. Not like last time.

"God, I've missed you."

Sam pulled away from the hug, smiling at her words. They were good friends. Both of them harbored small crushes (not very small anymore). Yet, neither would admit it. They both liked things how they were.

Sure, she wished she could kiss him right now. But she didn't. Their friendship was too perfect to ruin. Neither one of them would ever risk it for something more.

"I'm sorry it's been so long, I haven't been anywhere near California in a while," She explained. She had tried though, several times. But, she would always get drawn away. Always. It pissed her off. She wanted to drop by and check on him more than she did. She knew Dean had part of that covered though. Even if he refused to tell Sam about his visits.

Sam couldn't believe she had made it. For weeks, she's told him she would visit soon. He knew how the hunting lifestyle went. It could have been months before she had enough time to visit him. His heart fluttered at the thought. She was willing to go out of her way just to see him.

"Don't apologize. I know how busy you stay," He said. He didn't even want to think about what she had been doing. Hunting was a dangerous business. He hated that it was the business she was still in. He cared for her, even if he knew they were just friends. He couldn't help but wish for something more.

After she had spoken, Sam invited her in. The two made small talk for a while. Catching up on everything. She asked him about his classes and how he was enjoying college. He asked her about the hunts she had been on. The two exchanged information about those topics for a while. Until, a question Sam asked caught her off guard.

"You don't seem happy hunting anymore," He blurted, and it was true. Whenever she was younger it had been easier to pretend. Now, it got difficult. She got to watch other people her age be normal. It stung. "You don't have to keep doing that. . ."

His words were more true than she was willing to admit. She stayed silent for a minute, considering her reply. She hadn't spoken to her father in months. She didn't even have to tell him that she was quitting. She could still hunt on occasion, only cases close to wherever she chose to live though.

"I. . . I don't know what I would do."

"Anything you want," Sam replied. "Go to college, get a job, have a life. You. . . You could even stay with me for a while at first," he offered.

She considered his words. As she was thinking, her gaze fell to his lips for a brief second. She instantly looked away as a light blush stained her cheeks. Could she stay with him? Could she be normal for once?

As she looked back to answer him, she noticed how close they were. If she took a step forward, she'd be close enough to kiss him. Alarm bells were ringing in her head as she took the step. Living with Sam and keeping her feelings a secret would be impossible.

Sam seemed to notice what she was trying to do. Before she could move any closer, he was all over her. His arms around her waist, his lips mere inches from hers. He gazed down at her. And, she realized something. From the look in his eyes, her feelings were definitely reciprocated.

"Is this okay?" He murmured against her lips.

She threaded her fingers through his shaggy hair, "More than okay."

His lips met hers. The kiss was passionate and messy. Neither one of them had the patience to start slow. Already Sam was deepening the kiss. A soft moan left her lips at the sudden action. She pulled on his hair slightly as he continued kissing her.

"Does this mean you'll stay?" He asked, his hands slipping her shirt over her head. He took in the sight of her wearing a bra in front of him. It took every piece of self control in him not to rip off the rest of her clothes this second.

"I'll stay," She replied, kissing him again. Their lips moved in tandem together as Sam unclasped her bra. In a few more seconds Sams shirt had also been discarded. His hands fondled her bare breasts as she tugged on his hair.

She knew that there would be a lot of obstacles. It wasn't easy to quit being a hunter. It had been her life for so long. But, she would figure it out with Sam.

This was just the beginning of their future together.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment and reblog!

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Devil in Me (teaser)

A/N: basically oc is like the queen of angels and gyu is the prince of darkness but with a twist. oc is the one controlling gyu. gyu is also slightly yanderish in this. i'm thinking of adding more parts to this as i have a couple other ideas in mind.

warnings: devil!gyu, angel!oc, mean dom!oc, cunnilingus, slapping, frotting, cumming in pants

_______________________

“I’m just saying you’re not doing a very good job, and the big guy can see it too. Soon, he’ll have someone come to replace you and you’ll be stripped of your powers. And when he does, maybe he and I can make a deal–I tell my demons to back off a little bit and he gives you to me as a gift. I could use a little sex toy–”

You don’t let him finish his filth, slapping him right across the face. He stops immediately, staring at you wide eyed and breathing heavily. As soon as he gathers enough brain power to open his mouth to talk back again, you slap him a second time, finally shutting him up and showing him you’re done with his bravado. 

He surges forward, trying to catch your lips with his but your hand wraps itself around his neck and pushes him down. He knows what you want and he eagerly gets on his knees for you.  

“I don't want to hear another word out of your filthy mouth.” You snarl, pushing your index and middle finger inside his mouth. “You’re a disgusting, wicked thing. He would never give me to you. I am worth more than you and all your minions combined.”

He makes a choked sound that resembles the words “I know” but you push your fingers further, choking him and shutting him up. 

“You know nothing.” You hiss, taking your fingers out of his mouth, saliva dribbling out onto his chin. “The only toy here is you. So shut up and make yourself useful.” 

You walk towards your chair and order him to follow. He crawls towards you just like he's been trained to. You push your white dress up and spread your legs, exposing yourself to him but he knows not to dive in before being given the command. 

You make him wait a bit just to torture him. You make him wait until he starts whimpering and squirming, looking up at you with eyes that betray his angel origins before you finally give him the go ahead. 

He dives right in, starved. If you didn’t know any better you'd think he's an incubus that survives on your arousal. But he doesn’t even have that grace to spare his ego. He is fully in control of his actions and he chooses to be on his knees for you. 

You throw your head back and stare at the ceiling as he uses his mouth and tongue to try to get your attention. You know he hates when you’re not looking at him. He hates when you treat him like he’s so far beneath you even if he consciously put himself there.

You feel him whine against you, the sound accentuating the touch of his tongue as it laps up your arousal and flicks over your little sensitive nub, making your toes curl and your vision to go spotty. He’s so good at this. After all, he had plenty of practice, unlike you who only ever had him. So it isn’t hard for him to rip an orgasm out of you so quickly. This just makes you arch your back and throw your head back further, your eyes scrunching close as the waves of pleasure dull the edges of your anger. 

But it’s not entirely gone, and as he whines again for you to look at him, you finally do, growling, “What?” 

“Did that feel good?” He mumbles, eyes shiny as he stares up at you, looking for your approval. You groan, pushing his face back down and starting to grind your hips against his mouth. He mewls pathetically but obediently sticks his tongue out so you can use him. He still continues to whine but doesn’t once try to pull away, staying there until you’ve had your fill of him. 

It is moments like this where you feel the real danger of his temptation–his pretty eyes, his pathetic whimpers, his need for you… maybe this whole thing is just a massive scheme to corrupt you and drag you down to his realm. He knows he can’t intimidate or scare you into going the wrong way, but his puppy act sure is a lot more convincing. 

Twisting his hair in your fingers, you push him away, exhaustion settling deep into your bones now that the pleasure has left. “Get up. You're dismissed.”

He lets out a heartbroken whine and his fingers dip into your thighs. “Please.”

___________________

You can read the whole thing on patreon or kofi. though i'd prefer you go on patreon as not all my writings exclusive will be posted on kofi later on

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 1

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

⊱𖣂⊰ | masterlist

next–⊱

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥

chapter word count: 3.1 k

content warnings: canon typical racism, blanket warnings

a/n: First chapter done!

It took me about a month to finally publish this, cause I kept coming back and changing the setting, characters and pacing lol. I'll try to update semi regularly, and I'm counting on my outline to scoop me out of writer's block. This chapter, as well as others, are still subject to minor changes, depending on how the story evolves. Also, happy birthday Zeke! (And Reiner)

Thanks for reading!

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐋 around you, mimicking the panicked torrent of thoughts stampeding through your mind. The ground beneath your fingers crumbles as you press onto it, sending more and more rubble up in the air.

Debris prickles at your eyes and cinders hack at your lungs. Your hair rises up and down and up again, and your heart rushes in your chest, palpitating with dread and confusion.

Where in the hell are you?

You wheeze, desperate to regain control over your breathing, your hand coming up to clutch the fabric of your shirt. Your eyes fight against the dirt to stay wide open, unwilling to forfeit information about the unknown situation you find yourself in.

An unsettling figure approaches you through the dust, their figure haloed by the afternoon sun. Alarms ring in your ears, and you scramble back on your hands and feet until your back crashes against a wall.

The figure stops, and as the dust clouds begin to dissipate, you catch a glimpse of the person on the other side.

Tall, lanky, and with an unreadable face, a blonde woman stares back at you, her blank expression contrasting your own.

The ringing in your ears subsides, beginning to bleed into the voice of the woman.

"–hear me?"

The woman tilts her head to the side, examining your figure. A second question is posed in your head.

"You–" Your voice breaks. "Who are you?"

Her eyes narrow slightly, and it almost drives you mad how little you can read her. Was this a kidnapping? But then, wouldn't you be bound with ropes or zip ties?

Your breath hitches when she comes closer, crouching, her face invading your vision. Her blunt cut hair tickles your cheeks, and your widened eyes dart around. Surely this was a mistake, right? Maybe she is just concerned for you; after all, that was quite the nasty fall you had experienced. Or so you think, as you can't recall what exactly you were doing here.

Yes, a fainting spell would explain everything. Mild concussion, spotty memory, concerned woman.

"You are not Ymir," she states.

Your thoughts of kidnappings and falls halt. The name the woman had uttered loops endlessly in your mind and everything falls silent.

There is absolutely no way.

"The... the goddess?" you ask in a small voice, not entirely believing in her factual way of saying it.

A beat passes. You clench your hands together, softly crushing small pieces of the rock that formed the terrace, further encrusting them into your palms. Jesus, would it kill this woman to blink once?

She looks you up and down, like there was something in your appearance that would tell her you were a fictional deity from an anime series.

"Who else?"

This lady is crazy. There was simply no other way of putting it, this lady is crazy. Yeah, you like Attack on Titan as much as the next person, but you don't go around claiming random strangers are characters in the show.

A scoff exits your mouth, your lips slightly curving at the ridiculous situation.

"Yeah, sure, and you're Eren Jaeger."

Silence envelops you both, your small grin faltering at her piercing gaze. She removes herself from your personal space, standing up and looking down at you.

A brief moment elapsed. You finally take in your surroundings, the ruins of an old castle taking away what little of your breath remained. Columns are erected at both sides of the vast courtyard, and you notice a few people mingling around. Oddly, both are looking in your direction. You still don't know how you got there, but you are sure that your memory will clear after a while.

"I fear I still haven't presented myself."

Her words send shivers down your neck, your body unconsciously anticipating the information, your eyes snapping at her face. You feel yourself leaning into the sound of her voice, entranced, as if she were a siren and you a sailor stranded on a rock.

"My name is Yelena."

You freeze.

No. No, she couldn't be serious.

"I am part of the Anti-Marleyan Volunteers. And you–" she narrows her eyes, "–shouldn't know that name."

Time slows down. Worlds are created from space debris, stars go supernova, civilizations flourish and perish. A miniature Big Bang reverberates in your consciousness, your psyche connecting and disconnecting plot points, characters, arcs, settings.

"I–" you chuckle nervously, "What? So you mean to tell me this is Eldia?"

"Marley, actually."

Your jaw drops. You have half a mind to tell her off, to stand up and dust your pants whilst chuckling at this woman's, at Yelena's, absurd story. And yet, something in her eyes tells you that she is not joking.

Your lips mouth an Oh, a headache forming while still struggling to accept this strange new reality you found yourself in. One where titans and goddesses and a boy with aquamarine eyes all exist.

Reality? No, no it couldn't be. A dream then. A very strange but realistic dream. You just need to ride it out, flow with it until time comes for you to wake up, relinquishing all opportunity to control it as always, unlike many of the people who claimed to command their lucid dreams. And you would start your day as you always did, and you would forget your dreams as you always did.

"You will come with me. We might have not gotten Ymir, but you... something tells me you are a good compromise."

Okay. Maybe not a dream.

Your eyebrows furrow and an objection rises in your throat, instantly extinguished under Yelena's intense glare. Closing your mouth, you find yourself once again surveying the terrace, this time more attentively.

If Yelena was truly who she said she was, then both of the other people were also likely Anti-Marleyan Volunteers. You even catch the eye of a dark skinned man – who you are nearly certain was Onyankopon – who is the one positioned closest to Yelena.

He looks at you with curiosity, but does not make a move to talk or walk towards you. And why would he? You may know his kind heart, but he doesn't know yours. Knowing someone without them knowing you was a strange feeling that you are not sure you like.

You exhale deeply, your hands coming up to your knees to aid you in standing up. While you aren't exactly ecstatic to be under Yelena's unsettling gaze for one more moment, there is truly no other option for you here, unless you fancy being taken in less as an invitee and more like a prisoner.

You dust off your pants and follow Yelena, as she turns around and makes some kind of sign to another Volunteer. They file around you, relatively close for you to distinguish their faces, but not enough for you to call them wardens.

You keep your eyes firmly planted on the back of Yelena's head, not wanting to appear nervous. You will your hands to relax and your breathing to even out, mentally preparing plan after contingency plan, drawing in everything you remembered about the characters' personalities.

No one talks to you still.

The train journey to, well, somewhere, is filled with awkward silence.

You fiddle with the loose threads of your jeans, your appearance making you stick out amongst the sea civilians spread out in the dark green booths. The coat and white armband they had given you did little to help feel like you blended in, not because of the garment, but because of the three people in your train cart that were aware of the separation between them and you. Neither meets your eye, but you had caught the man you didn't know the name of drilling holes into the back of your skull.

Yelena sits across from you in the cramped booth, alternating between scrutinizing you and looking out the window with half lidded eyes. You are ninety percent sure she was already figuring out the best way to integrate your abrupt arrival into Zeke's plan, replacing whatever role Ymir would have had had she appeared instead of you.

A shudder runs down your spine at the thought of the holder of the beast titan. If Yelena freaked you out, you definitely did not want to meet with him. At least Yelena was cold to you from the beginning, not bridging the line into a constructed friendly territory.

On the other hand, Zeke is nice, smart, charismatic. He would not hesitate to sacrifice you for his cause like Yelena, but he would stab you in the back with your birthday cake knife.

You hope that knowing of his future plans would enable you to see through him, read him less like an open book and more like an unknown language that looked similar to your mother tongue.

At one of the moments when Yelena wasn't watching you, you risk a glance at her figure. She looks about the same age as her animated counterpart, so you deduce that you must be a stone's throw away from canon, or already in it.

You slump against the plush seat, sighing. She is still in Marley, so they have not gone into contact with Paradis yet. Probably.

Oh god, Paradis.

If Marley is real, then Paradis is also real. And if Paradis, and more importantly, its walls are also real...

The thread you are pulling on snaps, directing your eyes towards your lap, noticing the tip of your fingers are stained an irritated red from twirling the strings around.

You clear your throat awkwardly, absentmindedly shifting in your seat.

"So, uh– where are we going, exactly?"

Your question is rewarded with Yelena's half lidded attention. Your eyes itch to look away, but you press on, determined to get answers out of the Volunteer.

"Apologies. It seems I haven't been clear enough."

The sentence alone is enough to fill you with dread, her calm tone doing wonders at sounding threatening. Maybe you are overthinking everything, but you can't help notice the juxtaposition between her serene intonation and the unhinged woman of your memories.

"You know things. Things that normal people shouldn't know. No – don't try to deny it," she says, putting her hand up when you try to protest.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," you lie through your teeth.

"You mentioned Eren Jaeger. Care to share how you know that name?"

You curse your ingenuity a few minutes ago, when you believed all of this to be some elaborate prank you had become the unwilling victim of. But who would automatically jump to the conclusion that they had been transmigrated to a fictional world?

When you fail to come up with a believable excuse as to why you knew of someone across the sea, Yelena takes your silence as its own answer.

"And then there's the matter of what you were doing in the ruins of the old Eldian empire."

You are rendered speechless once again. Scenes of a cruel king, a flying spear, and dried blood on rocks flash before your eyes, realizing a few minutes ago you were on the same spot where Ymir was killed. That explains why Yelena implied she was expecting her instead of you.

Maybe you could spin this in your favor. You blurt out your next words impulsively, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Maybe I am Ymir."

An unimpressed eyebrow rises on Yelena's forehead, not a single ounce of belief in her eyes. It is clear she knows you were lying out of your ass here, but you stand your ground.

"Need I remind you of how you scoffed at my words? Or maybe of how you referred to Ymir in the third person?"

Silence.

You fold. The pressure is too much, and you can't keep this ridiculous charade in front of her. Your fists clench and you look down, your face heating up from embarrassment.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not Ymir," you mumble.

A millionth of a fraction of Yelena's eyes softens. "I did think you were her for a second. Weird clothes, weirder confusion. Not to mention the tornado we found you in. But no," –she shakes her head– "you had the wrong age, and the wrong personality. At least according to our records."

"You still haven't answered my question," you retort, ignoring the sound part of your brain that was screaming at you to not provoke her, completely smoothing over her comment about a tornado. That was a problem for future you.

She simply smiles at you, slightly tilting her head to the side.

"Liberio."

This by itself is enough for you to slightly widen your eyes, the name of the city yet another confirmation of the world you are now in. What you know of Liberio sifts through your mind, alternating between images of a joyful festival, a declaration of war, and giant footsteps, turning all into nothing more than ash and dried blood. Yelena chuckles, identifying the hint of recognition in your eyes.

You fight back a shiver, both at her reaction, and at what is written to come.

Other than the tense and brief conversation between you and Yelena, nothing of importance happens on the train ride to Liberio. You simply shrink back into your seat, occasionally lifting your gaze from the floor to the fast paced view of the window.

After what feels like an eternity, a city replaces large fields of green and the train skids to a halt. Yelena stands up, and you follow her and the other two Volunteers out of the cart. Taking Onyankopon's hand when stepping down the train, you take in your first impression of Liberio.

It is... underwhelming to say the least.

The modern comforts and views you had experienced in your modern life make it difficult for you to be awed by an old timey train station, no matter how unbelievable the context with which you had come to it was. And yet, it had its small charms.

Small, because, just as you exit, a guard starts barking orders at the few of you with armbands. You are stunned for a second, not expecting the animosity with which you would be treated. Yelena grabs your arm, bringing you out of your brief stupor, and starts walking towards a sentry post.

"Don't stay behind," are the only words she provides.

You and Yelena, the only ones with armbands in your little Volunteer group, are ushered away into a line. Onyankopon and the other guy disappear into the crowd when you take your eyes off of them, too preoccupied with not straying from Yelena's steady steps.

One by one, the people in front of you present their own documents, verifying and validating their own reasons for being outside the internment zone. You shuddered. Internment zone, as if they were all animals under Marley's control and mercy.

You watch the same papers with which they bought your ticket be presented to the man in the booth, his mustache slightly curling in disgust as he takes in your white armbands. You curl into yourself, feeling awkward in your own skin, your eyes glossing over as you try to tune him out.

" – and this is his daughter."

Yelena's and the guards' sharp gazes turn to you, her voice pointedly signaling for you to speak.

You spout back the fake backstory the Volunteers had fed you beforehand. According to your legal documents, you are now the daughter of a diseased Eldian soldier, left alone after his death on the battlefield. The guards eyes flicker between you and the papers, making you squirm in place.

"So, uh, yeah, I'm staying with my father's distant relative," you finish lamely.

He gives you another do over with his eyes, narrowing them, before simply stamping something on the top sheet.

"Next!"

You let out a breath as you are once again whisked away by Yelena into a shuttle flanked by Marleyan soldiers, waiting for the handful of people still standing by for their turn to be inspected. You step inside the green tent set up in the back, sitting on one of the hard, wooden benches that adorn the interior.

Eventually, the truck's engine sputters to life, and starts moving towards what you assume to be the Eldian neighborhoods in the internment zone.

You stay still for the rest of the ride, as did the others, only swaying gently when the vehicle brakes or makes a turn, nervously fiddling with the sleeves of your too large coat. Not once do you look up to examine the faces of the other passengers with the limited sunlight that made its way inside the tarp.

After a while, you and Yelena finally exit the truck, making a beeline towards the large gates that marked the beginning of the zone. Like in the series, the big gates are open to welcome your small group, the guards choosing to loudly direct you towards it.

The tense silence between you two is only broken by the constant tip taps of your shoes against the rocks of the street. Couples, families and small children are all walking around that afternoon, and you crane your neck in order to see the various brick buildings scattered throughout the main avenue. Black lampposts line the street, and you guess that they'll turn on in a couple of hours, when the sunlight is no longer enough to illuminate the pavement.

Yelena steps into a much smaller street, almost an alleyway, and beckons for you to follow. The dark alley, in contrast to the crowded and well-lit avenue, only echoes your own stride, your breaths suddenly multiplying in noise.

She comes to a stop in front of an old wooden door, her hand fishing a key out of her pocket. The lock clicks, the door whines, and you are hastened inside.

You blink continuously, your eyes taking time to acclimate themselves to the inside. An old, basic room greets you, your nose detecting the faintest notes of woody bark and aged blankets.

Your ears zero in on the drip of the kitchen faucet. A raggedy, almost oxidized tap leaks to your right, making you turn to the origin of the sound. The lack of food and personal items betrays the house's status as one that was barely used, adding to your discomfort and the eerie atmosphere.

"Wait here a moment, please."

Yelena turns to you from the far left of the room, her hand on the handle of another door. It opens with a creak, and, as she steps inside, you are treated with a glimpse of gray eyes behind circular glasses. 

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[arcadian-litterateur]

sick of kissing you in my head (when can it be real instead?) | modern au!gally x fem!reader

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

summary: your boyfriend, gally, is across the country, and despite the struggles a long distance relationship can bring, your love is strong enough to carry you through the long distance season of your relationship. but spending your birthday without him is different than spending normal days separated, and you know deep down that nothing will make you happy on your birthday when he’s all you need.

word count: 8k holy—i really didn’t even realize how long this was till i checked the wc omg

warnings: emotional meltdown, mention of anxiety and anxiety meds, brief mention of panic attacks

a/n: hey guys! i love love love the song this is based off of: all i need (the distance song) by avery lynch. it's such a good song. this was supposed to just be fluff about visiting your bf gally, and then it turned into a whole thing lol. so yeah, i hope you guys enjoy this long ass one shot. i really really enjoyed writing it.

“𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦. 𝘪𝘧 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥.”

𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 onto my side, legs brushing against my sheets, I smile at the FaceTime call on my phone, but it's bittersweet. On the other end of the video call sits my boyfriend, the soft smile on his face mirroring my own. From where he sits, I can see the San Francisco skyline out his hotel window, highlighted by the rising sun.

“I miss you,” I mumble, studying the lines and contours of his face and wondering if they've changed since the last time I saw him in person. If I've missed any change; any detail while we've been separated. If anything has changed or tipped the balance since we've been apart. 

I'm not insecure in my relationship with Gally, but be long distance for enough time and everyone gets in their head about it. Catches themselves wondering; doubting.

“I miss you more every time we have to part,” I add, watching the bitter take over the sweet in my boyfriend's eyes for a few seconds before he replies.

“I know, baby, I know.” His gaze wanders into the space between the atoms, his mind leaping forward into the future as he assures both me and himself, “Once my contract with WCKD Enterprises is up, I'll be able to move back to Denver. We'll be back in the same city.”

My smile is tired, only half there, and Gally knows it. It's been months since I've held him in my arms. This long distance routine is wearing us both out. We're both running out of steam—not for each other; not for our relationship, but for the complexity that being long distance has brought to our relationship. Conflicting schedules, spotty internet, the deprivation of physical contact with the person we crave it from the most…it's all beginning to pile up, and we both know it.

In an attempt to change the subject, I ask, “When is your flight back to Chicago again?” I already know, but I'm not sure what else to say, and besides, it's always good to check.

“Your birthday,” comes the cheeky reply, my eyes rolling of their own accord as I secretly admire the handsome grin on my boyfriend's face. But all too soon, his grin fades.

“I'm sorry I can't be there for your birthday,” he says gently. I wave him off, assuring him that I'll be just fine.

“Bren, Tes, and Sony are planning something. Won't tell me what, though.” I sigh before admitting, “It won't be the same without you. But your work's important.” Gally smiles gratefully, but there's cracks in the smile, and my stomach sinks. Guilt over my last comment settles in my digestive tract. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“No, no, don't apologize,’’ Gally says quickly. “You're allowed to be sad that I can't be there.” His amiable grin morphs into a scowl, “Tried to get Janson to give me the time off, I really did. But that rat wouldn't do it.” I give Gally what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“It's okay, babe.” We fall into silence, not necessarily comfortable, but not bad either, before Gally interjects,

“It'll be nice to be in my own apartment, though. I'm getting sick of all these Californian hotels. I'll be glad to be home, smog and noisy L-trains galore.” I chuckle, knowing that Gally loves Chicago because of its quirks, not in spite of them.

Still, Denver has always been home to me. But Gally and I've decided to cross that bridge when we get to it. We've got enough to think about as it is.

I'm trying to come up with another conversation topic, since I don't have work until later today, but unfortunately, Gally isn't so lucky. It’s the perks of working from home as a crisis hotline counselor, I guess. The hours aren’t as demanding, since the work itself is.

“Shoot, I have to go,” he hisses. “I'm sorry, princess. I'll call you tonight?” I nod, forcing myself to look forward to tonight's call, rather than be sad that this one is ending. “Alright, good that,” Gally grins. “I love you, babe!”

“I love you, Gal,” I smile and wave goodbye. The half-baked grin melts right off my face once he's hung up. Gosh, I miss him so much. 

There's only so much comfort a video call can give.

Teresa calls me soon after Gally hangs up, blabbering on and on about a date she'd had with some guy named Ben, but I can't focus on her stories like I normally would. Usually, I'm all in to hear my friend's tales, but my mind is still fixated on the miles separating Gally and I. Something in me wonders how much longer we'll be able to go without holding each other. How much longer we can stand to be separated.

When we first started dating, I could have gone months, as long as we were still interacting. But as my love for Gally increased, the length of time I could stand to be without him decreased. 

I'm fully, unashamedly in love with Gally now, and part of me wonders what I would do to be living in the same place as him. To be in his arms for good. The easy answer—the most raw answer—is anything. I'd do anything for him.

“(Y/N)?” Teresa's voice brings me out of my thoughts, her suspicious tone confirming that she's noticed my lack of focus today. “You weren't listening, were you?” To an outsider, her tone might sound harsh; reproachful, even, but I know her too well. She's not mad. Just annoyed she'll have to repeat her story if she wants me to hear it.

“I'm sorry,” I mumble, and it's sincere. I am sorry that I lost focus. But I don't apologize for pining after my faraway boyfriend. There's no reason to, for one, and two, I won't ever apologize for thinking of him. For missing him. 

Teresa is grinning at my distracted tone, I can tell. Even through the phone, I can tell. “You're good. Dreaming about your bae, aren't you?” 

I don't hesitate to admit, “Yes. I miss him more than I thought was even possible.” I hear Teresa's hum from the other end of the phone.

“You need to see him,” she declares. I scoff.

“Believe me, I know, and we're trying to figure out when he can next visit, but we're both just so busy.” Teresa clucks her tongue, the sound distorting oddly through the phone speaker. I imagine it running across the telephone poles, through the wires, twisting and bending and knotting out of shape as it flies all the way to me.

“I didn't mean like that, (Y/N). You need to go see him.” I chuckle, I wish I could.

“He's busy, Tes. Besides, he isn't even in Chicago right now,” I reason. This doesn't deter her.

“Well, when will he next be in Chicago?”

“His flight's on my birthday.” 

“That's perfect!” Teresa squeals. 

“How is that perfect?” I huff.

“You can fly out and spend your birthday with him! Surprise him!” 

I actually laugh at this. “Um, no, I can't. I don't have the kind of money to just throw down for plane tickets. Besides, weren't you, Brenda, and Sonya planning something?” 

“Well, yeah, but we could always change plans if we needed to,” Teresa says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. On any other day, I would entertain this kind of silly daydreaming, but today, I already felt lonely enough.

“Sorry, Tes. Those spontaneous decisions are not my cup of tea,” I sigh, and I think she can tell I'm shutting the conversation down. She lets it go, and I thank her silently, forcing the ache in my heart left by Gally's absence to venture to the back of my mind. If I waste the day away, it'll be evening again, and then he'll call, just like he said. 

And so despite the fact that I know wasting the days away is bad for me, I do it anyway. Just today, I tell myself. Just today.

Of course, I know I'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and all the hours in between my calls with Gally. It's ridiculous, how they all say having space helps one think clearer, when having space just distracts me by making me miss him that much more.

When he's gone, I'm reminded that much more that he's all I need.

_______________________________

𝗜𝗧’𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 p.m. by the time Gally calls, his eyes lighting up when he sees me despite the exhausted, burnt out look on his face. I'm equally as ecstatic as he is to revel in the gaze of my lover, both of us simply brushing every inch of each other's faces with our eyes, memorizing each other for the millionth time. It won't be the last time, either. I could never get tired of scanning my gaze across his skin, memorizing every inch of his beautiful face. 

In our current situation, it's the closest I can get to kissing every inch of his beautiful face.

Gally is the first to break the silence, and I'm okay with it. He's the one who's had a long day. He knows what he needs to talk or not talk about. I just love hearing his voice. 

“How was your day, baby?” he asks, a tired sort of happiness seeping into his voice. Like I'm giving him some kind of rest just by smiling at him.

“It was good. Uneventful.” I shrug, knowing that I'd barely moved from the chair I occupied now. “The real question is, how was your day, my love?” 

Gally grins at the pet name. He always does. It's the same reaction that I have whenever he uses terms of endearment on me. It's our own personal love language of sorts. How many different ways can I call you mine?

“My day was okay,” Gally says quietly, sighing when he sees the look on my face. The one that tells him to lay it on me; rant if it'll make him sleep better tonight. “Well, it was…mediocre,” he amends, running a hand through his short hair. “Tim was being an ass. As always.” I nod sympathetically, understanding the deep hatred he harbors for his coworker.

Why Gally doesn't like Tim, I'm not exactly sure, but I know it has something to do with taking credit for a project that Gally did all the work on. It resulted in a harsh lecture from their boss for Gally, who was presumed to have slacked off, and a promotion for Tim. 

Anyone who knows Gally knows that he would never slack off. He takes duty and work seriously; more seriously than anyone else I've met, in fact. I know my boy. He wouldn't hurt his company's productivity, even if his boss is an asshole like Janson.

“I'm sorry Tim was giving you trouble, baby,” I croon, watching the aches and tension of the day seeping out of his stiff shoulders at the sound of my voice. His smile weaves its way back onto his face. It's a soft, vulnerable smile, the one that makes me want to take him in my arms and just hold him like the precious treasure he is.

“I wish I could hug you,” Gally groans, rubbing his chin with his fingers before trying to regain his composure. “Sorry…I don't mean to bring everything up again. I just…I just miss you.” My comforting smile wobbles, knowing that those same thoughts are eating away at me inside, but I bring the happy thoughts back to the surface and my grin rights itself.

“Soon, love, soon,” I murmur, knowing I can't truly promise anything with how busy our lives have become. But soon doesn't have a time slot or expiration date. I can promise soon and define it later. All I know is that it brings a smile to my boy's face, and that's what I need right now. 

We spend the rest of the night talking, lifted by the promise of Soon, love, soon, knowing that it could very well mean a long, long time. 

_______________________________

𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗦 in my bedroom window, blinding me when my eyes flicker open. But once I blink away the black spots in my vision, I see that the sunlight isn't the only reason I was pulled from the comforting arms of sleep. 

Brenda, Teresa, and Sonya are standing at my bedside, my sheets in a bunched up ball in Sonya's hands. I groan, trying to roll away, but Bren, ever the fearless one, grabs my shoulder and pulls me back to face them.

“Get up, (Y/N). No spending the day moping,” she orders. I heave out an exaggerated sigh, making my body intentionally limp as Brenda and Teresa each grab one of my arms, pulling me upright until I have to support my own weight. 

“Sometimes I really regret giving you guys my apartment passcode,” I comment, leading Sonya to pinch my arm. I yelp, rubbing the red mark as I get manhandled out of my pajamas and into a new outfit by my best friends. “What—what are you crazies doing?” I splutter, quickly taking the pair of jeans from Teresa's hands before she can try to shove them on my legs, opting to put them on myself. 

“We aren't letting you mope around until Gally visits. Who knows how long that would be? It's not healthy,” Sonya explains, linking an arm through mine as the three girls drag me to the bathroom. Brenda shoves my toothpaste-loaded toothbrush into my hand as Tes starts pulling my hair brush through my hair.

“Ow,” I complain around a mouthful of toothpaste suds, pulling away from Teresa's assault on my tender scalp momentarily to spit. She and Sonya make quick work of my slightly frizzy hair, tag teaming it to create a fun yet elegant braid. 

“Beautiful,” Sonya sighs, leaning back to admire her handiwork. Brenda, on the other hand, seems to have some kind of mental checklist, full of all the tasks she must see me complete.

“Breakfast is next,” she commands, and I find myself being pulled into my kitchen, watching helplessly as my friends dive into making us a scrumptious, sugary feast.

I have to admit, the fluffy blueberry pancakes filling my stomach certainly make venturing out into the world much easier than I expected. I only feel the need to text Gally three times before leaving my apartment with my friends, rather than the usual five to ten. Whether these texts are to let him know I'm fine or to make sure he's fine, I've never been able to figure out. Maybe they're both. Either way, it's a good thing Brenda shoved my meds into my hand before breakfast. 

When I'm here alone, I don't take them. Sometimes I skip them on purpose, sometimes I just forget. But either way, I don't take my anxiety meds unless Brenda is there to shove them down my throat. Thinking about it, I'm grateful she's here to force me to take them today. With all of these mixed up feelings about being separated from Gally for so long, having more control over my anxiety will be good.

A day shopping with my best friends is a good distraction from the painful loneliness I've been feeling without Gally. It's not exactly a cure, but it's close. My friends know this; know their own limitations, and so they do the best they can.

And I'm so grateful that they've put in the time. Put in the effort. All for me.

“Thank you,” I whisper to them as we sit in our favorite coffee shop, sipping oat milk lattes. 

“Of course,” Brenda immediately responds.

“We love you,” Sonya adds.

“We know we aren't your boy,” Teresa chimes in, “but we're your best friends, and that means we stick by you. No matter what.” She leans over to rub my arm. “When you're down, I'm down. We wanted to help pick you back up.”

The smile on my face is genuine for the first time in a long time, knowing that my friends love me enough to support me despite having the knowledge that they can't give me everything I need. They give what they can, and accept me when it doesn't fix everything.

I haven't always had friends this good, and I look up at the sky, thanking the heavens that I've been blessed with such good friends now.

_______________________________

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 before my birthday, I can’t get Teresa’s half-joking, hare-brained idea out of my head. Realistically, I know that the likelihood that I could find a flight on my birthday to Chicago that isn’t full (or way too expensive) is slim. Realistically, I know that I don’t have the money for plane tickets right now. Realistically, I know that flying halfway across the country on a whim to see my boyfriend is ridiculous. 

But when Gally sends me his flight information, knowing I like to watch his progress and get confirmation when he lands safely, I find myself checking flights from Denver to Chicago, telling myself it’s just out of curiosity. Because what if there is a flight to Denver from Chicago on my birthday? What if there is a possibility that I could see Gally on my birthday? What if there is a chance that I could have this gift; the only one I truly want?

If there’s even a chance to see Gally on my birthday, I want to know. 

Gally’s flight information is pulled up on my phone, which is next to me on my desk as I scroll through flights on my laptop. My right thumbnail is between my teeth, bitten down to the quick and then some. It seems that flying is a popular travel option right now, as flights are filled even into places like Dawson County, Montana. Every flight I find from Denver to Chicago is either full or too expensive for someone just out of college, like me. The cheapest is $374, and I know rationally that blowing through that much money would be devastating for my finances. 

I swear under my breath, angry at myself for even getting my hopes up. It was a stupid idea to check the flights, and I find myself wishing I could go back in time to stop myself from looking. The disappointment grows even larger knowing that there would be a way to get to him if I wasn’t a broke post-college student making minimum wage in the Mile-High City. Then the disappointment and anger melt away, leaving me with a heart wrenching sadness that feels so empty and yet so all-consuming that I can’t help but break down into tears.

I don’t want to let myself cry about a silly daydream that was unlikely to happen anyway, but I’d let myself entertain the thought of seeing Gally soon; of holding him close and kissing him until we couldn’t breathe, and now everything else seemed pale in comparison. It wasn’t that my life had no purpose outside of him—I’d made it very clear when we started dating that the two of us needed to make sure we had lives outside of our relationship, too. But Gally had become a part of me; my favorite part of me, in fact. I was perfectly happy with the life I had, but Gally made it even sweeter. And knowing that sweetness was mine but was inaccessible made the absence of it even more palpable. Even more unbearable.

Crumpled into a heap on my floor with tears slowly leaking from my eyes is how Teresa finds me when she opens my door fifteen minutes later. “Hey, girl—” she calls before seeing me, rushing to my side with a worried, “Oh, my gosh, what’s wrong, (Y/N)?” I just shake my head, the waterworks turning back up to full blast.

“I miss him so much,” I sob as she gathers me in her arms, unable to care that I sound pathetic. 

“Oh, I know, darling, I know,” Teresa coos, rocking back and forth with my shaking body, whispering comforting words into my ears just like she always does when I get so worked up. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, hand flying up to wipe the snot from my nose, but of course, the minute it’s gone, more replaces it. I’m past the point of an easy calm-down, instead finding myself close to the edge of hyperventilating. Thankfully, Teresa isn’t a stranger to my emotional meltdowns, and she isn’t afraid of them, either. Instead, she’s the kind of friend who will take my hand and guide me through it.

“Did you take your meds this morning?” she asks cautiously, to which I shake my head in embarrassment. Tears are still pooling in the corners of my eyes as I manage to get out,

“I’m sorry.” 

Teresa just shushes me calmly. “Don’t apologize. It’s in the past now. I just wanted to know.” I nod shakily, the soothing pressure of her hand rubbing my arm helping me steady my breaths slightly. “What set you off?” she queries, squeezing me a bit tighter when the tears speed up again.

“I—I decided to check the flights for my birthday,” I answer, sniffling as my best friend strokes my hair lovingly. “It was stupid, because it just made me upset. They’re all too expensive, and I knew they would be, and it just made me miss him so much more.” Admitting it out loud makes me feel even dumber, the guilt creeping into my stomach. “I did this to myself,” I mumble. Subconsciously, my nails find their way to my arms, digging into the delicate skin and leaving pink crescents behind. Teresa pulls my hands away from my arms quickly.

“Stop blaming yourself. You did nothing wrong. I would’ve done the same, (Y/N).” I know she’s trying to comfort me, but I just squeeze my eyes shut.

“Yeah, and it wouldn’t have caused you to end up on the floor like a pathetic child.”

“(Y/N)! Stop!” Teresa scolds me. “Stop with the negative self-talk.” I try to protest, but she fixes me with that no-nonsense look that can get anyone to agree to anything, and I find myself nodding meekly. “None of this is your fault. You’re in a difficult situation, being separated from your boyfriend, and your heart isn’t sure how to handle it. That’s okay. You don’t have to know how to handle it perfectly yet.” I sigh, leaning into my best friend’s shoulder, feeling slightly calmer now. She always knows the right words to say when I’m in too deep to think straight. 

Teresa coaxes me into the kitchen to drink hot chocolate once my breathing has steadied somewhat. She’s looking at me with an odd look that I can’t quite place, as if she’s…proud of me?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask warily over the top of my steaming mug. My best friend grins, staring at me for a couple more seconds before replying,

“You’re just, like, the strongest person I know.” My face turns what I assume is beet red at the compliment, not expecting such high praise from the woman who just held me in her arms as I sobbed like a baby. But then again, Teresa is special. She doesn’t judge based on outward appearances or impressions. She can see right into the heart of people, as if she can sense their goodness; their potential, and then she nudges them down that path. Helping them choose the sunshine. The good side. The light.

Knowing her compliment is slightly overwhelming, Teresa shrugs and changes the subject so fast I think I get whiplash. “You should call Gally,” she suggests. “Tell him that you were missing him and ask him for some love.” I cringe, turning away from her.

“I don’t want to make him feel bad that he isn’t here. I think I’ve already done that too much this week.” 

Teresa scoffs, “That’s nonsense. He’ll be happy that you reached out to him after your meltdown. He’ll be touched that you wanted to let him know how you’re doing. He’ll feel honored that you’re willing to be vulnerable with him.” I know deep down that she’s right; that the only thing he’d do is make me feel better. Never after calling Gally do I feel worse. I know I’m just scared to hurt him, but he always assures me that I don’t need to harbor that fear. I don’t need to hold onto that anxious voice in my head that whispers, You don’t deserve him.

I can even imagine him next to me if I try hard enough, murmuring, “You’re perfect, baby,” when I grow insecure. Whispering, “I’m so lucky to have you” in my ear when I doubt myself.

“Okay,” I agree, letting Teresa take my phone and FaceTime him. Despite the fact that it’s the middle of the work day, Gally picks up on the first ring, a concerned look decorating his handsome face.

“Teresa? Wha—” 

“She’s fine!” Teresa rushes to assure him, motioning for me to join her on the couch. I pop my head into the frame, wincing as I see how swollen and puffy my face is. Gally’s forehead immediately creases upon seeing me, obviously still worried when he sees the tear stains on my cheeks.

“Babe, are you okay?” he asks. Teresa silently asks if I want to take the phone, but I shake my head. My hands are still slightly shaky, and holding the phone is an added stressor. Teresa understands and angles the phone towards me.

“Yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry,” I whisper, my boyfriend’s shoulders relaxing only slightly. “I just had a bit of a meltdown. Teresa found me and helped me calm down.” Gally’s eyebrows soften, his mouth tilting down in a sympathetic frown.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “What happened?”

“I just miss you,” I mumble sheepishly after a second’s pause. It seems kind of silly once I admit it out loud, and I start to duck my face away when Gally gets my attention.

“Hey, (Y/N), (Y/N),” he says, waiting until I’ve turned back to him before continuing, “You don’t need to feel embarrassed. I miss you, too, okay? I miss you so much. You don’t need to feel ashamed for struggling.” He waits for me to respond, and I nod slightly. Truth be told, just hearing his voice has made me feel better; stronger. There’s something about his comforting, strong tone that soothes me. Just his voice can make me truly believe in myself. I swear, this man could make me believe anything as long as he says it aloud. 

“Thank you for picking up,” I smile, finding my mood lightening as a grin finds its way back onto his face. “Seeing you helped.” Gally blushes slightly, rubbing a hand along his chin.

“I’m glad I could help, baby.” Offscreen, someone gruffly commands him to get back to work, and he mutters an apology before turning back to the screen. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. But call me if you need anything, okay?” I nod, trailing my eyes over his freckles one more time as he thanks Teresa for taking care of me and then hangs up.

“It helped?” she asks, as if double-checking to make sure I truly am feeling better.

“Yeah,” I grin sheepishly. “You know what you’re talking about.” With a roll of my eyes, I joke, “You should be a counselor for a living. At this rate, you’re better than me at my own job!” Teresa just laughs.

“Well, now that you’ve cracked a joke, I know you’re feeling better.” She pulls me into a hug, and I gladly return it, silently wondering how I got blessed with such an amazing best friend.

“Hey, I’m here for you,” she reminds me one more time as she leaves, her meticulous check-ins a promise for the next few days.

“I know,” I assure her. “I promise I’ll call if I need to.”

“Good,” she says, smiling as she waves. “I love you, babes!” 

“I love you, too, Tes!” Feeling a bit lighter, I wave back as I close my front door.

_______________________________

“𝗜 𝗖𝗔𝗡’𝗧—I can’t take this,” I stutter the next day, wide-eyed at the wad of cash Teresa is currently shoving into my hands. Brenda and Sonya are flanking her on either side with looks that imply they’re attempting to telepathically convince me to take the money. 

“Don’t be sorry!” Brenda sighs. “Just take the money! It’s our birthday present for you!” I look back and forth between my three best friends, realizing that there is no way they’re letting me reject the money. But it feels so weird having this many fifties weighing heavily in my grasp. 

“Yes, you can,” Teresa sighs exasperatedly. “Like I already told you, it’s the money we were going to spend on your celebration pooled together. But we all know you’d rather spend your birthday with Gally, and we want you to be able to, so we’re giving you the money for that plane ticket you couldn’t afford. It would be a waste to throw you a party you don’t want to be at. Helping you see your boyfriend is a much better use of that money. We all agreed.” Brenda and Sonya both nod, Teresa shoving the cash even further into my palms. I take it shakily, counting silently as I gape at them.

“But—but this is nine hundred bucks! I can’t—I can’t take this, I’m sorry!” 

“Please take it,” Sonya says softly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We want you to be able to go see Gally. We want you to enjoy this birthday. You’ll be giving a gift to us by making this impulsive choice to do what makes you happy.” My resistance gets melted away by her words, knowing that this was their tactic all along. Get (Y/N) all toughened up to the ‘just take it’ ruse and then let Sonya slip under her defenses when she least expects it. But I’m not annoyed by it. Instead, I let Teresa close my fist over the cash.

Immediately, the three start cheering, but before I can even blink, they’ve moved on from celebrating and are pushing me towards my laptop where, just as I’m sure Teresa suspected, the flights from Denver to Chicago are still pulled up. Teresa obviously asked Gally to share his flight information with her, because she seems to have it memorized as she scans the flights. 

“Alright, here’s the best one,” she announces after a few minutes of looking. “United, nonstop, leaving at 9:30 a.m. MT and arriving at 12:56 p.m. CT. It’s in the same terminal as Gally’s flight, and he lands at 2:23 p.m. CT, so that gives you a little over an hour to get to his gate and wait for him. Sounds good?” I nod wordlessly, still slightly in shock over the way my best friends have handled this so nonchalantly, as if their friend flying across the country on a day’s notice is just a normal part of their lives. 

Sonya pulls me towards my room as Brenda takes the stack of cash back from me, mumbling that Teresa insisted they have it for show but was just planning on Venmoing the cash to me. I laugh at our friend’s antics before following an impatient Sonya, who grabs my suitcase from my closet and starts making a list of what I should pack.

“We’re not buying you a return flight,” she explains, “because we didn’t know how long you’d want to stay, and we figured you didn’t know either. Just bring your work stuff and you can work from Gally’s apartment, and use the rest of the money to buy a return ticket when you decide to come back.” I shake my head in awe at the schemes of my friends, who have obviously thought of every single anxiety I could have because of this plan and have set out to refute them. 

With Sonya helping me pack, a task that would usually take me at least three hours, two cups of coffee, and a panic attack is done in under one hour, no coffee or panic attacks in sight. While I wouldn’t have minded the coffee, the no panic attack part is nice, and I decide I can live without those two cups of coffee if it means my peace of mind is intact. 

And the next morning when Teresa drops me off at the airport, my medicine taken and an ample breakfast eaten, the nervous butterflies in my stomach don’t feel scary. In fact, they feel almost��exciting. And I feel crazy for doing this; for flying halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend so I can kiss him on my birthday, but I also feel so alive.

And today, the idea of living doesn’t seem as scary anymore.

_______________________________

𝗔𝗦 𝗜 wait at my gate and sip my Starbucks latte, I answer the countless birthday texts I have already received, smiling at the overflow of love from people I talk to everyday and people I barely even know. It’s funny, knowing that there are people out there who remember my birthday but don’t talk to me otherwise. Some might feel disheartened at the idea, but I just giggle quietly to myself, wondering if I’m going crazy for feeling so lighthearted. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, I think to myself. The adrenaline from doing something so stupid and yet so exciting. Shrugging to myself, I take another large gulp of coffee, finally getting to the text from Gally. I saved it for last, knowing it would be the best one. And sure enough, as I read the message, I feel happy tears pricking my eyes. As always, he’s sweet; sappy, even, but his message also holds the serious intensity that he always has around him. It’s like an aura, telling those around him that he does everything fully and completely, never giving only half of his effort. That intensity is probably why I love reading texts from him over and over. Even if it’s a simple good morning, his texts always seem to scream I love you from between the lines.

I text Gally back, thanking him for the love he’s sent zipping along telephone lines, across the country and all the way to me. I suck the last dregs of liquid from my Starbucks cup, finally accepting that the beverage is gone as the gate attendant calls for Boarding Group 1. I find myself bouncing from foot to foot, realizing once again that I’m really doing this. I can’t bring myself to sit down as I wait for my group to be called, instead standing by the gate’s charging station, fidgeting like I’m about to run the 100 meter dash. By the time I’m boarding, I’m breathing heavily like I just sprinted up Pikes Peak. Whether from nerves or excitement, I can’t really tell, but it’s enough that the flight attendant touches my arm as she checks the cabin. 

“Ma’am, are you okay?” I look up in surprise before giving her a quick grin. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just nervous.” 

She smiles empathetically. “Is it your first time flying?”

“No. I’m flying out to surprise my boyfriend, and I guess I’m just hoping it all works out like I planned,” I explain. 

At this, I receive an even bigger grin from the flight attendant, who thinks that is just—“the most adorable thing ever!” I nod along, unsure whether I’m actually smiling or just masking my anxiety. Either one is a plausible explanation, and I’m pumped so full of adrenaline that all of my emotions currently feel interchangeable. 

I spend the entirety of take-off nervously fiddling with the little screen in front of me, trying to distract myself. Once we’re at a constant altitude, the flight attendants offer drinks, and I ask for a ginger ale, my go-to drink on airplanes. It calms me down, the comforting security of it helping me stay rational. Unfortunately, the ginger ale combined with my anxious thoughts cause my bladder to reach its limit quite quickly. 

I hate the little bathrooms on airplanes. So loud, so claustrophobic, so turbulent. It’s like trying to pee while in the middle of an earthquake. But my bladder isn’t playing games today, and the last thing I want to do is ignore it and then pee myself. The intrusive thoughts fight to take over as I rush through the motions, washing my hands as quickly as possible, but I stave them off and make it back to my seat in one piece.

The remaining hour until landing is the longest hour of my life.

When we finally touch down and taxi to our gate, all of the tension that has built up inside me feels ready to explode, but I hold it in, knowing that I can let it all out once I see Gally. It’s barely even occurred to me that I’m a year older now—that it’s my birthday—because all I can think about is getting to hold my boy. 

I almost trip getting off the plane, too busy checking his flight’s progress and landing gate. His flight is still an hour and thirty minutes out, giving me more than enough time to go to the bathroom, get some food, and wait for him. I pull my suitcase behind me, so glad I decided to take everything in my carry-on, as I’m now realizing that baggage claim is outside the secure area of the airport. I break free from the flow of traffic heading in that direction, redirecting towards the bathroom.

One bathroom trip, makeup refresher, and food court scavenger hunt later, I’m standing against a column at Gally’s gate, drinking my second Starbucks latte of the day. Normally, I wouldn’t let myself indulge like this, but it’s my birthday, so I feel justified. I even treat myself to a slice of sweet bread, too. I’m too anxious to eat a full lunch. Besides, I’m sure Gally will be happy to get lunch on our way back to his apartment. He’s always willing to eat, no matter the time of day.

I’m trying my best not to look suspicious. There’s a flight leaving from this gate after Gally’s flight arrives, so I blend in, but my leg is bouncing nervously and my hands are shaking slightly. I’m a naturally energetic person, but the fidgeting increases exponentially when I’m either excited or nervous. Right now, I’m both.

Thankfully, no one seems to notice me or think I’m behaving weirdly. I’m simply overthinking, like I often do. At least it passes the time. I only have thirty minutes left to wait.

I run back to Starbucks and buy another latte. It’s gone within ten minutes, my anxious energy prompting me to gulp it down like I’m dying of thirst. Then I’m running to the bathroom again, bladder shouting angrily at me for the caffeine abuse I’ve been subjecting it to. It’s unpleasant, but it kills more time. 

Ten minutes to go. I’m staring at my phone, Gally’s flight details pulled up, reloading the page over and over in hopes that magically, they’ll teleport and be here instantly. With anyone else, I wouldn’t be this obsessive; impatient, but it’s Gally. I could obsess over Gally for days on end with all the love overflowing from my heart. So I pass three minutes refreshing the page persistently, watching the minutes countdown.

I let out a quiet, barely there gasp when my phone screen tells me he’s landed. I can barely contain my excitement, nervous energy causing me to wiggle my hips like a rhythmically challenged dancer. His plane is on the ground, taxiing over, right to where I’m waiting. He’s going to walk through that gate, and I’m going to see his beautiful face, and I’m going to run and jump into my boyfriend’s arms.

All of a sudden, doubt crashes into me like a fucking tidal wave. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if this is weird, and he’s going to be all awkward about it? What if this was one huge fuck-up? I can feel myself starting to spiral, starting to lose touch with the confidence I’ve been channeling all day. The panic has started to grow, and it surges through my veins, reaching to the tip-top of the cliff that is followed by a plunge off the deep end. Thankfully, though, with only a few minutes to spare before my boyfriend gets off his plane, a little girl in a princess dress bumps into me, hard, causing my knees to buckle and my head to snap out of the spiral it’s in. 

I catch myself against the trusty column I’m leaning against, looking down to find a young girl, maybe six, wearing an Elena of Avalor dress-up costume with a stuffed animal that looks like some kind of leopard with bird wings. 

“Amity!” her mother scolds her, ordering her to apologize for bumping into me. Amity looks up at me with big, brown doe eyes and a huge, genuine grin.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she chirps. I smile back, making eye contact with her mom, before crouching down to her level and holding out a hand to shake.

“I forgive you. I’m (Y/N). Want to know something?” Amity shakes my hand, grinning widely, before looking at her mom as if to make sure it’s okay to talk to me. Her mom gives a gentle nod, a kindness in her eyes as they meet mine. “Well, Amity, you actually helped me just now. I was feeling super duper nervous and it was making me get shaky and worried. But then you bumped into me, and I saw your smile, and it made me feel a lot better!” 

I can tell Amity’s mother is touched, and I make sure to assure her that I’m doing better. That Amity’s little scuffle with my legs was truly helpful. And then Amity and her mom are on their way, Amity’s tight hug and whisper of “You look like a princess” giving me the last boost of confidence I need.

Right as I finish waving goodbye to the adorable little girl, I hear the sounds of passengers starting to come down the jetway. I suck in a sharp breath, making sure my small suitcase and jacket are safe by the column before stepping closer to the junction between gate and jetway, watching passengers closely as they start to trickle into the airport. 

It’s no surprise that I can pick Gally out of the crowd immediately after he walks out of the jetway, his head easily peeking over every other passenger. He doesn’t see me at first, focused on trying not to trample the small toddler whose family is trying desperately to get him to behave as they walk in front of my boyfriend.

I wait until he’s right there, just the toddler’s family in front of him, to call his name. “Gally!” His head snaps up, eyes scanning the surrounding area before settling on me, his jaw going slack, falling open in surprise as the toddler’s family quickly moves out of the way. 

It’s like we’re living in slow motion, the way I watch Gally’s backpack slide out of his hand and hit the floor with a thump, his look of shock morphing into a state of joyous disbelief, as if he’s not sure he’s truly seeing me. He looks frozen in this state, unable to move towards me, but I don’t care. I’m already running up to him, happy tears gathering in my eyes as I jump into Gally’s arms, my head burying itself in his neck before I lean up to kiss him with all the pent-up love, tension, and nerves that have been coursing through my body all day.

His lips are warm just like they always are, soft and full and inviting as we kiss passionately; shamelessly, right in front of everyone waiting to board their flight. I can’t bring myself to care, anxiety nowhere to be found now that I’m here. In his arms. Held tightly, kept safe, flooded with warmth, just like I’m supposed to be. 

He pulls away first, still in shock as he scans my face, as if expecting to find some imperfection that reveals me as a doppelganger. “Baby—” he chokes out, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, my own tears rolling down my cheeks. “Baby, you’re here.” He lets out a giddy, confused laugh, cupping my cheek with his hand as he wipes the remnant saltwater away with his thumb. 

“You’re—you’re here. In Chicago,” he repeats, putting my feet back on the floor so I can stand there with my arms around his neck, his other hand coming up to cup my other cheek. “You’re—it’s your birthday!” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s another reason he’s confused I’m here, or if it’s just an observation. Well, probably both, so I just giggle.

“Yes, Gally, it’s my birthday.” 

“But—did you—when did you get here?” he asked, bewildered, a lovestruck, excited smile lighting up his whole face. I run my hands through his hair, admiring his gentleness as he cradles my face in his palms.

“An hour and a half ago, I think. I’m not sure the exact timing,” I shrug. He gasps.

“You flew on your birthday?” I give him an odd look. 

“Yes…why? Is that illegal or something?” Gally chuckles through the joy-filled tears still drifting down his face every once in a while.

“No, baby. I just thought—most people wouldn’t be willing to fly or even be at an airport on their birthdays. Don’t you have cool stuff to do? Fun people to see?” I shake my head, pulling him as close as I can, our lips hovering inches apart. 

“You’re the only person I wanted to see. This is my birthday present.”

Gally’s eyes water even more as he presses his forehead to mine, running his hands through my hair. “Baby, I—” He pulls away to wipe a tear from his eye and then leans back down, pressing a gentle peck to my forehead, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you even more, Gally,” I whisper back, staring into his teary eyes with my watery own. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not possible.”

“It is, too,” I giggle, still whispering as I press a kiss to his lips, “and I’m the birthday girl, so you have to let me win the arguments today.” 

“Oh, that’s how that works,” Gally laughed, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Well, I suppose I can let you win this one, since you did fly all the way to Chicago on your birthday.”

“Oh, but that was selfish,” I smiled. “I wanted to see you. I needed to see you. It was purely selfish.” Gally just hugged me tighter, pressing kisses to the top of my hair as he admitted quietly,

“Well, I needed to see you, too. I needed to have you in my arms.” I relax into the warmth of my boyfriend’s chest, the material of his hoodie tickling my nose. I endure it because it smells like him, and that makes it the most calming aroma in the world. 

“Being in your arms is all I need. You are all I need,” I whisper. 

I kiss him again, a loving, sweet kiss, reveling in the presence and taste of my boyfriend, a sense of peace and safety wrapping its warm arms around me. 

Nothing else matters in this moment. Not my job, or my life in Denver, or my birthday. All that matters is that I am here, in my boyfriend’s arms. In Gally’s arms.

Right where I’m supposed to be.

the end

[24-05txt]

He spits in the vicinity of the guy's face and immediately braces when he sees a gloved hand raise. It's not a flinch—its not—but he needs to be ready when they hit him.

"Hey, Soap," says the man looking over him, quiet and even and casual, and Soap's mind is sent reeling, suddenly, because the last time he heard this voice in that tone was in a shitty kitchenette at three in the morning. Must've been days ago now (at least).

"Ghost?" He tilts his chin up, trying to look down his nose and under the blindfold. If he's hallucinating, he at least wants to see it.

"Yeah. I've got you." A rough, leather-clad hand comes to rest on the side of his head and the blindfold lifts and it's Ghost on the other side. Ghost is crouched over him. Ghost tosses the blindfold away and makes eye-contact with Soap for a long few seconds.

"...Ghost?" He asks again, and hates how plaintive it sounds. He desperately wants to say something funny, even curse a little bit, have a witty quip to kickstart some banter; something to say 'I'm alright, Lt.' But he can't think of a single thing.

Thankfully, Ghost covers for him (as usual) when he says, “that's my name, don't wear it out,” and shifts the hand on Soap’s cheek, taking a more firm hold. “Give us a sit-rep, Johnny, are you injured?”

His thoughts stutter a little, like a car struggling to shift into gear.

"Dunno what time it is," he rasps. His voice is hoarse from alternating between stubborn silence and full-volume yelling with very little between. "Estimate about two days here. Taken a few blows to the head, spotty circulation to my left hand, got me drunk off something a while back—"

"I can smell that much," Ghost grumbles, and Soap can't help but laugh—dry and brittle—at the offense in his tone.

"That bad, is it?"

"Certainly didn't waste the good stuff on you, Sergeant."

Ghost knows what it's like; laying flat on your back, helpless, unable to think anything other than 'it hurts, I'm in pain, I want someone with me. Anyone. Please, God, someone. I dont want to be alone.'

Nobody had come for him—the eldest son of an eldest son—not since his mother was killed. Even then, sparingly (though it pained him to admit any fault on her part. Heavy weight in his chest. Tight throat.) Even after Price came along to play at a guardian, Simon had already been convinced of his place with others. He knew he'd never be able to depend on anyone ever again, not really. Couldn't expect them to come looking for him. Couldn't expect his little brother or his mom to step up when his father put hands on him.

He doesn't know what Johnny's home situation is like; doesn't know if he has siblings, how many, what his place in the pecking order is, if he likes his mum. It's easy to imagine Johnny as someone constantly surrounded by family, but Ghost is all too aware of the things he hasn't heard his Sergeant talk about.

He doesn’t know who comes to bat for John MacTavish, but he isn't shy to count himself among their numbers (however many or few it may be). Simon's had a long time to wish for someone to depend on—has had even longer to give up on it—and he knows what he'd want, in this situation. What he'd want in a Lieutenant. A brother. A friend.

So he gives Johnny a gentle voice, firm hands. Moves quick and efficient and withholds every apology he tries to give for the obvious overwhelm. He treats Johnny himself, lets him shy away from the medics, and is quietly relieved at the lack of serious injury.

The line gets a little blurrier when he wants to tuck Johnny up under his chin, hold him tight against his chest and listen to him breathe. Is that something he wanted, at some point? Does he want that for Johnny or himself?

The fact that he lets Simon do that—curls up against him and sheds quiet, exhausted tears—is... fucking hell it's something all of its own.

[bovineblogger]

Fun fact about a cow breed that wasn't in your faceoff- Ayrshire cows used to be known for their big long horns but bc cows (at least where I am) are dehorned these days they're just red spotty cows now. Oh second fact when I was a kid I thought that part of the breed was that they were mostly white with red spots on their faces but it turns out that was just bc they were all from the same few bulls that looked like that (now most Ayrshires don't look like that! Cow breeding trends are wild!)

i love red spotted cows they’re my second fav colour pattern :3 nd i love learning abt cow breeding trends and history!!!!! it’s truly mind blowing to me that we humans have made sosososososo many breeds in so many colors and shapes.. aoouggh

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep7 Musings - Loustat: The Trial (Spoilers)

Imma split my Loustat musings into 3 parts, cuz there's A LOT to unpack. So I'll do the Ep3/4 & Ep5 revisits in the next posts; this is just general/initial Louis & Lestat stuff I wanted to respond to.

They beat the dog snot outta Louis, omg. They nearly snapped his neck! Louis was barely conscious, ofc his memory's spotty.

I LOVE how they're emphasizing the physicality of the Maker-Fledgling bond, first w/ Lou & Madz, now w/ Les. It's ofc all wrapped up in how much Loustat loves e/o, but its also their blood connection thru Amel. (I wonder how Louis Merrick'ing himself in Ep5 affects his connection to Amel if his heart didn't stop, cuz Armand stopped him from burning too much?)

And I love what Jacob said in the Insider, afterwards.

Fear that Lestat's come to exact revenge; excitement (a frisson of both negative & positive emotions, excited to see Les just cuz of the tension of having not seen him in so long, but also having all his nerves & senses tingling cuz of the tense anticipation & not knowing what to expect--hence: fear); fury cuz this whole mess could've been avoided if Les had told them WHY European vampires should be avoided at all costs; and relief cuz Les's' alive, his husband's ok.

But this time Lou KNOWS he's the real deal, cuz he can FEEL it--"it wasn't NOT his hand." And Dream!Stat jumpscare in Dubai, well well well; I thought Lou'd stopped seeing him on that Parisian bench? 👀

Here we effing go, whatever this French bish has to say better be good 🍿🍿🍿

I HATE HIM YOUR HONOR 🤣 Omfg take ONE thing seriously! Not the Roland-Garros, STFU! XD Lestat going off script got the coven like WTF?!

OML 🍿🍿🍿

Well that's not helpful at all--WHICH ONE!?

Les was asleep for the whole 100 years b4 he went to NOLA--but we KNOW this can't be true, cuz Les met Marius after he left Paris❗ SAM (the vamp) has been mouthing the words to this whole script, so I wonder if that's just what Les was TOLD to say, OR! It's what HE told THE COVEN, so they wouldn't know about TWMBK❗❗

NOT LES DOING A PIROUETTE INTO THE EARTH STAHP OMG 😭

THIS GAY QUEEN CAN'T HELP HIMSELF, I CANNOT

Awoke in 1908 & disembarked in humidified daughter of Paris, NOLA--but Les told Lou he was headed for Saint Louis, Missouri. 👀

"And who did you meet there?" DANG this is TENSE--Loustat finally making eye contact for the first time, Les having to see his husband all beat up & sad; as Claudia languishes in the background, as usual.

Not Louis with the cigar 😭

"The ACCUSED," LOL, Santiago had to catch himself--stay dehumanizing the violent evil Black man whydontcha; we see you. And Lestat had to feed him his own lines after derailing everyone with that homophobic soldier's evisceration.

Omg this sounds like every court case b4 they throw the book at a Black man. And the bored unaffected way the white audience just rolls their eyes & shakes their heads & smokes--they DGAF about Lou; they've already decided he ain't ish--A STONING.

LOUIS FACE. This is EXACTLY how folk in the fandom talk about Lou--and it came back with a vengeance during all that Loumand Maitre/Arun crap, as y'all were QUICK to jump on Lou being an evil pimp, even though your fave Daniel literally said that was just kinky roleplay Armand didn't take seriously when ish got REAL.

I thought y'all were just bartering for the "last bouquet of lilies"!?

Oh great, the coven's making Louis look like a perv predator. 🤦‍♀️ And the visual centering of Lou's dastardly mind-control waves like a halo over sweet innocent victim Lestat's blonde head, I CANNOT.

Omfg Louis face, SAME! If this crocodile-crying liar don't take his To Kill A Mockingbird, Central Park Five lookin arse off that stage! 🤬

Omfg Lestat I'm finna kill you myself. Omg this nonsense is too much; I know Lou, speak up, YES! But also, STFU, Les is actually tryna save your life by tearing your reputation to shreds. 😬🤦‍♀️

I loooove this effect when the coven uses the Mind Gift on them. They effed him up so bad his left eye started hemorrhaging. 😭

Armand don't you look away for an INSTANT, don't you even BLINK! You could've prevented this, EFF ALL Y'ALL in this nasty AF Theatre!

This gaslighting is hitting way too close to the way IRL court cases go when the innocent get the book thrown at them for crimes they didn't commit.

This is so painful to watch, but Sam Reid you better werk; the way he was yelling those lines had me shook, oml.

Les knows he's effed up, but what can he do? His eyes are going red; he's gonna cry. (His contacts look different, I thought they said they were gonna stick with purple eyed Les?) "I offered it to him in the church on the altar: My companionship." And Lou nodding along, cuz that was their wedding! 😭💔

I was wondering how these frames would be used. It's about the Ep3 race riots and vampire loneliness, the night Louis left & Claudia was made. But I love the implications, cuz how could humans know ANYTHING about hows vampires feel--which is SO important when they start lying about everything else that went down with how Claudia was made and how it would affect her as a "defective" vamp.

Even the VAMPIRES don't know how other vampires feel, and the capacity they have for enduring--Armand said it over & over to Louis in Ep3 and Madeleine in Ep6. Lestat came closest in S1 when he commented on Claudia's eternally 14-yr old metabolism & needing to eat more than an normal vamp, but beyond that none of them had a effing clue what Claudia was going through. They don't know REAL loneliness, even with her diaries telling them what she thought, not HOW SHE FELT.

(And I'm reminded of what I said here about Gabrielle telling Lestat what her loneliness felt like. I think "vampire loneliness" is different for every vampire; which is precisely why Gab (and Claudia) was able to walk away from her Maker/son & live alone; while Nicky & Louis went crazy.)

Lestat crying blood tears, daaaaang 😥

Kill this dude (but I stan a Loustat ally, LOLOL).

Imma stop here, cuz I've run out of Tumblr's stupid 30-pics per post, and the Ep3/4 revisit that "took all the pieces of Louis life, defiled them, bent them into a Lestat-shaped effigy" is IMO the JUICIEST part, with the most new meat to chew on.

[bloodcanbehot]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Anthony Lockwood x f!reader

Content: angst, kissing, bit of fluff?

Warnings: some curse words, but other than that none (kinda proof read)

Characters: Anthony Lockwood, (Y/N) Kipps and one mention of Quill Kipps (not directly his name). Also one or two mentions of the golden blade

Word count: 1.011 (according to word)

A/N: Just a heads up before you read, this scene is from a lockwood fanfic that I'm working on, the fanfic is with an oc but I changed it to y/n to post it here. Is this basically that scene after the auction with Lockwood and Lucy but in here y/n kisses Lockwood? Yes, leave me alone.

Enjoy

(here's their almost kiss if your interested)

I promise, he'd said before letting go of her hand and the cold water of the river hitting her skin brought her back to reality.

She felt him fall onto the water a bit later, grabbing her to get to the surface. She gasped for air, swimming away from his embrace and crawling to shore.

She laid there, gazing the stars on the sky and trying to make her heartbeat calm down with her mind. The image of her fist or palm on Lockwood’s face was helping a bit.

She saw him getting out of the water of the corner of her eye, falling next to her for a moment with a heavy sound.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he breathed out. She could even hear his smile. His annoying smile.

She wanted to punch him.

“Are you stupid?” she yelled, sitting up in one go and making her sight go spotty for a second as she did it “I know you're Anthony Bloody Lockwood and all but that was... fucking mental!”

He got up too “(y/n) listen-”

“No, you listen!” she snapped back “That wasn’t just stupid, it was… fucking reckless! And I understand crazy plans, I do! But I'm not the one who jumped from the top of a building! Twice!”

“Actually, three times but the first time was a house so I don't think it counts-”

(y/n)’s eyes opened wide “What?” she said “No, you know what? I don’t wanna know” she started walking away, hugging herself to somehow shield her freezing skin from the wind.

She heard his steps trail behind her, his dress-shoes hitting the small rocks from the river. She didn’t even want to imagine how she looked like. Mascara running down her cheeks, because of her tears or the water from the river, she didn’t know; her wet hair felt heavy, her new dress too, she only wanted to hide under the warm covers of her bed and forget all about this night. About the mission, about the fight, about everything.

About Anthony-fucking-Lockwood.

“(y/n) wait, oh god you’re fast” he finally caught up to her fast and heavy steps. She had learned from older agents under the agency to not just walk well on heels, but also fight with them on, “please”

There was that plead again, the one he had used on her last time they encountered that golden blade-bitch. She didn’t know why his begging caused her to stop, but she did.

She turned around, the knot on her throat growing back before she could even speak “I hate you”

“And you have every right to”

“You dropped me onto the fucking river!”

“I had a plan, things went wrong, I didn’t want you to get hurt” he explained.

“I can protect myself just fine!” she yelled.

“Yes, you can!” he yelled back “but you would also step in front of me and the blade, I would never forgive myself for that!”

“From the moment he appeared I knew the plan was fucked, but no, you risked it, again" she said “What were you gonna do? Fight him? You were going to die! Do you think I could forgive myself if that happened?” and I wasn’t there, she thought as she pushed him “Your sight might be great but you sure are blind when it comes to-”

“When it comes to what?” he cut her off, taking another step closer.

My feelings.

“You know what” she said instead “you think you're so good, you think you're the next big shit, but you’re just reckless, a reckless coward”

That what he needed, a punch to his ego.

“I’m not a coward”

“Then look at me in the eye and tell me how you feel” she almost whispered, feeling her hands shake at the thought of his answer “look at me in the eye and tell me you didn’t understand what I told you back at the library”

He didn’t say anything, and even when (y/n) thought she’d had enough, his silence was the last straw.

“I’m done” she said “I’m so done with you, if you want someone to help you with a case, call anyone else, not me! Call my brother for all I care!” she started walking away again, getting closer and closer to the steps leading to the street.

“(y/n) please-”

“No, don’t you ‘(y/n) please’ me” she yelled, not even bothering to turn around to look at him, missing just for a moment how he got closer before he grabbed her, forcing her to stop just a few steps away from the stairs.

“I did get it” he said “not just what you told me, but why you told me” He said, caressing her cheek like how he had done merely hours ago “and I… I do too” he said “I don’t know for how long, but I have feelings for you too (y/n)”

Maybe it was just a thing between them to panic each other with silence, but (y/n) enjoyed for just a moment the spark of fear growing on his eyes.

She grabbed him, smashing their lips together. He froze, but (y/n) didn’t care. She was about to pull back and yell some more when he grabbed her cheeks and pulled her in again, his hot breath fanning against her, bringing some relief to her cold aching skin for a moment.

She had completely forgotten what she was going to say after the kiss, probably insult him, but her mind was filled with fireworks.

No thoughts, just him. His lips, her lips. Their lips. (apocalypse)

“This- this should be- against some sort of rule” he said in between kisses.

(y/n) only hummed, barely registering what he’d said. Her fingers slid up his neck and grabbed his wet hair as he grabbed her by the waist, walking them both backwards till her back hit a wall.

They separated.

“Kissing me won’t make this go away” (y/n) said, breathing heavy and gazing at his eyes and lips.

He chuckled “I don't mind”

“You owe me a dinner” she said, straightening her back and stabbing his chest with her finger “A very nice dinner”

“Are you asking me on a date?” he asked.

“Sure”

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

A/N: Last night I had the idea to post it here to ask you guys what you think. Tbh I feel like it need a bit more editing, like, there's a piece of dialogue I wrote for this scene but idk where to sandwich it.

Please let me know what you think! Feedback is appreciated as long as your polite

[windvexer]

Hi chicken, I hope you are doing well. I hope it’s okay to ask for advice : this last few days every single spirits I’ve been in contact with refuse to communicate with me. My main way of communicating with them is divination (regarding your post about not taking spirit communication posts as face value I typically don’t have vivid manifestations for context). I have what seems to me clear messages of figuring things out myself for the time being from the cards and I can’t help but feel a little bit abandoned. I was not talking to them on a day my basis but I believe I made some progress on a personal level lately and I may have had some assistance from them from time to time. Do you know if it is common and in your opinion what could be the meaning of this silence ? I can’t identify a way I could have offended all of them so suddenly, but still I hope I am not indefinitely banned from spirit communication. Any advice would be welcome if you don’t mind. Have a nice day.

We are partially in reference to this post (with helpful additions in the notes): Reasons to not always take spirit communication posts at face value

Good afternoon, anonymous friend. I'm sorry you're struggling with this. Of course without more details, I can only speak generally.

First, no, I can't imagine you are suddenly indefinitely banned from spirit communication. That's not really a thing (or, the explanation I believe is complex enough that it would detract from the rest of your questions).

Spirits going incognito or refusing to communicate for a period of time is common. This can happen for a wide variety of reasons. Don't be under the illusion that all spirit workers can immediately connect with any of their spirits at any time, and receive answers.

This post may be helpful to you, but I don't know if it's all that applicable if all you're doing is the occasional tarot reading: troubleshooting spotty spirit connections/“godphoning”

It seems that you may be framing this break of communication as punitive due to some offense you could have made.

In my experience, if you have really pissed off your spirits to the point where they are done with you, A) something major will have happened and you will know about it, and B) their exit will be felt in ways that transcend disappointing readings.

I believe the reason for this silence is what they have told you: that you ought to figure out this one for yourself.

I don't believe that spirits always have our "highest good" in mind, in the sort of New Agey universal sense that everything a spirit does to us is always good for us, so you have to suck it up.

But they do often tend to like us, and they can see further than we can, and in different directions than we are capable of looking. And such a person in that position may well look at you and say, "you need to figure this one out for yourself."

Support, after all, may atrophy a muscle.

This may be an opportunity to look to new places, develop new skills, and try new things. And, if these are trusted spirits, their advice may be in your best interest: they want you to figure it out for yourself.

Perhaps they want to see what you can do. Perhaps they know you can solve it on your own. Perhaps a spirit weather front is moving in and communication will be hazy for a while.

In any case, I expect it is probably a temporary lapse. They happen to the best of us.

[starlightsearches]

Hard one here… Clyde or Kylo??

Love you, Honeybear

This is a tough one, but I'm in desperate need of that big, broad, sweet man as my personal body pillow. I also wrote this in honor of me finally finishing my fucking masters program.

AN: this is all fluff! mentions of clyde carrying the reader a short distance, and some language

Make me choose and I'll write a fic!

You’ve fallen asleep on your keyboard.

Clyde steps into the trailer, holding the edge of the screen door so it doesn’t slam. He’d hate to wake you, and that thing rattles like nothing else—especially when it’s late like this and the night is quiet outside.

It’s a good thing he’s so careful, too. ‘Cause you’re not in the bedroom, like he thought you’d be. Curled up instead on his well-worn couch, cradled by the sagging cushions and using your fancy little laptop as a pillow.

Again.

“Sweet pea,” Clyde huffs, dropping to one knee beside you, shaking you softly so you won’t startle, “what’re you doin?”

You wake with a little jump anyways, eyes wide—afraid, maybe—until you see him, shoulders falling as you curl into the warm weight of his palm at your neck.

“Hmm, homework.”

Your voice is raspy, heavy with disuse, like it usually is in the mornings when you’re pulling him closer underneath the covers and has him going runny in his middle. Clyde wonders how long you’ve been dozing off like this, although the little square indents on your cheek are some indication.

“It’s a little late for homework, bug,” he tells you, glancing over at the clock on the counter. The power’s spotty out this way, and so the numbers on its little digital face are blinking more often than not—no matter how hard Clyde tries to keep up with it—this time flashing 2:12 at a steady rythym.

You frown, rubbing the indents from the keys off your cheek, “gotta finish this.”

Clyde’s not sure what this is, but he’s got a good feeling that you’re overemphasizing the urgency, as you usually do with most of your work, panicking about deadlines and due dates and papers and projects. But it’s always worked out in your favor before, and you're closer than ever to the graduation date—the one circled in red on the calendar stuck to Clyde's fridge.

Some of the regulars at the bar tease him about it, wondering at him if it has Clyde bothered that you’re so accomplished—a word that sounds like an insult when it's coming from their mouths. Talking about how they’d never let the women in their lives waste their money on some fancy piece of paper—which is probably why they don’t have any women of their own.

Clyde doesn’t mind. Always liked the way the stress ebbs from you when he takes you in his arms, rubbing soothing patterns over you’re shoulders, hearing you talk through you’re problems using words he doesn’t know and the smile that stretches over your face when you’ve finally found the solution.

It’s one of his favorite things about you.

“You oughta go to bed,” he tells you, cupping your cheek in his big hand, tracing a little path over the apple with his thumb.

You groan, low, shifting deeper into the couch, “it’s too far.”

That's something Clyde's happy to help you with.

His hands slip easily under your shoulders, and the crook of your knees, shimmying you in nice and close to his chest so there's no pull on his prosthetic.

You make another grumpy sound against his chest.

"Clyde, 'm too heavy."

It doesn't feel that way to him when he stands straight, walking the short distance from the couch to the bedroom. Much better than helping Jimmy off his ass when he's had a few too many drinks, anyway. He wants to keep you this close all the time.

Clyde sets you down gently over the lumpy comforter, but you don't even give him the chance to stand back up, pulling him on to you by the collar of his shirt.

He lands on you with a little huff, rolling to the side so he won't hurt you with all his weight on you.

That just makes you climb on him, head on his chest, one of your legs sandwiched between his. Even with his boots still on, smelling like stale beer, Clyde's never slept better.

[radiance1]

Just saw a snippet of that Gotham War thing going around. I do not like it, and I have feelings, I should be asleep right now but I have feelings and I find myself not even trying to care about characterization or writing quality right now.

So it'll most likely be pretty fucking SHITTY.

===

"Jason!" Batman ran to Jason's side, crouching down as he immediately began to assess the wounds. "You'll be okay, just hold on for a bit longer."

"You're a shit father, you know that, Bruce?" Jason chuckled, a wet thing that spilled just a little more blood from his lips as he grabbed onto one of his father's arms. "Don't."

"Jason-"

"Nah, this is the end for me, Bruce." Jason grunted, pain flashing through his body as he shifted himself. "And for god's sake, take off that damn mask. Nobody's 'round to see your ugly mug." He half shrugged. "Besides me of course."

Batman barely even thought more of it as his hands moved upwards to push away his mask, leaving his face bare to the world. His face was pinched, as if he couldn't decide what expression to make as soon as the mask came off. "Jason-"

"Save it. You can't change my mind about this, Bruce." Jason tightened his hand around Bruce's arm, enough for that entire hand to go numb, either that or the blood loss. He couldn't tell. "Don't try and bring me back either, Bruce. Don't let anyone else try to bring me back either."

"It doesn't have to be this way. You have so much to live for-"

Jason hissed. "Don't give me that generic ass speech, Bruce. Tired of it." Jason shook his head, reaching a hand up to try and remove his helmet, he failed. So Bruce reached up to do it for him. "Thanks, I guess."

Jason breathed in a deep breath, his lungs burning in protest yet seemingly wanting more as he coughed. Specks of blood flying from his mouth as his body screamed in protest from sudden jostling.

"Jason-"

"Hey Bruce." Bruce shut his mouth. "I'm scared, you know, of what's going to be waiting for me on the other side. Pretty shit, not gonna lie, though dying once would've made it easier but-" Jason let out a pained wheeze in place of a laugh. "But I guess not."

"You don't have to die, Jason."

"I know." Jason tilted his head towards Bruce, his vision foggy and spotty. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. Alright, but I'm still scared, scared of death. Pretty fucking cowardly huh?"

"Everyone's scared of something, Jason." Bruce reached a hand forward, moving Jason's head into a more comfortable position that wouldn't strain his neck further than it already was. He made to move his hand away, but paused as he felt his son sink into his touch, however slightly.

His hand stayed as one of Jason's eyes lowered.

"You would know a lot about that, wouldn't you" Jason let out another pained wheeze as it got harder and harder to breath. "You make people piss their beds just from hearing your name, of course you would."

"Jason." He watched as his son's breathes got shallow, a longer and longer pause between every intake of break.

"I'm sorry, Bruce."

"What for, Jason?"

"For not being a better son." Jason coughed harshly, his chest convulsing with each and every one.

Bruce was silent for moment, before he sighed. "You're a fool, Jason." He moved forwards, pulling Jason towards his chest as he rested his chin on his son's head. "Because you were the one of the best goddamn sons I could've ever asked for, and if it were up to me." Bruce tightened his hold as he felt the body in his hold go slack. "I would've chosen you again and again."

Bruce could feel tears falling from his eyes as he held Jason close, finally managing to choke out the words he so desperately wanted to say, even as they now would fall only on deaf ears.

"I love you, Jason."

===

@stealingyourbones YOU. Get the FUCK over here, I've decided to make this your problem.

[knockoff-conlon]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

"so." she has a grin on her face. she looks anything but happy. "i've been hearin' things, jackie boy. you 'hattan boys are playin' like you're going on a strike."

"well, we ain't playin'," jack mutters. "we are goin' on strike." davey watches the way spot's jaw sets. "and we- the two o' us came t'ask for your help, spot."

"my help?" she says quietly. it makes his skin itch, the way spot's looking at jack. she sets her chin on her cane and stares.

"we 'hattan boys ain't enough by ourselves. we need you guys. we- you brooklyn kids- y'know?"

"and davey?" spot asks, in a tone that gives off anger. "what d'you have to say?"

"um. well, you- you're the key for our strike. the most powerful borough, most feared newsies. we need you guys or we just don't have enough power. you're-"

"you want us to join?" spot interrupts. jack nods as she shoves herself off of her throne. "are you fucking kiddin' me?" jack swallows.

"spot, pulitzer can't treat us like we is nothin'."

"yeah?" she shoves him back. "your new kid teach you that?" she shoves him again and he stumbles back a little. davey grabs his sleeve and she glares at him. "listen up, kelly. your boys in 'hattan ain't nothin' like me- they got some power i ain't ever gonna get! look around- how many girls do ya see?"

"spot-" jack glances away from her glare so she grabs his hair and yanks him down to her level.

"i said fuckin' look around, kelly. these girls need my protection. they need the money. they don't got your boys' safety. i ain't puttin' them in any danger." she lets go of his hair. "what happens when your boys give up?"

"give up?" davey repeats. he jumps forward to say something but her cane stops him. "we- we won't give up."

"yeah, you say that," she bites out. "until i know that, we ain't doin' anything. i ain't puttin' none of my girls through that!"

"spot-" jack tries.

"no. show me you ain't givin' up and we can talk. till then, hotshot and stray can take ya back." she sits in her throne, gestures for hotshot and stray. hotshot shows up, a big grin on her face. stray pops up behind him, bouncing on her toes.

"well, aintcha a pretty one?" stray loops her arm through davey's and starts to pull him along. "i dunno what you was talkin' to spot about but she ain't lookin' so happy, huh?" jack and hotshot trail behind them. "i heard somethin' 'bout a strike."

"nothing important now. she said no."

"eh, spottie ain't up for a good time like the rest of us," stray mutters. she bounces up and down as they walk. she salutes another girl they pass on the street. davey hears jack and hotshot talking with each other behind them. "whatcha want her to do? go on strike?"

"pulitzer raised the price of papes. manhattan is striking."

"ooh!" she grins. "sounds like a good time if i ever heard one. maybe i'll sneak on down. just to see ya," she adds quietly. davey smiles down at her. "i'll talk to spot for ya."

"will she change her mind?"

"she never does, not about important things. sorry, love." davey looks down. she stops at the edge of the bridge. "good luck on your strike."

[kitthenameless]

I finished my BG3 evil durge run!

Evil runs were clearly not the intended vision, judging from how spotty the content is. But I did see some new stuff, and the new ending cinematic goes hard. (I did the evil Tav ending.) Overall, I had a lot of fun really leaning into the evil, and getting a whole little movie in the end was a nice finale.

Also this was my first Tactician run, though I had 5-6 people for most fights, and my durge could fly. Still, was a higher difficulty than I've done before, so *pats self on back*

Anyway, here's the summary of my Act 2 and Act 3. Warning for general spoilers and evil ending screenshots at the end!

Not much happened in Act 2. Killed Isobel but spared Aylin and managed to get her and Jaheira to join camp. Poor Gale tried to save the gnomes by opening their cell once the guards were all dead, but they just died outside. Astarion broke up with Durge (Remiel), but there were never feelings involved anyway. I made a whole post about my mess of a Myrkul fight in which I decided to loose a spectator instead of reloading lol. Other than that, they did what they had to do and moved on, leaving the lands cursed.

Then it was onto Act 3. Memories rushing back after the coronation, Remiel decided to go give the Archduke a little private visit. Gortash warned him not to come back without the netherstones, but he doesn't take orders from Gortash. And he needed to remind him of that ;-)

In the city, I couldn't figure out how to kill the people on the list without initiating combat with everyone nearby, so the group started kidnapping people and taking them to the sewers to kill them there. The fact that you can technically do that (by exploiting fast travel) is a lot funnier to me than it should be. Also met this mysterious man!

Continued doing evil things. (Skip this paragraph if you don't care about the list of evil choices.) Got into the Murder Tribunal, sacrificed Jaheira, and killed Valeria to become an Unholy Assassin. Killed Thrumbo. Went to the Society of Brilliance where they found a massacre and met the gith egg baby all grown up. Made a deal with the hag. Broke into House of Hope just to steal Raphael's valuables and kill his boy toy. Handed Aylin over to Lorroakan, because Remiel figured it'd be easier to bring Lorroakan under his thumb than Aylin. Handed Shadowheart over to the Sharrans. Did not help Astarion ascend because he didn't want him to have that much power. Still killed Cazador and the spawns though. Regretted killing the spawns when all the Gur kept calling it a kindness and praised him for doing the "right" thing.

And of course he killed Orin. But he rejected daddy because he decided he wants to do evil for himself.

The only person Remiel has a soft spot for is Gortash. He doesn't want to mind control him, he wants to rule with him sorta, but he still wanted the power for himself and couldn't have Gort getting in the way. So when they met at the Morphic Pool, he (in my headcanon) knocked him out or used poisons to put him to sleep. He even left his crossbow and a healing potion. (But of course they acted like immature children before that.)

Skipped the entire courtyard with invisibility. Got to the final bit of brain quickly, but I failed all attempts to hit it at the Morphic Pool, so it had full HP, and it got dicey at the end. The few characters still alive just barely managed to win before their platform was obliterated.

And then Remiel betrayed everyone and took control of the brain... and the world. *muahahahaha*

The end 🙂 Gosh I love his evil faces lol.

Mods: Kylin's Heads. Silver's Hair Pack. Slutty Closet. Glitzy Horns. Heroes never die - Angel Wings. One of Astralities's skintone mods, I think. Y-Shaped Autopsy Scars. Lokelani's Lavish Livery.