#i might age them up manually at some point but

[emkini]

If you've been keeping up with me lately you'll know I'm obsessed with In the Hall of the King Underhill and related stories by @hellenite, so I took the time to create some beeduo character designs!

Portrait shots, design notes, and extras under the cut. Note that everything here is just my own personal headcanons based on how I interpret the characters and story.

Human Tubbo:

Perpetually has plants in his hair, which one might assume he picked up in the forest or placed there manually. Curiously, however, they seem quite resistant to removal.

Will find a way to get dirt on himself, no matter the occasion.

Shares a wardrobe with Ranboo, and so everything is too big on him. Fortunately, he's able to pull it off.

Fae Tubbo:

Is designed to invoke the image of a warrior prince. He is well-dressed, but not extravagantly so. The majority of his clothing is practical, and his grand cape is easily removed should the need arise.

Has 9-point antlers which denote his age and power. His main beams are hooked forward: these are deadly weapons, and he wears them as such. Conceptually, they serve close him off from the viewer.

Is dressed largely in earth tones, but wears a red petticoat embroidered with dark hounds. These symbolize his history of trauma and violence, and hint at a darkness beneath his initially warm impression.

Wears many animal traits in his favored form, though he can reduce their number as needed.

Human Ranboo:

Has a natural white patch in his hair: a result of hair heterochromia. This may also predispose him to anemia.

Often wears a red sweatshirt, which makes him stand out like a bloody target on the green forest landscape. Thematically, this sweatshirt sets him apart from Tubbo and his later self.

Possesses the world's saddest pair of doe eyes and does not seem to grasp the devastating power they hold

Fae Ranboo:

Matches Tubbo's design thematically, but sports a far lighter color palette and dresses in a less traditional manner. Conceptually, his clothing is meant to represent his youth and gentleness: he isn't dressed for war.

Is young for a faerie, and only has 5 points on his antlers. They may grow as he matures. His wide and open spread serves to give him an approachable air.

Wears an oft-unbuttoned jerkin embroidered with scenes from the Unicorn Tapestries. Often interpreted as an allegory for the capture and crucifixion of Christ and/or a celebration of marriage, such a reference seemed thematically appropriate.

Also emblazoned on Ranboo's jerkin, directly atop his heart, is a friendly-looking hound. This references Tubbo's red hounds and symbolizes the part of him which now lives within his husband.

+ A couple of extra sketches from a magma board with @piersthesniper, who makes lovely art as well. Go check out his blog!

[fuctacles]

Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

*

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break. 

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

*

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently. 

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

*

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah.”

*

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice. 

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”  

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

*

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting. 

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[pilfappreciator]

I just saw your request guidelines! how about a John Dory x gn!reader that babies him? he's all abt being the leader and bossy and such, it would be cute when he turns soft and lets the reader baby him.

Ah yes, love me some middle-aged dumb jock "all about that van life" squating in the woods and interrupting strangers weddings for no reason ex-boyband member fluff 😘

John Dory x Reader: his ass needs pampering

Includes: GN! Reader, touch-starved John Dory, mentions of prolonged isolation, slight angst

🥽 It'll take some time (and lots of persuasion on your end) before John Dory even CONSIDERS the idea of letting someone else take the reigns

🥽 He was forced to grow up pretty quick when he was younger. He was the oldest of five and it didn't seem like any of them had parents to fall back during their childhood. Sure, there was Grandma Rosiepuff but it wasn't quite the same... and after Brozone started to take off in popularity, John Dory felt it was his time to step up as a leader

🥽 Obviously, having that kind of pressure on your shoulders while growing up in the public eye doesn't bode well for someone's self-worth

🥽 I feel like John Dory found comfort in being in charge tho?? Like he likes when things go his way so he definitely appreciated the feeling of control lol

🥽 BUT LIKE I SAID, this man CAN be talked into taking the backseat for once!!

🥽 Start out small. Maybe do little favors for him, like grabbing him a tool or item he needs before he goes for it himself, or holding doors open so he can walk through, or using your thumb to wipe some crumbs or sauce off his face (this guys a messy eater, don't even ATTEMPT to convince me otherwise)

🥽 Tbh he probably won't even notice what you're doing at first. He'll just be like "aw thanks babe :]" and move his ass right along

🥽 He'll only start taking the hint once you start escalating those favors. Next thing he knows you're offering to drive Rhonda so he can relax, or making his meals for him, or offering massages

🥽 I mean... he might not refuse that last one but that's besides the point shahlskdja

🥽 It's only when you start taking on some of his chores and usual manual labor that he starts speaking up

🥽 "Look, babe, I appreciate what you're tryin' to do but it's fine! I've got this!"

"No, it's cool, I'll do it."

"Seriously, you don't have to."

"I know! But I want to."

"Really, your boy's got thi---"

"You sit your ass down and enjoy that sandwich I made you, John Dory."

"Okay o_o"

🥽 Yeahhhh you're definitely gonna have to be firm with this man if you actually want him to relax. Maybe make his ass do a puzzle or something askjdhas

🥽 I mean it's not like you're taking away his whole sense of agency or anything. He still has the freedom to go and do as he pleases, it's just that now he's got you looking over his shoulder, ready to jump in once he so much as STARTS overworking himself. It's gonna take him some time to get used to being doted on. Fully expect some pouty looks being thrown your way and to hear him grumbling under his breath

🥽 BUT THEN YOU START ESCALATING EVEN FURTHER?? Suddenly you're buying/making him things he needs, like new tools or equipment??? Maybe you two are out on the town one day and you spot him eyeing something through the window of one of the shops, and a few days later—

🥽 "WHOA!! WHERE'D YOU GET THAT?!"

"Oh, I just saw it the other day and thought of you! :D"

"...Babe, that's a grappling hook."

"Did I stutter?"

🥽 John Dory starts coming around to the idea of being spoiled after that lol

🥽 I'm like 99% sure everyone in the fandom agrees that this man? This guy who's been living all alone in the wilderness and probably eating insects for nutrients for like 20 years??

🥽 TOUCH-STARVED AS HELL

🥽 I mean he was already pretty touchy-feely BEFORE you started pampering him... but then you start giving him more massages (specifically back/shoulder/foot rubs)... and getting him to lay his head on your stomach/lap after a long day... and running your fingers across his scalp all the while...

🥽 Better have a mop and bucket on standby cuz if this man melts any further, he'll be a puddle ;))

🥽 Definitely starts to seek you out after he's had a bad day/been in his head too long. Lay some kisses on his forehead pretty pls <33

🥽 WORDS OF AFFIRMATION!! DROP SOME PRAISE AND COMPIMENTS ON THIS GUY!!! I mean he probably got plenty of that during his Brozone days but most of them were aimed at his looks/music

🥽 I mean he's definitely not gonna complain if you call him a hunk but I digress

Not even gonna lie to yall... When the first teaser for the movie dropped I was like "Hmm... idk if the movie's gonna as good as the last one but at least Branch's long lost brother is hot"

ALKSHDJLKJAKSD IM SORRY BUT WHY DID THEY MAKE ALL THE CHARACTERS HOT WHAT THE FUCK

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #1

Feeding and Diet It's actually more complicated than just "they bite you and eat your blood." Plus what they're able to eat; how often they need to eat; what happens to you if they bite you and what happens to them if they don't feed- spoiler: it's unpleasant. Incidentally, you should reload and kill Cazador again.

(I was comparing stuff across editions and compiling it into something more coherent and then figured I'd info dump about it in case my fixations are useful to somebody out there.)

DISCLAIMER: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest.

Basically, in D&D, canon is what you decide it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

They only need to feed once in a 24 hour period. Vampires can survive between 3-9 months of starvation, but it's a terrible idea. -

There are three different categories of "Undead Hunger." Vampires have two of them and actually need to consume more than one thing to stay "healthy": Blood and life force. -

The blood is obvious. This is categorised as a "diet dependency." It's required to preserve their bodies and powers, and without it their powers* are suppressed as their bodies begin to shut down. *This refers to the powers a vampire gains with age; they cannot lose power they had as a newborn (the base stat blocks given for vampires and spawn given in the monster manual) A vampire requires the equivalent of 12 hit points of blood a day, or it begins to revert into a corpse-like state. Mentally they slowly regress into a desperate, mindless animal frenzy where they'll kill and drain anything containing blood they can get their hands on. Ultimately, if they don't get any blood then they revert into a corpse and they're trapped in their own body as it begins to wither and mummify. They're trapped in a coma, vaguely aware of the passing of time in flashes of awareness until somehow they are fed blood. If they ever wake up again, they will probably wake up feral and absolutely ravenous. -

Vampires rely on the victim's blood pressure to expel blood from the wound they create, lapping and mouthing at the wound rather than actually sucking on it. Being bitten is a highly pleasurable experience that victims can't help but desire, even when they know they shouldn't. -

While the damage done remains, the wounds from a Vampire bite closes itself quickly after the feeding (assuming you're still alive). It does however leave a mark. The bite mark itself is often "less than half an inch in length", and leaves behind a significant bruise that causes no pain or sensitivity to touch. Other side effects include fatigue and a weakened immune system. -

Vampires typically target sleeping victims (less likely to fight back) and favour the blood of their own race above others. So theoretically, Astarion finds elf blood tastes best. -

Drinking animal blood tastes bland and is health-wise akin to drinking tainted water: yes it might keep you alive in desperate times, but it's ultimately bad for you and will probably make you ill. That said, it has no mechanical detriments and a vampire that's forced to live on animal blood will be just as strong as its kin, but considerably bad tempered about it. -

A vampire's secondary feeding requirement is called an "inescapable craving", which means that if a vampire doesn't get that fix then their hunger begins to devour them instead. The pain is described as a spike boring into the vampire's brain, obscuring their awareness. They begin to obsess over feeding to the exclusion of everything else, they become willing to take ridiculous levels of risk to stop the hunger as they become more and more desperate. As they are consumed they become progressively more feral until they're just a rampaging mindless horror driven only by horrific hunger. For vampires, their inescapable craving is life force, which a vampire leeches from their prey through touch leaving the victim weak. Direct skin contact isn't required, if you're wearing full plate and/or the vampire is wearing gloves and they lay a hand on you they can still drain you. Mechanically these were combat abilities, energy/level draining occurred when a vampire struck a target with their own body (usually their hands). Before 5e hit them with a nerf bat, vampires could permanently weaken you this way (you could lose character levels from this). 5e also seems to have rolled life drain into the biting, so a vampire can consume your blood and energy at the same time. -

Post feeding, a vampire starts to look alive. Their skin is flushed and warm and they feel elated and energetic. In contrast, a vampire that hasn't been feeding properly becomes more corpse like and feels "sluggish" (I'm interpreting that as flu-like symptoms). It's purely emotional however, the vampire is no less capable and dangerous and suffers no mechanical penalties. -

Vampires can feed on other vampires, which is actually more filling than living humanoid blood and gives them the ability to communicate telepathically for a few hours. They don't like it though. If a vampire drinks from another vampire then they can be controlled by that vampire and the link forces them to feel affection for each other against their will until it wears off. The results of both vampires in question feeding on each other is described as "debilitating" since they both paradoxically become enslaved to the other's will and forced to "love" each other creating an absolute dysfunctional mess of control, obsession and resentment. The good news is that it only lasts a few hours. -

Some vampires can eat regular food (no nutritional value in it for them) while others would regurgitate it if they tried. As they retain their tongues, vampires can also taste food. That said, it's a bad idea for them to eat garlic, even if they can eat solid food. -

Some kinds of vampires don't drink blood. There's all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff a vampire might be required to consume instead. Spinal fluid stands out. Or the bit about ones who drain the ocular fluid from your eyes. Gale might find interesting things to talk about with the magic eating ones who prey on mages. They're much less common, probably something to do with most people not finding that very sexy. I don't think any of them exist on Toril.

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[laundrybiscuits]

(young man what do you wanna be tag | Ch1-2 on AO3)

“Hey, did you and Jonathan tell Will to ask me about—” Steve glances around like the world’s worst spy, and leans close even though they’re the only living souls in the trailer. “About gay things?”

“Uh,” Eddie says. “No? Wait, Jonathan might’ve.”

Steve pushes both his hands through his hair. “Why would you do that! Shit!”

“Again, I did nothing in this scenario,” says Eddie. “I’m pretty sure this one specific thing is not my fault.”

“He asked me about our relationship,” says Steve. “He wanted gay advice.”

Eddie swallows down his first impulse, which is to demand to know whether Eddie’s advice isn’t good enough for Will all of a sudden. “Okay,” he says instead. “What did you tell him?”

“I don’t know! I quit giving Dustin advice on girls, like, years ago! By the time I was Will’s age, I was pretty busy fucking up the only serious relationship I ever had.”

“Sure, maybe, but you can’t think about age that way. It’s like…” Eddie tilts his head. “For a lot of us, there’s a—a late start, right? It’s like a whole different time scale, because we gotta figure ourselves out first. We don’t get the manual to all this shit, so we either waste our time chasing some kind of picket fence life that we don’t actually want, or we just make it up from scratch.”

“Right, cool, okay,” says Steve. “I didn’t say anything like that. I told him to keep his chin up. I—think I called him slugger.”

Eddie pats him on the shoulder sympathetically, definitely not feeling at all vindicated about the fact that he’s clearly winning at gay mentorship. “Could be worse. What did the littlest Byers say?”

“He’s taller than Jonathan now,” says Steve.

“So not the point, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “C’mon, how’d it go?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Steve huffs out a breath and pushes his hand through his hair. “Not good, I don’t think. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with that kid. He just wanted to know how I figured stuff out, and like—why I wouldn’t just go with girls.”

“Yeah, uh, on that note,” says Eddie. “Is this a new development? Like.”

He pauses, trying to figure out the exact right arrangement of words.

“Like…” he says, slowly. “I’m just wondering, you know, why it hasn’t come up before. I mean, you already know about me, everybody knows about me. Is it—”

Did you not want me to think—

Did you not want—

“Pretty new, I guess,” says Steve. He lies back, arms folded behind his head, taking up more than his fair share of Eddie’s bed. Eddie climbs over him and takes his usual place tucked up against the wall, keeping a careful distance.

Steve’s parents are leaving again tomorrow, so this might be the last time for a while. It’s not like they won’t be seeing each other all the time; at this point, they’re so tangled up in each other’s lives that it’s not so unusual for them to hang out every day for weeks without even trying.

But it might be the last time for a while that they lie here like this, in a shadowy space where the line between thoughts and words gets slippery enough to cross. Eddie tries real hard not to think of it as anything special; it’s just his stupid fucking heart running away with him, the way it always does.

“Okay,” says Eddie.

After a while, he says, “Goodnight.” Steve doesn’t answer.

———

“Eddie!” Robin hollers from across the store. “We’re enemies now!”

“Okay!” he yells back. “Why?”

“Why do you think, asshole!”

This is getting unsustainable, so Eddie wanders over to the counter where Robin’s cashing out.

“Is it because I’m giving you a ride home out of the goodness of my heart? Unconventional, but I respect that.”

She chucks a balled-up receipt at his head. “Steve, dumbass.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, ducking out of the way and holding up his hands like he’s trying to soothe a spooked horse. “I dunno what he told you, but I didn’t do anything to him.”

“Exactly,” snaps Robin.

“Robin,” he whines, switching tactics. “C’mon, don’t be pissed at me. You know you’re my favorite lesbian in the whole wide world. You’re the cheese in my burger, the fries in my shake. My wretched soul cannot bear the weight of your scorn.”

He can tell she’s still trying to be mad, but the corner of her mouth is twitching, so he drapes himself over the counter and wails, “Milady Robin! Say only that you can forgive my dark and unworthy deeds, whatever they may be, or I shall perish right here in this fine establishment.”

“You really don’t know what you did, huh,” she sighs. “God, you’re the worst.”

Eddie peeks up at her through his hair. “Planning to enlighten me any time soon? Or are we going straight to pistols at dawn?”

“We are going to be driving me home,” says Robin. “And we’re going through Taco Bell on the way. We’re still gonna be enemies, but you can purchase a temporary peace treaty for the low, low price of two chalupas and a large Sprite.”

———

“Hey, Harrington, why’s Robin mad at me?”

“Mad at—? Oh. Uh, I think she misunderstood some stuff.”

Eddie groans. “Is this about the fake dating thing again?”

Steve looks a little pained. “Maybe?”

“Byers needs to go his own way! Call it another—lonely day, or—you know what I mean. Buckley can’t take in every wounded baby bunny that stumbles across her path.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s happening.”

“Sure, okay. So, do I need to defend my honor by finding Will a boyfriend or something?” Eddie pauses. “I realize that sounds like an insane scheme, but consider this: it’s still better than Operation Happy Ending, so I’m standing by it.”

“Not cool, man,” calls Argyle from the floor. Eddie has a theory that Argyle likes lying down on the floor because he’s tall. It’s not a very well-developed theory.

“No, no, I’m fully on board with the name,” Eddie assures him. “Baller name. You hit it out of the park on that one, dude.”

“Righteous,” says Argyle. “Appreciate the support.”

“The idea still sucks,” says Eddie. “But that is one hundred percent the fault of Jonathan Byers, and you remain the utterly blameless light of my life.”

A sudden thought strikes him, and he sits up, dislodging Steve’s hand in his hair.

“Hang on, Steve—did you ever actually tell Will that we’re not dating?”

“What? Yeah, of course.” Steve frowns. “Uh, probably? Man, I don’t really remember.”

Eddie shoots him a squinty look, and Steve holds his hands up. “Dude, I don’t know! I wasn’t trying to lie to the kid, there was a lot going on. Don’t know why he didn’t go ask Argyle instead.”

“Oh, he totally did, my bro,” says Argyle. “I think he’s, like, doing the rounds. I just told him not to worry about a thing and let the Lady Fate lead the way. I dunno if he was ready to embrace the Lady, though. He didn't really seem to get it.”

“Fucking great.” Steve leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “Between the three of us, maybe he’ll get some kind of actual goddamn life lesson or whatever.”

“Fuck you, I am an amazing Gandalf. I mean mentor,” says Eddie. "Wait, shit. Does that mean Byers has been getting most of his actual gay advice from me? Holy shit, we can't let that happen. I'm like—the worst possible future for that kid. Steve, you gotta go back and try again."

He smacks Steve's shoulder. "Go back and tell him some real stuff! And tell him we're not dating, or he'll think he has to settle for the first loser that threatens him with a broken bottle!"

"Wait, is that—you don't actually think that, do you?"

"I mean, I'd like to say nobody will ever threaten him with a broken bottle, but Lady Fate works in mysterious ways. And frankly, given his whole…" Eddie waves a diffident hand. "Penchant for sniffing out trouble like a bloodhound after a T-bone, he's definitely going to wind up on the wrong end of a bar fight at least once or twice."

He pauses. "Don't tell Jon I said that, he'll wig out."

"Okay, but like—you know you're not—a loser, right?"

Steve touches Eddie’s back, a warm brush of fingers, and Eddie shrugs uncomfortably. "Just a figure of speech, Harrington. Don't worry your pretty little head about my ego, I'm doing great."

"Hell yeah you are," says Argyle. "Great as Gandalf."

Eddie is like 90% sure Argyle doesn't actually know who Gandalf is, but he appreciates the gesture.

"Thanks, dude," he says, poking Argyle’s head with his foot affectionately. "You're a great Gandalf too. The most Gandalferous."

"Can everyone stop saying Gandalf please," says Steve, so obviously Eddie has to bellow "Gandalf Gandalf Gandalf" right in his ear until Steve puts him in a headlock.

It's a pretty good afternoon.

[lizzie-is-here]

bucky barnes oneshot

the white cat

bucky barnes x fem!reader

a late night stop at the animal shelter, a truck, and a dinner date

a/n: not bucky’s cat being named after the place he died 💀 anyway sorry i’ve disappeared i got busy lmao. BUT. i have an idea for a new series based entirely off a winterguard show i was told ab this year by dupont manual so we’ll see if it goes anywhere 👀

the white cat pt. 2

Working at an animal shelter had its benefits.

For all the sad stories you often had, you also got to save pets, watch them get healthier, and most of the time, go to a loving home.

Plus, every so often, a very attractive customer would come in, and, seeing as you are the only employee constantly in the so-called “meeting room” for potential adoptees, you would help them.

Today was one of those days. Or, rather, nights.

Technically, you were closed. Everyone else had left earlier and you’d stayed to clean up. You were sweeping up fur and treats, listening to the radio as you worked.

The man outside the window showed up around 8:56.

Normally, you’d be creeped out. A woman, alone, while a man stared at her through a window? It’s the plot of, like, every Scream movie.

But you recognized this man. He’d been showing up the past few days, not to ogle you, but to ask questions about the cats you had, what he’d need to buy, what kind of care they needed.

You’ve only seen him, never actually talked to him, but he seems sweet. A bit shy, very nervous.

“Hi.” You wave and the man looks behind him before pointing at himself. Laughing, you nod. “Yes, you.”

Setting down a cup of pens, you unlock and open the door for him.

“Sorry about coming in so late. Are you guys even open?” He fiddles with his glove-covered hands, turned a bit awkwardly so his left side is further away.

You shrug, not wanting to scare him off. “We can be. What can I help you with?”

He scratches at the back of his neck before pointing towards the back. “Can I get a cat?” He pauses before barreling on. “I’ve done all the research, got all the stuff set up back at my apartment, and honestly…”

He trails off a bit. “I think it’d help with some… stuff.”

You understand. Plenty of people need company, and you could confidently say that animals provided plenty of that.

“No problem,” you smile. “Come with me.”

Leading him back, you don’t comment on the fact that he makes no noise when he walks, or how a soft, pleasant whirring like quiet machinery has reached your ears.

The meeting room has a few beanbag chairs, a table, and cat and dog toys scattered around. The mystery man sits cross-legged on the floor, looking up at you with eyes that make you think he might be the puppy.

He looks around, a little lost. “So, what do I…”

You pick up where he leaves off. “Are you looking for anything particular?”

He shakes his head, and some of that shyness seems to shake away too.

“No, I trust your judgment.” He smiles. You ignore the warmth in your cheeks and whisk away to the back, looking into the kennels until you find what you’re looking for.

A young cat, only a few months old. Just came in last week. Every time that man has come in, she’s been excited.

“Alpine, sweetie, c’mere.” You gently coax her into your waiting arms, cradling the white fluff as you head back to the room.

It’s impossible to miss how his eyes light up when he sees you, even more so when he spies the cat.

You sit across from him, so close your knees touch, and pass off Alpine.

“She’s so small,” he whispers, almost reverently. You chuckle, watching her climb unceremoniously into his lap.

“She likes you. Been trying to see you all week.” His eyes are still fixated on the little white blob that contrasts his jacket. “Her name’s Alpine, unless you wanna change it?”

He pauses, laughs a bit like there’s some inside joke there, and shakes his head. “No- no, Alpine’s perfect.”

A few minutes later, he’s filling out the paperwork and making small talk when you finally notice his name and age.

James Buchanan Barnes, age 106.

The ex-Winter Soldier. The Howling Commando. The Fallen Sergeant.

He notices you mentally smacking yourself and holds out his right hand.

“Hi, I’m Bucky. Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier,” he chuckles.

You wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry if I made you feel weird.”

Bucky shakes his head and readjusts Alpine. Steeling his nerves, he gives you his best smile and finally does the second thing he was hoping to achieve tonight.

“No, no, you didn’t make me feel weird at all. In fact-“ He meets your curious gaze. “-I was wondering if you like to go out sometime?”

You can feel the blush you know he can see, but manage to respond anyway.

“Yeah, I’d really like that, actually.”

Apparently, he isn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly, and pauses for a bit.

“I- Uh, what’s a good time?”

You gesture around. “I get off work tomorrow at 7:30?”

“I’ll be here.”

The two of you enjoy the moment, Alpine purring softly in Bucky’s arms. It’s perfect.

Until a car horn honks from outside. Heading out, you see a truck with three other people in it.

Three other Avengers, to be exact.

“Thought you’d never be done!” Sam Wilson jokes from the driver’s seat. From the passenger’s, Natasha Romanoff waves while Steve Rogers opens the back door for the soldier next to you.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, they’re being stupid,” he grumbles. “But, I’ve only got a motorcycle, so I needed some help.”

“It’s cute that they came along,” you say. “Still on for tomorrow?”

He laughs and gestures to the truck. “If those heathens haven’t scared you away, then yes. Absolutely.”

“I’ll see you then?”

“See you then, doll.”

[adore-laur]

SUNSTRUCK

— a sensual addition to southpaw 🌞

——

TODOS SANTOS, 1992

Palms slick with saltwater spread atop the surfboard floating in Mexico's turquoise ocean, its waxed surface scorching to the touch as it sparkles underneath the smoldering sun. Heaving himself up with taut and tanned arms, Harry switches out the cool engulfment for a beating heat that strikes his skin just right. Droplets cascade down the toned muscles of his back. Freckles that have come out of hiding dot his face in scattered clusters. The ultraviolet rays of June naturally bleach his tufts of baby hair blond.

He's unequivocally thriving, surrounded by a yellow aura gleaming brilliantly in the daylight.

Lying on his stomach, he manually paddles over to where Sawyer is supine on her pink inflatable raft. With a caramel-colored complexion and slim, silky legs that shimmer from the start of a sun-drenched summer, she resembles a solstitial vision for the ages. She has never looked more relaxed in all the years he's known her. Her limbs, which soak up splashes of vitamin D, are loose and not tense from working stationary hours at her office desk. There's no wrinkled crease of frustration between her eyebrows that needs to be smoothed out, nor is there a troubled frown pulling at her lips that needs to be lifted. She's in her own bubble of iridescent ecstasy.

This hush-hush getaway has rejuvenated their souls. The lush ocean breeze and visually flamboyant architecture lured them like they were a message in a bottle destined for the shoreline. Harry finally has uninterrupted time to spend with Sawyer in private in a nestled town where no one knows his name. Domesticity has already begun blooming in the desert bungalow where they're staying. Whispered confessions of love and gratitude were spoken around the rims of coffee mugs. Waking up with her in his snuggly embrace is a luxury he's still getting used to. Kisses followed by wandering hands careen lazy mornings and sleepless nights. Their relationship is flourishing every day, and it feels like paradise.

As Sawyer tans like a sun goddess, Harry grows increasingly bored. The sluggish waves weren't nearly powerful enough to triumphantly catch, so he resorted to catching some rays instead. It didn't pan out too well because now his back is burning and his girlfriend isn't paying attention to him. It's a deadly combination he needs to fix immediately.

"Sawyer," he says, peskily flicking water at her. "There's a shark behind you."

Opening her pretty brown irises, shielded with cat-eye sunglasses, she flips him off and grouses, "You're not funny."

Harry smoothly straddles his surfboard and points past her. "I'm serious. Don't move, okay? I can see its fin circling."

It only takes a single second for her precious face to drop. She timidly shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares at him in terror. "Is there really?" she whispers, as if the non-existent shark is eavesdropping on the two lovers. "What do we do, Harry? Oh no, what do we do?"

To not crack a mischievous grin severely tests his might. "I'll grab you and take you to land. Don't worry, baby."

"We can't!" she tells him urgently, her voice rising to a whisper-shout. Thankfully, she doesn't dare turn around to see if they're actually in grave danger. "It'll follow us if we move. We have to be smart about this."

Harry dramatically looks off into the distance, like he's in a film playing a determined survivor lost at sea. "If this is the last time we see each other," he declares with faux valor, "I want to die knowing I tried saving you."

Sawyer gawks at his morbid statement. He thought it was romantic. "Are you out of your mind? Don't say things like that!"

There's a slight growl to her tone, and she appears borderline petrified, so he abandons his silly prank. He's close enough to her raft to stretch his body forward and lift her, so he does, but not before humming the menacing Jaws theme and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She looks bewildered as he grips her waist and carefully transfers her to his surfboard. Once she's sat in front of him, he clings to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, his perspiring chest pressed flat against her back.

"Hi," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "There's no shark. I just wanted to be near you."

Sawyer stills, then hastily unwinds his arms from around her. "You're so annoying," she whines, harmlessly slapping his thigh and grabbing her raft so it doesn't drift away.

Harry cups her jaw and tilts her head toward him. "You love me. I annoy the hell out of you, yet you can't get enough of me."

Glancing at his lips, she situates herself on his lap and smiles. "It's true. My sunray makes me happy even when he's a complete ditz."

Harry suddenly doesn't know how to speak, too enraptured by her natural beauty paired with a doe-eyed gaze that melts him like an ice cube on a sizzling driveway. Those brown eyes could get him to do anything she desired. Does she know that? Does she see the influence she has over him? Does she know nothing made sense in his life before he met her?

Unable to express his undying commitment to her without stumbling over his words, he utters a simple and sincere, "I love you."

Sawyer places her hand over his heart. "I know it."

Eventually, the rolling tide brings them back to the shore. The Baja California Peninsula's tip possesses powdery sand grains that carry on for miles. This particular beach, Punta Lobos, is a hidden gem, and no tourists infest the area during the week. Rocky bluffs border the water, and the occasional hiker will admire the oceanic view from their advantage before retreating down the trail behind the cliffs. Other than that, there's no one lurking around and disturbing the peace.

Harry and Sawyer lie side by side, sand sticking to their wet skin as the foamy waves barely reach their toes. Their fingers instinctively interlock; their palms are smoother due to being immersed in saltwater for hours, and something about it sends a firecracker shooting off in Harry's heart. Sawyer's skin after sunbathing is always gorgeous—golden, silken, and stamped with secret birthmarks only he knows the locations of.

He suddenly feels hot all over. Blazing sunbeams mixed with coursing dopamine are making him antsy. Trying to ignore his straying thoughts only worsens the constriction.

Looking over at his girl, Harry swallows and swipes his thumb across her chin to garner her undivided attention. She squints and beams angelically at him, a sheen of sweat gracing her cheekbones.

"Pretty girl," he says, his knuckles tracing the shape of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about where our next destination should be."

"Nowhere. Let's stay here forever."

Sawyer ruffles his wavy hair. "And do what?"

A thousand scenarios whip around in his brain, and he ends up settling on asking his favorite question. "Wanna make out?"

Her plump lips instantly melt into a blissful smile. She rolls over on top of Harry's body, her syrupy skin adhering to his as she clasps his cheeks with her hands. She grants him his wish, coaxing warm and salty kisses from his mouth. His greedy hands roam the back of her thighs, trailing them up and down her sun-kissed flesh. Her ankles prop up and cross over each other, and she hums into his mouth as their craving kisses deepen. The pendant with his first initial that rests perfectly between her clavicles reminds him she's not going anywhere, as does the ring he gifted her that's settled on her finger, the cool metal neutralizing his flaming body temperature.

The unfortunate cause of their breakaway isn't because their love-filled lungs are deprived of oxygen. It's because, after all, they're on a public beach, and the sound of distant chatter has them pulling apart as quick as a zap of lightning.

Sawyer stands, briskly adjusting her bikini straps and glancing around like what they were doing was a scornful obscenity. She's adorably flustered. On the other hand, Harry sits up and nonchalantly adjusts himself while pinching his swollen bottom lip. He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed excessive PDA isn't something Sawyer is necessarily comfortable with now that they're dating. She shies away from it, while he's quite the opposite. It's almost impossible to suppress the urge to touch and kiss her like there's no tomorrow, so he doesn't feel awkward about the innocuous disruption.

As he snatches his floral-patterned button-up that he left stranded on the sand and begins putting it back on, he spots his camcorder nearby. He brought it along to capture memories, which so far have mostly been of Sawyer in her feminine element—sunbathing on the poolside lounge chair with a magazine in her lap, curling her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, dancing and singing to "Venus" by Bananarama on the bungalow sofa. 

She's the center of his universe. The summit of beauty and love.

His gaze flits between the device and Sawyer, who is now red in the face. It's amusing, so he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses the record button. He purses his lips to hide his growing smirk as he zooms in on the small group of people strolling to the coastline and then on her rattled reaction. 

It doesn't take long for her to notice. She jogs over to block the lens with her hands, fretting, "Stop it! This is so humiliating."

Harry laughs, lifting the camcorder to a height she can't reach. Sawyer is looking at him unimpressed, her arms crossed, and her head tilted to the side. The people most definitely saw them being handsy and smitten out in the open, but what's there to be sheepish about? Love is meant to be shown to the world.

"Are you embarrassed?" he teases, dragging out the last word.

She raises her eyebrows and nods. A hint of a smile plays on her lips, but it doesn't seem genuine. It appears insistent, one of hidden discomfort. 

Harry isn't a total space cadet, so he takes it as a cue to quit messing around and acknowledge her unspoken signals. He stops recording and drops the camera in the striped beach bag slung over her shoulder. He then tucks his surfboard under his armpit and offers Sawyer his free hand. The energy between them has shifted by a smidge, and he doesn't like it one bit. The grains of sand beneath his soles somehow turned into eggshells within minutes.

"Ready to leave?" he asks. Sawyer nods again, still ominously silent, as she ignores his hand and fetches her deflating raft. "'Kay. Let's hit the road, then."

They arrive at the rental car, a vintage orange convertible that made his pockets hurt. Sawyer wanted it, and he couldn't refuse her. The hood is up in case of unpredictable weather, so Harry straps and fastens his surfboard to the top while Sawyer hops in the passenger seat, throws her raft in the backseat, and shimmies back into her daisy dukes.

Harry sits behind the steering wheel, his lanky limbs struggling to comfortably fit in the restricted space. The engine rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition, and he rolls the windows down before reversing out of the vacant parking lot. He peeks at Sawyer a few times as he merges onto the highway winding along the coast. She's staring at the desert landscape ahead that's saturated with a golden haze from the forthcoming sunset. Cacti and dead brush sizzle under the evening sun. Mountains tower over the feathery clouds. Vultures circle in the sky as roadrunners scurry along the pavement. It's stark scenery, but nonetheless transcendent.

None of his surroundings matter, though, when his favorite person to talk to is overtly ignoring him. He tries to convince himself that maybe she's just tired. No, that can't be right. He knows her. She's affectionate when she hits a wall and cuddles up to him sweetly, clinging to his arm like a sloth on its beloved branch.

The truth is that he messed up.

Before he can dwell on every misstep he took in the past ten minutes, an earsplitting boom cuts through the atmosphere, followed by a rapid whooshing sound. Harry firmly clutches the wheel as the vehicle suddenly loses equilibrium. Without outwardly panicking, he takes his foot off the gas pedal and lets the car naturally slow down before pulling it off to the side of the road and braking lightly.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, his heart thumping erratically. "Goddamnit. I think one of the tires just blew out."

Poor Sawyer has her eyes pinched shut and a death grip on his bicep. Harry snaps back to reality and kills the engine, listening for any odd sounds. Before he steps out, he gives the top of Sawyer's head a gentle, comforting noogie and murmurs, "It's okay. We're okay."

She shakily gets out with him and leans against the passenger side door, anxiously biting her polished fingernails, while Harry perplexedly settles a hand on his hip and assesses the external damage. The front right tire looks like one of the clocks in Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory—sad, melted, and a surreal depiction of an unfavorable outcome.

He looks up and down the highway, finding no signs of any buildings, vehicles, or humans. Something he does see, however, is a broken beer bottle a couple of yards behind where they were driving a mere minute ago. Most of the shards of green glass are scattered along the edge of the road, yet a few stray pieces are lying in just the right place for any vehicle that comes racing down the highway. It's the perfect puncture for a not-so-perfect boyfriend already on thin ice. Karma must have a vendetta against him today, but he won't let it clip his wings. When life gives him lemons, he knows how to make a delectable pitcher of lemonade.

So, Harry does what he's best at: distracting his girlfriend. He can quickly turn this misfortune into something fun and make Sawyer forget about how sour the day has turned.

Swiping his sweaty forehead with his wrist, he huffs and gets to work. He's changed a few tires in his life, so it should be done in no time. First, he takes his shirt off so he doesn't get heatstroke. The humidity outside is brutal, causing sweat to bead by his hairline and on his back. He makes a show of slowly unbuttoning it and slinging the fabric over his shoulder. It's obvious Sawyer's gaze is locked on him. He's willing to admit he possesses vanity over his physicality, and it doesn't help that the girl watching him constantly feeds his ego.

Next, Harry takes his sweet time and saunters to the trunk, where the rental agency told him the spare tire is located. Lifting the trunk and flexing his arms, he opens the well to reveal the tire. There's also a jack and lug wrench that'll come in handy.

After gathering everything, he kneels on the blistering road, loosens the tire's lug nuts with the wrench, and then places the jack under the vehicle's frame. He stretches his arms above his head before using the jack to slightly lift the car off the ground. After removing the lug nuts, he removes the ruined tire, momentarily glancing at Sawyer as he breathes heavily from his body's exertion in the unbearable heat. She's in front of the car now, looking at the sunset that paints elegant splashes of pink and orange across the horizon.

Harry grunts as he tosses the tire aside. Sawyer glances back, and he doesn't miss how her eyes flick down to his abdomen, now slick with a sheen of sweat. 

"Wanna learn how to do this?" he calls out, grunting again when he picks up the pristine spare.

He's given no response as he lines up the holes and pushes the tire into the wheelbase. His biceps flex with soreness, and when he peers up again, Sawyer still looks at him, her eyes communicating something obscure. They have a little stare-down until he can't take it anymore and begins replacing the lug nuts. His jaw is clenched as he works quickly to try to get to the bungalow as soon as possible so they can untangle this yarn of bizarre tension.

Once the tire is secure, the old one is thrown in the trunk, and the tools are all put away. Harry walks over to Sawyer. She's perched herself on the car's hood, picking at her cuticles. Standing in front of her, he places his hands on either side of her thighs, his shoulders taut as he watches her eyes dance over the sky behind him. He kisses the tender spot below her jawbone, tasting and smelling the residual coconut tanning lotion left there. Goosebumps rise across the expanse of her neck like a swelling tidal wave, and Harry can't help but bury his face in it and whimper pitifully. He's like a needy puppy when she ignores him, pawing for the tiniest bit of love and attention.

"It's so hot out," he complains before sighing dramatically. "Let's head back."

Sawyer doesn't push him away, which counts as progress. "I want to watch the sun go down," she says, lost in thought. "Who knows the next time we'll be able to see it on an abandoned desert highway."

He won't argue with that. He doesn't need to or necessarily want to. If Sawyer wants to soak in the sunset, he'll endure the feverish weather if it makes her happy. Besides, she's right; little precious moments, such as experiencing the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind a new, wispy portrait of captivating colors each day, are worth pausing life from time to time.

Sealing a kiss on her forehead, Harry hops on the hood and settles beside her. "I'll never learn how to say no to you."

☼ ☼ ☼

Back at the secluded bungalow, an unorthodox band of tension is still waiting to be snapped.

Sawyer has started cooking dinner with the miscellaneous ingredients she purchased from the downtown market yesterday morning. Canola oil is popping and sizzling in a frying pan, and julienned bell peppers of various colors are ready to be sautéed. Harry took a quick shower to wash the ocean and sweat from his sunburnt skin and has since changed into a white long-sleeved button-up tucked into teal trousers. He also has a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to help relieve spending hours in saltwater and squinting under the blinding sun.

Sawyer is in a tight, cropped blue camisole with low-waisted silk pajama pants. Her hair is down, golden beach waves reaching the middle of her back as she maneuvers around the kitchen area. Harry observes her from the dining room table, not quite knowing how to initiate a conversation without stretching the metaphorical elastic too far. Or worse, past the point of no return.

He watches Sawyer tilt the cutting board over the pan so the peppers fall into it. They immediately crackle when introduced to the heat. She then takes a wooden spoon and stirs the vibrant vegetables, turning on the overhead stove fan so the smoke doesn't set any detectors off. She's still ignoring him, entirely focused on one task, and pretending there's not an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed before the night concludes. Harry knows if he brings it up, she'll shut it down, say everything is fine, and insist she's not angry. She's a terrible liar, so he'll save that tactic for another argument.

As he stares at the back of her head, he realizes he doesn't like her version of the silent treatment. It's okay if she won't talk to him, but acting like he doesn't exist is ruthless. So, he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her slim waist. She tenses but continues mixing the peppers in silence. 

Okay, that's definitely not the reaction he wanted. Not even an ounce of acknowledgment when he begins kissing her neck, taking his time loving on the beautiful ridges carved there.

"Slow dance with me," he murmurs pleadingly, squeezing her.

"I'm busy right now."

Now, don't get him wrong; he likes her stubbornness. He even finds it incredibly endearing, to a degree. But when it's directed toward something he's clueless about, he finds himself having to coax an answer past her adamant walls of defense. Being candid doesn't always end well, so choosing the proper approach is crucial if he wants to crawl out of the hole he's dug himself into.

Harry reaches around her preoccupied figure to flick the stove's heat off. The blue flame vanishes, and the sizzling ceases, causing Sawyer to sigh heavily as she sets the wooden spoon off to the side. She still doesn't turn around, even when Harry moves her thick hair over her left shoulder and starts planting warm kisses further down her skin, slower and more intentionally. She smells like the ocean breeze at the height of summer, sweepingly refreshing and pure. He doesn't know how he went so long without touching her like this.

Light from a dying yet persistent sunset pours through the slanted ceiling window. The nearby radio quietly plays a mariachi song that doesn't fit the fraught mood. Upbeat and punchy, the music is supposed to evoke happiness and camaraderie. It falls short this time, but like before, lemons can always be turned into lemonade.

"Do you know how to salsa?" Harry pipes up while stepping away, giving her room to breathe.

"How to make salsa?" Sawyer replies distractedly. She's begun garnishing the semi-cooked peppers with fresh oregano.

"No, how to dance the salsa."

She drizzles more oil into the pan. Her hand hovers over the stove's knob to light the flame again, but she retracts and mutters, "Um, not really."

Harry rolls his sleeves to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the counter. "It's all in the hips, isn't it?"

She glances back at him for a split second before leisurely spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you need something?"

"Sí, muñeca."

The almost invisible twitch of her lips doesn't go unnoticed by his attentive nature. "What is it?" she asks impatiently. "I'm trying to make dinner. You know, I've realized you always decide to be a pest when I'm not paying enough attention to you."

Busted. Well, at least she's talking to him now.

Harry begins clapping his hands to the song's rhythm in the background and swinging his hips in a terrible presentation of what's supposed to be salsa dancing. Sawyer arches her eyebrow and blankly stares at his uncoordinated movements. He's making an absolute fool of himself, but honestly, he just wants to see her smile. He'll go to the greatest lengths.

Shuffling closer to her, he caresses her limp hands and tries to get her to loosen up. "Let's dance."

“I'm not in the mood to dance."

He frowns dramatically, widening his feet to be the same height as her. "What's going on right now, hmm? We were having so much fun earlier."

Sawyer slides away from the stove and leans against the adjacent kitchen wall. A psychedelic painting of a gecko in the desert hangs above her. "It's not that hard to figure out," she says, looking everywhere but at him. It stings just a tad.

One of Harry's hands rests flat on the wall beside her, his thumb faintly yet purposefully touching the shell of her ear. He leans in and murmurs, "Are you still upset with me?"

The stubborn girl he knows and loves dearly steadily nods her head. "I'm furious. My body is on fire."

He bites his bottom lip with his front teeth as his piercingly intimidating gaze hungrily travels downward and lands on her exposed stomach. The silver bellybutton ring shining against her golden skin sets him on fire in an entirely different way. She's a delectable feast for the eyes.

Harry doesn't believe that her blood is boiling to the extent of fury, but he'll entertain her flair for dramatics. He says, "I'm sorry for shoving a camcorder in your face when you got embarrassed."

Sawyer gives him a puzzled look. "Huh? Oh, I don't care about that. I'm over it."

"Okay, then tell me why you're so furious." He's being thrown for a loop, and it's making him dizzy.

It's clear she's internally contemplating her response based on how her posture becomes less stiff. After rubbing her arm awkwardly, she says, "Because you're not nice."

Harry blinks slowly. Once, then twice. "What?"

"You were being a jerk by teasing me while fixing the tire."

It takes a while to realize his plan totally backfired. His innocuous teasing wasn't supposed to make her even more mad at him, and now he's stuck in a maze of figuring out exactly what he did wrong. Girls are so complicated!

Unless…

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, his lips quirking in amusement and slow realization. Perhaps the little show he put on for her had the intended effect after all.

Sawyer scoffs. "Stop smiling!"

He grins like a lovesick fool. "I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are! Your eyes smile before your mouth does." She goes to tuck her stray baby hairs behind her ears, and when she does, Harry traps her fidgeting fingers with his hand still resting beside her head. 

"Yeah?" he goads, his pulse throbbing faster. "When did you notice that about me?"

"I've always noticed it. It's so easy to tell when you're about to smile. Your eyes glimmer, and then you scrunch your nose."

"You like watching me?"

"Cállate. We're not finished with this argument."

"Go on, then."

Sawyer waves her free hand around as incomplete sentences get caught in her throat. "I- you- we can't keep doing this!"

Harry's heart falters at the vagueness of her confession. "What are you saying? Be gentle with me."

She gathers her crumbling composure, then carefully says, "What I mean is... we can't keep fueling this fire if we're not going to do anything about it."

The fire she speaks of has been wildly swirling in his stomach for a long time. He's managed to tame the carnal flames by waiting for Sawyer to declare her desires first, since her comfort level is always his top priority. The opportunity has now risen, and he's lucky she has opened up so much so that he can jump in and kickstart the colloquy they've been hesitantly dancing around for months.

"Is this about sex?"

Pink spiderwebs of heat spread across her face. Harry's thumb presses down on the apple of her blushing cheek; her skin is delightfully warm. It's nice to know a little fire has also been burning in her stomach. It's just a matter of tending to both of them. Kindle the flames until they roar with lust.

"Sort of," Sawyer mumbles, her eyebrows plunging with an unknown emotion. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to tiptoe around it anymore." Her hand reaches out to rest on his neck, her pleading body language igniting the embers again. "Harry, it's killing me. I can't hide it."

He cups the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, baby?" His voice has stooped to a deep, gentle rumble that shelters her with compassion.

"I didn't want to rush into things." She drapes her arms over his shoulders and plays with the outgrown curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take my time with you and soak you in day by day. Take slow sips of your sunshine."

Knees weak, Harry whispers, "Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those eyes, Sawyer. Don't look all innocent when your words are the opposite."

She's completely clueless about how her imploring brown eyes can hold such seductiveness. Amber flecks swim in her irises, which are the color of dark chocolate. Rich. Exquisite. Tempting. Harry wants to break her off between his teeth like peppermint bark and swallow her silky, revivifying sweetness.

The tip of Sawyer's nose trails along his jaw, her lips brushing a path against his hot skin and setting fire to his loins. "I'm just tired of being patient. Does that make sense?"

Harry gives her a slight, truthful nod, then slumps his forehead against hers. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. There's no need to be shy around me. I'm your boyfriend."

"What if you don't want the same thing? That'd be so embarrassing."

"Sawyer Alejandra, you are so goddamn stubborn. Do you want me to just give it to you straight? Because I will." He takes a deep breath before blurting, "I want to have sex with—"

She clamps her hands over his entirely-too-bold mouth. "Shush!" Pinching her eyes shut, she whines and grumbles, "Forget I said anything. I have to finish cooking dinner."

If there's one thing he knows about Sawyer's personality, it's that the second she feels an ounce of mortification, she immediately backtracks. He'd usually let it slide, but this topic of conversation is a tricky one to simply forget about and move on from, like nothing happened.

Harry unwinds her hands from around his neck and keeps them cradled in his grasp. Then, while staring into her devastatingly gorgeous eyes, he says, "This tension between us isn't going to just magically disappear. Either we do something about it or ignore it. Your choice."

Sawyer swallows thickly. "I want to, so badly. But I'm scared."

"Why?" he asks, trying to open her blooming petals. They're singed with uncertainty.

"It's an incredibly vulnerable act, dufus." She cutely wrinkles her nose.

"And we're incredibly vulnerable lovers, so what's the sitch?"

She brings their conjoined hands up to her lips and kisses his knuckles. Against his skin, she mumbles, "How do we even go about this? I've made it awkward."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "You didn't. Do you trust me to take the reins?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me to the bedroom."

Sawyer points to the stove. "But what about dinner?"

Harry pinches her cheek and starts dragging her down the hallway. "I know just the cure for an appetite."

☼ ☼ ☼

The queen-sized bed has sheer canopy curtains draped around it. They were too lazy to make it this morning, so the sheets are still crumpled, and pillows are strewn about. Sunlight streams through the open bay window, making the room glow a tender hue of honey. 

It's alluring and equally terrifying.

Harry went into the master bathroom to mentally prepare himself, even though he told Sawyer he was just freshening up. His reflection in the mirror peered back at him pensively. He fixed his hair about ten times, swiped another layer of deodorant across his armpits, and then gave himself a hushed pep talk before swinging the door open and putting on a cool, calm, and collected face.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach currently contradict everything he's trying to convey, especially when he finds his sweet Sawyer sitting against the headboard, the puffy duvet covering her bare breasts. The sun casts light on her stunning face and accentuates her apprehensive features. She's innocently staring at him as if she didn't knowingly climb into bed without any clothes on and sit there patiently waiting for him like the good girl she is.

And... he's hard already. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

Harry clears his throat and strips down to his boxers, then slides into the space next to her, waiting with bated breath. Neither of them looks at each other, too hesitant to make the first move. They've both had sex with different people before, so it's not like they're blind leading the blind, but now that they're actually in the bedroom, all confidence has apparently flown out the window.

"We could start with, like, kissing or something." So much for saying he'd take the reins. He can't even speak properly right now.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Sawyer nod hastily. "Sure," she says, quieter than ever.

"Okay. Are you comfortable doing it naked since you're already... naked?" She laughs, and Harry smacks his forehead. "Sorry. God, I'm so nervous. You're making me feel like a teenager all over again."

Silence lingers long enough for him to finally gain the courage to glance at Sawyer. She locks eyes with him, then slowly, almost teasingly, lets the duvet drop and pool around her waist. Harry's mouth goes dry as he takes in skin he's never fully seen before. She's soft, shapely, and undeniably tempting.

Sawyer crawls on her hands and knees until she's straddling his lap. She still has her underwear on, lace boy shorts that hug her hips deliciously well. With blood rushing to his brain (and other places), his reaction is a bit delayed until his hands eventually find their place on her waist. He's breathing deeply, nostrils flaring as he ravenously wonders how she will look naked underneath him, pleasure etched on her face.

"You're divine," Harry whispers while toying with the flimsy hem of her underwear.

"So are you," she replies, rubbing a coquettish hand down his chest. "Hey, let's maybe skip the kissing part? I'm kind of impatient."

"Damn, all right. We're diving straight in."

She presses her body against his torso and hooks her arms around his neck. "I want to feel you. I've dreamed about it."

A desperate groan sounds in his throat. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Then I'd wake up, and you'd be kissing me like you knew exactly what I needed. And your hands would get so close to where they were in my dream, but never close enough."

"Yeah? Where were my hands in your dream?"

Her eyes flutter shut as if she's recalling the fantasy. "Mm... everywhere. Warm and heavy between my thighs. Sliding up my stomach." A lazy, sensual smile creeps onto her lips as she adds, "Around my neck."

Harry is tired of waiting a second longer. He flips her over so he's on top, his silver necklace with the "S" pendant swinging over her collarbones like a pendulum. "Let me make you feel good. I'll give you the real deal."

Sawyer twists the chain around her pointer finger and tugs him closer. "Please. I want it more than anything."

"Dig your heels into my back," he instructs before shuffling down her body until his head is lined up with her thighs.

She complies, and the pressure on his shoulder blades makes him choke on a moan. Her bent legs effortlessly fall open, granting him access to the single layer of fabric that comes between him and paradise. He stares at her from his position, his hands hooking around her knees. She stares back at him, a vehement fire in her eyes.

"It's all yours."

Her readiness is enough for him to lose his last shred of self-control. He leaves a suckling love bite on her inner thigh, then murmurs, "Lift your hips for me."

She raises the lower half of her body, and Harry slides her underwear off. She assists him when it reaches her ankles by kicking it across the bedroom. He focuses back on the inviting sight before him. A shiver trails down his spine when he takes two of his fingers and circles them around her entrance. She's dripping wet.

Sawyer's jaw goes slack as she scratches her nails across the expanse of Harry's sturdy back. He hisses past his clenched teeth, loving the luxurious burn. Tingling and tantalizing sensations course through his system as he tests the waters, slowly sinking his middle finger past her drenched opening. He vigilantly gazes into Sawyer's eyes the entire time, gauging her expressions for the faintest flicker of pain or unease.

"Talk to me," he says.

"It stings a little, but keep going."

"You're doing good. So, so good. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

She nods with a raspy whine, so he adds another finger, then uses his thumb to press against her clit and rub halo shapes onto it. Her thighs tremble and tighten around his head, with tiny gasps escaping past her lips. He leaves bruising, biting kisses on her skin as he skillfully works his fingers, which are now soaked with her arousal. Filthy thoughts invade his fuzzy brain—thoughts of dreams he's had himself. Vivid images of doing what he's doing right now, except they'd always be cruelly cut short by the breaking of dawn.

Harry grinds his hips into the mattress, alleviating the ache, while his kisses move closer to where his fingers are. Sawyer's panted breaths motivate him to ask, "Do you want my mouth?"

"Yes, please. Eres tan bueno conmigo."

The foreign praise rolling off her tongue enchants him enough to dive into her sweet, sticky heat. He laps up her wetness like melted candy; the taste is dangerously addictive. He hums insatiably, his palms spreading on her lower stomach as he swirls his tongue inside of her. His cheeks are ablaze with sex drive as his eyes train themselves on Sawyer's face. Soft, sensual sounds trickle out of her mouth, fueling the intensity with which he pleasures her.

Pulling away for air, Harry whispers, "I can't get enough of you," before replacing his mouth with his fingers. They slide past her clenching walls so enticingly, so perfectly.

"Harry," Sawyer moans, fisting his hair and tugging at the strands. "I'm almost there. It's so strong."

He removes all body contact while sucking his fingers clean, then catapults off the bed to quickly grab a condom before she loses her approaching climax. He sifts through his duffel bag, finding the box he secretly packed in case something happened on this trip. 

Maybe he manifested it. Or perhaps his girlfriend is simply braver than him.

Making his way over to the bed again (tripping on Sawyer's unplugged curling iron in the process), he bounces back on the mattress and hands her the foil package. Her skin is glowing with an angelic radiance, but sinfulness cracks through when she pushes on his chest to get him to lay back. She straddles him and rips open the package with her teeth. The arch of her back, the excitement in her movements, and the slickness of her arousal are all he sees. She has no idea how heavenly she looks.

Sawyer's fingertips walk down his abdomen and brush over his length, which is straining against his boxers. "Can I?" she asks politely, her eyes wondrous.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Harry cradles her head and brings it down for a fond kiss, her hair tickling his face. "Feeling okay? Not in pain or anything, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No. I feel like I'm floating."

"Same here." He breaks into an aching smile, coming to the realization of how special this moment is. "I love you so much. I'm going to remember this forever."

"Me too." Sawyer slides his boxers off, their harmonious breathing mixing together. Harry's cock breaks loose and rests against his happy trail, reddened and throbbing. "Woah."

He laughs at her reaction. "Don't act so surprised. It's all your fault, baby."

She blushes and carefully rolls the condom on while Harry stifles his moans by biting his knuckles. He won't last very long, but he'll make it worthwhile for her. He'll take his time, just how she likes it. Soak her presence in. Slow sips.

He sits on his knees, then motions for Sawyer to recline and spread her legs. Once she's in position, he settles an arm on either side of her body and hovers over her. He tucks her hair behind her ears and leaves a hungry kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhales. "You?"

"Totally."

"Change my life, sunray."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lines it up with her entrance. He reminds himself to go slow as his tip sinks into her, and he keeps it there as he watches Sawyer's face. Her shiny lips are parted, and her eyebrows are pushed together. Her legs squeeze him while her hands hold onto his biceps. The muscles of her cheekbones twitch. God, she's an angel.

"I've got you," Harry says, a thrilling knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, you were made for me."

He sinks further into her wet warmth, one hand grasping her leg to bend it more. She's tight, yet he's able to fit himself all the way in. Gasps leave both of their mouths at the feeling of him bottoming out, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion, the golden haze in the room adding to the delicacy of the moment.

"Mierda. Oh my God, Harry. Oh my..." Her fragile voice, leaking with whispery weeps, shatters his poise as he begins thrusting in and out. Sawyer's limbs are weak, her feet slipping down to the dip of his spine. It's all hot breath and swallowing each other's noises with sloppy kisses. Being inside her is a level of intimacy that electrifies every part of his soul. It's unfamiliar territory that binds him closer to the girl he wants forever. The orange flames they stepped around for years are now a cool, sapphire-blue.

Their hips reconnect with each thrust, a beautiful sound fused with their satisfied moans. Harry's pendant sways forward, his neck straining. Sawyer's nails pierce crescent moons onto his back, followed by more scratches that make him shudder.

"Goddamn," he chokes out, his cheek pressed against hers. "You feel stellar. I'm close. Give me... Christ, give me something to dream about."

"I'm there," she says. "I love you. I can't hold it any longer."

"Let it go, Sawyer. C'mon."

Arching her back off the mattress, she orgasms with a cry of release, and the vision of her has Harry immediately spilling out into the condom. It's powerful, otherworldly, and absolutely life-changing. He pulls out and lays on top of her, embracing her in a hold of overwhelming adoration as he whimpers into the pillow beside her head. They both melt into each other, sweaty and happy, coming down from their individual climaxes.

Every minute that passes, the room grows darker due to the moon painting the sky black with stars. Only the wind and their breathing fill the space, with cool and heated gusts reciprocating. Harry can feel Sawyer's lips against his temple, curving up with a smile every so often. He's got a permanent smile as his fatigued gaze stares at the ring on her finger. He feels like sunshine is bursting from his pores and serotonin is being absorbed.

Sawyer is the first to move. She uses her remaining strength to get up and tightly wrap the sheets around her naked body before stepping out onto the balcony. With the door open, he can see the full moon illuminate the expanse of the flat desert, with cacti and palm trees looming as far as the eye can see. The lack of humidity at night causes a balmy breeze to encircle her body, whipping her tousled hair.

"Can I tell you a secret now that we've had sex?" Harry asks from his place on the bed. His voice is sore and hoarse.

Sawyer turns around and bites her lip with a giddy grin. "Shoot."

He disposes of his condom, then puts his boxers back on and joins her, not caring about the chilliness. He still feels warm inside and out. "Do you remember our phone call last September when I was in South Carolina with a broken wrist?"

A flash of remembrance crosses her moonlit face. "Yeah. I was so worried about you."

He cradles her cheeks and pertly kisses her nose. "You took such good care of me when I got back."

It's the absolute truth. All the tagalongs to physical therapy, icing his wrist while cuddled on the couch, being a shoulder to cry on when he got frustrated—he couldn't have done it without her.

"I hated seeing you in pain," she says, looping her arms around his torso. "It hurt my heart."

"Never mind that." He inhales deeply and pushes forth his confession. "You... when you said you missed me during that call, a feeling came over me. Something in your voice made me weak. And something happened to me that had never happened before. I don't even know why I'm telling you—"

"Spit it out, Harry."

His head tilts back as far as it can go. "Fuck's sake. I got hard, Sawyer. Your voice made me hard."

Her mouth hangs wide open. A well-timed gust of wind passes like an awkward moment in a cartoon. "Um, wow. I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know now that we've done the deed."

Sawyer giggles, hiding her face in the space between his pecs. "First off, please don't call it that." She looks at him and continues, "Secondly, you thought I should know that you got hard in South Carolina?"

He starts laughing, too. It's contagious around her. "I should also probably tell you that I jerked it out in a crummy Holiday Inn shower. It was quite pathetic and sad."

She sputters out a boisterous cackle that echoes across the barren desert. Harry's cheeks flush instantly. "I appreciate your honesty."

"On a more serious note," Harry starts, gripping the balcony railing with one hand, the other on her hip, "I appreciate how you forced a confession out of me the next day. I don't know if I've ever told you that."

Her expression turns sorrowful. "I didn't mean to pressure you. It had been building up inside me for so long, and you looked so beautiful that night. My heart spoke for me, and—"

Harry cups her jaw and kisses her unexpectedly, making her squeak. It reminds him of that night in the rain when his blue raspberry lips collided with hers for the first time. He pulls away slowly, fitting his nose over her own and swaying her slightly. "You did everything right. I was a coward who was frightened of rejection. The thought of ruining what we already had was nauseating."

"You thought I would've rejected you?"

"I never really know what you're thinking. That pretty brain of yours holds so many secrets."

Sawyer steals a ripe kiss. "Can I tell you one right now?"

"Always."

She kisses him again before saying, "I see forever with you. I want to wake up in your arms every day. I want to laugh with you until our sides ache. I want to kiss you until I get dizzy."

"Sawyer," Harry whispers, his eyes softening.

"I mean it. No one will ever make me feel this type of love again."

"I feel the same. You're all I need."

"Te quiero. Mi alma es tuya."

He nips her neck, slow and tender. "If you keep speaking Spanish to me, we're not getting any sleep tonight."

"Sí? Quieres más rasguños en la espalda?"

"Gonna tell me what that means?"

She gracefully traces the tattoo on his abdomen and says, "I can show you instead."

Harry's stomach suddenly grumbles with hunger, ruining the intimate moment. He peers at the twinkling sky above and laughs at the inconvenient interruption. "I would love that, but I'm absolutely starving right now. We skipped dinner."

"There are cold peppers on the stove."

"Delicious," he says sarcastically, shifting his gaze to her again. A few seconds pass before something he wants to mention pops into his thoughts. "Hey, did you know this month marks five years since we first met?"

Sawyer gapes at him, genuinely surprised. "No way. Five years?"

"Crazy, right? Five years since you almost gave me a concussion."

"I still feel terrible about that," she admits with a pout.

Harry remembers everything about that day, even when his brain got jolted by a killer volleyball serve by the prettiest girl on Cocoa Beach. Her brown eyes were up close, holding gentle concern for a stranger. That sassy hand on her hip thing she still does today. Clementine fabric against caramel skin. Orange juice in a bottle. Summerboy.

"But if that never happened," he says quietly, "then we might've never spoken to each other."

Her dreamy hum tells him she's musing about it too. "That's true. Isn't it mind-blowing how the tiniest of decisions can affect the entire course of your life? I like to think that every past choice of mine led me to you."

He admires the way her voice gets wispy when her mind wanders. "Word. Does post-sex make you all philosophical and shit?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool." Harry backs away while holding her hands until their fingers eventually slip from each other's grasp. "Well, while you brood about Plato's teachings, I'm going to snack on your world-famous half-cooked peppers."

"Have fun with that."

"I will. Love you." Halfway through the doorway, he suddenly stops and rushes forward, giving her a suffocating hug, his lungs breathing everything about her. "All jokes aside," he murmurs, "I also believe everything I did brought me to you. And it just makes sense to be in love with you. Okay, bye."

He's off and running toward the kitchen before she can say anything else, not even the shadows of night on the floor being able to darken the natural luminescence he leaves behind.

——

[marrowhyena]

Anonymous Coward asked: Do you speak any other languages than english, and if not, considered learning any

I took three years of German in high school, then had a scheduling conflict with the only German IV class, so I became his teaching assistant in a lower German class instead because I liked my teacher a lot. I think my dumb logic as a 13 year old entering high school was that I had to choose a language and I couldn't roll my R's, or whatever. 

 It was a reoccurring novelty on my channel that I would randomly speak or understand some German. Some claimed that it was accent-less, sometimes, or whatever. A bit of a gimmick was that we all chose a German name from a list on day one and would address each other as those names throughout all four years of the class. Twitter, Youtube, and the Xbox 360 all came into existence around 2006, when I was 16 and in the middle of these classes, so a lot of my usernames became Sebastian because that was my not-my-name moniker that I already had ready. 

Yes, I was already basically a furry, but I didn't have a named fursona until 2022 and doubt I would have openly embraced it as my name all the way back then. 

 [As an aside, folks fixate on me mentioning that I was a furry when I was a minor, and then juxtapose that with me making the point that minors probably shouldn't be online. This isn't really a contradiction. First, yeah, I was an unsupervised minor online and that probably wasn't great. But second, I grew up on a very, very different internet than the one that exists today. It's not just about how Twitter makes no effort to separate minors from adult content etc, but also the upsetting way that the internet forms this secondary layer over middle and high school that further enables bullying and paranoia. We know the internet is fucking kids up nowadays. When I talk about having "usernames" in 2006, we're talking about Halo 2 and cat videos. Even when I mention websites that still exist today, they were purely chronological feeds with manually-curated front pages. There was no algorithm as we understand it today. FurAffinity is like the only website that still functions like things did in 2006, and people hate using it for that exact reason lmao]

Anyway that was a surprising amount of my identity in the early years of doing let's plays [2011-2015], insofar as having any distinguishable features whatsoever was your "identity" among a sea of nearly identical gaming channels. I was the guy who played puzzle games, took his time, rambled a lot, spoke some German, and would randomly spout off rock facts because I was also freshly graduating college with a bachelor of science degree in geology. I was surprised by how excited people would get about rock rants. I got excited when I saw basalt columns in Dragon Age Inquisition, but quickly started to notice that they were absolutely everywhere in games, so I started maintaining a gallery that listed them all: https://imgur.com/gallery/columnar-jointing-watch-Alpmz 

I didn't have a particular attraction to German or geology, though. I took German because I was asked to pick a mandatory language class as a young teen, and I took geology because I dropped out of computer science and needed to still get a degree because I was raise to go to college. So in the years since my memory of both has faded significantly. My last German class was in 2007, and my last bit of geology in 2013.

Realistically, the most useful language to learn would probably be Japanese. That might seem unintuitive since everyone in California says Spanish for obvious reasons, but understanding Japanese would actually come in handy for my job pretty regularly. It sure would have helped when I was litigating specific elements of Beastars, that's for sure. Lately I just send screenshots of stuff to Toaster with the caption "heeeeeeelllp" 

 [Smile or comment on the answer here](https://retrospring.net/@Boring_Keith/a/112854073679531772)

[jakeluppin]

a couple asks ago, you said "whenever I start working on my novel, the first song I listen to is Pin" and now i'm super curious about your novel!! care to share any details??

okay so i have two (well, i have like twenty i've done bits on since i started writing but two that are still somewhat being worked on now) but one of them is barely anything beyond a rough idea so i'll focus on the one that's more legit

i wrote about 90% of a first draft (about 60K) and then realized there were some fundamental issues with it so i started over

i have about 16K done of my new draft, some of which is brand new and some of which is revised from the first

it's a ya romance because that's where my heart has always been

for main characters we have (which as i'm writing these i realize i am So Bad at describing characters in this way whoops):

jake - jewish trans guys who is only out to his older sister (rachel). at this point, their parents are gone/dead (i've been back and forth on exactly what went down) so rachel's raising him. he's been in love with his best friend (caleb) since basically forever. he does stage crew for his school's theater department.

caleb - jake's best friend. he's gay. he has a crush on their mutual friend peter. he's one of those people who are just so loving that it's so easily to just get lost in. but also a total dick at the same time?

peter - he's really into theater, always in every production, which is how jake and peter met. just before the story starts peter and caleb were running lines for something and peter kisses caleb. described by other characters as being the nicest person you've ever met.

and then there's asher - his family just moved to town as his mom is the new cantor at jake's synagogue. he's also into theater and auditions for the fall musical, alongside peter. jake and caleb are there watching and jake hears him sing and is like. oh. shit. i'm in love. it's not revealed until midway through the book but asher is also a trans guy.

it's basically just a coming of age love story where jake finds himself and love and it's just really gay and jewish and probably very self indulgent but who cares?

oh also i have switched which musical they do multiple times for various reasons and right now it's Newsies but it may change again. but obviously asher, my beloved, is cast as davey jacobs so it is pretty perfect in that regard

gonna just throw some random lines/short scenes from draft two under the cut because i can. feel free to not read them haha

“You can’t seriously be doing homework now,” Caleb scoffs a moment later. 

I look up from my assignment and just shrug. “I’m simply not as invested in this as you are,” I offer.

“But you should be. For me. This is an important moment in my love life.”

I chuckle. “I love you, Caleb, but I think overall if I was as invested in your love life as you are, that would be a little weird.”

“Nope. I’m pretty sure it’s in the best friend manual that you’re supposed to care about it as much as I do. Sometimes maybe even more.”

“Can I have a copy of this best friend manual? I want to check the exact wording on that.”

“Sorry, only one copy was made and I keep it under lock and key.” Caleb smiles bright, and I roll my eyes in response.

--

“But seriously, you were amazing at your audition. I’m not just saying that or anything.”

“Thanks. I grew up singing. I think my mom might have disowned me if I didn’t end up with a good voice.”

“Really?” 

Asher laughs again. “Wow, you are gullible or I am not as funny as I think I am. But no, my mom would not have disowned me if I didn’t have a good voice.”

It’s this moment that Rabbi Finkle steps out of her office and says, “Asher, don’t lie. No self respecting cantor could stand to have unmusical children, just like I couldn’t stand to have children who do anything but read torah all day.” She smiles at us both, light in her eyes.

“Isn’t your oldest an atheist?” I ask.

“Yes, but he still reads torah ever day.” She laughs.

--

“So how was it?” I ask, sliding in Caleb’s car. He smiles wide as he turns to face me.

“Peter was amazing. Obviously. There’s something just, sexy about watching a guy dance.” He pauses, sighing, and then says, “I’m really gay.”

I laugh. “Really? I had no idea!”

“Yeah, not like I told you for the first time when we were like, nine or something.”

“Oh yeah, that definitely never happened.” 

Caleb chuckles and drives off. 

I can vividly remember when Caleb came out, the emotions so strong they stay pressed in mind. I can remember his fear, his hesitation, as he told me in a small voice that he liked boys. I can remember the confusion, not understanding what he meant, not sure what that meant for me. I can remember the happiness and his smile when I said there was nothing wrong with him “like liking” boys. I remember the ache I felt, when after telling him I like boys too, he told me “girls are supposed to like boys.” That ache I didn’t understand, that ache I couldn’t place for years, that ache that would come when Caleb would refer to me as a girl. 

“Were you scared telling me?” I ask a few minutes later, even though I know the fundamental answer.

“Of course,” he says. “I was nine. I was gay. And you were my best friend. Why wouldn’t I be afraid?” 

I nod in agreement. It’s something that, of course, I can understand. Just the thought of it causes anxiety to crawl up skin, pulling tight at my throat. It stops me from saying the things I want to say, things I know I need to say. The things I can’t imagine ever actually telling him.

Like: I’m in love with you.

Like: I’m trans.

Like: Yes. That means I’m guy. Which, if you remember the I love you part, would make me gay too. Or bi. Not totally sure about that yet.

Like: Main point being, I want to be with you and date you and I know you probably don’t or won’t ever see me as anything but your girl best friend but maybe you could. 

Yeah. Probably a good thing I’m not saying any of that.

--

“...Honestly, the challah was so good and reminded me of mom’s that I had a breakdown. Standard stuff, ya know. Who doesn’t have breakdowns over delicious Jewish foods?”

“Are you even Jewish if you don’t have breakdowns over delicious Jewish food?” Asher counters.

[throughtartaruswithyou]

PJO show review (because you care)

hmm I think the time has arrived for me to put my thoughts into words on this bad boy. Ive had some thoughts swirling around since the show finished but i felt like i needed to sit on them before putting them out into the big wide world.

I think the show was mid.

before we get up in arms- mid does not mean bad!! theres countless shows which are worse, and some that are better. honestly, mid means more interesting. lets do a good old fashion pros and cons list:

PROS

LOVED the casting. I think the casting was spot on- uncle rick did not disappoint in that category. age, appearance, demeanour, everything was working for me. I honestly agree with every single casting choice. (even lin-manual miranda ik ik)

Contrary to popular belief, I think the pacing was good. I'm not mad they cut scenes from the book. I think it'll encourage more people to read it. game of thrones did a similar thing (cut a bunch of scenes) and I think it helps preserve the independence of the two PJO mediums. Ya some scenes would've been cool but I'm not totally pissed about any cuts.

Set was good. set design felt authentic without trying too hard. No one really mentions the set when they review the show but like the set was really good?? CONS The biggest con for me is that it felt like they undercut Annabeth ALOT. shes supposed to be the wise girl, but for some reason sally was the one telling percy about the mythology? and hes telling it to annabeth? huh? and grover also seems way more knowledgeable than her. I was really disappointed by this theme- especially because it seemed to come up often. the only scene where she really showed her smarts was in the hephestus amusement park gate-trap thingy. it made her character seem under-powered compared to percy. Also she didnt use her dagger enough imo.

the show vs tell issue. this has been brought up alot so I wont go into it too much but ugh. I understand the show is aimed at kids but kids deserve good media too. kids aren't dumb. they can afford to let the episodes go a little longer to allow some of those plot points to build! give the watchers a sense of mystery then the satisfying feel of discovery! I noticed this especially in the lotus casino episode. I wish they didnt tell us about the lotus flowers right off the bat. the scene could have been so much better with that little change.

The delay on season 2! this isn't even just me being an impatient fan I have a genuine worry they actors are gonna age up too much. they all already look older and I just hope they wont have to age up the characters. esp for season 3- which they should get renewed ASAP since it should take place in the winter after season 2. not so much the teams fault but I hope they wont get too rushed by the timeline. esp since i know it's important to rick to have age-accurate casting.

overall I thought the show was mid to well-done and if season 1 is the worst season we might have a great lil' show on our hands. also disney pls renew season 3!!!! i pinky promise i'll watch it.

[lauranthalasah]

Things I've noticed on my rewatch of Ted Lasso 4/?

Ted's childhood sounds kind of weird to me, lonely? Neglected maybe? I don't know, but something seems wrong there. In episode 3 of season 1 he tells this story "... When I was a kid, my folks took me to the Allen-Bradley Clock Tower up there in Milwaukee. They ended up leaving me there all by myself. Yeah, three hours and 42 minutes.​..". He says "a kid!" and he was left alone for almost 4 hours? In a place that wasn't even his city?! Weird as fuck! ​I​n episode 1 of season 3 he tells this one "... I remember being left at school when I was Henry's age. I ended up helping our custodian, Mr. Maher, clean half the school until my dad remembered to come pick me up.​.." ​​. The second one is apparently just the dad that forgot about him, but the first one he says "my folks"​. So it was normal for his family to forget about him? But what about his mother? As little as Ted talks about his father, he talks even less about his mother. There's only one personal detail I can remember him saying about his mom " It's funny, 'cause whenever my mom​ ​has something tough to talk about with me,​ s​he'll, um... you know,​ ​she'll start it off saying something​ ​about, I don't know,​ ​something weird, something overtly nice. ​(s01e09)​​. ​​In episode 6 of season 2 he says " Boy, I love meeting people's moms. It's like reading an instruction manual as to why they're nuts.​"​​ which is an indicator all on its own, but it might be more revealing that after this line he asks Beard about his mom, but Beard doesn't ask back, and they both have this tendency of not talking about sore points in each other's life. Here comes the speculation part of this post: given what Ted says in s02e06 his mom might have that toxic positivity he used too. If that is the case I wonder if it's born off the same fear as Ted's issues grow from. In season 2, when his traumas catches up with him, he is terrified of ending up as his father, which I'm gonna be honest... it sounds like a fucking horrible way of living. Then you have the wife and mother, maybe terrified of losing his son just like she lost her husband, and maybe she tried this hyper happy and optimistic persona in a effort to pull her kid out of his dark cloud, because we know that Ted was angry right after his father's death, enough that he didn't went to his funeral, that bit about going in his pajamas to his graduation and ending up in jail sounds like he was acting out, like he was living his darkest moments, but at some point he covered it all, at some point he started doing the same as she did, and I wonder if that opened a chasm between them, like the one between Ted and Michelle. So I think Ted and his mom might, on the outside, seem perfectly happy, but deep down everything is rotten because they never got to talk about real issues, and therefore he kinda lost both of his parents, like one checked out physically and the other emotionally/mentally? Eh... I don't know, we'll see! I just noticed those moments and ticked me off.

[obaewankenope]

Ableist Language and Why It Matters

I've talked about ableism, disability, and ableist language before in the past and thanks to @nencheese for reminding me to write a list for modding purposes, I'm now writing this. 

Lydia Brown has created a Glossary of Ableist Language and even provided alternative terms that can be employed instead of ableist ones. It is not a full compendium of ableist language nor does it provide the history of the terms listed but for an initial starting point for learning to recognise how language can be used and why it matters what words we use, I recommend it.

Here is the link.

I firmly believe that how we use language is one of the most important things to consider, especially online. This is because all words have a history, sometimes short and simple, other times long and complex. Some words we use everyday are innocent, with no murkiness to their origins, whilst others are more shadowed. A hundred years ago using racial slurs was a normal affair (and still is in some places) but nowadays their use is vastly different. The same holds true for queer slurs, misogynistic slurs and, yes, ableist language.

Some words, I imagine, make sense to people when they come across them like "retard" or "spazz", whilst others may be more confusing like "dumb" and "loony". Afterall, how can "loony" be ableist when there is a whole Warners Bros. show literally called The Loony Tunes? But the origins of these words are rooted in ableism and just because they've been used so much that it seems normal to say/use them doesn't mean they are not still ableist.

You might think that some of these words are rather ridiculous to include here but consider the history of "idiot", "moron", and "imbecile" and their use in psychology to describe individuals with IQs lower than 70. Nowadays we use "specific learning difficulty" for this but in the 20th century a "moron" scored between 51 and 70, an "imbecile" between 26 and 51, and an "idiot" 25 or lower. Depending on where you scored, you either were able to do basic things but never able to be very 'useful' except for manual labour, considered to never be able to pass the mental age of six, and/or not even able to provide any use of yourself for even manual labour. Thus the terms were used to determine the worth and usefulness of individuals, so even with their being replaced in the 1970s with degrees by "retardation" (again determining worth, usefulness, and economic value) the history remains that using "idiot", "moron", and "imbecile" to describe yourself or others is playing into the narrative of determining how 'useful' someone is.

We grow up in our societies, our cultures, and with adults informing us of how to act and react. Those adults experienced the same as children and so on, a repeating cycle of generational experiences and knowledge always informed by what came before. Language evolves the same, just like traditions and social mores. So it is no surprise that words used to separate, segregate, exclude and include come into being. Words based in determining worth and value to a community, a culture, a society, are words that become ableist. Because oftentimes a person is valued not for just being a person but rather for what use they are. And thus we have the value of able-bodied and able-minded established and the lack of value of disability and impairment.

Whilst I believe in the reclaiming of words used to dehumanise, other, and oppress, I am cognizant of the fact that ableist language is for more insidious than, for example, queerphobic language because ableist language has a long history of being used to prop up and further other forms of discrimination and exclusion.

Ableist terms are used in regular conversation because it is normalised. Just as racist terms were once normalised. Normativism does not mean something is okay or harmless. 

Many ableist terms tend to centre on intellectual ability or capacity. This is because the value of a person often was equated to how intelligent they were (which was tied into genetic heritage and the concept that poor, ill-bred individuals naturally lacked the intellectual capacity of the 'well-bred' upper classes) and as such utilised to segregate, sterilise and kill those who were not compatible with the norms of society. 

The Nazi's justified the Aktion T4 programme by arguing that disabled individuals were an unworthy waste of resources that were better spent on the productive members of society.

According to the historian Plutarch, it was customary in Sparta to leave disabled babies, more specifically babies with clear physical 'deformities', in exposed locations to die from the elements. Whilst this may have been an exaggeration by Plutarch, other examples exist of similar acts in antiquity.

In Ancient Rome, the Twelve Tables were the foundations of Roman Law. The fourth table centres on the Rights of Familial Heads which included permitting deformed children to be killed and that children born with physical or mental disabilities were to be killed by their father.

Eugenics and forced sterilisation of 'undesirable' individuals has a long history also. From Plato to the modern day, selective breeding, sterilisation and even pressuring prospective mothers to abort if disabilities are found during ultrasounds all play into the conception of an ideal human. 

When we use words that have negative connotations for ourselves and others, we put them and ourselves down. When we call ourselves stupid, we play into a narrative where the worth of a person lies in how intelligent they are (how useful to society and the capitalist economy because lacking any ability or skills meant you were of no use to the capitalist system) we are using terms that mark us as lesser. 

Regardless of whether it is true, that is what using these terms does. Because, unlike queer terms and racial terms, ableist terms have been the base of near enough all forms of discrimination and exclusion. Queer individuals are "mentally ill" and therefore dangers. Non-white individuals are "intellectually inferior" because of their "smaller brains" and therefore are happy to be slaves. Women who wanted the right to vote, to work, to have freedom, were diagnosed with "hysteria". Of course, this doesn't mean that the history of racism and queerphobia and sexism and misogyny are somehow lesser than ableist history, because they're not. That ableism and disability are part of these forms of discrimination merely reinforces the fact that it matters what words you use and when. 

This is why ableism and ableist terms are such an issue and why it matters when and how they are used. The history of oppression lies in these words that are so normal for people to use they don't realise they are advocating a system that separates and segegrates people based on their physical and mental ability to be useful to a capitalist system. 

[missbunmuffin]

More punch out head canons

Tw: talk about weight issues

Less serious tw: ocs and cringe

What me putting my shitty ocs in these posts is like. I made posts about both of them probably gonna say this kind of stuff every time I post these kind of things but I don’t want people to be too confused.

Glass Joe

- Grew up in a catholic home but now as an adult doesn’t practice the religion really. He will eat meat on a Friday during lent. He doesn’t know what the fuck he is now he just considered himself spiritual or just a really bad catholic(not self projecting lmao)

- His family wasn’t really religious they only went to church sometimes but his mom wanted to do the no eating meat on Fridays during lent thing for some reason

- His sister just drops her kids off at his house randomly most of the time on Wednesdays because apparently French children only have like half a day of school those days(could be wrong) he loves his nieces but he hates when his sister just drops them off without warning because he has a life too.

- He loves silk textures. I feel like his boxing shorts are just really silky too

- Deadass walking around the locker room in a robe with a towel over his head after he’s done in the shower I drew an example back in like December

Yes that’s the same robe he’s wearing in the pity party drawings I made

- Protective over his hair but he doesn’t mind if people touch it as long as they ask and are gentle

- His hair is also pretty soft and he takes good care of it to prevent further damage from when he bleached it himself and a chunk fell out.

- Into Rococo art. I took a humanities class at the beginning of the year and looked into the rococo art movement a bit and apparently it’s French so I always thought he would like that kind of stuff.

- uses a lavender sleep spray

- tries not to get too angry in public. Sometimes he just needs to leave the room to just pout and let it all out sometimes even crying out of anger

- has quite the collection of sweaters and cardigans.

- Loves baking cookies for his girlfriend Eleanor. Shes a baker herself but she loves his cookies more than her own

Von Kaiser

- Cuts his own hair this fucking video is literally him

- secretly a cross dresser I mean this one might be kind of canon because of the weird chibi drawing of him in a Japanese manual for the nes game. Some of the other ones were so racist though ;-;

- Wasn’t really interested in working with children it just sort of happened

- Either way he cares about his students genuinely even if it doesn’t seem like it

Disco kid

- got banned on Roblox for a day for saying suck toe(totally not based on my cousin who is like the same age as him also getting banned for that) yes I’m sharing this drawing again

- Singing as loud as possible in the locker room showers

- If he has kids they aren’t going anywhere near the mall Easter bunnies and Santa’s he doesn’t trust them and neither should you

- He never hits the villagers with nets in animal crossing

- Has two sisters one older one younger

Aran Ryan

- Afraid of needles

- Has weight issues. He’s too focused on numbers on the scale. He knows nothing is wrong but I think some things the people around him said growing up affected him.

- I mentioned his sister Freya also has body issues in my post about her and Aran tries to support her because he doesn’t want her thinking that way about her body like he does. I imagine a lot of the women on his father’s side are naturally more curvy and he doesn’t want his sister to be ashamed of her natural body type.

- Still visits his grandmas house on his dad’s side even as an adult. He’s one of the only things she has of his dad that she has left.

- Plays Roblox with Disco kid and forces Narcis to play with them. He also bullies kids on there

- His mom was struggling fanatically a bit when his sister was about to go into secondary school. He just got into boxing at that point and was getting paid well so he paid for her school uniforms so she didn’t have to be stuck in his old ones that were too big and had rips in the pants that would probably fall down on her. He insisted he’d at least buy her some skirts because she’s not walking around school like that. He also felt bad because she literally cried at the thought of wearing a “boys uniform”

Narcis Prince

- Was like one of those rich British kids in tv shows and movies.

- He snoops in people’s shit all the time. Looking through drawers and reading peoples diaries.

- Would say British schools are crazier than American schools and than flip out at the stories in American schools and regret what he said instantly

- Tries to look after Freya to get on Aran’s good side. They have a complicated relationship. Deadass tries to put her to bed at 8:00 saying some shit like “young ladies your age need to be in bed by 8:00”

Okay this is getting long I’ll stop now

[tracybirds]

Remember my TAG Sims 4 save that I’m building? Well it’s well time for an update on where I’m at! I’m having great fun populating the worlds with characters and various people’s OCs* and thought I’d show off how they’re going! I’m focusing on CAS (Create A Sim) rather than building in this save and trying to create a full world of sims! Also note that I’m planning on the gameplay beginning with a teenage Jeff, so no main characters for now. I play with aging off and age them all manually so the other characters will just stay the same age until I’m ready to interact with them.

I’ve finished three worlds; Willow Creek, Oasis Springs, and Sulani. Working on Newcrest and Henford-on-Bagley next! Today I'll show off the characters made in Willow Creek :)

*I’m only showing the TAG characters and the OCs I have made for them today, not OCs made by other people... mostly because I'm not done!! Also if you're interested in my making your Thuderbirds OCs, let me know! I have a lot of households to fill lol and they'll just hang out in the background of the game :D

Notable changes: I moved the park to the Oakenstead lot, added a second park (in Foundry Cove) and a skate park. I changed the museum into a botanical library and placed a community garden next to it. There is now an early childhood education centre and a hospital that can be visited, and I placed a gym and a museum. I did not make any of the builds, they’re all found on the gallery and then tweaked.

There are twelve households in Willow Creek, including an apartment with four families. The only townies I care about are the Goths so they’ll end up being the only non TAG characters. I found a renovated Goth Mansion and a Goth family revamped to look closer to their Sims 2 counterparts on the gallery and stuck them in there :)

Sims 4 lore down, let me show off the sims!!

Sally, Grant and Jeff Tracy

In this save, Jeff has two brothers and a sister, based off of @amistrio's hc :D

Kyrano, Kayo and Tin-Tin

I decided I wanted to add in Tin-Tin and I have vague memories of reading a fic where they were sisters, so I went ahead and did it :D

Brains, Brains and Fermat Hackenbacker

I love Brains ahaha so I put him in twice :D why not after all!

The Apartment Building has four families: Ned Tedford, Tycho Reeves (and his brother David...lol), Wayne Rigby (and his daughter Eleanor... double lol, I think it was @katblu42 who suggested that name :D), and Kat Cavanaugh (who I gave a sister who lives in Oasis Springs, but I've included said sister for completeness)

Ned Tedford

I gave him lots of freckles mostly because I think they look sweet ahaha... I'm tempted to make Gladys a Plant Sim, but for now he's just going to enjoy gardening :D

Tycho and David Reeves

Come on... I had to XD David's a doctor whose aspiration in life is to solve the Strangerville mystery ahaha

Wayne and Eleanor Rigby

Yes the glasses are on purpose :D I love the idea of Rigby being a single dad and I also aged him up a little simply because he's clearly been with the GDF for a while and it made sense to me.

Kat and Sara Cavanaugh

Sara is Kat's older sister but they don't get on so they live in different worlds.

And finally, our last couple of houses are filled by...

Cass McCready, Aiden Hawkins and Theo McCready-Hawkins

Cass is obviously our favourite firefighter, and so I decided to create Aiden to be her fiance and Theo to be their kid. I always imagined Cass having two boys and to be a single mum when she met iR for the first time, so I did give Aiden a couple of less desirable traits lol... I'd like to play out their story at some point so they only have Theo to start :D

Reece and Dobbs (aka our favourite space pirates/scrappers!)

I love these guys so much, they crack me up :D They're space married, don't question me on this, and they live in a tiny home with some chickens xD I might see if I can replace their current home with one that's modelled after a spaceship bc that would be fun!

Robert and Aidan Williams

Aidan is one of my favourite kid characters in the show and I love him! So cool headed even when crisis is happening and his dad is hurt :( I thought for a long time about whether I'd add in more family but then I realised the house was only two bedrooms and then I invented a story where his mum had recently passed away and him and Gordon could have some bittersweet bonding (bc Gordon stays in touch and remembers everyone obviously!!) so I decided to leave them as they were and also the smaller the household the less likely the game is to crash lol

WillowCreek also is resident to three OC families, but they are not mine so I don't want to post about them without permission :)

Anyway I hope you enjoyed the update on this!!! Someday I'll have real gameplay to share lol, but I'm having so much fun building the world up!

[bearpillowmonster]

Dragon Age Origins

Those darn PS3 era games can be so annoying on Steam, you have the ones without subtitles, you have the ones that will only use an Xbox controller, then you have the half way broken ones, this is one of them. With FFXIII, it would stutter unless you plugged a controller in for me but with this one, it doesn't even take a controller.

Upon start-up, it informs you that the dlc in the ultimate edition needs to be ported via the cd keys page on Steam but that doesn't exist anymore so I started thinking I got hustled but there it is in the menu, already there, false alarm. I go through character creation and- crash. Try it again, go through character creation and black screen. Skip what was supposed to be a cutscene and it's still black. Troubleshoot. It's because I have another monitor (drawing monitor) but that's never been a problem before so I unplugged it- crashes again.

Troubleshoot again and others had this problem but usually after playing it already with mods installed, which I hadn't even started the game at this point. Disabled V-sync, disable frame buffer effects, disabled all online stuff. Went to the cutscene but still black. Was it because I picked human rogue? Because that means it blocks me off from experiencing certain stories, even if I chose it random. At this point a mod might actually save this game like it did FalloutNV but there isn't one that does that really.

Uninstalled, reinstalled, changed resolution settings, went for an elf run. Worked. Which one, dunno, but it did.

Now I want you to understand, this is a roleplaying game. Not an RPG or JRPG that you're used to, it's straight up something you could see in Baldrs Gate, you can do the top down perspective, equip stuff in the bottom menu and click on where you want the character to go. One handed. Now these are options, you can also get behind the character and play it more like you would The Witcher but it's not a Fantasy Mass Effect just because it's Bioware. You more or less heal after each encounter though which is cool and you can pause it to give commands.

I named my character Daelin and got about an hour in after rescuing some girls from a douchebag in a castle. Aaaannnddd it crashed again, couldn't get it to get past the menu. You guys know me, I hate prerequisites. I downloaded a 4GB patch which is supposed to fix crashing, that's when I got that error picture (yes, I'm just as surpissed as you that it's real). Then I resorted to the ancient ways of the manual .exe boot-

And hear ye, it worked!...And it crashed again...Son of a-! I put this game off now, officially. I enjoyed what I was playing of it and I had a fun time but I've had it, I've tried all these home remedies but nothing wants to work to make this an enjoyable experience. Good thing I got it on sale. Buy it anywhere else but PC. (for all I know, it's just as broken) This is that Bioware brokenness I got with KOTOR, I don't blame them, surely it was EA and porting but who decided it was acceptable to leave it like this?