#more old stuff. this time it's the last i think

[alllgator-blood]

'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'

(part 3/3)

I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.

As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january

Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.

I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.

That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."

Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you

[pandapetals]

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas Day! You and Logan exchange gifts.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, holiday vibes, logan being a softie

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

a/n: It’s the last one shot and i am sad. It’s been so much fun writing for christmas. I hope everyone gets logan under their tree this year.

divider credit: @saradika

The mansion was silent, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow from the night’s storm, the world outside hushed and peaceful. You woke to the sound of Logan’s soft snoring beside you, his hand resting protectively on your hip, even in sleep. Smiling to yourself, you carefully slipped out of bed, pulling on your robe as you padded downstairs to put the finishing touches on his gifts.

You’d thought long and hard about what to get him, wanting each gift to be something meaningful. A leather tool roll, perfectly sized for his motorbike tools, so he’d always have something useful on hand. A bottle of his favorite whiskey, because you knew he’d never buy the fancy stuff for himself. And your personal favorite—a beautifully framed vintage map of the Canadian wilderness, detailing the rugged terrain of the land he loved so much. But the most important gift, the one that had taken you months to finish, was a small wooden box filled with letters, each one tied neatly with twine.

Each letter was for a different moment, a different feeling. One for when he felt alone, one for when he felt angry, one for when he doubted himself. Every letter was written to remind him how deeply he was loved, how much he mattered. You’d poured your heart into every word, hoping that he’d feel the weight of your love whenever he needed it most.

By the time you’d finished arranging everything under the tree, you heard the soft creak of the stairs and turned to see Logan coming down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hair even more wild than usual. He was wearing his old flannel shirt over sweatpants, looking gruff but endearingly soft, as if he hadn’t quite woken up.

"Mornin', darlin’," he mumbled, his voice rough, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting by the tree.

"Merry Christmas, Logan," you whispered, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth as snowflakes drifted softly outside the window.

Reluctantly, you pulled back and gestured to the pile of gifts. "C’mon, let’s open these."

Logan chuckled, eyeing the gifts with a raised brow. "You went all out, huh? I didn’t know we were doin’ this whole… gift thing."

You laughed, nudging him down onto the couch and settling beside him. "Just open yours. I think you’ll like them."

He started with the tool roll, his rough hands carefully unwrapping the leather. He ran his fingers over it, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This… this is real nice," he muttered, a little shy. "I’ll definitely use it."

Next, he picked up the whiskey, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the label. "You got me the good stuff, huh? You spoil me," he said with a smirk, though there was a flicker of genuine appreciation in his eyes. But when he unwrapped the framed vintage map, he went completely silent, his fingers brushing over the contours of the familiar landscape.

"I figured… you could hang it in your office, or keep it somewhere special," you murmured, watching his face closely.

Logan swallowed, his gaze lingering on the map as if he were lost in the memories of those wild places. "This is… perfect," he whispered, his voice rough. "Thank you."

There was one gift left, and you hesitated for a moment before handing him the small wooden box. His brows knit together as he looked down at it, curiosity and something else—a softer emotion—flickering across his face. He lifted the lid and saw the bundle of letters, each one tied with care, each one addressed to a moment he might need a reminder of your love.

"For when you’re feeling… well, you know," you said softly, your fingers nervously fidgeting as you watched his reaction. "Each one is for a different time. I just… wanted you to know that I’m always here, even if I’m not right next to you."

Logan took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the box of letters. His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his expression steady, but you saw the glint of tears in his eyes. He lifted one of the letters, his fingers trembling slightly as he ran his thumb over your handwriting, the careful loops and lines you’d written with so much love.

"No one’s… no one’s ever done somethin’ like this for me," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t… I don’t deserve this, or you." His voice was barely more than a whisper now, vulnerability laid bare in a way he rarely allowed.

You reached up, cradling his face with your hands, gently brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Logan… you’re wrong. You deserve so much more than you think." You smiled, the love in your eyes soft and steady. "You’re the best gift I could ever ask for. Just you… exactly as you are."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the warmth of your hands. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, almost desperate, like he was afraid to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t quite say. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, "I love you, sweetheart."

You smiled against his lips, pressing one last kiss to his mouth. "I love you, more. Merry Christmas, Logan."

After a long moment, Logan reluctantly pulled back, his gaze soft but intent as he reached for a small, neatly wrapped package on the coffee table. He handed it to you, looking almost… shy.

“Go on,” he murmured, clearing his throat and looking away, trying to cover up the faint blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… not much, but I thought you might like it.”

Curious, you tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a leather-bound book with intricate gold detailing on the cover. You sucked in a breath, your eyes widening as you ran your fingers over the title embossed in gold.

Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy—this was a rare first edition.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How… how did you even find this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the glint of pride in his eyes. “Got my ways,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured it’d mean somethin’ to you.”

Carefully, almost reverently, you opened the book, feeling the delicate weight of the pages between your fingers. But as you turned to the first few pages, something fluttered out—a piece of paper, folded neatly and tucked between them.

You glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. “I, uh… slipped a little somethin’ in there,” he admitted, his voice barely above a grumble. “Wrote it myself. Might be rough around the edges, but… well, it’s for you.”

With trembling hands, you unfolded the paper, your heart racing as you read the words written in his unmistakable handwriting. It was a short poem, raw and unpolished, each line laced with sincerity.

Didn’t think I’d find somethin' that felt like home,

in the rasp of your laughter, in all the things left unsaid,

in the quiet that ain’t lonely ‘cause you’re in it.

Darlin’—you’re the reason I keep holdin’ on,

the reason a scarred heart like me starts thinkin'

he might be worth somethin' after all.

The words weren’t flowery or grand, but they were him—every line filled with honesty, with a depth he rarely shared. Your vision blurred as you read it again, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Logan…” you whispered, looking up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “This is… it’s beautiful.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking both relieved and embarrassed. “Didn’t think I’d hear that word used on anythin’ I wrote,” he muttered, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Figured you’d laugh it off.”

“Are you kidding?” you said, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it tight. “It’s perfect. It’s you, and that means more to me than anything else in the world.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze holding yours. After a long, lingering silence, Logan reached behind the couch and pulled out one last gift, this one wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a bit of string. He handed it to you, his eyes a bit softer. 

“This one’s… well, it’s somethin’ I worked on myself,” he said, almost bashful. “Thought it might help you with… y’know, all that writin’ you do.”

Intrigued, you carefully unwrapped it, and as soon as you saw the vintage typewriter nestled inside, your breath hitched. The old keys gleamed, meticulously polished, and there was a faint scent of oil and leather from where he’d restored it with his own hands. Every piece, every detail, looked lovingly cared for.

“Oh my god, Logan…” you whispered, running your fingers over the smooth metal, feeling the weight of each key under your touch. “You… you did this yourself?”

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. It was in pretty rough shape when I found it, but I thought… well, I thought you might like workin’ on somethin’ like this. Somethin’ that’d make all those stories you’re dreamin’ up feel a little more real.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed. He wasn’t just giving you a typewriter—he was giving you the chance to chase your dreams, to bring your words to life in a way that was uniquely yours.

Without another word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. “You… you have no idea how much this means to me,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long, tender moment, he just held you, his cheek resting against your hair. When he finally pulled back, there was a glisten in his eyes he didn’t even try to hide.

“Guess I did somethin’ right, huh?” he murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as his thumb brushed across your cheek.

“You did everything right,” you replied, your smile soft and unwavering. Leaning in, you kissed him—slow, deep, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude you had into it.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Couldn’t ask for a better one.”

You smiled, your hands still laced with his. "Here’s to all the Christmases to come," you whispered back.

[megumiluvv]

It’s Christmas. You’ve almost forgotten about it and rush next door to Choso’s apartment, Yuji’s gifts in hand. You carefully place them under the tree and start to grab your gift for Choso, yet pause to look at the tree.

The ornaments are so pretty and sweet. Mostly items that Yuji has handcrafted for school projects, but also some old ones of Choso’s. An old elementary photo of him catches your eye and you smile. His little kid face is so adorable, but the lack of tattoo across his nose is a little surprising at first. Maybe because you’re used to him with it.

Choso walks into the living room from his bedroom and smiles. “When’d you get here?”

“Just now, still have to bring your presents, so look away.” You smile as he starts to cook breakfast, the Christmas cookies you all decorated a few days ago still in a container sitting on the counter.

You return to your apartment and grab Choso’s gift, you hope he’ll like it. You hide the small box in your pocket and head back to the apartment next door. Choso’s cooking and Yuji’s still asleep, so you continue with the plan you and Choso made last night, grabbing Choso’s boots and a sieve and powdered sugar to make it seem like Santa had visited overnight.

The footsteps lead from the front door to the tree, then lead to the cookies and milk that were set out, then back to the door. Choso looks over and frowns a little.

“Still think the floor will be sticky when it’s time to clean.”

“Quit whining, Yuji has to believe it.”

“The snow would already be melted before he even reached our apartments, we’re under an awning.”

“He doesn’t know any better. He’s too young for practicality, okay?” You huff in exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Choso sighs and sets the table. “Sukuna and Uraume should arrive soon.”

Just then, a knock comes to the door. Before either of you could answer, Sukuna opens the door, always walking in like he owns the place. He sees the “snow” and carefully avoids it, knowing better than to mess with Yuji’s image of Christmas.

“He’s still at that age?” He grumbles.

“Huh, speak of the devil and he may come.” Choso mutters to himself. You giggle and help Sukuna set the presents under the tree.

“Is it snowing out there?”

“Yeah, colder than Uraume’s freezer settings.” Sukuna grumbles once more.

“That’s an exaggeration.” Uraume rolls their eyes and sits on the couch beside Sukuna.

You go to wake Yuji and smile at the cute Christmas pajamas the boy is wearing. He clings to you, half-asleep as you carry him out of his room. The moment he sees the presents, his eyes widen, and he believes good Saint Nick stopped by even more when he sees the footprints you created.

“Santa came!” The boy shouts excitedly, hopping from your arms to the tree, looking back at Choso excitedly. “Can I open one? Pleaseeee?”

“Eat first, kiddo, then we can have presents.” You smile and help Yuji to his seat.

He hurriedly eats breakfast and sits at his favorite spot on the couch, trying to hide his excitement for the presents. You set his presents out in front of him, then do the same for the presents for Choso from Sukuna, saving yours for later.

“Woahhh! I got a Human Earthworm poster!” Yuji grins widely. “And spider-man stuff!”

“Damn kid and his spider-man.” Sukuna ruffles Yuji’s hair and smirks as the boy complains.

Choso looks at the present from Yuji, you can see his eyes watering at the little gift. You sit beside him and lean your head on his shoulder, looking at the handmade present. Yuji (with the help of you) made a photo album for Choso, a bunch of pictures from this year’s adventures, and a handwritten note from Yuji saying how Choso is “the best big brother ever in the history of the universe”.

“Yuji, this is so nice, thank you.” Choso barely contains his emotions as he hugs his little brother, much to Yuji’s protests.

You smile softly and stand. “Let’s go play in the snow, yeah?”

Yuji nods excitedly at that and puts his snow boots on. “Yeah!!”

After a long day in the snow and a snowball fight Choso loses, Sukuna and Uraume take their leave and Yuji sleeps in his bedroom. You and Choso clean the wrapping paper mess and the footprints of powdered sugar off the floor. You grab a fake mistletoe plant from the tree and grin to yourself.

“Choso, look up.” You hold the mistletoe over your head.

Choso smirks and places his hands on your waist. “You do understand what that means, right?”

“Mmmhm! That’s the whole point. Now don’t ignore the Christmas tradition, Choso Claus.” You giggle.

He presses his lips to yours and you wrap your arms around his neck, eyes closing and a contented hum escaping your throat. You both hold the kiss for a moment and when you pull away, you place your present in his hands. He opens it carefully and smiles at the locket in the box. Inside the locket is a photo of you and Yuji, you thought it was a little much, but Sukuna said he’d like it.

“…I really like this, thank you.”

Feeling accomplished (and very relieved), you smile and give him a chaste kiss. “Merry Christmas, Cho.”

“Merry Christmas indeed.”

Masterlist

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[cecilyv]

New Fic: the chain I forged (9-1-1, buck/tommy)

Happy Holidays, my friends. @liminalmemories21 and I had Tommy get Christmas Caroled just for y'all. Wherein he meets some ghosts (or possibly hallucinates as a result of whatever was in those shots Lucy handed him last night). Either way, he’s too old for this shit.

"I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it." — Jacob Marley, in Charles Dicken's, A Christmas Carol

11.6k | General Audiences

[Read here on Ao3]

He comes awake abruptly, the hair on the back of his arms standing straight up. He lays there, trying to get his breathing back under control, when he hears the chair creak on the other side of the room. Shit. Fuck. Damn. There’s someone here. And not in the fun kind of way, the way he'd gotten used to with Evan — shit, Buck (he still gets that wrong in his head, when he's half asleep, still a little drunk). He'd gotten used to Buck getting up in the middle of the night, and then pausing before he got back into bed to take a sip of water, put on chapstick. Six months shouldn't have been enough to overwrite the pattern of a lifetime of sleeping alone. But— He still reaches for Evan — fuck. Buck. He still reaches for Buck when he wakes up, expects the heat of him next to him in bed, expects his pillow to smell like Buck’s shampoo and aftershave.

This time though, there's a person in his room and it's not Buck; doesn’t sound like him, smell like him. He breathes and smells dirt and cold and rot. He keeps his eyes closed, facing the ceiling, trying to remember what he might have on hand to defend himself with. Tries to figure out how this person got into his house without setting off the alarms. What he's here to steal.

"I know you're awake," whoever it is says, voice low and raspy like he doesn’t use it much. There's a rustle of fabric as the guy shifts position. "I ain't here to hurt you. You can go on and sit up, open your eyes."

He pushes himself up warily, flicks on the light and blinks in the sudden brightness. Blinks again. A burglar in a Halloween costume was not on his list of possible scenarios. And why, he wonders, if you're going to dress up to break into people's houses, wouldn't you wear a mask?

He’s wearing a cowboy hat, and a vest, but what Tommy can’t look away from (and doesn’t want to look at at all, honestly) is his skin so tight across his face it’s translucent ( like butter scraped over too much bread, a voice in his mind echoes). And the guy has— He squints, and then shakes his head. Looks back. Those look a lot like the inflamed boils Evan — Buck — had had. This seems very specific for a Halloween costume robbery. He would have expected more dead president masks.

"Uh. You're welcome to take whatever you want. I'm not going to fight you on it." It's just stuff.

The guy — the cowboy? — crosses his arms and looks annoyed. "Ain't here for your stuff."

Tommy glances at his bedside table like that's going to reveal that he'd gone to bed with a kitchen knife, or a hammer, or something useful. There's a glass of water and a book he's been saying he's going to read for going on a year now. "Okay. So, why are you here?" Keep him talking, he thinks.

The guy rolls his eyes. "Ain't here to kill you either. Didn't I just say I weren't here to hurt you? Keep up."

He's not sober enough for this. "Okay. I give. Why are you here?"

The guy relaxes, like he's been waiting for this cue. "I'm here to show you what has been, what is, and what is yet to come." And Tommy thinks, okay, Galadriel.

Tommy gives him a blank look, and the guy elaborates. "I owe a debt." He stops, like that’s all the explanation he thinks Tommy should need.

Tommy wracks his brain, but, "I think I would remember meeting you. Was it on a call?"

"Didn't say it was to you.” Pauses and says reflectively, “I wasn't always a good man, but I always paid my debts, and no one can say different." There's another pause and then, “Unless it was to a bank."

Okay, sure. This seems … nope, he’s got nothing. This seems like nothing he can possibly put a name to. This is clearly what he gets for letting Lucy talk him into going out after their last shift, and then letting her buy them shots. The wages of sin. Or something. "Are you seriously telling me you’re here as the Ghost of Christmas Past? Because you owe a life debt? To someone? Who is not me?"

The Ghost — sure, why not — nods, like he's glad Tommy is finally catching up.

He looks closer at the guy, really looks and — leather vest, chaps, boots, boils. Just fuck his life. "You're Billy Boils, aren’t you?"

Billy makes a face, like he tasted something nasty. "William James McCurdy. At your service.”

[rosieuv]

Just watched the 3rd Sonic film and it's so good oh my god

This definitely feels like something only Sonic fans would enjoy as the first 2 films are based on the classic Mega Drive games, which not only are the most nostalgified , but also in terms of lore are quite simple. Sonic 3 on the other hand, is based on Sonic Adventure 2, which has a much heavy lore due to the abilities of the Dreamcast making it easier to mix in story and levels. Therefore, if you're like my brother and don't know what the lore vaguely is, you won't find it as interesting. It's strange how all the clips for the trailer were in the beginning half hour though. It did make me wonder how long this film actually was and what it entailed. Either way, it's a very good film and I feel tired after leaving that cinema due to a burnout from all that action causing some kind of over-stimulation (I know that because typically I fiddle with a hair bobble but I just sat there the entire film either watching or frantically kicking my legs up and down at the fight scenes as if I couldn't go "fuck yeah this is so awesome!" in a room full of 10 year olds, then that was the next best thing to deal with the massive screen, massive speakers and my obligation to point out literally anything if a film is good).

okay spoilers here

The plot has so much action and it's great. There's no stupid plot with the other humans, which is what I was worried about considering the B plot with Sonic 2 and the Knuckles show. Instead, the B plot is focused on team Shadow, as opposed to team Sonic. In fact, the humans don't really do much this film as they have no reason to. I also find it cool how the Knuckes show ties in as the guardian of the Master Emerald is Wade (I think that's his name) and he appears for like a minute using it to play ice hockey on the roof of the police station.

The beginning scene is the best I've seen in any film. The switch between Sonic hanging out with his family and friends and having a race while Shadow just kicks the military's ass and leaves in such a badass way and then it all links with the military guys in the helicopter within the first 5 minutes as there's no time to waste and that fight at the beginning is so good that the marketing is all centred around that (to be fair, Shadow has a motorbike) and it doesn't take long to show that Shadow is very much a threat, to the point where I wasn't sure how the heroes were going to win as he was teaming up with Gerald Robotnik who has all this cool tech stuff, and Eggman was watching soap operas in the crab thing because he lost all his government funding and tech stuff in the second film and is legally dead (they never explained how he survived that but it must be some kind of chaos emerald plot armour). I love how they just showed him as even more insane then he was in the first 2 films as he descends from being a well respected scientist to hiding from the government as all he really has now is the crab so once they find out he's alive, it won't be much of a fight. It's also cool how he has the adventure 2 suit in the ending scenes with the climax.

Okay here's a list of notable things I thought were cool:

Shadow having a motorcycle

Maria actually looking like a human and not some bootleg barbie doll (I know it was 2001 but it's surreal seeing all those scenes in high definition with live action as I'm so used to seeing them as Dreamcast cutscenes with motion capture)

Maria's outfits looking more like from the 70s than the 50s as this canonically takes place in 2024 so 50 years ago would've been the 70s and not the 50s like in Adventure 2

Maria never really having last words as she exploded instead of getting shot, so it would be easier to manipulate Shadow into thinking that she would've wanted revenge as there's no way to prove that she wouldn't've (I haven't gotten 'round to playing Adventure 2 though so my knowledge of Maria comes from video essays, but I'm pretty sure Shadow was motivated by him miss-remembering her words, not by manipulation by others).

Shadow with high budget CGI

Jim Carrey coming back again (seriously, these films wouldn't be as good without him as Eggman)

Eggman dying for real at the end in a big space explosion as a sacrifice feels in character for how he was portrayed in Adventure 2

Eggman land in the VR thing

Knuckles still being well written (seriously, the writers really know what they're doing when it comes to his character)

The ambulances and police cars in the London section being actual British ambulances and police cars and not American ones (Hollywood did their research!)

Shadow's voice actor

The scene with Sonic and Shadow on the moon and all that character development

Shadow having his heelys

Tails is better in this film as he doesn't fanboy like he did in the second film (not a major point, it's quite subtle, but I like it)

The dog having subtitles for 2 gags

The blackout caused by Sonic and Shadow

Tails trying to save Sonic when he's falling into the Earth's atmosphere but failing feels more realistic, and it makes more sense how Knuckles was the one to save them both as I imagine he's probably done something like this before and Tails is like 4 or 5

The idea that the man and the woman that I can't remember their names but they're the ones from the beginning, going down the crochet rabbit hole if the main 3 leave for like 2 days is hilarious

The "Sonic getting blasted to pieces thing" in the plan was funny, especially at the laser section (can't really explain it without the clip)

the cinematic remix of that one song from Adventure 2

Wait...wasn't G.U.N mentioned in the Knuckles show? I swear it was...

In the first battle, Sonic asking Shadow "who does your highlights?" (and calling him "Hot Topic" later in the film)

The flashbacks with Maria fitting well with the rest of the film in a way that didn't feel clunky

Shadow commenting on the soap opera

That final scene with Eggman with the live stream reminded me of the broadcast where he blew up the moon in Adventure 2

The moon still gets exploded...kinda

The chao cafe (I know chaos are in the game but I'm not sure to what capacity)

The doughnut guy almost dying due to a slip up (not really cool but I like the character development it showed...and also how damn strong Shadow is that one punch blew doughnut guy into a coma. Makes you wonder how damn strong the main 3 are to still be standing after all the battles against Shadow...)

Shadow having a super form with Sonic (I know it's from the game, not sure where though)

Shadow surviving in the post credits scene made me in a happier mood when I left the cinema as I was sad he died

Sonic saying "gotta go fast!"

Okay nitpicks time (there's not gonna be many though):

The dance scene with the lasers was a bit too long

No Snapcube fandub references

It's never really explained where the crab came from or how Eggman survived

Not really explained how Gerald Robotnik got all the egg weapons too. They're not recreations as they still follow Eggman so how did he get them from the government? Was this part of the deal when he was released from prison?

Where did the Chaos Emerald go when Shadow almost died? He was in his super form.

How the hell did Shadow survive getting nuked by the explosion? I know he's strong as hell and was in his super form, but still.

How do the main 3 and Shadow breathe in space?

Agent Stone putting the full coffee cups in the bin really annoyed me like at least pour it onto the floor so the grass can drink it

I really like how Shadow was written in this film. He's not just "Edgy The Hedgy" like he's portrayed now (don't quote me on that, I haven't really been up to date on this so "now" is more like pre-renaissance) and his weakness is his own grief, which is how Sonic "defeated" him by talking to him on the Moon about not letting that grief distract him and that made him go to Sonic's side even though Sonic could've just beaten the ever loving shit out of him while he got the super form and Shadow was weakened, but he didn't because he isn't a psychopath. And some stuff I mentioned earlier like the motorcycle and the cool powers. Basically he's his Adventure 2 version but even more badass, and his Adventure 2 version was the best version and my favourite character in the franchise.

According to the Wikipedia page on it, a 4th film is in production. Personally I think this works better as a trilogy as how the hell do you top fighting a death ray that's going to blow up the Earth, in space? Also the main villain guy is dead and definitely isn't coming back because isn't Jim Carrey like 70 something now? I think it's gonna be all time travel-ly as it seems to be based around Sonic CD and that's it's main thing. In the post credits thing there was Metal Sonic (who doesn't really fit the aesthetic of the films as all the robots are egg looking things as it's set on Earth, and not space animals who got robot-y and so are a lot more colourful) and Amy Rose, who destroyed some of the robots with her hammer so it's clear she's not going to be like her flat personality in CD and be more like Tails I guess. It's hard to tell considering she only appears for like 15 seconds, but her first appearance in CD was following Sonic around while love hearts come out of her head, and then getting kidnapped, so I think her personality is going to be like her in the Sonic Boom TV show (she gives me "notable time traveller looking for someone who's important in the future" vibes). I feel like this premise works better as a TV show, with each episode being a different time period in each zone. Maybe this is just me wishing for an episodic cinematic universe Sonic TV show where it's the main 3 doing stuff on Earth and Shadow appears every now and then 'cause they have to be doing something with his character as he's shown to be at least somewhat alive in the post credits scene. I know it'll be expensive as hell to do all that CGI, but I can dream.

Yeah that's basically it. Overall: 9.7/10. Now my new favourite film. God I'm tired.

[mandalhoerian]

forced proximity | baking | wild west au ❅ Leon Secret Santa ( @leonsecretsanta ) ❅ gift for @bonesnplywood !!

summary: When a wagon mishap in the middle of a snowstorm leaves the new sheriff Leon Kennedy stranded at the local bakery, he’s reluctantly pulled into a lighthearted afternoon of decorating gingerbread cookies with the town’s spirited baker, you.

word count: close to 5K, read on ao3

note: AMBER ITS ME!! YOUR SECRET SANTA!!! THE WORST PERSON THESE TROPES COULD POSSIBLY FALL INTO THE LAP OF!!!! I've never in my life joined an event like this or written about christmas (jingle halal everyone), and i was doomed from the start because wild west is something i know absolutely nothing about 😞 so i had to make insane research on the topic for this, and i mean, "insane" research <2 me>, because i've had to look up things such as sugar, icing (did it exist? what about hot chocolate. plot twist, IT DOES), what they baked, how non-commercialized christmas was like back then, and overall about frontier towns, and i swear i was on the verge of tears about to drop out THIS 👌 CLOSE 😭😭😭 I hope I was at least able to catch the vibes and it's enjoyable, please excuse any mistakes or weird stuff overall that doesn't fit, i tried.... merry christmas!

Christmas around these parts was a quiet affair, mostly celebrated by children and the devout few who filled the pews of the old church on the hill. There were no garlands or ribbons strung up, no carolers wandering door to door. Folks didn’t have the time or money for all that fuss.

Instead, Christmas was something simpler. Something humbler. A rare pie cooling on a windowsill, the smell of woodsmoke mingling with fresh bread if a family could spare the flour and sugar, stockings, little more than patched-up socks, hung over fireplaces with faint hope... Sometimes, if the weather allowed, neighbors gathered for a pot of stew or shared biscuits, squeezing together at too-small tables and swapping stories to warm the room better than the fire ever could.

And yet, you, neither a dutiful churchgoer nor a small child any longer, cared more about this holiday than most. Actually, scratch that. “Cared” didn’t begin to cover it.

You lived for Christmas.

Always had. Ever since you were small, the holidays had lit something in you. All of them mattered, but Christmas? That was special. It wasn’t just the crisp air or the smell of pine needles in the bakery where you grew up. It was the whole season, the way December turned the world into something softer, kinder. Your father had seen to that.

Every year, he’d throw open the bakery doors to the orphanage down the lane, baking for the children who had no family to celebrate with. The evenings were loud with laughter, warm with the smell of bread and cakes, and rich with your father’s tall tales spun at the dinner table. He’d send those kids home with free loaves to last them through the winter, and no matter how much the townspeople complained about the expense, they’d show up to help--eventually. Even the grumps couldn’t resist the sight of those kids, faces bright with joy, or the way the bakery felt like the heart of the town in those fleeting weeks.

Of course, none of that magic happened on its own. The ingredients alone were a fortune, especially now, and it had taken some creative wheeling and dealing to keep things running smoothly. Mayor Irons had been easy enough to bribe, an extra haul of your famous sweets for his office, a special stash of sugar sticks just for him. The old sleazeball had learned long ago not to ask questions, especially when the end-of-month "bonus" arrived. It was a necessary evil, one you barely had to think about anymore.

This year, though, was different. The snowstorm had rolled in fast, blanketing the town in thick, sparkling drifts that clung to rooftops and piled high in the streets. It was beautiful in the way all fresh snow is, softening the edges of a hard world. But this wasn’t the gentle, picturesque snowfall from a child's drawing. This storm had teeth. Roads were already impassable, and while the bakery’s ovens burned bright and warm, you couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if the storm kept on. Business had slowed to a crawl, but you weren’t about to close the shop, not with so much left to do before the Christmas festival. The Mayor needed his payment. 

Your gaze drifted to the empty shelf behind the counter where sacks of flour and sugar were meant to sit. Supplies that should have arrived hours ago. Supplies you needed for the dozens of gingerbread cookies and other desserts.

Your father had thrown in the towel hours back, muttering that it was pointless to keep the place open when there was nothing left to sell. You, stubborn as always, refused to leave. The wagon train will come, you’d insisted. You weren’t about to trek home in this snowstorm, anyway, and someone needed to mind the fire. But as the wind howled against the windows and the blizzard thickened to a near whiteout, you were beginning to think your father might’ve had a point.

Then, the bell above the door jingled.

You jolted, spinning around.

"Finally," you muttered, brushing flour-dusted hands on your apron as you turned. "Come on in! You're lettin—"

The words caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the deliveryman standing there, but the sheriff—Leon Kennedy—silhouetted in the doorway like a figure out of legend. His wide-brimmed hat, damp and battered, was barely clinging to his head thanks to the string knotted beneath his chin. On his shoulders, six sacks of supplies were stacked so high it made him look almost absurd in the middle of your little bakery. Snow clung to his coat like he’d wrestled a blizzard and won, but that didn’t stop him from nudging the door shut with the heel of his boot and stepping further inside. The quiet thud of those sacks hitting the wooden floor sent a plume of cold air swirling around the room.

You blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“Sheriff?”

Leon straightened, dusting snow from his coat with broad, deliberate swipes. “Sorry I’m late.” He nodded to the sacks, as though hauling half a wagon’s worth of supplies on his back through a blizzard was the most normal thing in the world.

“Where’s the wagon?” you managed, trying to peer through the frosted window before turning back to him.

“Broke down a mile back,” he said, his voice roughened by the cold. “Axle snapped.”

Your stomach dropped. “A mile? In this weather?”

“Figured I’d at least bring what I could carry.” He kicked the snow from his boots, each thud matching the quickening of your heartbeat. “Rest will have to wait.”

You stared at him, then the sacks of flour and sugar piled on the floor. He’d walked through a goddamn blizzard. A mile, uphill, no less—you didn’t even need to ask to know that was the case. You opened your mouth to say something, but all that came out was a breath of air. Finally, you croaked, “I… Thank you.”

Leon just nodded, like gratitude was something he shrugged off the same way he shook snow from his coat. “What needs doin’?” he asked, glancing toward the empty shelves. “Looks like you’re behind.”

You’d just watched the man shoulder a blizzard and a mile of snowbanks, and now he wanted to help you restock?

Your gaze flickered to him—to his reddened cheeks and the tips of his nose, glowing like embers from the cold. The dark leather of his duster was soaked through, clinging to him like a second skin, and the snow gathered on the brim of his hat had begun to melt and drip onto the floorboards.

“Hold on a second,” you said, recovering your wits as you marched around the counter. “You’re half-frozen, Sheriff. Give me that coat before you catch your death.”

Leon’s brow quirked faintly, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” You grabbed the hem of his coat, already tugging it off his shoulders before he could protest. The leather was heavier than it looked, soaked through and frigid to the touch. Jesus.

Leon let out a small, huffed laugh, raising his arms in surrender as you worked the coat free. Cedar, you thought absently, catching the scent that clung to him, warm and woodsy even beneath the chill.

“Sit down and warm up,” you ordered, pointing toward the small table near the fire. “You're not going anywhere in this weather.”

“And the shelves?” he asked, ever the dutiful sheriff.

“None of your damn business. You just carried half the territory’s worth of flour through a blizzard—I’d say you’ve earned five minutes.”

Leon’s smile turned genuine then, soft around the edges, and for the first time since he’d walked in, you saw the faintest hint of color return to his face. He nodded, boots thudding against the floor as he made his way to the chair.

As you turned back toward the sacks of supplies, already mentally calculating how much work lay ahead, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder. Leon was sitting by the fire now, elbows resting on his knees, hat in one hand and gloves dangling from the other, his gaze distant as he watched the flames. He looked tired. More tired than any man who’d just hauled a mile of flour and sugar should look, but there was something steady in the way he sat there, unshakable, like no storm could ever touch him.

You exhaled softly, shaking your head as you rolled up your sleeves. Christmas was comin’ whether the snow liked it or not.

You busied yourself at the counter, half-focused on the dough you were rolling out and half on the quiet presence of the man. After a while, the silence stretched like the dough underneath your hands, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire and the soft thud of your movements against your work surface.

He wasn't very talkative in the first place, you knew as much, thinking that perhaps you could have accomodated him better instead of throwing yourself immediately into work the moment you'd gotten what you'd been waiting for the whole morning. The awkwardness that stifled the bakery was bothersome enough that you chanced another glance at Leon, and caught him watching you, eyes briefly darting to the counter before returning to the oven. 

“You decorating all those yourself?” he asked finally, nodding toward the trays of fresh-out-the-oven, undecorated gingerbread men to the side that were cooling off.

You blinked, pausing mid-roll. “I was planning to, yeah.”

He stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing how much energy he had left after the trek. “You’ve got a lot of work left. Might as well make myself useful.”

Your brows rose in mild surprise, but you quickly recovered. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said simply, moving closer to the counter. “Might as well pass the time doing something.”

He put as much intensity into the staring match that followed as he would into a gunfight. It was inevitable that you'd lose. 

Finally, you reluctantly handed him an icing bag, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, Sheriff. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Leon took the bag, turning it over in his hands like it was a tool he needed to get a feel for. “Fair warning,” he said, “I’m better with a six-shooter than whatever this is.”

“It’s just icing. Start slow and gentle. No sharpshooting required.”

“Good,” he replied dryly. “Would hate to accidentally take out a gingerbread man.”

Was that... a joke? Did he just make a joke? 

You stepped closer to him, catching the way his hands dwarfed the small icing tube as he held it. His brow furrowed in concentration, the usual stoic expression on his face betraying just a smidge of uncertainty. There was something endearing about seeing him like this, someone so strong and sure reduced to puzzling over frosting.

“Here,” you said softly, placing your hands over his fingers, which twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stilled, letting you guide him. The warmth of his skin seeped into your palms, and you found yourself acutely aware of how close the two of you were.

“Hold it steady,” you murmured, your voice dipping low and deliberate, as if sharing a secret. “The trick is even pressure. Like this.”

You shifted your grip slightly, your thumbs brushing against his knuckles with a deliberate slowness. His hands, so large and steady, seemed to falter beneath your touch, the tiniest twitch betraying his awkwardness. You caught the faint hitch in his breath and felt the way his shoulders stiffened, as though unsure whether to lean into your guidance or escape it entirely, yet together with you, he squeezed the tube gently, a neat line of icing trailing onto the cookie below. He wasn’t focused on the cookie, though—not really. The way his hands followed your movements made it clear he was hyper-aware of the closeness, unsure but not resisting. Feeling the heat rise to your face, you quickly changed tack, pulling your hands away with a light laugh.

"You’ve got it from here," you said, stepping back slightly and gesturing to the cookie in front of him, your tone bright and easy.

Leon exhaled slowly, his breath brushing the side of your face. “Guess I was pressing too hard.”

“Most people do,” you replied, glancing up at him briefly. His focus was in front of him, but his jaw was tight. You could feel the tension in his shoulders despite him admitting what he'd been doing wrong. “Relax your grip a little.”

You adjusted his hold, guiding his hand through another clean line of icing, your bodies aligned as if the two of you had done this a hundred times before. When you finally released his hands, the absence of contact felt oddly stark... Thanks to the cold weather, no doubt. 

“Think you’ve got it now?” you asked, stepping back slightly, though your heartbeat had yet to slow.

“Think I’ll need a little more practice.”

That sounded suave at the time, but he was right, in the end. Leon’s first attempt at decorating was, to put it kindly, a disaster.

The icing tube seemed to have a mind of its own, spilling a shaky, jagged line across the gingerbread man’s torso. His frown was growing deeper by each passing minute, and he was constantly adjusting his grip, but it only got worse. By the time he set the tube down, the poor cookie looked more like a battlefield casualty than a festive treat.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. It bubbled up, light and genuine, as you reached over to inspect his handiwork. “Well,” you said, biting back a grin, “it’s… unique.”

“It’s terrible,” Leon muttered, a touch of color rising in his cheeks as he glanced at your much neater designs. “Maybe I should stick to chasing outlaws.”

“Aw, come on,” you teased, nudging his arm. “You’re just gettin' started. Besides, this is supposed to be fun, not perfect.”

He gave a skeptical huff but picked up the tube again, determined to try. How earnest. You leaned closer, pointing out how to apply even pressure, your hands brushing his as you demonstrated even though you didn't really need to do all of that. Something about enjoying a skilled grown man being awkward about something you were good at and wanting to enjoy moments of making him fumble. 

“There you go,” you encouraged as his next attempt turned out… well, marginally better. “See? Not bad for a first-timer.”

"I feel bad for whoever this will be eaten by," he muttered, referring to the misshapen abomination in his hand that could hardly qualify as a 'person.'

"It's the Mayor," you blurted out without thinking, causing a choked laugh escape past his lips, surprise lighting up his handsome features.

"Really?"

"Yep," you grinned, winking conspiratorially at him. "You're helping me bribe the man to invest more on Christmas. Gotta throw in some of your... specialties in there for good luck."

"You're trying to get me fired," he deadpanned, as dry as the wood stacked by the hearth. "And blacklisted."

A loud laugh tore itself out of your throat, warm and melodious in nature. He looked oddly pleased at having brought it out of you, the corners of his lips twitching up minutely before returning to its neutral position. God, how cute! You wondered what other expressions you could draw out of him if you tried. It wasn't fair how handsome he was when he smiled like that, a real smile, with actual emotion. That tiny change softened the harsh line of his mouth and eased the shadow of exhaustion from his face, making him look like a completely different person, like another version of himself who existed behind closed doors. The image stayed burned into your mind's retina as you resumed decorating the cookies with your nimble fingers, sneaking glances every so often, studying him from beneath your lashes.

You wanted to know more about this man. In a way, this snowstorm had been a good thing. 

“So,” you started, reaching for another cookie to decorate, “what made you take the sheriff’s job? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t strike me as the type who’d want to babysit a town like this.”

Leon glanced at you, his hand pausing mid-squeeze. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, ya know.” You gestured vaguely at him, smirking. “That look. Like you’ve seen too much of the world already and don’t trust any of it.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re not wrong.” For a moment, he focused on his cookie again, the silence stretching between you both. Then, quietly, he added, “I figured it was time to slow down. Maybe try something simpler.”

You arched a brow. “Simpler? Sheriff in a town like this? You must not have heard about all the trouble this place sees.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, glancing your way with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Still beats the alternative.”

The weight in his voice gave you pause. You didn’t press, sensing there were things he wasn’t ready to share, and not your place to know in the first place. Instead, you held up one of your finished cookies. “Well, here’s to slowing down. Even if it means spending your days wrestling with icing.”

“I’ll take it over the wrestling I’m used to,” he said, his lips twitching into a soft smile as he picked up another cookie. "Already like this better. It's nice working with someone like this. Having a calm evening instead of the usual shit I'm doing. Christmas cookie decorating. Who'd've thought, right?"

"That sounds lonely, Sheriff."

A strange, distant look crossed over his face momentarily, something melancholic and longing flitting across his face before it vanished again under the cool mask you were familiar with.

He let out a small, sad sigh. "...Yeah. S'pose it is."

"You know... Christmas is all about coming together. Starting fresh. And sometimes taking a little break from reality to enjoy yourself," you added thoughtfully, trying not to be too on the nose about what you were trying to convey. "We all need a little grace. Especially around this time of year."

He snorted softly at that, amused.

Your hand moved quicker than your mind could react, bringing the piping tip dangerously close to his mouth. "Care to repeat that?"

Leon blinked, momentarily stunned. "Christmas suits you," he repeated, more brazenly this time, daring you to follow through with the implicit threat. "All warm and welcoming." He leaned forward, almost challenging in nature. "Like this bakery of yours."

"Oh, well—" your ears burned hotter at the implications. If anyone saw you like this now, you would've been done for.

You cleared your throat, attempting to keep yourself composed even as Leon's stare bore a hole through your skull. The damn man was just teasing you, looking smug as fuck for figuring out how to make you flustered for once.

"You better watch your pretty mouth, or else I'll decorate it shut instead."

Leon threw you his most innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt smile, and oh—was he laying it on thick just to rile you up. He seemed to have recovered from earlier, all broody and cold-shouldered as he usually was. This new, playful side of him was going to kill you before the day was over, you were absolutely certain of it.

"Maybe next time," he said simply with a nonchalant shrug. 

The man had some nerve. Just the mere implication made your head spin. Did he mean it? Was he flirting? What did that mean for him? For you? You thought back to the few times you'd seen him around town—the polite smiles and nods exchanged at a distance; the brief conversation when your order went missing; the sudden appearance this afternoon that saved your day—and wondered why things were so easy between you despite how limited the interactions. Maybe because you knew each other well enough in name only, without the addition of many personal details beyond those spoken on a passing basis. Or maybe there was something deeper and unspoken that existed between you two ever since that first interaction at the saloon several weeks ago. Maybe you weren't imagining the subtle, shy looks, the hidden smiles, the way he tended to linger by the doorway to watch you work long after he ran out of excuses to be there anymore.

You shook away such thoughts and returned to decorating, not sure what to say in response.

"...Do you ever get the temptation to have any while you do this?" He asked all of a sudden, changing the topic abruptly. "Or wait til the last batch gets done and then have them?"

"These are for Christmas!"

"They are for the Mayor."

You couldn't help but giggle, especially since he said that like someone else would talk about some slimy thing on the bottom of their shoe. "For Christmas's sake."

"Would you eat one? Any of these ones I did?" There was something almost like playful disappointment there, in his tone. "I think we need to do some... quality testing before deciding to send them off to my employer and risk my job while we're at it."

There were very few times Leon Kennedy was described as an optimist, even fewer times he could be considered amusing (the townsfolk seemed convinced he wasn't capable of joy), but hearing him make a joke regarding his 'employer' with you made something flip inside your tummy. It didn't take long for you to cave, popping the partially iced gingerbread man into your mouth.

And that's how both of you ended up sitting down and devouring the whole batch, with two cups of steaming hot chocolate courtesy of yours truly. In true Christmas spirit, Leon even suggested making a gingerbread house from scratch in the shape of the mayor's office (complete with a gingerbread dog) and helping you with the baking process.

At this point, neither of you cared about decorum—the sheriff's sleeves were rolled up high on his arms, and you'd shucked your apron ages ago. Between the pair of you, you had enough raw dough in your mouths to sink a ship, but it was delicious, and your stomach was full of warm gingerbread and sweet cream. All that was missing was eggnog and a roaring fire, and it really felt like Christmas. His company, too, was surprisingly pleasant. Though Leon was quiet—always quiet—he listened attentively to your chatter while you kneaded the dough and he mixed the sugar and eggs while occasionaly going in for the hot chocolate, which was quite endearing for a man you hadn't seen with any beverage other than some sort of alcohol at the saloon.

You leaned against the counter as Leon poured another mug of hot chocolate, his sleeves still rolled up and his hair slightly mussed from pushing it away too many times so it wouldn't get in his eyes while he worked. The snowstorm had calmed some, but the wind still howled outside, leaving little to do but bake another batch of cookies and fruitcakes to pass the time—and keep the shop warm.

“So, about that axle,” you started, reaching for the bowl of flour. “No one told you it was shot?”

Leon shook his head, his expression almost sheepish. “Guess I didn’t ask the right questions. Higgins just said it was ‘good enough.’”

You snorted, scooping flour into the mixing bowl. “‘Good enough’ by Higgins’ standards means it’s one bump away from falling apart. The man’s been patching that wagon together with spit and stubbornness for years.”

Leon’s lips twitched in a faint smile as he leaned against the counter across from you. “Noted for next time.”

“You’re lucky it lasted as long as it did. But you’ll get used to that around here. Everyone’s got their quirks, and most of them involve cutting corners where they shouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Leon’s tone invited more, his eyes steady on yours as he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Oh, definitely,” you said, grabbing the sugar. “Take Mrs. Winslow, for example. Sweet old lady, bakes pies for half the town out of the goodness of her heart that it's bad for my business, but did you know she’s the reason the post office closes early every other Thursday?”

Leon blinked. “I… can’t say I did.”

You grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “She’s been having a years-long feud with the postmaster’s wife over some quilting contest back in ‘64. The poor postmaster just shuts up shop early to keep the peace whenever she’s around.”

“Jesus…”

“And then there’s Old Man Miller. Nice fella, always has a good story to share, but he’s also the same guy who thinks it’s a bright idea to milk his cows at midnight to ‘beat the rush’ at the market in the morning.” You laughed, remembering the sight of Mr. Miller stumbling bleary-eyed into the bakery, smelling distinctly of barnyard. “And let me tell you, that man’s cheese tastes like the butt crack of dawn on a Monday morning itself.”

Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds charming.”

“It is. Charming and... a little crazy, to be honest. But that’s the kind of place this is. We’ve all got our stories, and we’re all a bit touched in the head. Except me, of course. I’m the picture of sanity. Why, just yesterday, I had a completely normal, rational conversation with my sourdough starter as I fed it. It agreed wholeheartedly.”

“I see the resemblance,” Leon joked, his posture relaxing as he took over the task of adding eggs to the bowl, his fingers moving deftly and confidently. “Did the sourdough give you any tips for dealing with the townsfolk, or is that a trade secret?”

"Ah, wouldn't you like to know," you teased, laughing along. "But honestly, the best advice I can offer is to roll with the punches. This place will drive you nuts if you try to understand it. Just let the weird wash over you, and eventually, you'll feel at home."

Leon paused, considering your words. "That might take a while."

“Here's some secrets to keep up... There’s old Tom over at the smithy. He’ll fix your horseshoes for half price, but only if you promise not to bring up the time he accidentally set fire to the mayor’s porch.”

You glanced up to find his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

“And let’s not forget about the Reverend,” you continued, emboldened by the sight. “Bless his heart, but he’s been known to sample a little too much of the communion wine. You’ll know it’s happened when he starts quoting Shakespeare in his sermons.”

Leon nodded wisely. “Duly noted. Blackmail Tom, steer clear of the reverend during happy hour. Got any other wisdom to impart, town sage?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Well, if you ever need a favor from the schoolmarm, remember that her favorite flowers are peonies. And whatever you do, do not play poker with the Doc. The man can cheat like no one's business, and no, he's not above using his medical degree to his advantage. Also, avoid the butcher on Tuesdays—he's extra cranky after haggling prices with the ranchers. Oh, and never, ever bet against the blacksmith in an arm-wrestling match. Trust me, I learned that the hard way. Poor Billy. That boy won't learn his lesson anytime soon."

"What about the town baker?" he asked, his tone light, a hint of curiosity in his question, his focus on the dough in front of him, his fingers kneading the mound of flour, butter, and sugar. "Any secrets worth knowing?"

You quirked a brow, a sly smile playing at the corners of your mouth at him taking the first step that he'd been circling for quite some time. What would he have done if you weren't good with signals? Nevermind, though, you liked this brand of shy men. "Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing..."

Leon paused, his hands buried in the dough, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt sleeves. He looked at you expectantly, a glint of intrigue in his otherwise impassive demeanor.

"The baker," you said in a hushed tone, leaning forward as if sharing a secret, "has a weakness for a handsome, helpful sheriff who knows his way around a bag of icing. Especially one who's willing to brave a snowstorm to deliver her supplies personally."

The blush that crept up Leon's neck was immediate, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. You couldn't help but bite your lower lip, finding his flustered state absolutely adorable. His grip on the dough tightened momentarily, and he averted his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he tried to compose himself.

"Ah," he managed, his throat bobbing in a nervous gulp.

You nodded, the grin on your face growing wider. "Mhm. She would love it if on Christmas Eve, that certain sheriff stopped by the bakery to pick up her special order. Maybe even have a drink together. To thank him for all his help, of course. If he's not busy, that is."

Leon cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his attention still fixed on the dough before him. "I... I'll be sure to check my schedule," he managed, a slight tremor in his deepened voice.

"Good," you replied, straightening up, satisfied with his response. "Now, enough chit-chat, Sheriff. Let's get these gingerbread men in the oven so they can rest and bake, and we can have more hot chocolate and relax in the meantime. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan," Leon agreed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat, though his ears still burned a rosy red.

[ray935sworld]

A kiss in the darkness

Beznaia

22.12 winter writing

content warning: masturbation

Everything on their trip seemed to be cursed. First Vale and Luca bailed out the academy winter trip. In their defense, Franci was pregnant and Luca definitely would not enjoy the trip when his 2 month old daughter was at home.

Franky had already booked a stay in Brazil to catch up with his family and his boyfriend had finally found the guts to join him. So Migno was out too.

And Cele had gone down with the flue only a few days prior, leaving Pecco and Bez to go alone.

And at first this had seem like a dream come true for Pecco. He would be able to spent a few days all alone with the man who he had a crush on since they were stupid teenager. No one to interrupt them. No one to call him out if he was staring to much. And most importantly - no one to distract Bez from spending time with him.

Then it dawned on him.

He would spent days ALONE with the man who he had a crush on since they were stupid teenager with no real other distraction.

He had been driving when the realization hit him fully. Marco was next to him, singing along to the mamma mia soundtrack. It was completly out if tone and objectively speaking, terrible. But when the older Italian turned to him and saw how his thick curls nodded along with the rhythm and how happy and relaxed he looked, he knew it was the most wonderful thing he ever heard.

He took a deep breath, knowing this could either be the worst or the best holiday ever. He was promising himself that he wouldn't be awkward and he wouldn't embaress himself.

Then he did excatly that.

With no one to interrupted them and no one else to focus on, he suddenly notice Bez behavior more. He noticed that he regularly looked at him. Like he was staring. But why would he?

Of course Pecco was staring too but only in a way that the other didn't notice. Or at least he thought so.

"Youre staring" Bez had said over dinner. He had looked up from his food, a playful smile on his cheeks. "You're always staring. Do I have something on my face?" he asked.

His hand was moving over his face. Over his beard, the side of his face and at the end even over his neck. For a second Pecco froze, he watched the tattooed hand touch Bez own skin and his brain went into shortcut.

"Am i that ugly that you always stare at me?" he asked and Pecco felt his cheeks heat up. For a moment he didn't realize that there was not just a playful tone. There was a little bit of hesitation bordering on insecurity.

"No!" he replied, maybe by the way the other raised his eyebrows a little bit too fast and too intense. But he couldn't stand the thought that he didn't saw himself as anything but beautiful.

"I... I mean, come on... You're pretty. Pretty ugly." he said and despite it being an absolute bad joke, for which he felt incredible bad, Bez laughed along. It was his rich, honest laugh, where there was no holding back. No hesitation.

"Yeah? Well maybe I just need some of yours to make me a pretty boy?"

And that was the moment Pecco was sure he had died.

For a moment he couldn't help but imagine Bez naked infront of him. Sweaty. Moaning. Marked by him. Taken apart by him. Covered in his cum. Some of yours? He had no idea what taht actually meant but his brain had already made up it's mind.

With that thought he felt his pants getting significantly tighter. He was getting hard but just in that one second he didn't care that he sat opposite his best friend with a hard cock.

"Some of my - what?" he asked, swallowing drily. He didn't know if he was pushing or what he was even trying to push for. Marco looked him up and down for a few seconds that felt like hours. He bit his lips. Then grinned.

"Some if your hair products of course. I bet you have the really fancy stuff!" Of course. Pecco wanted to knock his head against a wall. What had he been thinking?

"Yeah. Of course. I can give them to you. Everything you want, princess"

The last word just slipped out but for a moment he thought he had seen a faint blush on his cheeks. He wanted to dive in the feeling that a simple nickname had gotten a reaction like this, but he knew it was just delusional thinking, so he didn't entertain the thought much more

The next days went almost the same. Bez made stupid jokes that made Pecco think wrong things. Pecco felt like he was stumbling around Marco like an idiot.

His newest high was when Bez fell asleep on the couch, with his head against Pecco's shoulder while watching a movie. He had sat there calmly, without moving, even watching part of the next movie, until Marco wake up.

But instead of just going along with it, and acting friendly, maybe teasing him a bit, he had just started at him.

But now it came to a head when Bez suddenly burst into his room with nothing but a towel around his waist after they had spent the day skiing.

His hair was still wet. His curls still not yet flat and instead more waivy but already detangled. Small drops were falling down his strands. They dropped to the floor or - as Pecco spotted while following one of them - ran over Bez gorgeous body.

He couldn't help but look him up and down. His chest was defined. His muscles were ever present even during the winter holiday. And his arms - He wanted to do nothing more but to stand up, take Bez biceps and press him down on it.

Feel the muscles, knowing Bez could fight him off and probably win but in this particular moment he wouldn't. He would give in, letting Pecco win. He would let him press him down against the bed on which the older man was currently sitting. He would allow him to do whatever he wanted to his body.

And fuck -

That was when he spotted the silver bars that pierced through his nipples. Whatever thought he had was gone.

He wanted to lean down, put them in his mouth and suck. He wondered if they would actually taste metallic if he'd take them in his mouth.

"Pecco?" With that he was back into reality "Sorry-" he hurried to say. "Sorry, I - What did you say?" "I said my curl cream is empty. You got some?" "I... Curl cream? Yes. Wait-"

He stood up, refusing to turn around while he was rummaging through his bag, looking for needed tube. He blushed when his finger brushes the tube of lube that happened to be excatly next to it.

A part of him told him to just grab that one, give it to Bez and told him to get ready. Just to see how he would react. He wanted him to blush or to smile greedily. He wanted him to sit down and do excatly taht.

But either he would get laughed at - which he wouldn't be able to handle - or he would get it smashed against his face.

And he really didn't want to risk their friendship. After all that was all he seemed to get. And he was grateful for that. He was willing to take anything he got, hoarding it like a dragon and never letting it go.

Plus he would have to explain why the hell he had taken lube with him. On a ski trip. With his best friend. And he really had no interest to do so.

So he grabbed the curl cream and turned around. Only to find Bez, sitting on his bed.

He was sure that was the moment he had died. Again. Because his definetly naked crush was currently sitting on his bed. He was leaning back, arms stabilizing him, his head leaning against the wall.

Pecco stared and blushed when he saw Marcos eyes opening and winking at him. He was about to open his eyes. Maybe to say something inappropriate or stupid. Something that would ruin the moment gotr Pecco so he decided to end it on his own.

"Here" The former champion said as he handed Bez the hair product. "Thank you very much, my savior" he replied and left Pecco who definitely didn't got a small high out of being called a savior. Or Bez savior in particular.

Pecco was still standing there, slightly shell shocked. It was only when he heard the hair dryer that he was able to move again. He wasn't proud of the fact that this was his feist reaction after that but he had hold back to much. He couldn't deny it himself any longer.

And he felt safe enough, so he grabbed the other tube out his luggage and sat down on the bed. Exactly where Bez had sat a few minutes before.

His hands went down to his pants to open them quickly and pull his already hardening cock out his underwear. There was a flicker of guilt for what he was about to do but the vision of Bez, with his hot, naked ass right infront of had been too good.

He poured some of the liquid on his hand and closes his eyes. He started pumping a few times. It wasn't really for his own satisfaction or enjoyment. It felt more like an internal need he just had to obey and please.

And that was squeezing his own hard, leaking cock. Wrapping his hand around himself and imagining his own body heat was the heat that was surely radiating in Marcos mouth. He imagined the lube being Marcos saliva and he moaned at that thought.

He quickly bit his lips and pulled a face. He had to be silence even if the sensation of his hard cock, the heat that was pulling inside of him and the desperation in his body was too much for him.

He took a deep breath and run back his memories. Not just Bez a few minutes ago, but over the course of years. How beautiful he had looked on the top step of the podium. How gorgeous he had looked when they went to the beach together, sunbathing and playing volleyball. His smile when he ran to him to tell him he had signed a motogp contract.

He remembered him shirtless, sweet, sweaty, moaning after a race. He remembered him covered in champaign and wine and whatever else his team had poured over him which he had greedily taken.

Everything. He felt like he remembered everything. Every little smile and every little moment.

Then he came, right across his own hand. The hot liquid burning against his skin, a small reminder that his fantasy was nothing more than a vision his brain had come up to create satisfaction.

He refused to lose the afterglow so soon. So he just closed his eyes, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern. Soon he heard the sound of the hair dryer die down so he quickly got up to wash his hands in the kitchen.

He sighed. "What the hell were you thinking, Bagnaia?" he asked himself. Because if he thought he had already been awkward now was even worst.

It was one think to jerk off thinking about Bez when he was in his own home, where no one was around to judge him. But jerking off to his best friend while said best friend was just down the corridor was totally different.

He couldn't manage to look at Bez when he came back - this time dressed - to return the cream. He was grinning happily, his hands puffing up his hair.

"Looks good, doesn't it? You really got the good stuff" "Yeah, thanks" he said, while grinning awkwardly. He felt a mixture of shame at his own thoughts and actions. But he couldn't deny that he was happy that he could provide something good for Bez.

He felt Marcos gaze against him. He heard the fabric ruffles as he crossed his arms infront his chest, still looking at him. He didn't dare to return the glance. Not when he had just come for those eyes.

"You okay?" Bez asked, his voice daring and strong. Like he was saying 'I know you're not so don't lie to me'. Pecco swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Totally." he even forced a smile "Everything fine. Why wouldn't it be?" "I don't know... You've been acting weird. Anyway..."

He turned around, shrugging and left.

Pecco used that moment to burry his head in his hands. He was fucked. He wasn't getting fucked. He was just fucked.

But at least he assumed that there was no way this whole situation could get anymore weird and awkward. That was until the evening came around.

He was already getting ready for bed when suddenly the lights went out and he was left in the dark. The whole room just went dark without any warning.

He blinked in confusion, trying to get used to the darkness.

He grabbed his phone - no signal - but the flashlight was still working. He illuminate the room with a reliefed smile. Just when he was about to look for a solution, he heard a loud scream.

"PECCO!" He knew the voice and he knew he hated the fact that he was screaming. "PECCO! FUUUCK! Shit. Shit. Shit. AH-!"

The combination of curses spiked his panic. He quickly ran to the door and pushed it open. He ran through the corridor where he heard Bez moving and still silently cursing.

"Marco? I'm here!" he yelled back, worried that he had fallen or hurt himself in the dark. Because as he saw, the whole house was dark.

He found him easily and quickly lowered the flashlight after accidentally holding it right in Bez face. He blinked and closed his eyes but the shiver of his whole body was evident that something wasn't right. And looking at the thick hoodie and socks he was wearing, it couldn't be the cold.

"Marco, is everything okay?" "I... The... The light has gone out." he replied, his voice slightly less confident than usual. There was a faint sound to it, he couldn't fully identify. His words were shacky.

"Yeah... I don't know. I guess the power went out." he took a look at the electric watch that was connected to the oven but it was dark. "Yep. We just have to wait till it returns. I'm sure it's normal." "Can't we call someone?"

Pecco saw how Bez started to move his hands. They were grabbing into his own hoodie, while his gaze was fixed on Pecco. He moved slightly closer. "I mean - There has to be a way, right?"

And now Pecco could identify the underlying sound. It was fear. He looked at his friend for a moment in confusion. He watches him shiver and move from one feet to the other.

"We're not getting a signal. And there's too much snow to drive. But it's just one night. We-" "But it's cold and... Forget it." this time it was him avoiding his gaze. It worried the older man.

"Hey, it's okay. What's going on? Marco, I'm your friend, you can trust me." he tried, hoping his voice was calm enough to actually have an effect.

He watched Marco seemingly contamplaiting, thinking it over, maybe considering his words. Then he replied with a quiet and stubborn sounding. "I don't like the darkness. Okay? I'm afraid of the dark. There. That's it. You can make fun of me if you want to"

He had this stubborn, defensive sound that he couldn't help but want to get rid of.

"What? No." he quickly said and couldn't help but pull him in a hug. "No I'm not gonna make fun of you for that. Everyone has a stupid fear over something. We... We'll figure it out, okay? Just... I think it's best if we just go to bed, alright? And in the morning everything will be easier."

Bez was still cuddle against him, nodding slightly. "But... I... I had my window open." he confessed. "And?" "My room is as cold as outside. I was... I turned the heating back on but without the power that won't work either."

And now he knew what he meant. Bez couldn't stay in a room that had -9° or something like that.

"Okay. Fuck it." Pecco decided. He didn't really think about his words. Instead he just spoke because he knew he wouldn't come up with another idea.

"We're gonna have a sleepover. Like when we were kids, okay? You're sleeping in my bed." "I... Are you sure?" "Ye-Yeah" he said, trying to push the horny thoughts away that Marco would actually be spending the night in his bed. At his side.

He managed to somehow keep his thoughts clean until it was actually time to climb in bed with his best friend. 'just like when we were kids' he thought to himself.

But back then he didn't even know that gay sex was even an option. He didn't know he could feel like this for Bez. He just pushed his ideas away, covering them as a stupid idea.

But now -

And back then Cele, Luca, Migno, Bulega, Franky - they had all been there. They had been a cuddle pile. There hadn't been anything even remotely sexually about it, even if you'd tried.

But now -

"If you don't want to, I can-" Bez started and was about to sit up again when Pecco quickly laid down next to him. He just slid under the covers because worst than being worried about how to act was just Marco leaving.

The first few seconds were awkward. He felt tense and unsure. Until he felt Bez move more towards him. He felt his hands against his frame, slightly pulling him more towards him.

"You know what?" he whispered. "This is actually pretty nice"

Pecco felt Bez head against his side and he couldn't help but extend his arm to give him some more physical contact. He tried to tell himself that this was just to give Bez more comfort.

He knew very well that Bez love language was touch and it would call him. Not to mention that it was a way to keep each other warm. But in reality he just wanted to use every chance he got to touch Marco and feel him close.

He scooped him up in his arms, holding him close. He knew they only did this to calm down, for this one night but he wished it was more. He wanted to feel him pressed against his body again and again.

He didn't want to lose to feeling of having him on top of him and sleeping, like this. He felt his regular breathing. He was sure he was asleep by now. All while he refused to fall asleep now. He didn't want to waste a second of feeling Bez close to him with sleep.

"I wish this wasn't a one time thing" he whispered into the darkness. "I wish we could spent every night and every day like this. I would hodk you close, protect you and treat you right. I promise you, I would do anything for you." "Mm... A kiss would be enough for now" he heard and froze in shock.

Bez moved and opened his eyes. He smiled at him.

"Bez, you're... You're awake?" he asked. "Yeah... So? Am I getting that kiss or not? I'm asking very nicely for it, Pecco.... Please" "You - you want -" "Yes I want a kiss. From you. Now. Preferably."

He blinked a few times. He wanted to make sure this wasn't a dream. But even if it was, he decided not to care. Instead he just used his chance to lean down and kissed him.

It was soft kiss. They kissed just for the sake of kissing. They kissed because they wanted to kiss. And they didn't want to stop.

They were locked away, locked inside this little house, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Locked in the darkness and locked inside each other.

Both knew they were too tired and exhausted to actually do anything else so when they separated again to take a breath, Bez used the chance to kiss him again.

Just a quick peak on the lips and he grinned.

"Thank you... Hopefully I can stop teasing you now. I love you by the way." he whispered before he closed his eyes again, his head now laying completly on Pecco.

"I love you too" Pecco replied and planted another kiss on Marcos forehead. For a moment he was wondering if the other would remember their moment. But when he woke up from Marco softly nipping and kissing the skin at his throat, he was sure he did remember.

[reywaffle]

Generational String

Pairing: Harry x Draco, James x Regulus

Description: Harry Potter is desperately into Draco Malfoy, but he has no clue about it. He finds himself going through some old stuff in Sirius’ attic. He finds an old notebook that used to be his dad’s. Harry discovers that his dad was not only with his mom, but also dated Regulus Black during his time at Hogwarts. He reads through the flashbacks which help him to process his own feelings for Draco.

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of my first ever fic, so please be kind. I wanted to do this cause I enjoy fanfiction and wanted to practice my creative writing skills. If you do like it then give it a like or comment and feel free to follow if you want more updates. The next chapter should be posted later today. Thanks for reading!🫶

Playlist I listened to while writing

Chapter 1: Pages of a Secret Story

20 October, 1995

Harry James Potter loathed Draco Lucius Malfoy. At least, that’s what he thinks. His friends know differently. Ron and Hermione knew that Harry had a massive crush on Draco. It was so obvious that his whole house could know as well. The only person that didn’t know was Harry himself. He was completely oblivious to his own feelings.

Right now, Harry is making his way toward 12 Grimmauld Place to visit his godfather, Sirius Black. He’s staying there for the weekend to spend some time with the only living man he considered family. He was a bit nervous; he didn’t really know what he could do there. He supposes he will find out in about a minute. He stared at the flat, almost afraid to walk in. He hadn’t really gotten to know Sirius that much since he had to stay in hiding after escaping Azkaban in Harry’s 3rd year. This was the first time he’d ever spent any elongated time with him. Harry made his way to the door, hesitating slightly. He knocked. He waits a moment and hears a pair of footsteps getting louder, making their way to the door. He watches the door handle quickly turn. He looks up to see the kind face of Sirius Black looking him right in the center of his bright green eyes. “Harry! Welcome!” Sirius exclaimed.

“Yeah, thank you for inviting me over Sirius.”

“Of course, my dear boy! Please come on in. I’d hate to be seen.” Sirius rushed Harry inside. The place looked exactly as he remembered it when he first came to join The Order. It still had that cold and regretful feeling to it. Almost as if there was a ghost haunting the place. A ghost with a lot of regret that is. “Please make yourself at home this weekend. I made Kreature clean all the rooms, so you’d be able to choose which one you’d want to sleep in. They’re just down that hall if you want to take your bag down.” Sirius told Harry, with an almost equally as nervous tone as Harry felt on the inside whilst gesturing toward a stairwell. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Of course. And down there is the kitchen and sitting room if you want to hang around down here.” He said now gesturing towards the corner that led to the kitchen. Harry nodded and started to make his way up the stairs. It was quite a dark and harrowing hallway. It made Harry feel as if the walls were closing in on him. It was a bit different last time he was here because there were also about 13 other people there to make it a bit more comfier. Now it was completely silent aside from the faint sound of Kreatcher cooking dinner all the way downstairs.

He made his way down the hallway and decided to stop at a room that said “Regulus” on the door. Harry knew that name. It belonged to Sirius’ estranged younger brother. For some reason, Harry felt drawn to the room. As if fate were telling him to open the door. He stared at the golden door knob for a moment before reaching toward it. He slowly turned the knob and when he opened the door he saw a room no different than a teenage boys would be. It had peeling blue wallpaper that had decaying Slytherin quidditch posters tacked to it. There was a piano in the corner, as well as a desk and dresser on the other wall. They were all the same shade of brown, but the dresser had a dirty mirror on top of it. The bed was quite wide which left little walking room through the bedroom. Though Harry didn’t mind too much, considering he lived in a cupboard for 10 years of his life, this room was like a mansion. The sheets were a reddish color and the comforter was blue. They were the only things in the room that looked new. Everything else seemed to have been sitting there and rotting for 30 years- “well I suppose it had.” Thought Harry.

He set his stuff down and sat on the bed. He was tempted to look through the desk, as he was a bit nosey sometimes. He started toward it and sat down at the chair. It almost gave out at Harry’s weight the second he plopped down on it. He stared at it for a while and pulled on the golden handle that opened the bottom drawer. Inside was only some old parchment and quill. There was also an empty bottle of ink that Harry assumed was either used up or dried out over time. It all was quite boring, so Harry decided to wander around a bit. He set his jacket down on the bed and set back off for the unlit hallway.

As Harry stood in the hallway he contemplated where he should go. He looked around and then up. He stopped and noticed that there was an attic door opening with a string hanging to pull down the ladder. He slowly walked toward it cause he didn’t want to be too loud incase he wasn’t allowed to be up there. He did stop for a second and consider whether or not it was a good idea to go into the attic. Dinner was almost ready and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed up there. After sort of careful consideration though, he still made his way up the rickety ladder.

The attic had a dusty smell to it. Harry could feel the 30 plus layers of dust traveling up his nose and down to his lungs. He coughed into his shirt sleeve, trying to conceal that he was upstairs. The attic was cold as well, but not in a temperature way. More of a lonely way, like no one had been up there in years. The attic was practically filled to the brim with boxes of stuff. He looked around a bit, but nothing caught his attention. That is, until he saw a small box labeled James sitting in the corner of the room. He made his way to it, eager to find out what things of his fathers Sirius still has. He picked up the box and sat on the attic floor in its place. It wasn’t very heavy and it was also untaped. He set the box on his lap and began to open it. Inside he saw only 3 things, including a quidditch trophy from 1974, a few Spider-Man comics from the 70’s, and a journal. Harry had to admit he was a little hesitant to open the journal. Last time he found a journal it turned out to be the ghost of Tom Riddle and he was going around petrifying people with a basilisk. He even forced Ginny Weasly to do his dirty work for him. Thinking about that time during his second year surprisingly reassured Harry that nothing can be as bad as that.

He opened the journal and saw that there were entries all throughout. Turns out it was a diary from his dads time at Hogwarts. The first entry was from 4 October, 1975. Almost exactly 10 years ago. Harry started to read in hopes to find a connection with his dad. The only other time he felt that way was when he played quidditch, and he desperately craved a way to know his family better. He never got the chance to know either of his parents personally. He only heard the same things from everyone else; His mother was bright and his father was a prankster.

4 October , 1975

Today was the first day of quidditch practice for this year's season. I saw Regulus in the air practicing as well. He looked so beautiful from that angle. Like he was an angel. Or perhaps a demon sent to tempt me. Unfortunately, it was working a little too well. Everytime I see him, it’ s like my heart swells up and might just burst. I feel a little bad for Lily, even though we never dated or anything, I still told her I liked her for 4 years. I’m just glad she never felt the same. I also feel bad for Sirius. I mean what kind of best friend falls for his best friend's baby brother. I mean it’ s not like I’d act on these feelings anyway. Not unless I got Sirius’ blessing which I know he would never give. That kinda sucks doesn’ t it? I suppose I ought to go to bed. I have more practice in the morning. At least I can watch from a distance right?

Harry’s jaw had dropped and his eyes had completely bugged out. He could not believe what he just read. His head and heart started to pound in synchronization as the words lightly uttered out of his mouth. “My dad and Sirius’ little brother?” Harry had a fear behind his voice. Almost as if he was scared of his own thoughts about this. While he had no problem with homosexuals, he never really knew any, and he certainly didn’t think his father would be one. About a million thoughts raced through Harry’s brain. However, the one that stuck out the most was “Does this mean my dad never loved my mom?” This thought terrified him. If it were true that would mean everything he had ever been told was a lie.

“Harry? Would you like to come down for dinner?” Sirius faintly shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Harry forced himself out of his trance to answer him back. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Alright.” Harry heard back. He quickly stood and set the box back in its spot. He kept the diary and swiftly climbed back down the ladder to shut the door on the ceiling. He went into his room and shoved the diary in his jacket’s inner pocket. He made his way downstairs trying to remain calm and get through this dinner as fast as he could because oddly enough, Harry found himself wanting to read more.

Links to more chapters(will add as I continue to write)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[devotion-disorder]

Hey Devo! I came here to ask about if you were keeping up with DOL but I just noticed your post yesterday! I was about to ask if you just updated it because of the new Housekeeping class?

when i made that post i dont think the update was out yet haha! but just now i did just sink a couple hours trying out the update :DD I finally have proper free time now to actually play the damn game rather than living vicariously through other people's screenshots LOL

I had to open a new save because in my old save the goddamn ear slime kept stopping me from going to the housekeeping class specifically LMAOO i couldn't get rid of it even with cheats ;_; i haven't actually cooked anything so far but think its a fun addition!! vrel is right that since class is the only way to learn recipes its gonna take a looooong time to actually unlock a decent amount of them...i wasn't expecting a skillcheck a la weekly exam to successfully learn a recipe, which makes it hard bc housekeeping is probably gonna be the last skill i choose to grind esp in early game...but im excited about gifting food to the LI's :DDD

i've been getting too complacent cause before i just play with cheats to get the scenes i want but now i actually wanna try to unlock some more feats....Ive never even won the maths competition and it seems so hard 😭😭😭 and I want to save pc's virginity for wren / one of the LI's but I also want to see bailey's rescue for the stimulant kidnapping which will include a really messy gangbang encounter 💀💀💀💀

but this does remind me how crazy complex DoL as a game is like its got me planning strategically what i should do and shit. and each playthrough im still finding out new stuff like I only JUST discovered the phallic option for the science fair💀💀💀like no two playthroughs will be the same fr!!!

[gellavonhamster]

the wolf and the moon

Turn: Washington's Spies || Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge || unspecified fantasy/magic AU ao3 link eng || this was first written and published on ao3 in Russian in 2017 but I didn’t attempt to translate it into English back then. 

You must not be afraid of the changes that I've made

I have come now to bring you away

To our bed that I have made with the seven stones I've laid

And covered in the finest of clay

Lay your head upon the ground, you shall never be found

I will guard against dangers that be

Until dawn comes around you must not make a sound

And I swear you will forever be with me

(Birch Book – Werewolf’s Eyes)

Looking back, Ben is utterly angry at himself for not catching on to what was happening to him until it was too late.

First he notices all smells become sharper. Gunpowder, sweat, horse dung, damp earth, campfire smoke, hair pomade. Hundreds of smells that were not as distinct before surround him in a smothery cloud that seems dense enough to spoon it up like fat broth. Ben frowns, dizzy with this suffocating mixture, and steals furtive glances at the others, trying to find out if they feel the same, but everyone is acting like everything’s normal. He does not dare to ask, suspecting how strange that would sound. The other officers keep their guard up with him as it is – sure, he’s well-mannered and all, but still, heaven knows what to expect from those magicians.

On the last night before the full moon, he blows out a candle in his tent, and suddenly realizes he can see perfectly in the dark. Then he begins to understand – although just what, not how. If he was bitten, he would have remembered it – or would he not? Leave it to Rogers and his men to wipe out his memories. Everyone knows his unit is made up of only those endowed with at least middling witchcraft powers. It is for this reason that much later Ben is so surprised to find out that Jordan – that is, Akinbode – has joined the ranks of Rangers. It is odd and upsetting to know that all those years someone else in Setauket was able to do magic apart from the four of them, and they had not the slightest idea.

It might be that the bayonet he was wounded with was soaked in something. Werewolf’s blood? Werewolf’s saliva? The next day, Ben all but runs to his tent each time he has a minute to spare and leafs through his papers frantically, his own notes and torn-out book pages alike. His command of sorcery is much poorer than imagined by most people in their army, Washington included. Compared to those who couldn’t even deal with a simple spell, he’s a magician indeed. In truth, however – and being aware of it has never made him feel as dejected before – he’s just another self-taught amateur. If what is happening to him is exactly what all the evidence suggests, then he is helpless. All he can do is steal out of the tent when it gets dark and the moon’s silver disk starts to glisten behind the clouds, and rush towards the forest. He manages to put on a smoke-and-mirrors spell so that no one notices he’s gone; at least he’s good enough for such trifles.

He makes it to the woods in time – as soon as he steps into the thicket, he convulses with excruciating pain. A bayonet is like a mosquito bite compared to that; worse, finishing off his brother in arms so as not to give himself away in front of Rogers and his band of warlocks is like a mosquito bite compared to that. It feels as if huge invisible hands are kneading him like dough and sculpting his flesh and bones into something else, ugly and unnatural. Ben struggles to keep his mouth shut, but he still screams.

Then he howls.

Then he’s racing through the woods surrounded by thousands of smells, which don’t seem as obnoxious as before, and he feels good – as good as never before, especially compared to that terrible pain earlier. The moss is springy under his paws and the air is fresh, and the blood of the hare he caught is hot and tastes better than any food he’s ever tried. There is no trace of the fear that has weighed down on him that entire day. How could he be afraid of this?

But when he wakes up at dawn in the depths of the forest completely naked, shivering with cold, his human face smeared with blood, the fear returns.

And the night after it proves itself justified.

***

After the second night, Ben returns to the camp, slips into his tent, falls down on his knees and howls and howls more than he did at night in honour of the full moon.

He has only vague memories of what happened. A dark silhouette sneaking through the woods. A jump, a loud cry, the cracking of neck vertebrae. A blue uniform torn to pieces. A warm throat in his maw. All of it blurred, befuddling; an unpleasant dream right before waking up. But what he saw in the morning he remembers clearly – and will never forget.

He’s not throwing up. He’s choking on tears, he’s shaking with disgust, but he’s not throwing up at all. God, why isn’t he throwing up from the thought of having gorged himself of human flesh last night?

Ben forces himself to get up. His body moves as if by itself – and is it his own anymore, really? Or is the only body he inhabits now that of a wolf, for which that nightmare is just another hunt, and not the most heinous crime imaginable? He keeps looking around the tent dully, until he understands that the thing he needs, the only thing that can save him and the others, is already at hand.

He cocks the pistol and puts it to his temple.

“No!”

An unseen force wrenches the pistol from his hand and throws it into the corner. A shot rings out – in vain.

“You shot a hole through my wall,” Ben says, tired. He doesn’t turn around; he can’t look Caleb in the eye, not after what he did last night. But Caleb is beside him in a blink of an eye, grabs his hand painfully, and makes him turn around – and then he has to look.

Ben isn’t sure he’s ever seen Caleb in such rage before.

“Screw you, Tallboy,” Caleb spits out wrathfully, looking up at him. “Have you lost your mind? What the hell was that?!”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s easier just to blow your brains out, right? Ben,” the tone of his voice changes, and so does his look, and now Caleb is looking at him with a desperate plea and fear and concern, and Ben wants to push him away and shout at him leave, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve a single drop of your worry, leave. “What’s going on?”

Ben wants to push him away – and yet he cannot.

“You’re going to hate me if I tell you.”

“No,” Caleb says firmly.

That’s what I fear, Ben thinks.

When he comes to the part about him killing someone – no, not just killing but half-devouring him, tearing him to pieces to the point of barely being able to make out the face in the morning, not a familiar one yet still striking horror and grief into him – he realizes he’s crying again. Ben wipes off his tears with his sleeve violently, hoping that Caleb doesn’t think he’s asking for pity. Pity he does not deserve. All he deserves is the pistol, now picked up off the ground and lying on the table, in wait for its hour. Ben knows what he’s going to ask of Caleb when he finishes his story. Ben is tormented by an almost complete certainty that Caleb will refuse him.

“We-e-ell,” drawls out Caleb when Ben is done. He was listening with uncharacteristic sobriety, but with no apparent fear, and that is wrong. He ought to be scared. “What was that poor devil even doing in the woods at night…”

“Caleb, what’s the difference?”

“Was he tryin’ to desert or what?”

“What. Is. The difference?” Ben draws back and stares at his friend with outrage. “What of it if he was? Even had it been a redcoat – Caleb, I bit a man to death! Tore out his throat like he was a rabbit!”

“Hush,” Caleb raises up both hands as if trying to shield himself from Ben’s voice. “Quit yelling. Here, drink,” he fishes a flat flask of Madeira out of the inside pocket of his coat, and pushes it into Ben’s hands.

“Right,” he begins as Ben drinks, gagging and coughing. “So we have to figure out what to do with that trouble of yours.”

“I’ve already figured everything out, and I was trying to do just that, until you barged in.”

“And thank God I did! Ben, I won’t let you kill yourself!”

“Then you will have to kill me,” Ben retorts, and takes the pistol from the table. “In the woods, now. Let’s go.”

Caleb stares at him in horror.

“No.”

“Lieutenant Brewster,” Ben raises his voice and holds the pistol out to Caleb, “that’s an order!”

Caleb takes the pistol and throws it aside – not by magic this time, but simply by hand.

“Stick your orders where the sun don’t shine, Captain,” he replies, his chin defiantly up. “Listen to me. We’re both magicians, right? We’ll figure it out and no one will have to shoot anyone. I’ll figure it out.”

Ben is silent. He’s scared of death, because he knows for sure he’ll go to hell – a magician, even though the church has a complex stance on magic; a killer, even though everyone kills at war; a werewolf, even though not of his own volition; a sodomite, even though he hasn’t ever dared to proposition anyone. He hates himself for this weakness, but he really is scared, man and wolf inside him alike. Besides, the army needs him, Washington needs him, his friends whom he dragged into another risky business need him. Of course he would prefer to stay alive – but he doesn’t see any conditions under which it is possible without subjecting others to mortal peril.

“Trust me,” Caleb says quietly, resolutely. He stares at Ben, imploring him with his warm, always so endlessly warm eyes, and Ben gives up.

***

At night, Ben returns to the forest, and the wolf returns home.

He throws off the scruples of conscience together with his former appearance. Only a tiny part remains, caught on that scrap of human sentience that still remains with him. That scrap causes him pain, but it also brings him hope – hope that strong as the wolf might be, it cannot beat Benjamin Tallmadge. He’s still here, with his guilt and his fear and his remorse, and he has no intention to leave this head.

But the wolf’s hunger is strong, and now, when the wolf has already partaken of human flesh, it’s all the more dangerous.

The camp is asleep. Only the sentries are walking to and fro, small figures barely distinguishable from the edge of the woods. Ben – no, the wolf, that’s all wolf – looks at them and makes a step forward.

A noise behind his back makes him turn around.

It’s a bear. Not the biggest there is, but undoubtedly still bigger than him. Ben bares his fangs, but is in no hurry to run away. It is the first time he sees this bear, the first time he sees any bear, but this one smells like something very familiar, something like home, and for the wolf it is enough not to be afraid of it.

The bear approaches him, extends a foreleg the way a person would extend a hand to point at something, and growls as if calling him somewhere. Ben turns to look at the sentries again.

The bear growls louder and gently nudges him with its paw, and Ben gives up.

Together they disappear deep into the woods, and then they hunt down a big deer, and its meat tastes almost as good as the meat of that young man – deserter or not – that Ben recently murdered.

When Ben wakes up as a man, he realizes two things. The first is that at night he managed to return closer to the camp, because the gnarled oak under which he’s lying is well familiar to him.

The second is that someone’s lying by his side, hugging him at the small of his back.

Ben detaches himself, pushing off the hugging arm, and sits up abruptly.

“Caleb,” and of course it’s Caleb, naked and muddy like him, with leaves and tiny twigs in his hair and beard. “Caleb, wake up!”

“Why are you yellin’, why d’ya always have to yell?” Caleb mutters drowsily, and bats Ben’s hand away when Ben tries to shake him by the shoulder. At last he opens his eyes and sits up too. “Morning, Benny.”

“Morning?” Ben is positively at a loss. He certainly doesn’t like the most obvious explanation – that is, that Caleb followed him through the woods last night, at the risk of being mauled by a beast that does not care who Benjamin Tallmadge’s closest childhood friends are. “Caleb, how did you get here? How did you find me? Did you go after me last night or what?”

“Yeah,” Caleb shrugs, stretches, and gets up, and Ben does his utmost to look away. Caleb pulls clothes, his own and Ben’s, from a hole beneath the oak roots, and throws him his shirt. “Spent all night with you, don’t you remember?”

When it dawns upon Ben, he is halfway through putting his shirt on, and his sudden shudder almost results in him tearing it.

“You’re out of your mind,” he hisses, leaps to his feet too, and grabs Caleb by the shirt. If someone catches them like that – away from the camp, scantily clad – it won’t be easy to explain themselves, but this is not what he’s worried about at present. “I thought you promised to figure out how to stop the wolf!”

“And I did,” Caleb replies nonchalantly, struggling to pry Ben’s fingers away from his sleeve.

“By becoming the same thing as I?!”

“I’m not the same thing, Ben! You were turned, I turned myself. You become a wolf, I keep a man’s mind in a bear’s body. A curious ritual, I learned about it in Canada,” Caleb covers his hand with his own and grins with delight. “Was eager to try it out for some time, see if I could handle it.”

Ben could say a lot about Caleb’s flippant attitude towards magic, but he has long understood that in some cases, it is no use wasting his breath.

“And how is this going to help up?” is all he asks.

Caleb smiles. Every time it gives him laughter lines; this mirth is going to make him all wrinkles when he grows old.

“Weren’t you lickin’ your lips at the sentries last night? But you didn’t go to them. You went with me. I’m stronger and bigger, I can hold you back if needed,” he gives Ben’s shoulder a friendly slap. “As long as I’m with you, you won’t hurt anybody.”

No, thinks Ben, but if neither you nor I are strong enough to resist our respective beast, there will be even more victims.

***

Strange as it may be, it works out. From one full moon to another, their lives are nearly the same as before – the military affairs, the spy ring business, magic-related or not. The bear guards the wolf against hunting in the camp of the Continental Army. Lieutenant Brewster guards Captain – now Major – Tallmadge against going mad with self-loathing and self-abhorrence.

Nathaniel Sackett, a seasoned magician, gets to the bottom of it at once.

“You need a suitable amulet, young man,” he says, looking over Ben with the curiosity of a scientist who has caught a peculiar bird. “Then it will be easier for you to control yourself. You’ll even be able not to depend on the full moon and transform whenever it is convenient for you. Like your friend here.”

“Convenient?” Ben echoes, frowning. “It will never be ‘convenient’ for me, sir. It is not about my convenience, but about the safety of others.”

“But you could be useful on the battlefield in this, hmm, capacity.” Sackett doesn’t seem to notice Ben’s indignation. “Haven’t it occurred to you?”

“No,” lies Ben.

Sackett clicks his tongue. “I’ll see what could be done.”

“He’s insane,” whispers Ben in frustration, when Sackett leaves to meet Washington.

Caleb shrugs. “All magicians are a bit out there,” he points out philosophically. “Just look at the two of us. Though we clearly have a long way to go compared to him.”

“Oh, it’s all fun to you, isn’t it? You furry blockhead.”

“No furrier than you,” Caleb replies good-naturedly.

If it was not for his cheerful nature and eternal unshakeable faith in them being able to get through it all, the wolf would have long gnawed down Benjamin Tallmadge’s soul.

***

The amulet that Sackett hands him looks like a flower or an open pine cone – petals made of different species of wood, and a silver core.

“Put it around your neck on the full moon. And don’t you dare take it off even if it hurts. And it will hurt,” he instructs. “Concentrate on the memories of home, family, friends, loved ones – everything that makes you human. Brewster shall watch over you. I believe it sensible for him to do that in his bear form, to be on the safe side.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ben says ardently as he takes the pendant.

The first night of the full moon, he doesn’t succeed. The amulet hurts him indeed – like pressing a hot iron to his chest. Ben musters all his strength, but in the end he cannot bear it, and tears the pendant off. On his chest, a red print remains. That night he howls at the moon desperately, and Caleb lies in a pit and watches him and waits patiently for him to cry it all out.

The following night, Caleb ties him to a tree.

“Are you sure?” he asks for the last time.

Ben snarls.

The moon comes out, and the amulet bites into his skin, into the still-raw yesterday’s burn. Caleb shucks off his clothes and shapeshifts. Ben still cannot get used to how awful the transformation appears to an onlooker – the body mashed and spread and bent, the limbs twisting unnaturally, the fur growing out in an instant. Ben is well familiar with the kind of pain Caleb is experiencing, but even it seems like nothing compared to the one caused by the amulet.

Sackett told him: when he subdues the wolf, the pain will cease.

Sackett told him: keep thinking of what makes you human.

Through pain, Ben reminisces his father and his late mother, his brothers, their sweet old house and the neat small church in Setauket. The memories of home seem like the memories of a past life; none of this exists anymore. The British soldiers sit in their church. Samuel is dead. Nathan, whom he also reminisces, whom he could never forget, is dead as well.

The silver burns his skin, the tree bark scratches even through the shirt, and the wolf inside him howls in pain. It is hard to focus on anything but pain, yet he tries.

Father. Abe. Anna. Washington.

Happy New Year, Tallboy.

Caleb, his sleepy smile, the warmth by his side, the arm on his waist.

I won’t let you kill yourself.

Ben screams until he suddenly realizes that the pain has passed. The bear lying next to him raises his head and nuzzles against his thigh.

The night after, he stares at the moon with human eyes, the amulet pleasantly cooling his chest.

***

Little by little, he learns – not only to trap the beast inside, but also to let it out when it is his own wish, not that of the skies above. When the moon isn’t full, the hunger isn’t as strong, and he need not fear that his feet – his paws – would bring him to the camp; not that Caleb would let that happen, anyway. What he is the most afraid of is losing the amulet in the thicket; he keeps Sackett’s notes, in which it is explained, among other useful things, how to make one, but that would require a long time and a variety of materials that would be hard to come by.

Little by little, he learns to accept that he likes it – the quiet of the woods, the moonlight, the wind singing in his ears, the delicious night air, clear as spring water. The thrill of the hunt and the lazy bliss of fullness. Falling asleep with his nose pressed into the coarse brown fur; waking up with his cheek pressed against Caleb’s chest. Something completely unthinkable and still completely natural, as if someone decided way before they were born that they would sleep best like that – nestled up to each other, not a scrap of clothes between them, the all-forgiving starlight above.

Sometimes Ben is grateful to Rogers for cursing him.

Once, having woken up at sunrise, he goes through the memories of the past night – now that his animal form is subject to the amulet, it is much easier to restore them. They killed a deer and feasted on the hot meat, and then fell down to the ground, sated and tired. The bear tumbled on his back spread-eagle, rolling about funnily and flattening the moss. The wolf climbed on top of him and nipped at his nose. Both had snouts and paws covered in blood, and they licked each other for a long time, played like pups, until the wolf fell asleep and the bear must’ve fallen asleep after him.

Ben, having carefully disentangled himself from Caleb, gazes at him and thinks absentmindedly that the dark hair on his chest and belly looks like animal fur. And that the wolf has already fallen asleep, retreated into the farther corner of his mind, and yet he still wants to lick.

Ben has no idea if beasts are prone to the same sin as some men, including him, but he knows that a wolf cannot and would not think of mating with a bear. The shade their night-time games acquire in his eyes does not come from the wolf, which cannot tell right from wrong. It comes from Benjamin Tallmadge, reverend’s son, the honorary virgin of the entire Continental Army, who’d rather die than admit why he never joined his fellows on a visit to a brothel. He remembers Caleb telling him that the ritual lets him keep a human mind in a beast’s body. Ben is not sure it is still so; Caleb turned without him present several times, stayed alone with the bear, and sometimes Ben worries that confident in his power, he might succumb to his second nature entirely. Still, what Ben would like to know most of all is what Caleb the bear, or Caleb the man in a bear’s frame, thought when he ran his rough tongue over Ben’s belly.

He daren’t ask, but in the evening, when they already can sleep peacefully in the camp because the moon has begun to wane, he comes to Caleb’s tent. The candle is blown out, but Caleb, who is now able to see in the dark perfectly well, like Ben, is still awake.

“Tallboy, what is it?” Caleb asks anxiously when Ben enters and carefully closes the tent flaps. “Has something happened?”

Ben steps up to him, heart beating so wildly as if it is going to break out of his body, and tilts his head to lick Caleb’s neck, animal-like, and then kisses him on the lips, as people do.

Caleb sighs loudly, his eyes closed, and leans to kiss him back.

He growls, leaning on Ben with all his weight on the cot too narrow for two, and Ben bites Caleb’s shoulder when he comes, but apart from that they have no reason to blame all that on the animals in their heads.

That night, Ben presses his snout – no, his face – to Caleb’s neck, and sleeps even more soundly than in the open air.

***

Gradually, the truth comes out. Not all of it, fortunately; not about the two of them. And not about Ben, in contrast to Caleb, being turned against his will, not being able to control the beast at first, and tearing a fellow soldier to pieces on top of that. Everyone believes Ben made the decision to turn in order to become a more dangerous foe to the British army. Washington thinks so. Everyone thinks so. Ben is in no hurry to change their minds.

On the battlefield, both of them are of more use on two feet, with weapons and spells ready, but a couple of times, when ambush is required, they face the enemy in their other bodies. This is enough for the British to start talking about them. As Ben learns from Townsend, casting a spell to communicate with him through a bowl of water (at the end of the conversation, Townsend, icily polite, asks him if he could henceforth warn him somehow before appearing in his washbasin – if it is not too much trouble, of course), the blue-eyed wolf even gains some grand nicknames in the enemy camp. The General’s Cerberus, Washington’s Hellhound. The fact that Ben, lofty manner notwithstanding, is still considered to be a dog is insufferably amusing to Caleb. The latter, however, is not accorded anything more sophisticated than the Shaggy Devil or the Hairy Devil or similar variations on the theme of the devil and bears. Ben likes to respond to Caleb’s dog-related teasing by saying that Caleb’s human appearance is as deserving of these names as the animal one, if not more.

In the camp, they’re respected, yet given a wide berth – both of them, even the ever jovial Caleb, and that continues when Anna joins them. The soldiers are intrigued by her, but also intimidated – which is not unwise, to be fair, considering she’s always been the most skilled magician among the four of them. Washington’s coven, soldiers whisper. A witch and two warlocks – only Abe is missing from the set.

Ben is glad Anna is with them – not just because he needn’t worry she might get in trouble away from her friends, but also because they need a safeguard. He’s reached an understanding with his wolf, and Caleb has been in tune with his bear from the start, but at the end of the day they are still wild beasts. He makes Anna a copy of the instruction on how to make the amulet from Sackett’s notes, and tells her to always keep a pistol with at least two silver bullets at hand to stop him or Caleb if worst comes to worst. Or (he doesn’t say that, though) to stop Caleb first and then, regardless of circumstances, him. An amulet is an amulet, but Ben cannot shake off the feeling that the lion’s share of his control over the beast is tied to Caleb’s presence.

He has heard somewhere that wolves mate for life anyway.

“I just hope I won’t have to use it,” says Anna with a sad smile, accepting the pistol.

“You won’t have to,” Caleb says with confidence and hugs her by the shoulders. “It’ll be alright.”

Ben looks at them, and the wolf in his head curls up snugly and falls asleep.

[xskyll]

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First

[faunandfloraas]

Look, I don't believe in preferential treatment, it's not right.... BUT ☝️ if we're gonna have changbin saying sydney is skz's second hometown I just think maybe australia could not be charged things like 60+ dollars shipping.... or 75 dollars for a normal album at the most prominent music retailer when other places pay 15-20 for the same thing.... lol

[pallases]

quite pleasantly surprised by wicked movie but i Will say we were robbed of elphaba leaning in close to glinda saying “come with me to the emerald city” followed by glinda’s “i’ve always wanted to see the emerald city” while looking deep into her eyes arms around her shoulders twirling elphaba’s hair

[keeps-ache]

i think i'm starting to really like writing again :D this will have consequences

[anothermonikan]

Ponee (It is half 3 in the morning)

[benzgarfield]

Pit Babe First Season Final Q Wrap - November 12, 2023

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