#so I had to go through this and edit it all again by one singular number akdjfjskskls

[astralis-ortus]

guess i missed you too much

✱ boyfriend!bc x fem!reader

— that's what being in love does to you.

w.count → 1.2k genre → fluff warning → reader referred to as baby and my love, 2 (two) chatroom screenshots a.n → based on this request! ngl i was like '!!!' as soon as i read the request bc i can just imagine how it would go i'm—ㅠㅠㅠ also, i have an announcement here about requests, commissions, and fanart shop—i would really appreciate it if you'd check it and help a girl out♡ ⋆ see masterlist

to put it simply, chan is dumbfounded.

he's pretty sure he had mentioned to both han and changbin that you're coming here, to seoul, in a exactly week and chan needs to have all the urgent project revisions to be done prior to your arrival. he's absolutely sure the two promised they will only be gone for a little while to get some coffee to wake them up, and chan is now certain that the two are definitely not only heading out to grab those goddamn coffee.

"if you two aren't back here in 5, just know this is your one and only warning," chan muttered through gritted teeth, trying his best not to sound too pissed before sending the voicenote in their '3racha only' groupchat.

it's not that chan didn't understand—he knows he's been pushing both changbin and han more than he usually does, and chan is very much aware that the duo are bound to be a bit more rebellious than usual once they reach their point of exhaustion, but he really is looking forward to the time he's about to spend with you, and he's not about to let anything come and ruin that.

it's been a while since you've last spent a considerable amount of time together with chan. sure, there are stolen dates here and there whenever a holiday would match up and you could take some time off to visit chan's version of paradise (which is unironically everywhere within the bounds of japan) together, but those visits always ends as quickly as it starts and left the two of you with a longer list of regrets by the time you had to let your hands slip away from chan' warmth.

so this time, when you finally were able put your responsibilities on rest for two whole weeks, it didn't take much of a convincing for either you or chan to finalize the dates when you would finally be able to be within each other's reach. chan even went the extra mile to immediately book your flight coming in, though you had to basically threaten him with no video calls for a week if he went through with his other plans to spoil you rotten.

well, you could only hope that chan won't pull any uno reverse card on you once this plan came to an end.

a bell sound from his phone quickly distracts chan from the lines of lyrics he's trying to edit—an action he came to regret when the notification in view were merely a singular line of emojis sent by changbin, consisting of the same teasing faces and a pink ribbon both changbin and han been sending chan for days now on end.

"oh, he's done," chan groaned, head tilted back in annoyance as he threw his poor beanie back at the sofa where changbin was supposed to be seated right now. to be frank, chan didn't understand what changbin has been implying with the string of emojis at all. presumably changbin and han had seen the way chan saved your kakao talk profile—hence the pink ribbon, but why now? exactly when chan's the most sensitive of the topic? the fact that chan couldn't contact you drives him even crazier—you had told him you haven't been feeling well and you'd text him again once you feel better, but that was like, what, an eternity ago? chan didn't want the risk of waking you up either especially with your trip coming up, so…

he's basically helpless.

another set of annoyed groan became chan's initial response when his phone came alive with a new notification. reluctantly grabbing the device, chan was mentally prepared for a text bubble sent by the youngest of the three, containing of the same string of emojis changbin had just sent—only for his heart to jump out of his chest when he saw the pink ribbon next to your name.

before chan could type another reply, his attention were robbed by the knocks on his studio door—which is a little weird considering neither han or changbin would bother, and the fact that it's nearly midnight meant that almost no one that chan knows of should be looking for him around this time of night.

"manager hyung?" chan cautiously called out, instinctively grabbing his discarded beanie before he went to reach for the door. "did you leave something? or are you—"

the words on chan's tongue dissipates soon after the door swung open—but even with the way his eyes just doubled in size, chan still couldn't believe what he's currently seeing right in front of him now.

"hi, my channie," you finally spoke, a wide grin decorating your lightly flushed face from all the adrenaline you've been feeling; and only then, chan seems to wake up from his trance.

"wha—baby?" chan could hear how voice had skipped an octave higher, but he couldn't care less—did he fell asleep? is this a dream? chan had to pinch himself before he even pulled you in his arms, tightly wrapping the giggling mess that you are in his warmth. "you're actually here? wasn't your flight next week? did i got the dates wrong? how—"

"whoa whoa, calm down there, racer," you quickly stopped your boyfriend's wild train of questions, still with your smile plastered across the span of your face—your plan is a massive success.

"it was supposed to be next week," you confirmed, eyes still taking in chan's perplexed face while your brain etched the memory in its hall of fame, "but i miss my boyfriend too much to wait another week, so… i asked for bin and jisung's help to change my plane ticket!"

suddenly, everything that's been happening to chan in the past week just clicked—the time he caught changbin and han meddling with his laptop, the nervous chuckles, the way they become way to secretive with their phones, the phone calls, and those lines of goddamn emojis. it all finally makes sense.

"is that so?" chan shook his head despite the clear view of his dimpled smile, arms tightening around your waist, "so you three little naughty being has been cooking up plans behind my back, that's what you're saying?"

the sound of your sweet laugh fills chan with an overwhelming sense of warmth— you might spend the majority of your year apart from each other, but for chan, it's moment like this that makes all the dark nights of longing seem worth to be worth his patience.

after all, you're everthing chan ever wanted in his life.

"my my," clicking his tongue in faux disappointment, chan gently fixed the strands of hair falling over your eyes—ones ever so tender whenever you fixed your gaze on him, "what am i gonna do with you, hm? you naughty little baby?"

"not sure," you cheekily replied, lightly scrunching your nose the way chan usually does. you're just happy that you're finally in chan's arms again, to hell with any of the 'repercussions' chan might be building in his head for your little misdemeanor.

"but can you kiss me first?" you continued, trying your best to stay nonchalant despite the sudden spike of your heartbeat due to your own silly attempt at being witty and chan's surprised laugh, "i think i need my boyfriend's kiss so i could face my punishments later."

frankly, chan's head is still plagued with tons after tons of questions of your little successful stunt—he can't help it, you're someone he love and cares about after all,

but who is he to deny your sweet little plea?

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[rotisseries]

this year, I kept a reading log spreadsheet of all of the fanfiction I read. so, assuming I don't read anything else in these last few hours of 2022, these are my final stats. here is my ao3 wrapped!

i read 496 fics this year. these are surely rookie numbers 😃 (this picture isn't even the entire spreadsheet)

my total words read in fanfiction this year is 6,227,818. 6. million. and 22 thousand. words. 24 of these fics, or about 5% of the fics read, were of a length equivalent to that of a standard fiction novel, which is a length of 40,000 words at the lowest average count. I feel like it's necessary to state here that, whenever I read incomplete fics, I put their current word count, but when the fics updated, I did NOT update the listings, so this number is an estimate

my no.1 fandom this year was stranger things! at 74% and 441 fics read, a surprise to no one. the runners up are the legend of zelda, in no.2, with 24 fics and 11% of my reading, and avatar the last airbender, in no.3, with 18 fics and 8% of the stuff I read!

my no.1 pairing this year was byler, with 57% at a count of 289 fics read! again, a surprise to no one! runners up are, no.2, ronance, with 67 fics and about 14% of the fics I read, and no.3, steddie, with 58 fics and 12% of the stuff I read

my highest month for fanfiction reading was july! of the 496 fics I read this year, 162 of them were read in july, which is about 33%.

468 of the fics I read this year were completed when I read them, which is about 94%.

the author I read the most from was @andiwriteordie, with 34 fics, which is about 7% of the fics read. tbf though, this is because she's insane and wrote a LOT of stuff this year.

409 of the fics I read this year, or 82%, were oneshots.

and those are my ao3 reading habits for this year! I'm thinking that maybe I'll track some tags and other stuff for 2023

[gemissleeping]

Sea Foam | Chapter Three

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Read the other Chapters here.

Summary: It’s been three weeks since Theo found you by the Black Lake, and he’s tried his best to respect your wishes. But it hasn’t done anything to help either of you, and all of your efforts come crashing down in the bathroom at a Slytherin party.

Length: 2.1k

Notes: More of a Theo POV than the usual. Angry Theo. Teenage boys being teenage boys (foul and icky, nsfw language). Overbearing best friend Blaise. Smoking Theo. Slightly intoxicated reader. Soft Theo. Tears. I did not proofread this at all you have been warned, pls do tell me if there are any errors. Listen to Cinnamon Girl by Lana if you’d like to go through it. ily enjoy!

“You’re staring again,” Blaise grumbled under his breath from beside Theo in Divination. It had been three weeks since Theo had found you on the shoreline. Dressed only in your nightgown in the height of the winter frost. That crestfallen look on your face while the wind had bitten at you both. He’d tried his best to respect your wishes since then; making sure to steer clear of you whenever he could, to stop flitting through your mind like it was his favourite novel. He’d tried his best and still he’d failed, over and over.

He knew it was wrong, but he was beyond help. Slipping into your mind was unbearably easy. So much so, that he’d found himself doing it purely by accident on a few occasions, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He knew you could practice occlumency, had even witnessed you obliterate Malfoy’s attempt at invading your mind in a Defence Against the Dark Arts class last year. Yet you barely even seemed to notice when he did it. Your apparent lack of awareness only made it harder for Theo to stop himself.

“Sorry,” Theo mumbled, blinking his trance away as he glanced over to Blaise with a dull apology. Blaise and Theo had become fast friends in First Year. After Cormack had made a comment about Theo’s Mother on the train, and Blaise had responded by hitting him right between the eyes. Blaise and Theo were close. Though not as close as you, Milli and Blaise were. Everyone knew that the three of you were utterly inseparable. Having met long before the rest of them at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, it also meant that Blaise had adopted a tendency towards being irritatingly over-protective of you. Likely for good reason; Theo hadn’t made the best of impressions when it came to his relationships with women. They were often fleeting, borne of convenience and nothing more.

Which was exactly why Blaise was currently pissed with him. Blaise spent an awful lot of his time watching people. Regrettably, for Theo that included him, and these days he spent most of his time firmly stuck on you. To say Blaise wasn’t pleased would have been an understatement.

At this point, he may as well have been your damn guard dog, and Theo was tiring of the act quickly. He’d spent years wanting to know you, outside of the occasional class project. Years of pretending you didn’t exist for Blaise’s sake. When really, you were a large part of the reason that he had never settled on anyone to begin with.

Theo turned back to his parchment, huffing as he saw the ink stain leaking across the page. That, along with several half-finished notes, provided rather damning evidence of his distraction.

He stole a glance over at you again, keeping his head low in the hopes Blaise wouldn’t catch him. You were sitting beneath the window, stuck in a daydream of your own as Trelawney prattled on. Eyes misted over, one hand woven through your hair as you rested on it.

You were lovely.

Theo wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had resumed his staring. But as Trelawney brought the lesson to a close, the dull edge of a textbook collided with the side of his head in a singular, harsh thud. Breaking his focus on you as he looked up in bewilderment to Blaise, who stood with his edition of Astrology for the Ungifted raised.

“Git.” He hissed, lowering the book with scathing eyes.

Theo didn’t see you for the rest of the afternoon, not with Blaise practically escorting him to their dorm as soon as Divination concluded. Enzo was already there, lazily slung across his desk chair. Brow raised as Blaise entered in a huff, Theo trailing behind him in defeat. There was supposed to be a party in the Common Room tonight. But right now it wasn’t looking like Theo would be in for a particularly enjoyable evening.

“I know what you’re trying to do. You want to fuck her.”

“I don’t want to fuck her,” Theo winced at his friend’s choice of words.

“You don’t want to fuck her? You don’t want to fuck her?” Blaise rounded, textbook jabbing at Theo’s chest incredulously. Theo groaned, knowing Blaise wouldn’t rest until he knew Theo was being honest with him.

“No, I- fuck, fine. Yes, I want to. Of course I do, but that’s not-”

“Not what? Forgive me for my utter faith in your fucking abysmal track record. But she is my best fucking friend Theo.” Blaise snapped, turning from the boy’s dead-eyed stare and viciously tugging at his tie as he stalked towards his bed. Whipping it from his neck in a surge of anger.

Enzo rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Watching the display unfold with anxious eyes as Matt cracked the bathroom door open, lighting up with sadistic intrigue. The pair exchanged a glance, the former silently begging the latter not to stick his foot in.

Theo felt his chest tighten at Blaise’s words. His hand running roughly along his jaw, trying to soothe his irritation. Gazing at the ornate wooden panels on the ceiling with a sigh before he attempted to break through to him again. It was out in the open now at least, it likely couldn’t get worse.

“You don’t understand, she-”

“Please, Nott. Tell me what I don’t understand about the girl I’ve known since she was three years old.” Blaise bellowed, reigniting as he swung back to the taller boy. The click of the door interrupted them.

“What’s with all the shouting? I can hear you fools from the hall,” Malfoy droned, bored as he kicked the door shut behind him. Flicking his wand to cast some sort of muffling charm across it.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” Blaise sneered, not even glancing over to acknowledge his friend’s arrival. The words feeling far more aimed towards Theo than the blonde. Draco only sighed, moving past the both of them.

“None of you ever thank me for anything that I do for you,” He grumbled in response. Throwing a stack of books onto his bed before going to shove Matt out of the bathroom.

“If you even think about fucking touching her-” Blaise continued, steam practically rising from his skin as he narrowed in on Theo again.

“Oh, he has.” Matt interrupted, leaning back against Enzo’s desk with folded arms. Theo shooting him a heavy glare as Matt only smirked back knowingly. An expression Enzo swiftly answered by scolding him with a kick to the shin.

“Look at me, Nott,�� Blaise demanded. His voice low, lip curling back in a sneer, “I’ll skin you, understand?”

“Listen, I-” Theo started, his own voice rising as his attention shifted back to Blaise, irritation swelling. But he was impossible to reason with when he was like this, everyone knew it.

“You don’t fuck with her,” Blaise cut in, his voice soaked with finality. Standing before Theo while his chest heaved with anger, book still clutched in his accusatory palm. Theo could feel his own restraint unwrapping. The other’s eyes on them only pushing him further into that corner of himself. He needed air, now. Or else he was going to do something he couldn’t undo. Then you were certain to never speak to him again.

Hands raised in silent surrender, he backed away from Blaise. Jaw set as he plucked his jacket from the end of his bed, turning for the door. Enzo’s tired sigh leaked through the dorm as he pulled it open harshly, likely readying himself to chastise Blaise. Something he’d also likely do to Theo when he caught him later. Though if he had any luck today, maybe Enzo and the others would already be drunk by the time he got back.

He made for the edge of the forest. Rolling a cigarette as he went, trying not to bite down on the filter between his teeth from residual disdain. The icy air was a small mercy, quenching the heat running through him almost immediately. For hours he stood out there, letting the smoke in to empty out all of the things he didn’t want to feel. Watching as the moon chased the sun down to the horizon.

The party would be well underway. God willing you hopefully had yourself tangled in someone else by now. At least then Theo might have been able to give himself a proper reason to stop, smooth things over with Blaise. Though he had begun to doubt if even that would work.

Theo made his way through the tangle of writhing bodies in the heat of the Common Room. No desire to taint himself further with the desperate need to forget that rolled off of the sweaty air. Matt was by the stairs, where the crowd thinned out at its edges. More enticed by the girl whose cigarette he was lighting than by any questions he might’ve had for Theo, as he continued his path to the dorms.

He had meant to go straight there. To take off his jacket, untie his shoelaces. Instead he found himself headed past his door, down to one of the communal bathrooms that lined the dormitory halls. He wasn’t sure why, until something tugged at him. Drawing him to push open the bathroom door; and there you were.

Gaze flitting to his hazily in the mirror. Eyeliner smudged, haloing your eyes. You stilled where you had been standing, as if he had walked straight out of your thoughts. Softening as you took in his wind kissed hair, and he the tremble of your fingers on the countertop. Theo pushed himself away, against the pull of his chest, away from what he wanted. He made for the door again, unsure of why he had allowed himself to be led to you to begin with.

“You weren’t at Dinner,” you called softly, not daring to turn and look at him without a reflection between you. He stilled, one hand on the door as his heart hammered at his ribs.

“You told me to stay away,” he answered simply. Afraid to turn around in case what he saw laying in your eyes only salted the wound some more.

“Not that far.”

You breathed, turning to face him. Eyes aching to touch his cheek, graze across his thoughts, his desires. Theo’s hand dropped from the door, chest swelling from your proclamation. He could feel his breathing falter, hear the force of it. He turned hesitantly, a rasp collecting in his throat.

“Well how far would you like me?”

He saw your breath hitch, didn’t even have to scratch at your mind. You seemed to be leaking into his on your own accord. He could hear just how far you wanted him, and it wasn’t far at all.

Your lips parted, so he made sure to be the first to speak. To save you both the trouble.

“You’re drunk.”

You shook your head, eyes growing glassy with the salt of tears as you moved towards where he leant against the door.

“I’ve been getting your little messages. The ones you keep leaving for me to find,” he murmured. Suddenly enraptured by his hands as his voice creased over his words.

“Theo-”

“It’s unbearable for me. Is it like that for you too?” He cracked, eyes flashing up to yours. Entirely afraid before you, before the possible weight of your answer. Because the truth was he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell which words were real and which you fed him to keep him at arm’s length. He searched you, begging for any kind of answer, but hoping only for one.

“Yes.”

Your tears spilled in an instant, and maybe you were a little drunk, but you were also sure that it didn’t change any of it. He knew as much, taking a tender step towards you to grasp your cheek. Running his thumb along the soft skin to collect your tears.

“This trance you seem to think I’m under,” Theo clarified, eyes lingering on yours as his thumb continued its path. Despite no longer having any need to do so. “It’s lasted five years already,” he breathed, “it’s not going to pass any time soon.”

You paused, smudged eyes widening as you gazed up at him. His confession sucking the air out of your lungs until you could no longer doubt that you needed him. You simply watched him for a moment, as though debating whether to say something you wouldn’t be able to swallow. The one thing that was still holding you back.

“I don’t know how to stop myself.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered, leaning closer to brush a strand of hair from your eyes. “You don’t need to be scared of wanting this.”

Theo drew back slightly, letting his fingertips linger. Brushing through the strands of your hair, behind your ear. His voice gentle, certain, “I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

Keep an eye out for Chapter Four here, or comment to be added to the tag list for future updates <3

Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie @not-so-bad-ass @wildestdreamslover @slytherinboysappreciation @nat1221 @melllinaa @aykxz98 @chgrch if i missed anyone please let me know!

[maybe-im-dark]

Rugged choices

Logan stepped into the dusty secondhand clothing store, his eyes scanning the racks of well-worn shirts and faded jeans. The air inside was heavy with the familiar scent of old leather and aged fabric, the kind of smells that always put him at ease. Without hesitation, he made a beeline for the racks, already flipping through the clothes as if he had been here a hundred times before.

Wade, however, came to a sudden stop just inside the door, looking around in bewilderment, his arms thrown out wide in exaggerated confusion.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Wade exclaimed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cramped store. “Logan, we just got handed a stack of TVA-cash the size of a small country’s GDP, and this is where you want to spend it? A secondhand store?”

Logan didn’t bother looking up from the rack of flannel shirts he was flipping through. He pulled one out, a red-and-black plaid that had clearly seen better days, and held it up, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the fabric.

“Don’t like the smell of new stuff,” Logan muttered, tossing the shirt over his arm. “Chemicals. Hurts my nose.”

Wade blinked, his brain working to process Logan’s explanation. Slowly, he nodded in acceptance, though his bewilderment was far from gone.

“Huh. Okay, that actually makes sense. Super senses and all.” Wade paused, then threw his arms out again in an exaggerated gesture. “But come on, man! You could be rocking designer leather jackets, limited edition jeans, silk boxers—the whole nine yards!”

Logan ignored him, already pulling another flannel shirt from the rack, this one in muted blue and green. He sniffed it, grunted his approval, and added it to the pile in his arms. It wasn’t long before the pile grew to include several more flannels in different colors, along with faded jeans and plain white undershirts.

Wade watched with a growing smirk as Logan’s choices all started to blend into a singular aesthetic.

“So we’re just committing fully to the lumberjack aesthetic, huh?” Wade teased, leaning on a nearby rack. “Maybe pick up an axe while we’re at it, chop some wood, live in the woods, grow an even bigger beard. Real 'I’m-going-off-the-grid' vibes.”

Logan stopped rifling through the clothes just long enough to glare at Wade, his patience visibly thinning.

“Better than prancing around in pink Hello Kitty shirts and leggings two sizes too tight,” Logan shot back, his voice low and sharp as he pointed at Wade’s current outfit—a ridiculous hot pink Hello Kitty tee and a pair of black leggings that left nothing to the imagination.

Wade, ever the showman, grinned beneath his mask and struck a pose.

“Touché, Logan,” he said with a wink. “But I make this work. Not everyone can pull off this level of hotness.”

Logan rolled his eyes, grabbed his pile of clothes, and headed toward the checkout without another word. Wade followed close behind, still grinning like a kid who had just gotten away with something.

A little while later, they found themselves walking through the sunlit car dealership lot. Logan moved with the same deliberate focus he had shown in the clothing store, his eyes scanning the rows of cars with little interest. To him, they all seemed impractical, too flashy for his tastes.

Wade, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement as he raced ahead, his eyes zeroing in on a sleek, cherry-red sports car parked under the sunlight. He darted toward it like a moth to a flame, throwing himself over the hood with a dramatic sigh.

“THIS ONE!” Wade shouted, running his hands over the smooth surface of the car. “This is it! The Wade-mobile! Look at her, Logan—pure power, pure speed. A sexy beast, just like me!”

Logan stood a few paces away, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with mild disdain. He shook his head, his voice flat and unimpressed.

“You look like an idiot,” Logan said.

Without hesitation, he walked over and grabbed Wade by the back of his collar, yanking him off the car with a gruff grunt. Wade stumbled, barely managing to stay upright as Logan dragged him away, heading straight for the section of the lot where the used pickup trucks were parked.

“Come on, man, live a little!” Wade complained, rubbing the back of his neck as he followed Logan. “We’ve got all this cash, and you’re going for a pickup truck? You’re not a soccer mom.”

Logan’s eyes landed on an old, battered truck with faded paint and a few dings in the side. It looked sturdy, reliable—just the way he liked things. He opened the driver’s side door, inspecting the interior with a thoughtful grunt. The worn leather seats, the lack of fancy electronics—everything about it spoke to him.

“I don’t buy what I don’t need,” Logan said, running his hand over the dashboard. “This has enough room, no fancy electronics. Just how I like it.”

Wade looked utterly flabbergasted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“But… sports cars! Leather seats! Bluetooth everything! Cup holders that hold more cups than you could ever drink from!”

Logan gave him a flat look.

“This does the job. I’m not gonna buy something I’ll hate driving,” Logan said, his tone final.

Wade slumped against the truck, his head hanging in defeat.

“You’re like… an old man stuck in a body that’s technically old but still kinda jacked,” Wade muttered, sulking. “It’s such a waste. This truck screams 'I live in a cabin and don’t talk to people.'”

Logan ignored him and went into the building to buy the car. Wade waited outside, shooting the sports car longing looks. After a while his partner came back.

Logan climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements efficient and calm. The truck’s engine growled to life with a low, rumbling purr, and Logan smirked just a little as he looked over at Wade.

With a resigned sigh, Wade hopped into the passenger seat, his pink Hello Kitty shirt standing out like a sore thumb against the muted, rugged interior of the truck.

“You and your cabin-man aesthetic… Whatever,” Wade muttered, leaning back in his seat. “Just know, when I get my sports car, you’re driving behind me. And I’ll make sure it’s painted Wolverine yellow, just for you.”

Logan didn’t bother responding, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pulled out of the lot, the old truck rumbling steadily beneath them. Wade, never one to be silent for long, leaned over conspiratorially.

“Next stop, Taco Bell? My treat,” Wade offered.

Logan remained silent, eyes on the road, but Wade took it as a yes.

“That’s the Logan I know and tolerate,” Wade said with a grin.

As they rumbled down the road in the beat-up old truck, Wade continued to chatter away about the missed opportunity of getting a sports car, but Logan was content. Simple, reliable—that’s all he needed. And maybe, just maybe, some peace and quiet.

But with Wade sitting beside him, that last part was a long shot.

[xoxoamyas]

`` I love you ,,

rating : fluff/comfort, pet names used on reader [ darling, love, and doll ]

wilbur x gn!reader [ use of you/yours, no use of y/n ]

☆ . you've been overworking yourself, and wilbur has taken notice. he finally gets you to take that well-deserved and needed break. <3

note : i'm in a tiny bit of a writers block, so i decided to give something out of my depths a try [ i'm more experienced in angst ]. anyhow, i hope you enjoy it! any pointers at all are also appreciated, i love to hear them :]

masterlist [ ☆ ]

⋆˙⟡

“Hello, darling.” You're greeted by that soft, mushy tone Wilbur uses whenever he's in a mood. His arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders from behind as you sat on a computer chair, having been working away at editing something for your own projects.

“You haven't left the office in some time.” Wilbur rested his chin along the top of your head, successful in getting you to finally relax back into the seat and effectively a fair amount back into him.

“Hardly call this an office.” You give a light huff, not needing to glance around the room to mentally know how barren it still was. You hadn't had time between keeping up with your own projects and paid-for products for others to decorate the barren room. At most, it had a beanbag in one of the corners and a singular photo of you and Wilbur from one of your dates. One photo, and you had so many ready to be printed. You just needed the time to actually do it.

“I know, love.” He's trying to be understanding, giving a soft sound between a hum and general acknowledgement.

The moment sits for a good moment, and it just feels nice. It makes your mind go blank, not worrying over whatever deadlines were approaching, almost completely forgetting about what projects could and couldn't wait.

Wilbur quietly says your name, drawing your attention and thoughts completely to him. A nice, fairly relaxing feeling washing over you. Realizing just how heavily stressing you had yourself for the past few days. He's quick to grasp your dominant hand into his when you go to reach for the mouse to your computer again.

“Take a break, please. A real break, love.” You can hear the concern lightly lacing into his tone. Wilbur moves a bit, instead to slightly kneel beside you, your hand still held in his yet in an easy grasp that you can pull away from. You wouldn't have pulled away no matter what.

“I just need to save the progress,” you try to explain, ignoring the wave of nervousness that hits. The realization you were about to put your much necessary work down to take a break. Something you convinced yourself you didn't need no matter how much you truly did.

You can practically feel Wilbur's eyes flicker over you, likely seeing through whatever calmness you were visibly projecting. He removes his hand from yours, replacing the touch by letting his hand cup around your shoulder. On his way to standing completely, he presses a kiss to your temple. Seeing the application close a moment later, showing the homescreen of a picture you took and held sentimental value to.

You take his hand in yours again when he offers it, standing and instantly moving in. Wrapping your arms around his torso, and yeah, you've missed this. Wilbur's arms move in an automatic manner, efficiently pulling you closer to him as you press your face into his shirt. Just breathing him in for a few seconds, basking in the warmth he had all the same.

It stays like that, the two of you in a much needed embrace that had you both melting against one another.

“Bed?” Wilbur is the first to break the peaceful silence. It's definitely a welcome break of the quiet. Realizing just how much you've missed hearing his voice, feeling the way his chest moved as he breathed, listening to the way his heart beat when you pressed your ear against his chest..

When you finally nod at his question, having gotten carried away with that last point, he surprises you by suddenly wrapping his hands along the back of your thighs. Taking that as your signal and slightly jumping up for him so he can pick you up easier. Legs slightly curled along the sides of his waist, your arms moving to wrap around his neck. He uses both of his hands to support your bottom, making sure you were both good before he made his way out of the office.

You just mostly rest your cheek on top of his shoulder, feeling almost like you could fall asleep. Though, from past experience, you knew your legs would hate you if you did that.

Wilbur has to remove one of his hands a couple of times for doors, but you're mostly supported the entire time. He taps the bedroom door shut with his foot before moving towards the bed. Pressing one knee into it before letting you go through your theatrics and dramatics. He chuckles fondly as you groan when your back hits the comfortable mattress. Proceeding to give a sound of complaint as you stretch your limbs out over and off the side of the bed. You think bones that weren't supposed to pop popped, but that would be an issue for future you.

“What are you doing?” You queried with pure curiosity, watching as Wilbur moved himself off of the bed. Continuing to lay there, content in taking up the entire space as if you were a cat.

“Can't exactly sleep in jeans, darling.” There's a hint of amusement as Wilbur speaks. Laughing the slightest bit when you give a soft and long “ooohh” in return. “Work on getting comfortable, doll.” He partially motions towards the sheets you were laying on top of.

Any other day, you'd make some witty comeback, maybe a suggestive comment on him changing in front of you. You just don't have the energy for it at the moment, though. Mentally committing the moment to memory so you can be a little extra next time to make up for lack-thereof this time.

By the time Wilbur's finally in some comfortable pyjama pants, which were Grinch themed, you were under the covers and practically almost lights out just laying there. You feel him crawl into the bed, giving a content hum and moving on your side to face him, instantly hinting at not wanting to spoon.

“Hi darling.” Wilbur had a small yet sweet smile on his face, pulling you close by wrapping his arms around your waist. Both of you let your legs intertwine and tangle together as much as possible. You wrap your arms around his torso once more, happy to be holding him as he holds you.

“Hi sweetheart.” You hum right back, watching as he can't hold back the smile tugging into a borderline grin. Always one to be happy over the reciprocation of pet names. You loved watching him get all happy and giggly over it.

“Okay, okay. Try and get some sleep, love.” Wilbur moves, pressing a kiss to your nose. Having fully expected a more proper kiss, you pout at him, promptly making kissy lips at him. It just gets him to let out a light yet amused laugh, finally moving and pressing a soft, loving, and fulfilling kiss to your lips.

When he pulls away, you tuck your head right under his chin. Relaxing and enjoying the warmth that was provided inside and out.

“Hey, Wil?” You make sure your voice is a soft whisper.

“Yeah?” Wilbur moved one of his hands to trace light patterns along your back using his fingers, the action soothing.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[asklesbianonceler]

Ymir quest ending thoughts and sorcerer corruption kind of as a whole?

I'm going to get really into wording for a second but that kind of thing and nuance is very important in Elden Ring

And of course, just my interpretation but 🤷🏻‍♀️

It seems like the main question about Ymir's quest is "why is he upset at the end?"

And before I get into it I'm gonna site other sorcerers and their outcomes:

Ranni: best ending arguably. She is never corrupted and returns the world to the untainted fate of the stars and greater will. She has love in her heart but does not let it guide what needs to be done. She is detached enough and not over ambitious but she does love, she tells us to tell iji and blaidd she loves them

Sellen, Lusat,Azur, Graven Masses: overly ambitious, devoid of emotional connection and only interested in pure knowledge. They gazed too far into the primeval current/greater will and in a lovecraftian way are driven mad and transformed and essentially die. Another thing with her is she wants to study the Elden ring (the cycle) not the greater will at large

Rogier: would not acknowledge grief, anger, and regret. Died for the pursuit of knowledge and trying to understand the golden order (which is broken)

And now Ymir: Ymir had too much love in his heart and was guided by it and this is made clear by items, Jolán, and his own actions towards Yuri. He mentions the natural pursuit of truth and power as well as abandoning the moon. He says that Metyr is corrupt and that we need a new, true mother, never specifically saying he's thinking about it being him, but we can assume. He is capable of being ambitious to a bad extent. Then Yuri dies.

We overhear him, so this is his true thoughts in this moment, that he "failed" and that he "truly wanted to be HIS mother" not THE TRUE MOTHER. Just Yuri's. He loved his child so much. He was satisfied. Yuri was enough. And him saying he failed is really implying he is done. He isn't trying anymore. He has loved and lost and it was too painful*. There is not a single hint of madness here, just grief. Then we kill Metyr and she phases out- putting her corruption into Ymir. So why's he pissed? Metyr is corrupt and he says it himself he failed already. He wanted something and is accepting its loss appropriately prior to this. When he's "possessed" he says he will be the true mother. But when we kill him we get that classic last bit of a characters humanity and true feelings coming through when he is no longer "possessed" where again he just says, Yuri, I wanted to be "YOUR" mother. Singular. Done.

He didn't want this anymore. We fuckin did this to him. Yuri made him realize he could be content exclusively with just the love between a mother and child. His genuine words are exclusively about Yuri... He originally went into it with desire to replace Metyr and then said "no. This love is enough and the loss was too painful"

He is so sympathetic and tragic and wonderful and I feel so bad for him.

Ah, how we had to see the tragedy to see the beauty in it

*Edit: after watching my wife do the whole quest and listening to all dialogue again, his gravestone dialogue to Yuri also includes, still specifically, that he will try to give Yuri life again, so not giving up on him specifically but not speaking of being THE mother just A mother, again singular. He is only thinking of Yuri. Like he never privately talks about replacing Metyr despite that definitely being what he went into this wanting.

Additional feeling add ons: I think we can also take, from his private conversation about Yuri's nightmare before this, that it was always Metyrs power, so a tainted one, that let him birth Yuri because it sounds a lot like Yuris nightmare is about Metyr. so Yuri is apparently aware of Metyr despite likely not having seen her.

Him willing to try again to give Yuri life does further my belief that the gravestone is readable pre quest because Yuri may have been a real child he lost who he continues to project on to, but we'll never really know for sure but that is completely irrelevant.

Either way it is the loss and love of a child continuing a cycle we see a lot in Elden Ring and whether Yuri was always the fingercreeper or a child he lost some time prior, really doesn't matter.

If there's one thing Carians will always do it's get wrapped up in what their heart wants and be guided by it. Three-way handshake between Renalla, Relanna, and Ymir- succumbing too much to love.

Literally the most heartbreaking thing still that his last words are just about Yuri JUST LIKE RENALLAS ARE ABOUT RANNI??? FUCK THEY LOVE THEIR CHILDREN SO MUCH

[separatist-apologist]

Hey MB<3 I just keep rereading your fics over and over and they hit everytime (like seriously they itch every scratch in my brain), but just wondering, do u have any elucien fics on your tbr rn, or recent ones that you recommend? I'm mostly looking for canon compliant bc that is crack to me but im not too picky, just looking for recs!

I ANSWERED THE WRONG ASK god kill me right now

You're so sweet. Sorry it took me so long to write this- I wanted to put together a good mix. I hope you like them- these are just one's I've read, there are more on @elucienweekofficials list of multi-chapter fics set in canon, too!

This is long so I put it beneath a cut. I tried to mix on-going fics with completed fics and not recommend the same ones I always do. If anyone finds this list helpful, be better than me and leave a review

I Believe The Word You're Looking For Is Friends by @kingofsummer93

Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra are haunted by ghosts of their past, unable to move forward, unsure where they belong.

Together they come to an agreement. He'll teach her everything he knows about Prythian. He'll take her anywhere she wants to go.

In return, maybe she can just stop slapping him so much.

All You Have Is Your Fire by @clockwork-ashes

'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Elain goes to the Autumn Court demanding an audience with the High Lord to save the mate she can barely stand to be in the same room with. She ends up having to stay much longer than she bargained for.

What If I Told You I'm Back by climbingmountains

Come one, come all, it's happening again…Elain and Azriel have been married for ten years. Koschei is defeated, their family is at peace. And if she feels a hollow ache of something every once in a while, that’s just the price one pays for love and duty.

Until she comes home one day to the news that her husband has a mating bond of his own.

OR: I listened to nothing but The Tortured Poets Department for over a month and had a lot of angst to release.

Mockingbird by @avabrynne

After Lucien reluctantly agrees to meet with Eris, he’s shocked when his brother reveals his biggest secret: he has eight-year-old twin daughters. Unwilling to entrust them to anyone else and with Beron's gaze on him more intense than ever, Eris has Lucien swear to protect the girls and take them with him.

When it becomes clear they can’t stay in the human lands even when glamoured to look human, Lucien turns to the Night Court. While it’s easier to handle outbursts of young magic there, Lucien needs help. Enter Elain, who bonded quickly with the twins after their arrival. On top of everything else, Lucien and Elain start to navigate their bond while also finding out a few more secrets, like who Lucien’s actual father is. It's an Autumn and Day Court family drama Elucien and ErisxOC fic!

ACOWAR (Eluciens edition) by @crazy-ache

One moment. All it takes is one singular moment to change the trajectory of fate. Following the events of Hybern, everything changes when Lucien instinctively grabs his mate—Elain Archeron—and brings her back to the Spring Court with Feyre and Tamlin.

In the midst of war and ruin, Elain and Lucien will have to face the bond that connects them together if they hope to survive the unintended consequences. To do so, they’ll have to prevail through games of deceit, powerful forces of magic, and deadly enemies. And hope their hearts survive the journey.

A retelling of A Court of Wings and Ruin (ACOWAR) and a Canon Divergent AU.

A Court of Ash and Sunlight by aturner1205

“I know you’d rather not get help from me. I know you’ve rejected our mating bond and I’ve accepted that. But I still want to make sure you’re safe.”

Her heart twisted in its cage, filling her whole body with icy tears that would not spill.

Tell him. He deserves to know the truth. Tell him.

And because this time the voice inside was hers, because it was strong and clear and right, she did.

“I haven’t rejected the mating bond with you, Lucien,” she said quietly, her chest pounding so loud she could hardly hear the words. “But I think I damaged it, because—because I’ve never felt it.”

The Scenic Route by @bonecarversbestie

Elain grows discontent with her role in the Night Court as she grapples with grief for her human life and powers that she does not fully understand. One evening she accidentally winnows to Lucien's doorstep and he agrees to take her back to Velaris via the scenic route.

Can I Be Close To You by @temperedink

Elain and Lucien have been feeling out their tentative new relationship for a while, and Elain is getting antsy about the slow pace she's set for them. But maybe it's time to take things to the next level.

Set a few years post-ACOSF.

Oceans Apart (Never) by angryramen

Living in the Day-Court with her mate seemed like a damning at first. But slowly Elain started to enjoy Lucien’s company. They conversed together in the Day-Court gardens and slowly became friends. He even promised to charter a ship to take her to the continent, somewhere she’d always wanted to go. But when the time comes to say goodbye…

The Heirs of Fall and Flame by arosebetweenthorns

Eris Vanserra has always been a complicated male. Born as the first son to a tyrant of a High Lord, he was raised on cruelty, learning never to reveal weaknesses. But as Eris' allegiances to his father's court are questioned, his loyalties forming with those across borders, he realises enemies in his own court - especially his father - may be too difficult for him to keep at bay, especially when he inadvertently sets his father's sights onto his youngest brother. Then there's Rhysand's Inner Circle to contend with - one particular shadowsinger that Eris can't seem to avoid... but does he even want to? --- Lucien Vanserra always thought his suffering at the Autumn Court's hands was behind him. But when his father shows a vested interest in him years after banishing him, it's clear he will have to fight to keep the fragile peace he's built himself. All Lucien wants is to be with Elain and begin a life of his own, but when Elain's life is threatened by his father, Lucien learns just how much he has to learn before life can truly begin.

This is a direct continuation of the events of ACOSF. Joint POV of Eris and Lucien.

A Court of Breaking by @aldbooks

A year after the events of A Breaking, Elain feels a tug on the bond and realizes her estranged mate is in danger. Lucien, now returned to the Night Court, wonders if he might have been too hasty in his decision to leave, and if there might still be a chance for him with his mate

Summer Heat by @zenkindoflove

Lucien nodded his head, looking for any cue that he was dismissed. “Got it. Keep everyone in line and try not to make an ass of myself in front of my mate. I’ll see what I can do.”

Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years.

Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance.

Post-ACOSF, Elucien, Eris x OC, Multi-chapter.

Healer In The Night by @infinitefolklore

Lucien has been away on the continent on a mission. No one has heard from him in over two months. Elain is worried. On a dark and stromy night, he shows up bloody on her doorstep. Elain nurses him back to health.

The Luck Of The Draw by @sad-scarred-sassy

Elain Archeron is determined to end her unwanted mating bond with Lucien Vanserra. She has resigned herself to a loveless life, convinced she will never be able to experience true love without the fabricated weight of an assigned mate.

Her plans take a sharp turn when her mate arrives with a proposition to accompany him on a mission to a foreign court. When no one else believes her capable of succeeding Elain decides to prove to herself and others that she is not as hopeless as everyone else thought.

Only this will mean she will have to face him, and with that all that she has sworn off, battling between not knowing where the mating bond's influence ends and where her true feelings begin.

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [2/?]

happy (late) new year :') after a month (and a lot of editing and dissatisfaction), i am back with part 2 of the 'yves has had too easy of a time' series (6.4k words). you can read [part 1] here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

When they get to the hotel Aimee’s booked for them, it’s already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart. 

It’s an exceptionally nice hotel—picturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. He’d looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at.

They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoire’s room, which is on his and Vincent’s floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (“Don’t be late to breakfast tomorrow,” he tells them, sternly, and Leon—who has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with him—laughs. “I’m especially talking to you,” Yves adds, looking straight at him).

Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. “I’m so ready to crash,” he says, to Vincent. “It’s been a long day. Are you tired?”

“I’ll be tired once I lay down,” Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader.

The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in.

Their room is a standard suite—there’s a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frame—though not a proper door—which leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. It’s a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. It’s only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes what’s wrong.

The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else.

Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if they’re really dating.

“I can take the couch,” Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesn’t feel any better than it did earlier. 

Vincent turns to look at him.

“I mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesn’t have to extend to us sharing a bed.”

Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friends—and in this case, family—doesn’t mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when they’re in private.

“You can have the bed,” Vincent says. “The bed will probably be warmer.”

Whether that’s a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether it’s just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesn’t know. 

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I don’t mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. I’m sure they’re just hidden in some drawer somewhere.”

He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what he’s looking for—a feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm.

“See,” he says, flashing Vincent a smile. “I’ll be perfectly warm, like this.” Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. “You should wake me if you’re not,” he says. “I don’t mind switching.”

“Duly noted,” Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason. 

“The couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,” Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. “It should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.”

“I can do it,” Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, there’s a faint tickle that’s managed to settle into his sinuses.

“It’s the least I can do, if I’m taking the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitching—

“Hh-! hHehh’IIZSCHh-IIEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent calls, from the next room over.

“Thanks,” Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. “hHeh-! HEHH’IiITSHHiEW! snf-!” 

When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame.

“Thanks,” Yves says, fluffing out the blanket he’s holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. “All set up.”

He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enough—a little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows.

“Are these your pillows?” Yves says.

“They’re yours now.”

“I can sleep without pillows.”

“They gave me two sets, anyways,” Vincent says. “I wouldn’t have made use of these ones.”

“Okay.” Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroom—he can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. “Do you think this is what couples do when they’re traveling and they get in a fight?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Vincent asks.

“It might as well be,” Yves says.

“If your family walks in and sees that I’ve banished you to the sofa, I don’t think I’ll ever be forgiven,” Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesn’t register as a joke. Yves laughs.

“You can just say I snore,” he says. “Or, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.”

“Do you?”

Yves doesn’t—at least, he’s been told he doesn’t—but it’s of no consequence. They’re not going to be sharing a bed. “Luckily for you, you won’t have to find out.” 

He gets settled—sets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes he’s planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit he’s going to wear for the wedding in the closet. He’d been careful folding it, but he’ll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the shower’s running.

The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though she’s the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense.

He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accented—it’s been awhile since he’s gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that he’s not familiar with and ends up having to ask about.

By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp.

“I got us extra waters,” Yves says. “There’s a convenience store down on the first floor.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though he’s wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought.

“It was nice to stretch my legs,” Yves says. “And nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Fluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there aren’t as many opportunities to practice French.”

“I don’t think you would have lost much of it,” Vincent says, as if from experience. 

Yves laughs. “For my own sake, let’s hope not.”

When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see.

He looks fine, still, at least outwardly—a little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. There’s a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesn’t feel like he has a fever. He’s just a little colder than usual, is all.

All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesn’t seem very evident that anything is wrong at all.

He takes a shower, cranks the water up until it’s almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. It’s the first time today that he’s been really, properly warm—if only because he’s turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at.

The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam.

It’s fine. It will be fine. He’ll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. He’ll be good as new tomorrow. 

—

When Yves blinks awake, it’s still dark out.

The first thing that registers to him is that he’s cold.

What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worse—his head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, he’s freezing. The air conditioning in the room is on—he can hear the low hum of it through the vents—and everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts.

When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probably—even if they are technically in operation, he doesn’t want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day.

He’ll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. It’s almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he won’t feel the cold as much.

There’s a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequent—

“Hheh—! hHEHH’iISHHhi-iEw!”

Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be. 

And Yves’s nose is starting to tickle again.

He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the next—

“hhEH— hehh’IZschhH-IIEW! snf-!” 

The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but it’s far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that it’s quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isn’t even a proper door between them. 

He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throat—whatever hope he’d had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute.

He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, there’s nothing.

His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise.

“hHh-! hhH-!...”

Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last second—he can’t seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. “hhHEh-!”

The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at last—loud and forceful and vicious.

“hehH’NGKT’shhH’EEW!”

A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves can’t claim he’s ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. It’s not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse.

“Hheh… hh-!” He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. “hHeh… hh-hHih-HEHh’DJJSHh’iEEW!”

This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. He’s nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze.

For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very least—there would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and that’s something, isn’t it?

Before he can seriously consider it, he’s snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers.

“hhHeh-iIDDSHHhh’YyiiEW!”

He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat. 

He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a relief—truthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleep—back in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when he’d been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friends—but the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadn’t slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needs—after the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all people—is to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves can’t keep this damn cold under wraps.

Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he won’t be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him.

But if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon. 

—

Yves doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasn’t slept at all

“Morning,” Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. He’s fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled.  

“You’re fast,” Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarse—all the sneezing last night probably hasn’t done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesn’t say. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not really,” Vincent says. “We have time.”

“Give me a few minutes to get ready,” Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. “I’ll be out in five.”

He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast.

When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway.

“How did you sleep?” Yves asks.

“Fine,” Vincent says. “You?”

“I slept well enough,” Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincent’s pointed glance at him, he adds, “I’m just a little tired. It’s probably jetlag. It’s what, like, 2am over in New York?”

“1:42,” Vincent says, checking his watch. “Is your whole family going to be at breakfast?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s up,” Yves says. “But Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously they’ll kill me if I’m not there first.”

The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them. 

He isn’t very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while he’s at it. He really doesn’t want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket on—which is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobby—he isn’t as warm as he’d like to be.

Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. “Hope you guys got some sleep,” she says innocently.

Yves says, “We got perfectly good sleep, thank you.”

“Morning,” Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59. 

“You’re really cutting it close,” Yves says, sniffling.

“It’s 7:59,” Leon says. “Whether I’m on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. I’m entirely on time.”

The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. “Mom and dad said they’re having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,” Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. “They said they’d report back if it’s anything life changing.”

“There’s a welcome party tonight,” Yves says to Vincent, “For everyone who’s flown in. You’ll get to meet them then.”

“Is there anything your parents hate in a partner?” Vincent asks.

“Don’t worry too much. I don’t think— hEHh…” Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins he’d taken. “HEHh’DDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.” His nose has been running all morning—he’d made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but it’s been all of fifteen minutes and he’s already nervous that he might run out. “I don’t you could get them to hate you even if you tried.” 

“Mom and dad met in college, at a bar,” Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, he’s grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for him—the less he strains his voice today, the better. “Mom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.”

“It was whether or not it’s ethical to clone extinct species,” Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. “Though this was before it had ever been done.”

“Apparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,” Leon says. “And it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was ‘at least you kept your promise.’”

“But now they’re happily married,” Vincent says.

Leon nods. “They’ve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you don’t have to try and impress them. There’s no need to overthink it.”

“I understand,” Vincent says. “My parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.”

“And how did that turn out?” Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand.

Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. “Better than you might expect,” Vincent says.

—-

The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurant—Aimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The table—a long table that seats thirty, or so—is set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowers—lilacs, pink and white roses, orchids. 

Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesn’t drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but it’s a close thing.

“Yves! You made it,” she says.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he tells her, in French. “God. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.” “Genevieve did a lot of it,” she says. “She has a good eye for decorations.”

Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sister—Yves follows Aimee’s gaze over to where she’s standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile before—the sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be seeing. 

Yves is stricken, for a moment. It’s so clear that she’s in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love that’s uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else?

“How have you been?” he asks. “I imagine preparations have been hectic.”

“Never better,” she says, turning back to face him at last. “You’re right—it’s been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like I’m so happy this is happening.”

“You two deserve a perfect wedding,” Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. It’s a little cold out, even though the sun hasn’t gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesn’t start to run visibly. “If you ever need any help—with last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving things—let me know. Even if it’s like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.”

She laughs. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I haven’t been up at 3am this week, thank God.”

“I hope to keep it that way.” Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve.

Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You sound a little off. And you’re coughing.”

And Yves thinks: she can’t know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out he’s coming down with something, she’ll probably tell him to sit things out—to get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until he’s feeling a hundred percent better—even if it’s at her own expense.

Worse, she’ll be worried for the entirety of his illness, he’s sure. As if she doesn’t have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes.

Aimee deserves a perfect wedding. 

That’s the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. He’ll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I’m—” This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. “hH-! hHhh’kKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. I’mb just getting over a slight cold.” Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, it’s not entirely dishonest.

Aimee frowns at him. “Bless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if you’d like.”

“Nice try, but there’s no way I’m letting the bride go and get things for me,” Yves says, grinning. “Do you want any cocktails?”

“I need to be sober until I’ve officially said hi to everyone,” she says. “Can’t make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, where’s your boyfriend?”

Yves waves Vincent over. “Come say hi!” he says, in English. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh my gosh!” Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. “It’s good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. I’m glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.”

“Thank you for having me here,” Vincent says, hugging her back. “I know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasn’t too stressful for you.”

“It was no trouble at all!” Aimee says. “Yves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.” she doesn’t mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what she’s referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. “I’m just so grateful that he met you. I’m glad to see him happy again.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for that,” Vincent says, blinking.

Aimee smiles warmly at him. “He’s the happiest he’s been in months,” she says. “I think you are selling yourself short.”

After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, it’s actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while he’s here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothing’s gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isn’t Aimee’s. Maybe it’s Genevieve’s, then. 

“I didn’t know you knew any French,” Yves tells Vincent, in English.

Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. “I took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,” he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. “I know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.”

“Five sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?”

“I’m not sure if they are very coherent,” Vincent says. “The vowels are different from English. I’m still trying to get the hang of saying them.” 

Yves is about to respond, but he’s cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle a—

“Hh… HhEHH-!’IihH’DZSCHh-IIEW!”

He’s glad, for once, that he’s not wearing the suit he’s planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincent’s eyes on him.

“À tes souhaits,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins he’d taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. “Merci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I looked it up last night.”

“Last night?” Yves asks.

For a moment, he’s afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet. 

“On the car,” Vincent clarifies. “During the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.”

“Oh,” Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin he’s holding, which he’s sure he has reused at least a couple times already—but with his nose running so much, he doesn’t exactly have the luxury to be picky. “Well, you’ll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.”

It’s easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is right—his parents have never really been the type to subject the partners he’s brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. It’s a fun night, especially after everyone’s a couple drinks in.

“I think it’s a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,” Yves’s dad says, conversationally. “Yves won’t have to explain why he’s always working overtime.”

Yves’s mom says, “Isn’t that a bad thing? We shouldn’t be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.”

Yves neglects to mention that he’s pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)’s workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement.

Vincent tells them how they’d met—it’s the same story as he’d told the first time they’d done this, during Margot’s new year party a few months back, but Yves’s parents seem to find it extremely entertaining.

Yves’s mom says, “I told you Yves was the one who asked him out.”

Yves’s dad says, “I didn’t know if he had it in him.”

Yves’s mom says, “I remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasn’t that much of a logical stretch to assume he’d make a move at some point.”

(Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he can’t be sure.)

Vincent practices his French with Yves’s parents—Yves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he can’t quite translate. 

“A fantastic attempt,” his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. “I can’t believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope you’ll keep learning..” 

“I will,” Vincent says. “Maybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.” There’s no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesn’t mention that there’s a real chance Vincent won’t see them again, after this. It’s not a thought he particularly wants to confront.

At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, “Let’s toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyone’s favorite couple!”

They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feet—maybe he’s had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill. 

He’s marginally worse at covering when he’s tipsy—and worse, too, at anticipating that he’s going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someone—maybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimee’s friends from work that are seated nearby—sets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him.

Yves just hopes whoever’s put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he can’t quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. It’s strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting.

At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds it’s just orange juice.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Vincent says.

“I haved’t had that much,” Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests he’s just a little drunk. “Just a couple— glasses— hh-! hHhEH’IIZSCHh’iIEw! snf-!” He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time.

“Bless you,” Vincent says.

“Ugh.” Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that he’s paying attention. “I swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.”

Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesn’t find that a little endearing.

“What?” he asks, faux-affronted. 

“Nothing,” Vincent says. “I should’ve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.”

Yves laughs. “Along with every other college student in the world.” He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasn’t been especially conscientious about saving his voice this evening—with all the talking he’s been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. “What, don’t tell me you’ve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!”

“Once or twice,” Vincent says, which is a bit of a surprise—he can’t imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of… well, composure isn’t the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if he’ll ever have the chance to find out. 

—

Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyone’s plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives he’s closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieve’s friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning she’d kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that she’d pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound.

“Do you want to head out soon?” Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out. 

“That might be a good idea,” Yves says.

He says his goodbyes—to his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom he’ll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they are—some of their relatives have cars, but they’d walked here, and Yves thinks it’d be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone.

Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking. 

“You’re cold,” Vincent says. It isn’t a question.

Yves realizes, faintly, that he’s shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel it that much.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“I’m ndot drunk.”

“Tipsy, then.”

Yves can’t argue with that. “Just a bit. I’ll probably— hhEh-!” He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHh’iIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! —sober up soon.” The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly he’s coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him.

He thinks it shouldn’t be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch.

Then he catches himself. He’s tired, but not so tired that he can’t sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. It’s dark, but they don’t have any early obligations tomorrow, and it’s not late enough that he won’t have time to shower, get changed, and get a good night’s sleep, with time to spare.

Yves shifts out of Vincent’s touch. “Sorry about that,” he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. He’s sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all.

Vincent doesn’t reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. “Are you okay?” 

“What?”

“You almost fell,” Vincent says.

“I just tripped. The roads aren’t very even, and it’s dark.” They’re standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long.

“Are you saying that because you believe it?” Vincent says. “Or are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?”

Yves stares at him for a moment too long. He’s sobering up a little.

For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everything—about how tired he’s been, all day. About how much it’s taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morning—tired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If he’s not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; it’s hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air.

Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fine—that this wedding that Yves’s been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesn’t want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isn’t feeling his best.

But this is not Vincent’s problem to solve. Yves’s bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincent’s responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves can’t start to expect things out of him—to take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give.

He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie he’s ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though he’s not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, can’t tell if it’s more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

[ Part 3 ]

[sparklewrites1]

Well...

A/n sept 23: I kinda edited this just slightly.ALSO THJS CAME FROM A REQUEST WHICH I CURRENTKY CANT FIND.

Scream 4!Sidney Prescott x Reader

Warnings: light sexual content (its a short scene thats not too explicit but it's still spicy.), mentions of sexual activities, profanity, slight age gap (reader's 24-25 and sidney's 31-32.) Reader is the bottom. Kinda getting caught but also not really

A/N: it tool entirely too long to write this. I cut down the spicy part because I went way out of my comfort zone and I didn't wanna post that since it goes against my writing rules. Also I added in my own little annotations while writing just to lighten the mood cause I was stressed.

Word count: 2k

--

This is wrong. This is so very wrong. Jill's cousin. You were in bed with Jill’s cousin. You were in bed with the cousin of the girl you used to babysit. 

Granted, you didn’t really know who Sidney was until approximately last year. Yes, you had heard her name in passing a few times in the years prior to now, but you never really bothered to look into who she was.

That was until, a few nights ago. Sidney had decided to visit Woodsboro again after years of being gone. The day after she arrived was the first time you met her. And saying she was gorgeous was a vast understatement. 

-

You stood in the entryway of the kitchen as you stared through the small crowd of friends and family who gathered at Jill’s house. Your eyes were placed on one singular person. They were placed on her.

“Why are you looking at my cousin like that?” You hadn’t noticed Jill’s presence behind you until she spoke up.

“Like what?” You tried to act clueless.

“Like that.” She stated. “Like she’s “hot” or something.” Jill grimaced at her own words and let out an “Ew.” 

“I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. Don’t lie to me.” She gave an annoyed sigh. “Please don’t stand here and look at her weirdly all night. You can go talk to her, but don’t be weird about that either.”

“I don’t need your permission to talk to her, I’m a grown woman. I’m literally your babysitter.”

“You were my babysitter.” She corrected you as she rolled her eyes. “Just go talk to her so I don’t have to watch you make eyes at her all night.” She began to walk away but stopped once she got to the stairs. “And don’t try anything funny. You already spend enough time around my family as it is.” Jill warned as she continued to walk to her bedroom.

You rolled your eyes as you turned to enter the kitchen. You were feeling quite parched. You opened the cabinet and grabbed a glass. You walked over to the sink and filled your glass with water. As you raised your glass to your lips, an unfamiliar voice piped up behind you.

“I don’t think we’ve met before.” You flinched at the unexpected sound. You quickly turned around. Only to be met with the sight of the same ethereal woman you were staring at before, walking towards you. “Sorry if I startled you. I’m Sidney by the way.”

“I know. I mean- I don’t know but I do. I mean I don’t not know you! I know-I know who you are, I just don’t know you…?” You cringed at your nervous outburst. “I um- I’m (Name).”

Sidney let out a small chuckle at your behavior. 

“Hi, (Name). It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled as she held out her hand to shake. You took her hand in yours and gave it a light shake.

“And for the record, we haven’t met before. I was Jill’s babysitter.”

“Really? I’m surprised she never told me about you.”

“Yeah, she tends to forget about me.” You joke. Sidney lets out another chuckle. Goodness, that was a beautiful sound. You let a small smile grace your lips as you lean against the counter behind you. “So how long you plan on staying in town?”

“About a week or so. I have work to do back at home so I can’t stay too long.”

“Yeah I totally get that…” a somewhat awkward silence befell (ooh girl look at you with your fancy words) you two. “So are you sleeping here tonight or are you staying at an inn or something?”

“I’m sleeping here, in the guest room.” She gestured towards the stairs.

“Oh that’s nice. I used to sleep there when Kate went on business trips and I had to take care of Jill for a few days. I made a lot of great memories up there.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of memories?”

-

You don’t know exactly what happened next, but you do know that somehow you ended up in the position you were in now. And that position was in Sidney Prescott’s lap. In the same guest room you were conversing about.

Her lips fervently pressed against yours as her hand gently caressed your thigh. Her hand slowly traveled up your torso, she started to massage your chest as she removed her lips from yours and trailed kisses down to your neck. A string of curses left your lips, and Sidney quickly shushed you.

“You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?” She whispered in your ear.

“No,” You swallowed nervously. “No I don’t.” 

You let out a moan as Sidney’s hand suddenly cupped your heat, massaging you through your panties. 

You ground your core (...?)  against her palm as you bit your bottom lip to try and suppress your noise, but to no avail.

You moaned as quietly as you were capable of. You wrapped your arms around her bare shoulders and dug your nails into her skin as the pleasure you were feeling continued to rise.

“Fuck, I think-” You groaned in frustration when Sidney removed her hand from your lower region. “What are you-” Your sentence was interrupted when Sidney pushed you down onto the mattress, you were now laying on your back, with your head on the very comfortable pillows.

Sidney pressed her lips against yours once more, but this time it was slow and sensual. 

She removed her lips from yours and began trailing kisses down to your neck,

then your chest, 

then your stomach, 

and then she finally stopped at your thighs and began her work.

-

“Do you hear that?” Jill asked Kirby, who was sitting next to her on the couch, happily watching 'Meet the Robinsons'. 

"Hear what?" She queried.

"That creaking noise. I can't be the only one that hears it." Jill grabbed the remote from off of the coffee table and pressed the pause button.

"Hey! I was w-" Kirby was cut off by the sound of Jill shushing her.

"Listen." Jill said. 

Kirby listened closely until she could hear a faint continuous creaking sound.

"What is that?" Kirby asked.

"I dunno." Jill got up from her seat and walked towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"I think it's coming from upstairs." Jill said as she continued up the stairs. And Kirby followed her.

As they arrived upstairs the creaking sound became louder, and along with it was the faint sound of voices. 

Kirby and Jill shot each other confused looks as they followed to sound.

They ended up in front of the guest room door, and what they heard was likely to scar them for life.

"Oh, Sidney!"

Their looks of confusion quickly twisted into horrified expressions. They both held back gasps as they ran back down the stairs. They both plopped down on the couch at the same time.

"Was that-" 

"Yes." Jill's bottom lip quivered.

"Were they-"

"Yes!" Jill shouted.

"Oh my gosh!" Kirby grasped the sides of her head with her hands. "They were fucking!"

"I know!" Jill screamed.

"They were doing it! They are doing it!" Kirby grasped Jill by the shoulders and shook her.

"I know!" Jill shouted. Her eyes were closed and her face was contorted in disgust. 

"I think I'm gonna vomit." Kirby whined.

"At least you didn't hear your cousin fucking your old babysitter!" Jill complained. 

"What are we gonna do?!"

"What you’re gonna do is start up your car. What I’m gonna do is pack up some clothes and stay at your house tonight. Because I am not gonna be under the same roof as them tonight.” Jill stated.

“Sounds good to me!” Kirby exclaimed as they both sprinted off in different directions.

-

“That was amazing.” You exhaled as you pulled the comforter up to your chest.

“Agreed.”

But your bliss was only momentary, because you soon realized that it was far past your time to go home.

"Oh shit!" You jumped up from the bed scouring the room for your clothes. "Where are my pants?!" 

"Over there." She pointed to the corner of the room.

"How the fuck did they get over there?" You rushed to pull them onto your legs. "Tonight was amazing and all- and I hope we could see each other again soon, but I really gotta go!" You hurriedly exclaimed before rushing out the door.

As you were running down the stairs you saw Jill standing in front of the front door with a backpack. 

"Oh! H-Hey Jill what are you doin'?... still awake…" You gave her an awkward smile, now realizing there's a possibility that she could've been aware of your previous activities.

She didn't respond, she only stared at you with an expression of what looked like a mix of fear, disgust, and disappointment. You could infer that she most likely knew what you did.

"Bye." That was the only thing she said before walking out of the door. After a few moments you heard the sound of an engine revving up, it must've been Kirby picking her up.

Not long after the car drove off you went outside to get to your own car.

After starting up the engine you sat in silence for a few moments.

You let your forehead rest against the steering wheel. That’s when all the emotions hit you. Your heart was racing, your face was burning, and your legs were trembling as your face burned in embarrassment. But despite your negative feelings, you felt a hint of excitement. You silently thought to yourself, 

‘Maybe we could do this again…’

You turned your head to stare at the Prescott house. Maybe… Just maybe…

Screw it.

You opened the car door and got out of the driver's seat.

You strode down the path to the front door of the house. When you arrived, you reached in your pocket and grabbed the key that Kate gave you a while back. 

When you finally unlocked the door you turned the knob and pushed it open and lo and behold there she was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh- You’re back, did you forget something?” She gave you a friendly smile.

“No, I didn’t. I…” You trailed off, with a wave of shyness hitting you. But you managed to continue your sentence after a few short seconds. “I wanted to…” You took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask for your number and maybe ask you out… on a date.”

“Oh!” She laughed nervously. Was that a bad thing? Was this a mistake? Did you misread the signs- wait- what signs? She literally just fucked you.

You gulped.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No!” Sidney blurted. She cleared her throat before speaking again, this time her words came out at a lower volume. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just caught off guard- I didn’t expect you to come back, and I most certainly didn’t expect you to ask me out.” She took a breath. “But, my answer is yes to both questions.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh my gosh, I- that's great I mean- I mean- cool- um, is Saturday good?”

“Saturday’s great.” A warm smile graced Sidney’s lips.

“Great! I’ll uh… See you then I guess. Goodnight.” You started to reach out for a hug but stopped because that would be too intimate, right? Then you started to reach out for a handshake but that felt too casual. Before you could decide on what to do Sidney moved closer to you and leaned towards you, she gave you a soft peck on the cheek.

“Goodnight, (Name).”

You smiled and gave her a small wave before walking out of the front door, and back to your car.

When you got inside, you sat in silence once more, but this time, the silence was a comfortable one. After a few moments you let out a laugh of disbelief. Holy shit. You asked someone out and didn’t get rejected! Your confidence meter was sky high.

A warm fuzzy feeling surrounded your chest as a goofy smile fell on your lips and you started the car.

You drove off into the dark, your mind never leaving what was now the memory of the amazing night that you just experienced. 

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 5/7/2024

i have Got to read a book i enjoy this week or my brain will turn into something the consistency of dried tomato paste on a kitchen counter

also i have lost track of the timing and rhythm of the seasons so for the first time in a very long time there is no may starred war tuesdaypost

listening

Chapstick by COIN off my weekly recommended spotify playlist. i don’t think this song is particularly interesting or well-executed as a whole, but the lyrics

She’s a friend of mine, and an alibi

And the getaway car in overdrive, like

Hey sharpshooter, I like the way you’re moving

i think the use case for this song is a telecom company trying to get you to switch by promising some portable Bluetooth speakers for your summer parties and this is playing diagetically as we slip in and out of various summer parties, following one TV-hot woman in a sundress

-

reading

i am once again not sleeping well and have shoved a lot of mediocre books into my gaping maw. i have read a good fuckin chuck of the jason todd outlaws runs. i like jason todd/the red hood bc i feel a certain kinship with someone trained for an incredibly specific thing who are then thrown away the second they stop conforming. darth maul also but that’s a different post.

i have several bones to pick with writer scott lobdell. i know this was the early teens but can we chill with the misogyny for a singular page. why themes of addiction only when it is needed to fill a narrative lull? and why are you continually going to put jason in interesting situations where he might confront his trauma or grow despite his trauma and then. not have him confront his trauma or grow at all because of it??? i like snatches of the early issues of the run, when the outlaws are figuring out how to be a polycule team on the most beautiful deserted island and crashed spaceship you’ve ever seen. i liked the art in most issues and these had just enough fun flashes of character (about every other issue) to keep me reading. but im annoyed by it.

i finally finished Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone, the first physical paper book i have finished in a long time. the flaw of being the first in the english detective fiction genre is that everyone who comes after has a lot of time to perfect it. i felt the actual perpetrator was a little beyond belief and the ending was fumbled. however it was very good at sustaining my interest for like 400 pages. not my picture bc i cannot be bothered to find my copy and bother a cat, but this is the penguin edition i own. i don’t actually know if i will keep it on my shelves but maybe it’s more of a trophy of me getting back into reading physical books?

Alexis Hall’s Mortal Follies also annoyed me. i do not think this author’s strong suit is in longer books. i have read previous books in two hours and change and while i found the ending here satisfying from a fairytale perspective, i did not enjoy the path we took to get there. i thought we were ending and wrapping things up at least three times, and the number of Things that happen in order to carry us on to the next Thing does not feel gleefully madcap but sort of frantically shambling. a very classic three-days time limit is introduced in the middle, it is met, and then we continue on for several months. also the author introduces the concept of shipping your friends with an equally made-up word as shipping through one of the more tiresome characters in the novel and this…cracking? chip? in the fourth wall? fucking annoyed me. it felt very out of tone with the rest of the book. surely there was a better way for this character to express that she wanted the two leads to be together

-

watching

Hammerhead (1968, dir. Miller). this is leaving tubi soon and sometimes the heart needs a silly little James Bond ripoff. had high hopes for this one bc it was rated R and the baddie was obsessed with collecting vintage erotica. i don’t really know why this is rated R. the erotica we see is almost all prints of Fine Art Nudes. there’s a lot of cleavage and undergarments and bikinis but not like. full frontal at any point. no man has their chest out except for an enterprising motorcyclist near the end.

anyway this is a deeply unserious film, as you may surmise. it’s not much fun, especially when it’s not very good at getting everyone to the next scene. Vince Edwards is kind of a cold fish, i do not know why every woman is throwing herself at him. Judy Geeson makes every scene she’s in better (there’s a very funny scene in a post office where they play both keepaway and the thimble game with an important package) but she cannot hold the whole dragging movie up by herself. god they made leading ladies fucking tiny back then. very throwable

-

playing

not fallow but i don’t have anything interesting to say about genshin this week. a friend started playing fnv after several months of subtle hints, i was only able to join his streams after twenty hours in and promptly let him know the inventory is sortable if you click at the top. how had he been going through his whole fucking inventory for twenty hours like that. a man singularly obsessed with both inventory management and min-maxing caps. he had like 8k caps by the time he got to Novac, taking the normal route. people sure can play games in different ways huh

-

making

put some dijon mustard and some broccoli in some macaroni and cheese. that's about it

[bitchsister]

can we maybe get curt cockwarming bucky,, but he’s just unable to sit still and is being all bratty about it since he wants to get off but bucky won’t let him 👀

This is not the one and only cockwarming ask I’ve gotten! And anon, while there is some gentle kinda cockwarming in this… there’s a lot more happening too…. Because like I’ve said before. I need a muzzle.

(I kinda just did whatever I wanted.)

Top punk baby princess Curtie in this.

Bye

This has been very sloppily edited. It’s pure smut and filth if there’s any weird errors just ignore them and love me for my flaws.

I blame @swifty-fox for a lot of what is in this. But also I blame myself for being the one to write it. 🫶🏼

Look at their beautiful art for our baby Punk Princess Curtie!!

Here’s their art tag. They spoil me daily 🩷

☣️THIS PARTICULAR DRABBLE IS LONG AS ALL FUCKIN HELL AND IS A MESS. ☣️

Because there was no specifications made, this is yet another addition to our Lucky Charms AU!

If you’re not LOCKED IN for THESE THINGS, do not read : Curt and Rosie arguments, injuries and mentions of blood, lowkey blood play, TOP CURTIS, bottom Bucky, Sub Bucky turned Dom real quick, crying, whining, spit, kinda cockwarming? I tried for the circumstances I swear, Daddy is used a few times . Oh. And Green Day.

I definitely have more cockwarming requests. So a cute and sleepy cockwarming drabble will probably happen eventually.

Bucky’s place wasn’t close to campus, but if Curt managed to catch a lift from Rosie or one of his girlfriends, then he’d manage to bribe them into dropping him off near the skate park which was only about a fifteen minute ride away from Bucky’s, if he was really putting his back into it.

He’d gone a week without seeing either of them, and while FaceTime was certainly one of the greatest modern inventions to exist, it didn’t do anyone justice — either the bar Curt was in was too loud, Bucky couldn’t figure out how to add Gale successfully to their call or Curt was balls deep in an essay about the Navier-Stokes Equations and Computational Fluid Dynamics while the other two had free time.

“I can’t go all the way to his place, Curt. I got work in like — fuck. Twenty minutes.” Rosie stared at his watch, gaze fluttering to land on Curt who stood in front of him, batting his lashes as he held his board at his hip.

“C’mon, Rosie. You’re arrangin’ bouquets all day, not protecting the government from cybersecurity attacks.” Curt stepped forward and tapped his nose. “At least not yet, Mister Digital Forensics.” His lashes fluttered again. “How ‘bout the park, then?”

When Rosie told Curt he’d gotten a job as part-time florist downtown, he’d laughed right in his face.

Ain’t no way!

Rosie stared straight at Curt, his lips tugged into a solemn line.

Wait — yo, forreal?

“I’ll — fuck — hey, Monday I’ll get you a coffee. How’s that, hm? For your troubles.” Curt made his voice sound sweet, stood before Rosie with his headphones around his neck, a loose tshirt hanging to his thighs, cutoffs revealing his scabby knees.

He blew an obnoxious bubble with his gum into Rosie’s contemplative face.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of resignation as he realized that continuing this argument with Curt would consume more time and energy than simply giving in. "Fine," Rosie conceded, his tone exhausted. "But you owe me a muffin, too.”

Curt flashed him a smirk once he’d plopped into the passenger seat of Rosie’s old Bronco where nothing but FM sports radio played through the muddied coaxial far older than them.

They chirped at each other for a little while about sports. None of which Curt knew a thing about besides what Bucky had told him. “Well, B says they got a good season ‘head of ‘em.” Curt popped a bubble between his teeth again, fingers fiddling with the too-loose trucks of his board to tighten them.

“You listen to everything he says?” Rosie shot a sidelong glance at Curtis, a brow risen. “It’s almost like you have no singular thoughts these days.” He continued, though he shouldn’t have. “Bucky this, Bucky that.”

The radio statics, but drones on.

That’s baseball for you folks. The Kawasaki kid has ice in his veins! One swing of the bat can change everything.

“I got plenty’a thoughts of my own.” Curt grit his teeth but forced his jaw to relax the moment he heard Gale in the back of his head, reminding him right away that his first reaction is rarely ever his best.

Relax, Curt. Take a deep breath. It’s nothing to get all bent out of shape about. Tell me a few things you can see. What do you taste? What do you smell? What can you touch?

Redbuds blooming in early spring, spent bubblegum, the leak in Rosie’s busted exhaust, the textured and worn down urethane of the wheels on his board.

“Hardly.” Rosie drummed his fingers over his steering wheel absentmindedly, reducing himself to the songs in his head since the radio in his car failed to work half the time. “You think he’s gonna keep you around when you’re graduated? Or, god forbid, you turn twenty-six and Ruthie doesn’t pay for your health insurance anymore? Officially too old for Attorney at Law, Bucky Egan.”

They hadn’t talked about Gale all that much besides the fact that he and Bucky often worked on case studies together and were usually working the same if not similar court dockets — a good friend who he certainly hadn’t dropped to his knees for.

“Fuck off with that.” Curt waved his hand at Rosie, his head shaking in disbelief and his expression one of grand theatrics. “Ain’t mine or nobody else’s fault you ain’t been laid in months. Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ downer, man,” he pulled his shirt up to tighten the shoelace threaded through his belt loops. “You been on my back about it now for a while.”

“Well, all you do is talk about ‘em.”

“And, so what!?” Curt tapped his board a few times over the dashboard to taunt him and make a big, loud fuss. “You goddamn leech! You suck the fuckin’ life outta me, Robbie!” Curt was huffing through his nose, red in his cheeks and far from remembering the things he could see, taste, smell and touch. “You know Nora calls you Rosie Raincloud?” He was being venomous now, his fangs deep in Rosie’s flesh. “‘Cause you fuckin’ smother us with it, Robert. We hardly know what to say to you these days.”

Rosie had stomped his foot over the brake in one of the picturesque neighborhoods, nestled in a dreamy suburban wasteland, so different from the city.

His chin wobbled and his gaze denied Curt the satisfaction of seeing it reduced to a puddle — that hurt, but he could only really blame himself.

It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a swing at Curtis Biddick and got hit back twice as hard.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’.” Curt swung the passenger side door open and jumped out, his head sticking into the window for one last twist of the knife in Rosie’s chest. “Coffee shop ain’t even fuckin’ open on Mondays.”

Rosie peeled off, leaving Curt to hop on his board and kick his legs as hard and fast as he possibly could, his headphones tugged back over his ears and the volume turned up as loud as it could go.

City of the dead, at the end of another lost highway.

Signs misleading to nowhere

He tried his hardest not to think about how he had acted, and the things he had said to Rosie — in truth, Curt was better equipped to handle what Rosie had been saying to him since after all it was his own opinion, which he’d reserved the right to.

Curt didn’t need to scream at him the way he did, or bring up Rosie’s sudden knack for draping a wet blanket over every conversation.

It didn’t get them anywhere.

His mind drifted so far away and his chest heaved with ragged breaths as he kicked his legs to the beat of the drum line in the song he listened to.

Angry, sloppy, reckless.

He stopped to take out some energy on the railings of concrete neighborhood staircases, finding his inability to make it down all the way in a front side a new irritant to focus on instead of the guilt he felt for hurting Rosie before his shift at the flower shop.

Until sunset he occupied his mind — or, until his exhausted body had failed him for the last time and sent his face into concrete. “I hear ya.” He mumbled at the sky, assuming it was all karmic as he reached into the grass nearby to grab his phone which had flown out of his pocket the first time the railing swiped him right between his ass cheeks and straight to his tailbone.

His body ached, his screen was cracked, there was glass in his thumb.

He hardly announced his presence anymore, fucking up the gate code a few times due to the shakiness of his fingers and dropping his keys to his feet while he attempted to unlock the front door, a wild and unabashed string of cocksuckingmotherfuckingpiecesofshit falling from his lips once he’d kicked the door closed with the back of his heel, limping into the kitchen to nose around for a snack, although he had really expected Bucky to be on his second glass of wine by then, his iPad an inch from his face as he browsed the internet for a new dinner recipe.

“Hey,” Bucky called from the garden where he lounged in his tightest swimming shorts — the ones that showed off the thick muscle of his thighs and the curve of his toned hips. “Hey!” He’d been calling to Curtis from the open French doors that lead to the pool, the sun still too bright to realize Curt was bleeding from an unknown source on his face with his headphones still blaring music into his brutalized eardrums.

Where have all the bastards gone?

The underbelly stacks up ten high.

“Dammit, Curtis.” Bucky got up from where he was laying, riddled with irritation that Curt didn’t come squealing into his lap like he always did, attacking him like a sucker fish on any bit of skin he left visible.

His footsteps weren’t detected by Curt that peeled a string cheese layer by layer, half of his body reaching into the fridge to find something else to eat. “If you’re gonna use my money for things like this, at least give me the satisfaction of -“ he’d reached to pull Curt’s headphones away from his ears which had inadvertently caused Curt to whip around, bright blue eyes starkly contrasted by the flow of crimson that stained his lips and neck.

This wasn’t the first time, nor the last.

Still, Bucky let out a sigh as Curt continued to feed himself strings of cheese, blinking up at Bucky as if nothing had been out of place — though, even John would admit, this got easier each time.

“What was it this time?”

Curt sighed, his shoulders shrugging. “Don’t even remember.”

He was so lost in his own thoughts about his fight with Rosie that he could hardly recall what he had landed and what he hadn’t — he had no notes to give himself and nothing he could set his intentions to improve on later.

He threw his body around for four hours and got nothing out of it. And, not to mention, he may have lost a friend.

Bucky shoved his face in Curt’s neck once he’d pulled him nearer, so damp with sweat and radiating heat like the surface of the sun. So bright, so warm, so absolutely gorgeous. “Need to keep all your braincells the way they are.” He murmured, drawing in the scent of him while his lips pressed kisses to the salty heat on the soft flesh of his neck.

Curt still felt sore about what he’d done to Rosie but with Bucky in front of him like this, his hands groping his sides to pull him closer, it grew more and more difficult to think about anything else. “C’mon, m’fuckin’ filthy, Bucky.” He whispered, his voice barely there.

“Oh, I know.”

The sun continued to set beneath the hedges in the garden and the breeze that blew through the open doors had cooled him down enough, but Bucky had done very little to stop his sweating — his palms splayed over the softness of Curt’s hips, the small of his back, the curve of his neck. “You need me to kiss it all better, don’t you?” Bucky could taste the metallic sting dance over his tastebuds. “Need me to lick you clean, hm?”

Curt had still felt the hot sting of anger in his belly, the annoyance with himself for getting it all wrong, the frustration of having no control over what he said, his emotions, and how he reacted to them.

He pushed himself forward, chest to Bucky’s until he was backed into the center island, his skin stained down to the neck of his tshirt. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” The blue of his iris had darkened like the deepest parts of the ocean — the most dangerous. “Can’t wait to have me down your throat, huh?”

Bucky could hardly suppress the expression coloring his features as a searing chill trickled over every inch of his body. “Fuck,” his palms flattened again over Curt’s sides and down to the curve of his ass where he grabbed two handfuls, pressing his body closer and closer. “Look at you.”

He looked fucked up on himself, mesmerized by his own power, his own influence — Bucky was the softest, warmest putty between his bloody fingers. “Been thinkin’,” Curt grabbed Bucky’s jaw, forcing his lips to part as his own grew inches away. “When you cut your finger. Made me think, ya know — it made your face get all screwed up, made you whine a little.”

Bucky had sliced his finger clean open on a new set of knives Gale got him for Christmas months ago, the blades still sharp as the day he brought them out of the box.

“Think you can make me whine?” Bucky’s voice had drawn itself deep into his chest, teased by Curt who leaned himself in as if he’d finally give Bucky what he wanted, a true taste of what he knew he was missing out on, just to pull away a flash him a grin with front teeth slicked with blood.

“I can do anything.” Curt chirped back.

He pressed his hand into Bucky’s chest again, the other cradling his jaw as he walked him backward and himself forward, a wall behind them eventually where Curt slotted his leg between Bucky’s thick thighs. “What’s the over under?”

Bucky liked to gamble with his work buddies on Saturdays.

Curt would sit by idly near a high stakes poker table or the screen where Bucky and his friends would bet on ponies and he’d drink boozy milkshakes and flirt with the cocktail waitresses he had no interest in for a couple complimentary vouchers for the buffet where he only used the soft serve machine or the gift shop where a collection of cute coffee mugs were sold, and he had his heart set on acquiring them all without spending a dime.

“Not a chance.” Bucky tilted his head back against the wall, his narrow gaze fixed on Curt who hooked his fingers over the waistband of Bucky’s swimming shorts. “I don’t make bets on thoroughbreds without a track record, baby.”

Curt had yet to reveal this particular side of himself.

Sure, he was tough.

He’d bust his lip, his ass or his nose and get back up giggling. He’d fall off and get right back on. He’d argue his side of the story, he’d stand firm in his beliefs.

But he’d never claimed to be dominant in the way he’s portraying now.

The fact that he could wasn’t so much a shock, it was that he chose right then to do it.

“Smart man.” Curt shoved his fingers into Bucky’s mouth, holding him still with his thumb curved beneath his jaw. “On your knees.” He hooked his fingers a little tighter and guided Bucky down to where he balanced on his haunches until his knees fell forward, forcing him to sit on his folded legs where Bucky stared up at him expectantly.

So fucking beautiful.

He already knew what to do, as he’d done it for Curt plenty — his cutoffs were shucked down to his ankles and kicked across the room, his bloody tshirt following suit. Bucky had a hard time figuring how he’d be the one whining instead of Curt until he felt the familiar sensation of tiny fingers threading through his thick brown waves, tugged a little tighter than ever before.

“Go on,” Curt whispered in a shallow breath, “Get me wet for you.”

Bucky could hardly believe his ears, the shock drawing him quickly to obey a Curtis who was typically mounting himself over Bucky right about now, spouting off about how Bucky’s cock is so big and how he can feel it in his tummy.

He worked his tongue over every curve and vein of Curt’s cock only for hips to be drawn closer to his face, his eyes brimming with a sudden surge of cock-teased tears, “Fuck,” Curt grumbled, the blood drying now over his still damp and glimmering skin. “Look so fuckin’ hot with a cock down your throat.”

Rather quickly the spot in Curt’s belly where he held his rage earlier was replaced by the butterfly feeling of having Bucky’s mouth on him — until, of course, Curt had coaxed him into position atop an expensive area rug in the living room, knelt between his thighs once he’d removed Bucky’s slutty swim shorts from his hips.

“Didn’t know how pretty ya’d look like this.” Curt took in the sight of a pink-cheeked Bucky, his thighs spread and his cock achingly hard, curved deliciously over the little trail of hair beneath his bellybutton.

He’d yet to let out a whine, but if he didn’t feel Curtis closer to him soon, he’d be waving a white flag as he went down with the ship. “Kiss me,” it came out in an almost bashful plea as his eyes scanned the lips before him, the dull dried blood brought to life again each time Curt licked his lips. “Please.”

“Ohh,” it was an almost taunting coo. “Got your manners, huh?” A dribble of spit slid past Curt’s parted lips and between Bucky’s spread thighs, his cock slicked gently past the hole that tensed at the sensation. “Relax for me.” Curt whispered, his hips grinding his length against Bucky’s which already twitched. “Show me how good you are.”

Bucky hardly knew if he was able to be good, but he’d try. “Please.” He whispered again, though he was careful not to allow his desperation to show. “Just fuckin’ kiss me.”

Curt rolled his eyes, spitting again but that time it was at Bucky’s chest, tinged pink from the blood still lingering on his tongue. “You don’t make the rules, John.” He basked again at the sight before him — glowing cheekbones, parted lips, hands reaching to spread the dampness Curt had spat onto him around his chest and into his own mouth.

“Not when I got you lookin’ like this.”

It seemed Bucky had leaned into it, his body still tense but his eyes soft as could be.

Curt rut his hips between his cheeks, a rumbled string of groans bubbling from his loins as his right hand milked a couple little pearls of precum from Bucky’s cock that throbbed beneath his grip. “Y’like this, don’t you?” He whispered softly, his usual playfulness still dripping over every word; sticky sweet.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky gasped, still willing his gaze to focus on what was before him although he was hardly able to discern if it was real or not. “Gonna fuck me?” He felt another sting of anticipation dance over each notch of his spine.

Curt grinned deviously, little body slotted between Bucky’s thighs that could easily overpower him but wouldn’t dare. At least not yet. “Need to get you ready for me,” he reached forward, his fingers slid gently into Bucky’s mouth and over his soft, warm tongue.

It wasn’t long before Curt could hardly stave off his excitement, fingers gentle but prodding against Bucky’s hole that took a finger to the knuckle easier than he’d been expecting, a gasp following suit. “Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his hips instinctively twitching at the unfamiliar sensation. “Fuck — fuck, fuck,”

A second finger, a third.

Lube from a drawer in the coffee table slicked over Curt’s thick fingers as he worked them into Bucky whose brows furrowed, pillowy pink lips parted as gentle huffs escaped them.

“Talk to me, Daddy.” Curt whispered, knelt down between Bucky’s thighs like a predator sizing up its prey that just so happened to be twice the size of himself. “Do I make you feel good?” His fingers worked Bucky open while he pressed rough and starved kisses over his thighs that twitch every now and then.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky sucked a breath between his teeth, his heart flipping in his chest once Curt’s fingers had found his prostate.

He held in a whine that crept up on him in the very back of his throat and Curtis could tell. “Such a good fuckin’ boy, Curtie. Fuck —“ Bucky threaded his fingers through Curt’s hair, chest heaving once his fingers found a rhythm.

Curt could hardly believe his eyes, falling in love again with a new version of Bucky he’d never met before — all soft hues of pink and deliciously tanned skin, lips glistening with spit and his gorgeous eyes half-hidden behind eyelids that fluttered. “You look so pretty like this.” He mouthed at Bucky’s balls and the base of his cock, pressing sweet kisses against his sensitive skin.

Bucky could hardly deny himself what he wanted anymore as he whispered a gentle plea, “Fuck me.”

Curt hummed between his legs, sitting up slowly to observe yet another angle once he’d carefully withdrew from Bucky altogether to line their hips up, his cock eventually replacing the fingers that gripped Bucky’s thighs instead to spread them wider. “Think you’re ready?” He leaned his chest over Bucky’s, chaste kisses pressed against his open mouth.

“Mhmmm.” Bucky mustered, their kisses hot and wet and sloppy — uncoordinated and needy. He’d never wanted anything more in his life than this. “Put that big cock to use for once.”

An interesting spot he was in to be making snide remarks, Curtis thought, and so he gave him exactly what he’d wanted.

He lined himself up nice and gentle before snapping his hips forward, pulling Bucky closer by his thighs once he’d abruptly buried himself within the tight, wet heat before him.

And there it was.

A long winded whine that started low and gentle had died out high-pitched and breathy right into Curtis’ mouth who continued to lick, kiss and nip at Bucky’s wet lips. “Oh, listen to you.” Curt drawled, allowing John to adjust before his hips had found a slow rhythm, watching as the man beneath him writhed.

“Gonna have you fuckin’ cryin’ for my cock all the time now, hm?”

Bucky choked back a whimper he couldn’t even pretend to hide, desperate and sweat slicked hands grasping onto Curt — anything to hold. “Feels s-so— fuck, baby - “ he could hardly form a coherent thought once Curt picked up his pace, hand hardly big enough to wrap around Bucky’s throat but he kept a tight grip, nonetheless.

Bucky still felt a little shy about this.

A little out of place.

Eventually, the unfamiliarity and pain had quickly tumbled and grew larger into an indescribable pleasure once Curt’s hips had little to hold back any longer, fucking into Bucky relentlessly who took it like he’d been meant to all along.

Uh-uh-uhs were forced out of him, his thighs spread wider and his eyes managing to focus again when he began to pant like he was reaching the finish line.

Curt was so far from done with him.

“Ah-ah,” he withdrew abruptly, watching Bucky writhe again and attempt to pull him back in. “I got you all worked up, don’t I?” His hands smoothed over Bucky’s damp curls, tugging gently. “Takin’ my cock so good, never knew you were such a fuckin’ —“

Bucky sucked in a deep breath and used his legs to flip Curtis onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

“Think you’re tough now, huh?” He still looked like a fucked-out mess, his eyes half lidded and his heart pounding in his chest. “Had your cock in me and forgot how easy Daddy can have you gagging for him.”

Curt tried to push Bucky’s hands off of him, his cheeks still slathered in dried blood turning pink beneath the mess. “Had you close-“ his rebuttal was quickly snipped once Bucky had slicked his fingers in with lube and brought them between Curt’s cheeks, hooked into him and pulling him closer.

“Get the fuck off me.” Curt tried to put up a fight but his body had been betraying him as his thighs spread for Bucky, his feet lifted from the floor as he moaned at the roughness of it, a punishment it seemed for denying Bucky the pleasure he’d been so vulnerable to receive.

“Nobody takes it like my baby does,” Bucky basked in the familiarity and the tightness around his fingers that hammered into Curt until his thighs were shaking and the back of his knees dripped in sweat. “Isn’t that right?”

Big, fat tears had once again revived the dried blood that had smeared itself over his face by then, every moan that rattled out of him tumbling into a choked sob. “Fuck you.” He whined, his white flag waved with confidence as he went down with the ship Bucky had since abandoned and yet he still managed to put up a fight. “Mother fucker.”

“Oh, that’s not how good boys behave, Curtis.”

Fingers were replaced with Bucky’s cock, Curt’s features softening at the familiar sensation, the one thing he’d ask for on death row.

This is his truest Last Supper.

There was no movement by Bucky, though.

He buried his cock deep into Curtis, swearing to himself that when they were just like this, he could see the bulge of his cock in Curtis’ little belly. “You know what happens when you’re bad, don’t you?”

“I wasnt!” Curt barked, desperately trying to withdrawal from Bucky and snap his hips back again. “I wasn’t bad - I- I wasn’t-“ he was a mess of tears again, the emotions of the day crashing down on him in a heap. “You fuckin’ cocksuckin’—“

The exam he failed, his fight with Rosie, his busted face, and now this.

“Nah,” Bucky held Curt’s thighs to his chest, his cock staying right in its place, not an inch of movement. “Gonna stay just like this until you can show me how sorry you are.”

There, Bucky realized, was his place.

He had never minded being vulnerable with Curtis — in fact, vulnerability was his strong suit.

At first, he was the worst out of the two when it came to expressing his feelings, his thoughts and his emotions.

In the end it was only ever because of the judgement he feared of receiving for loving Curtis. Someone younger than himself, more reckless, with more life to live.

“I’m sorry,” Curt sniffled loudly, a puddle of old blood, tears and a runny nose that threatened to bleed again, the drip metallic and sour in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry — I - I’ll never be bad again, I promise.”

They both knew a lie when they heard one.

“I’m so good for you.” Curt arched his back, anything for a little friction against his suddenly neglected and angry looking cock. “Look at me — I’m all yours, Bucky. Every part of me — I—“ he sobbed again, reaching down to touch himself but he was abruptly denied, his wrists held above his head. “Fuck me till I can’t fuckin’ breathe.”

Bucky felt sick for being so turned on.

A whimpering, whining, crying Curtis before him with a hot and hard cock that leaked beautifully against the little trail of hair below his bellybutton. “Oh, my pretty baby.” He cooed, reaching forward to wipe his crybaby tears away and granting him just a bit of movement when he did. “I couldn’t let you forget, honey — look what I’ve done to you.”

Curt tried again to surge forward and gain an upper hand, but it was disastrously useless.

Bucky was far stronger than he, even despite being fucked open just a moment ago. “Dunno what I’m gonna do with you.” He murmured, pulling away from Curtis at once and bringing him gently to his feet, holding him against the wall where Bucky felt he’d be doing his knees and Curt’s back a favor once he lifted him up off the ground and around his waist.

It was brutal after that, and for once Curt was unsure he could handle it. “Too much! T-too much,” he whimpered, but Bucky could hardly be bothered. “It’s too much — I can’t-“

If it was truly too much, Curt knew what he needed to say.

A safe word was set in stone the first time Curt had passed out and hit the floor, his brow split open.

All he cared about when he came to was finishing, though — even with an almost-crying Bucky and Gale in his face, worried beyond reason.

“Yes, you can, baby.” Bucky groaned, knowing full well Curt’s orgasm was dependent on the completion of his own.

Didn’t matter how much Curt was fucked.

If he wasn’t full of it, he just couldn’t get off.

A rather endearing blessing, but a curse just the same.

“I can’t Bucky, I can’t.” A wreck he was — and Bucky loved reducing him to such a state. Babbling, whining, his voice strained through the tears he choked on. “S’too much.”

Luckily, it was enough to sputter Bucky’s hips forward, hips rolling into Curt to milk his orgasm while Curt’s hole fluttered around his cock, his little body pulsing as he threw his head back against the wall where he thumped a few brain cells loose.

Bucky reached up to hold the back of his head, clicking his tongue. “There you go, honey,” he whispered gently to a Curtis whose body trembled through an earth shattering orgasm, “Let it all go, baby. Look at how much you’re givin’ me.”

Curt’s body was covered in sweat, blood, tears and now a splattered mess of his devotion to Bucky — hot and wet; sticky and so fucking sweet.

Bucky plopped them both onto the couch, Curt’s body wrapping around him and refusing to give his cock back despite it growing softer by the minute. “I love you.” He hiccuped into Bucky’s neck, the emotions flooding back to him once he’d been dumped right back into his reality — the one where he failed his test and more than likely lost a friend. “So much.”

“C’mon, Curt. Y’know I love you more than anything.” Bucky smoothed his hands over Curt’s damp curls, pulling his face away from the curve of his neck to look at him. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

He couldn’t talk about it now.

Just wanted to be here, in Bucky’s lap, the warmth of their love still burning inside him. “Later.” He whispered, sniffling loudly. “I’ll tell you later.”

[karaonasi]

Playing Games

🎮🎮🎮

I recently played the Keyframes VN demo and can’t get the character Percy out of my head—well, when Baxter Ward isn’t occupying it.

I’ve been reading the dev blog of Q&A’s to glean what I can about him. So a few days ago I was playing with some ideas about what friendship with him might look like prior to any chance of romance with him.

🎮🎮🎮

“Come in!” came the voice from the one occupied bedroom in the dorm suite. Kimmi let herself in, making her way toward the unmistakable gaming sounds coming from the room with the open door.

“I thought we were gonna study, Pretty Boy,” she teased, setting down her book bag by the door.

Percy braved a glance up from the screen with a bright, flirty smile. “Hey Dutchess. Do we ever study when we make plans to--oh shit!” he returned his attention quickly back to the game.

Kimmi snorted and circled closer so she could get a view of the TV screen. “Going old school, huh Tozaki?” She laughed, watching the screen go red before growing dark. “Shouldn’t you be better at this game by now?”

From the side, she could see his dark eyes roll. “It’s the Legends Edition. So not that old. And I’m trying Insanity Mode.”

“Why?” She asked, climbing onto the bed but far enough to give him some space.

He shrugged though he was still biting his bottom lip in concentration. “Better than studying Organic Chem?”

She laughed. “You got me there. I’ll take PolySci over that any day. Who you planning on romancing?” she asked, changing the subject. She knew there was no way of stopping Percry from procrastinating when he had his mind set on it--no matter how easy-going he pretended to be.

“Mass Effect One: Lia--dammit!” his screen went from red to black again.

She laughed. “Just go normal mode. You know you want the story more than the tactics anyway.”

“And you just want the romances--correction. Romance. Singular, Miss Casual Mode.”

“Yup,” she replied, complete with a pop to her pronunciation of the P.

He sighed. “Fine…” He re-loaded the game and toggled the difficulty setting. “Happy?”

Kimmi smirked. “No. But I would be if~~”

Percy’s eyes rolled a second time. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Like you hate it,” she teased, scrambling up and kneeling behind him on the bed to play with his hair.

“Ah! That’s better!” he sighed dramatically, leaning back against her.

“I wasn’t volunteering to be your gaming chair, Scooter Boy.”

“Awww, Princess, you should feel blessed to be under me.”

Kimmi let out an undignified snort. “As if, fuq boi.” She smacked him lightly in the back of the head. When he relented and returned to sitting, she repositioned herself, pulling out his hair tie and running her fingers through the shaggy layers of his black hair. She laughed when she noticed the ‘paused” indicator flash on the screen as her companion let out a soft sigh.

“What was I saying again?” he asked as she teased out the edges that framed his face. While he played, they continued to banter about romances: Kimmi teasing him for sleeping his way through the galaxy and Percy teasing her about her faithful devotion to one LI through the series of games. All the while her fingers worked a french braid into her friend’s thick hair.

Until the door opened with a noisy chorus of voices entering the common room of the suite.

“Perse?!” Elios’s voice called out.

“I see Kimmi’s bag, she must be here too,” Deja’s voice added.

Without letting go of the almost-finished braid, Kimmi leaned over his shoulder, flashing an impish grin. “Wanna mess with them?” she murmured just loud enough for him to hear. Percy answered with a mischievous smirk of his own.

“Hurry, get it back on, Babe!” he stage whispered loudly enough for the next room to hear and handed her the hair tie.

“My hands are kinda…busy, Percy,” she said with feigned urgency as she carefully twisted the hair tie around the end of his new braid and gave it a little pat.

“Uh--We’ll be out in a minute!” Percy called out.

The room beyond went silent.

Then broke out into hurried half-whispering.

“Since when have they…um…”

“Do we dare check--”

“No!” Several voices shouted at once.

“I don’t want to know.” That last one was definitely Jamie’s voice.

Kimmi and Percy’s foreheads lightly clunked together as they struggled to keep their laughter silent--which ultimately failed, the two falling over onto the bed in loud peals of mirth…to the great relief of their friends.

Except for Jamie who truly didn’t care one way or the other.

🎮🎮🎮

Find the VN at

And their blog at @blank-house

[mystycalypso]

Can i just say how much i freaking love the work you two are doing, Holly hell this is some wild stuff as veteran of hello neighbor you two are making me proud of this small community that is running on tumblr!

Also i hope you two don't mind me asking two questions.

Firstly, If one of you two had the control over welcome to ravenBrooks show what will be some things you two will change.

Secondly, What are you're thoughts on the artstyle of the show considering that Man of Action is working on the show?

Okay to start, I know I say it every time we get asks like this but y'all are genuinely so sweet and nice and it's just really really cool to see people enjoy our stuff. Like- especially fellow old fans of the franchise. I know Kaydin also really appreciates how sweet you guys are but just idk it feels like my fandom dreams come true when people like things like our au and art for this series

As for your questions...

Personally, to start, and this is Jack being slightly particularly- idk nitpicky? But there are three things I'd want to just- fix immediately and all three of them are Nicky related.

Number one, his shirt. I'm sorry guys but I've been here since the alphas and I didn't even realize this was his Sharkotron T-shirt. It's- It's just an egg

Number two, I realized after intense studying of Nicky's- face that it looks really weird when he's front facing, but his nose is facing right. So scenes like this suddenly seem- off model for no reason? I've poorly edited the image below to fix both of these

Yes I am too lazy to edit them properly, sadly. Did make his shirt logo still one colour for ease of animation. Idk why but left facing nose Nicky just looks less weird. Just me and kaydin? Maybe.

Number three- uh... that hairline is atrocious /lh

I know he wears his goggles in the show like constantly but also- this is a 13 year old boy guys. I was 13 once and I have a very flat (minus a widows peak) hairline, but it did not stop my hair from falling all over my face, and I think it's fair to assume the same for the kid who's hair refuses to behave anyway

Just fluff him up a lil (again I'm sorry these aren't better edits lol)

You don't even have to have it show when his goggles are up because like a headband or headphones it pushes hair back, or otherwise

Although ironically while I'm explaining what I would change in the designs, I don't mind the art style at all, actually I kind of love it. Sure some things you kinda of have to get used to, like their ears being pretty low to the head, but in general I think it really fits the franchise. I know it didn't look too drastically different from the pilot, but there's so many little nuances in the designs that just make it better (especially when you look at characters like Trinity)

I've told Kaydin a dozen and a half times how I think show Nicky is the franchise's second best design for him. The first being this singular piece of art from Nicky's Diaries, like I have gone on for hours about why this rendering of him is just perfect.

Third being fan renders, followed by the book artstyle, the pilot and finally games

And while other designs I wasn't sure about when watching through the show the first time, really just lore hunting instead of caring about anyone who wasn't Trinity or Nicky ngl, when I started doing my expression analysis I realized just how nice the designs and individuality of the characters are. If you put Nicky's expressions oh Enzo or Ivan's on Trinity it wouldn't fit and that's something I don't think people would expect from a Hello Neighbor cartoon.

They also have things I can just appreciate as someone who's special interest is animation (but doesn't have the patience to animate TvT gotta love audhd) for example, just having shading even in shots where they could completely go without it. It makes it less drastic and a smoother transition when lighting gets intense. They're also now afraid to switch up camera angles and push the rigs for a more intense shot.

Also something I really appreciate

Smear frames!

God I love smear frames!!! It's another one of those things that It's like- knowing how much this cost Tinybuild, they could've easily cut it down to save money. But it just wouldn't have been as nice without it.

Sure there are probably people who look at the fact that Man of Action is working on the show and are disappointed by the art style. But I say this entirely genuinely when I say I couldn't picture this show looking any other way and working as it does.

Yeah, they could've used more realistic proportions for these kids, but it works so much better when it's pushed like this when Mr. Peterson is nearly double their height. He's visibly a hulking intimidating man who could lift a middle schooler and lock them away. You fear his build which contrasts his outfit best (really feels like they took the book description of him and just pushed it, as we know he doesn't have this same stature in the games)

Plus it feels like in general, they stopped focusing on that dumb "Oh we need to hide things in every frame" which- thank God. Sure they are still hiding little details, hell I have changed a whole chunk of theory about Theodore's relationship with his son because of something I found on accident

This photo of (seemingly) 12 year old Aaron Peterson.

I'm not gonna go into it here lol because this is already long and it's supposed to be about the animation.

Are they still building mysteries and people are still crafting theories? Absolutely! Not a day goes by that I haven't been thinking about whether or not Aaron will ever be seen in the series in the present day and if he is, what he will be like mentally.

But the point is, they're focusing on crafting something GOOD over just theory fodder. Both animation and story-wise, and I can appreciate that so much.

Like- this is gonna be a really hot Jack take here so be aware.

I enjoy this franchise and it's spinoffs much more than the FNAF franchise.

Sure, Hello Neighbor one is and will always be awful. But I am 100x more likely to play Hello Neighbor 2 or Secret Neighbor than I am to play any fnaf game myself.

When I make fnaf content it is almost entirely AU based. Because the idea of getting lore super wrong since I just can't be bothered to try and figure that convoluted mess out is annoying. Why even try to solve lore if I need to read more than 10 books for a minor detail that becomes a major antagonist? We can't even get a full confirmed backstory for the main antagonist!

But with Hello Neighbor they realized that people don't want to be jumping through 50 hoops for lore. Yes we want mystery, but one we can solve without dumb contrivances and plot holes.

Do I still love FNAF? Of course. My senior quote is from William Afton ffs ("You may not recognize me at first, but I can assure you, it's still me") but one of these franchises is growing to better itself and gain more love, while the other is slowly becoming more of something I enjoy without trying to understand, and I think the Hello Neighbor animated series is- the pinnacle of this difference.

I love Welcome to Ravenbrooks. I love Hello Neighbor. I can’t wait to see what comes next from TinyBuild, and how season two will be even better than season one. (As proven by the fact that Nicky gets to yell louder in that one teaser clip alone than anyone got to in season one lol)

[thisisnotthenerd]

d20 finale thoughts.

for being the ‘horror season’, the intrepid heroes really go all in on the comedy in neverafter. i was laughing through the finale, in between some high stakes roles, npc and pc deaths, and wave after wave of enemies.

now that i think about it, this finale just shows how much the intrepid heroes have really tightened up their strategy as players, to the point that they can pull really crazy bits in the midst of battle and still hit a victory at the end of the day. for every ih season, they’ve had to step up the final battle to make it something that’s conceivably a challenge to the players

like in fhfy, they had some quips in the final battle, and a clutch beardsley roll to kick off the final ep, but it’s all battle focus. more individual attacks, and just trying to keep everyone alive pre-aguefort intervention. they had a few smaller enemies to deal with, but the primary issue was kalvaxus.

with tuc, it’s a similar scenario, but they have more options in terms of calling allies and a more complex environment. the individual appeals from the american dream, as well as the continuation of their fight with robert moses make this a more involved combat than fhfy. they were more confident coming in.

with acoc, the balance between troop mechanics and individual combat was the new challenge--the gimmick of the battlefield being the one they had previously fled from, as well as the task of getting rid of the leaders as well as the general troops added a new dimension to the ih final combats. edit: the intra-party tension added to this battle in particular; saccharina & ruby really defined the end of the campaign.

once they hit fhsy, battles became longer and carried out over more than just the two finale episodes. with theater of the mind, brennan could give them a longer sequence of individual and group combat. it starts with the nightmare forest individual fear scenes, layers on the need to rescue their attacking/trapped allies, as well as the continuity of the lore going on throughout the battle. i would say this style of battle, with multiple waves to exhaust the intrepid heroes, set a precedent for future combats.

with tuc II, the longer battle sequence continued, but more condensed. tony simos @ gramercy took 1 and a half episodes to get through, and so did null at the dragon’s hoard. again, each battle had layered mechanics e.g. having to stop the umbral engine overload and then having to birth the dragon. this style of battle aligns with what we saw in previous final combats, and has just the funniest instance of a divine intervention that i’ve seen.

in starstruck, they have talespire. they also have a lot of enemies, with their guns, trained on you. there were a few layers to this combat. again, the extension from a previous battle episode, the split between minis and ship combat, and of course, who could forget margaret encino, turning their enemies away with the power of emails and girlbossing her way into a campaign office. literally overwhelming odds that they managed to pull through including a 2 on the die from gnosis.

and now with neverafter, they had waves of powerful enemies, going from a siege to a tower defense from one episode to the next, the baba yaga, the ally persuasion mechanics, and the objective of holding concentration on bottle of ink that has hand(s), while either convincing or killing everyone else. the actual battle was not the hard part--as evidenced by the shenanigans they pulled off by the skin of their teeth. it was just the singular goal, and more rp than previous final combats. they also just crit. so much. no need for a beardsley crit when you’ve got siobhan one-shotting fairies and zac killing god and rolling an 18 that makes a new universe.

in short, as d20 has grown, so to have the intrepid heroes (+brennan). i’m excited to see where they go from here.

[kilojulietsierra]

Porch Swing Angel - Eugene Roe x Louisiana!Nurse OFC

Sorry this took way longer to post than I intended, but here it is! Finally!! It's barely edited but hopefully y'all enjoy!

Eugene plays guitar in this one, he sings a song called "Hurricane" by Band of Heathens. It was def not out in the 40's but oh well.

~~~~~~

As soon as Spina emerged from behind the bar with the well worn guitar in his hand and a gleeful look on his face Roe began to regret the singular offhand comment he had made weeks before. He watched his friend wade his way through the crowd with the instrument and Roes face was passive, by no means as excited as Spina.

"Hey, Eugene! You said you could play right. Have a go!" Spina thrust the guitar towards him.

The motion was clumsy enough that Roe reached for it on reflex, concerned Spina would drop it, "Spina, I ain't gonna do that. Go give it back." He pointed back towards the overwhelmed bartender.

"Aw c'mon, he said it was fine!" Spina shoved the guitar at him again.

Roe caved this time and took it carefully, setting his beer down to settle it across his lap at an awkward angle where he sat at a crowded table. "I ain't that good." Even as he mumbled the words his fingers settled on the frets, getting a feel for the old six string. He tuned a string or two to avoid the thought of singing in front of the whole company.

Most the men were occupied in one way or another. If he was lucky maybe none of them would pay attention. Besides the fact that already the boys closest to him had turned to face him. Several egging him on along with Spina.

Caving under the pressure he began to pick senslessly at the strings.

He was rusty. He could feel it. The years of playing with his grandfather came back to him eventually and he got comfortable. A song came to mind and he played through the first few chords testing it out. Roe just played with it at first, lose interpretation of the only song he could come up with. When he looked up next half the pub was staring at him and he immediatly dropped his eyes to the floor.

After another round of persuassion, "C'mon Doc!", "Yeah Doc, sing us somethin'.", Eugene started the first few bars in earnest. Swallowing thickly and ignoring the crowd best he could he sang the beginning of a song that reminded him of Louisiana. Reminded him of home.

"Thirty miles out on the Gulf stream I hear the south wind moan The bridges gettin' lower the shrimp boats comin home"

~~~~~

Lily hadn't had to work too hard to convince the other girls to go to the pub with her. They all knew too well that the airborne had more than ran the regular army boys and brits out of the only pub in town. They all had their own motives, but Lily was mostly just happy for something to break the routine of rolling bandages and collecting dog tags of the boys that would never make it home.

There were only a handful of them tonight and at first they had been swarmed. The paratroopers just happy to see something in a skirt. To that point Lily had found herself trapped in a corner with two of her friends, being talked up by some young man whose jumpwings were as shiny as the day he got them. Which, based on her loose understanding, she would bet was less than a week or two ago.

She had long since stopped giving the poor kid her full attention, beyond accepting the beer he had brought over.

The pub was loud and so when the din suddenly died down and the strum of guitar chords broke the silence in its wake, the girls all turned towards the source but could not see who was playing.

At first Lily was ready to write it off but the strumming grew stronger, more sure of itself, and the tune sounded familiar. When the voice broke through the crowd she couldn't help begin to weave her way through the crowd.

The old man down in the quarter Slowly turns his head Takes a sip from his whiskey bottle And this is what he said

Making it to the source of the music Lily smiled and joined in on the chorus without thinking twice

I was born in the rain on the Pontchartrain Underneath the Lousiana moon

The man playing snapped his eyes up to hers as she joined him and together they continued to sing. Each of them a little more confident.

I don't mind the strain of a hurricane They come around every June

Lily smiled as she found her voice and held the gaze of the solemn, darkhaired paratrooper playing the guitar. The crowd had moved out of her way and she came to stand a short distance away from him as he played. She nodded encouragingly, gave a little winding motion with her hand telling him to play it up.

~~~~~

Eugene quit singing altogether at that point. Not wanting to diminish the girls beautiful voice. So, when she gave him a little signal to pick it up, he took her lead. He found he wasn't playing for the crowed anymore. He was playing for her.

The high blackwater, the devils daughter She's hard, she'd cold and she's mean But nobody taught her, it takes a lot of water To wash away New Orleans.

Her singing overtook him and he wasn't in that pub in England anymore. He was on his Grandmothers porch playing with his grandfather and his uncles on a summer night. He could feel the muggyness, hear the cicadas in the trees and smell the honeysuckle. When he closed his eyes, rocking back and forth as he played outright, he swore he could see lightening bugs behind his eyelids.

She sang like a girl raised on southern baptist choirs and bluegrass. Her voice was rich and strong, husky like maybe she smoked a little here and there. Soulful like she'd had her heart broken a time or two and broken a dozen more herself.

When he opened his eyes next he found her watching him from a few feet away, she held his gaze firm as she belted out the next chorus. Spared him a little smile as she swayed along, her foot stomping out the time. His cheeks were warm when he returned her smile and he had to look away. A vision crossed his mind as he picked and strummed and swayed in his seat. A vision of her perched on the wooden, porch rail behind him in a cotton dress, singing as they all played for her.

At one point, the last chorus, he met her eyes again as he stopped playing. Only tapping out the time against the body of the guitar. Letting her gorgeous voice fill the dead quiet pub all on it's own, every man and woman in the pub hung on her every word.

By the time he played the last few bars out for her, she had come to stand nearly in front of him. Her voice had dropped down to something soft and sweet and without missing a beat they let the music trail off on its own, holding eachothers eyes again until Eugene had to look away.

~~~~~

The crowded bar erupting into shouts and hollers snapped her out of the dream she had slipped into while she had been singing. Whistles and clapping echoed off the walls and suddenly she was a little shy as they all called out for another song.

Amongst the ruccus Lily squeezed her way to the table and carefully perched herself on the edge of it next to where the paratrooper sat with his arms crossed over top the guitar. He smiled when he looked up at her, it's shy and his teeth aren't showing, but his eyes are bright and she liked it. "What else can you play?" She leaned down closer to ask the question.

She was pleasantly caught of guard when a glimmer of something else broke through that shyness and he gave her a grin, "Darlin', if you keep singin' I'll play anything you want."

~~~~~

His response made her smile, with a laugh behind it and Eugene is proud of that. And for some time after that he played any song she asked for, thank God he knew them all, but they were all songs he grew up on and he was grateful for that. THey had made music together until there were couples dancing in a cleared off spot by the dartboard and drunken' soldiers were slurring the words along with them.

Eugene had to control the urge to tell them all to shut up. Let her sing.

She was enjoying herself and smiling wider the more she drank and the more she sang. Roe had lost track of the songs by the time she bowed out and said that was all she had for the night.

For a second he worried she'd disappear once she was done singing but instead she gave him a bright smile and slid off the table to take the empty chair beside him. "I'm Lily Beauchesne," she held out her hand. "My friends call me Beau. It's a little easier."

"Eugene Roe." Leaning the guitar against the wall behind him he took it and felt a wave of heat roll through him that had nothing to do with the overcrowded pub. "Your voice," He started as he let her hand go, "It sounds like home."

For the first time that night it was Lilys cheeks who flushed a pretty pink and she glanced away from him. Her tongue darting out to lick her lips before she reached for a beer and took a sip.

Emboldened by her reaction Gene turned to face her further, "Where you from Lily Beauchesne?"

Lily grinned, enjoying the way his accent colored her name just right and how he didn't stumble over the pronunciation one bit. "Louisiana, little town called Port Barre."

Eugene couldn't help but smile and shake his head. With a little chuckle at the look she gave him he met her eye, "I'm about 50 miles down the river from ya. Bayou Chene"

Her smile doubled in surpise, "You're joking!" She leaned in a little closer and fought back the butterflys in her stomach. "Are your people Cajun?" She asks in what passes for French in south Louisiana.

WIth a nod he responds to her in French as well, "Half. My mothers side."

It's like Lily can't stop smiling at that point. "Mine too! My French is not so good." She uses it though, happy to have something to share with this man she's just met.

That glimmer in his dark eyes comes back again as he tilts his head to look at her. This time he responds in English but his voice is lower, accent thicker, "Sounds real good to me."

Lily blushes again and Roe loves it. Want to keep her smiling and blushing and talking to him all night.

~~~~~

They spend the rest of the night together in their own little world. Sitting close together and talking just the two of them. The friends each of them came left to their own devices while Eugene and Lily got to know eachother. Their conversation flowed between their two languages, their accents blending together. Roe truly wanted to talk to her all night, he wanted more if he were honest with himself and that thought rang louder when Lily had picked his hand up off the table to hold it in her own.

Her tinier, softer fingers caresed his carefully even as she continued on in French, repeating an anectdote about a relative she'd received in her most recent letter from home.

Roe found it hard to concentrate. The sound of her sweet voice lulling him and his attention drawn to they way she had his hand held in her lap. Palm up with her gentle fingers tracing over the lines and creases, brushing over the caluses from working and fighting all this time.

She caught him not paying attention, pulling him back to her by saying his name, "Eugene…" and giving his hand a squeeze.

His eyes jumped back to hers, embarrassed except that her face was nothing but kind if a little teasing,. Every lecture he'd ever received on fratrenization policy spun around in his mind and one by one he tossed hiem aside the longer she smiled at him like that.

He wanted to kiss her. He was going to kiss her

But then Lipton was addressing the crowd. Roe had pulled his hand from her grip and felt the weigh of war settle back over him as the news came. They would be leaving.

When he turned back to her Lily was still smiling, but now it was soft and sad.

Before Eugene could come up with the words she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you again Eugene." She kissed him again, closer to his jaw this time before she added, "I'm sure of that."

As she pulled away from him Gene caught her gently, hookin a finger under her chin and pulling her back so he could kiss her properly. It was short and sweet, but it was a promise of more. "Until next time."

~~~~~

He wasn't sure if their parting words had been true, but he was certain they had both meant what they had said. Would they really see eachother again though? `

Eugene found himself thinking of her quite often. At night in his bunk, on the canvas seat of the plane as they headed for their jump into Holland, and most recently in the back of a frigid deuce and a half shaking and rattling its way towards the front.

When he had a spare moment to think of the pretty nurse from Louisiana it was almost always the same daydream. It was her on a porch swing on a warm summer evening, rocking back and forth in a simple cotton dress with her hair loose and long, just begging for his fingers to run through it. Sometimes he would imagine her singing his favorite songs or a hymm and even in his own mind her voice brought him peace. In these dreams she would smile at him as he walked up the steps to join her, or as he sat across from her picking out a song for her.

She kissed him in his daydreams. Long and sweet and loving and she would blush so pretty, giggling when he would whisper in her ear little things only for her to hear.

He was careful to stop his thoughts there. He'd slipped up a few times, on nights when he couldn't sleep, and thought of her tugging him to his feet and leading him to bed, or of picking her up in his arms and carrying her as she took her turn whispering in his ear until he laid her on top of the covers and took the words right out of her mouth.

Gene knew they did not know eachother well enough to allow himself those kinds of thoughts but God willing he wanted to.

An especially hard bump in the road dug the metal of the truck bed into his back and jerked him from his daydreams. It wasn't a warm, bayou summer, instead he felt the cold seep back into his bones and the darkness outside of the truck swallow him once again.

Dug into his foxholes he tried not to think of her, tried to focus on his job and making it through the next day. Instead, what he did allow himself was the hope that if he survived this frozen hell, he would see her again. That she would be waiting for him.

As much as he wanted to see Lily Beauchesne again, he never would have thought they would cross paths again when, where and how they did.

~~~~~

The jeep weaved its way through the wreckage and rubble of Bastogne and Roe was busy holding pressure on the bleeding leg wound of the soldier stretched out over the hood. The city, what was left of it, was in shambles and the church they were using for a makeshift aid station was little better.

Gene left the basement of the church sometime later, Sisk in capable hands, and with an armfull of fresh supplies. He flagged down a jeep and had just climbed into the passengar seat when something caught his attention.

A voice off to one side that tickled something in his mind. When he looked, as the jeep turned around and pointed back towards the cleared street, he heard it. A familiar voice with a familiear accent. Gene sat up straight and twisted around, not quite believing it was her until she looked up and their eyes met.

~~~~~

Lily had to fight the urge to wipe the blood on her trousers as she jogged across the street to meet the incoming jeep. Her frozen fingers immediatly jumping to the blood soaked bandage over the stump of a young soliders arm. WIthout a second thought she began barking orders and used all her muscle to help wrestle him off the jeep and onto a stretcher.

As they carried him inside something made her skin warm up and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She turned and searched her surroundings until her gaze fell on a retreating jeep. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Eugene, staring right back at her, the same look of shock on his face.

Unable to move she held his gaze. A flood of thoughts and emotions tore through her and she could not look away until the jeep was out of sight.

Eugene was alive. He knew she was here.

~~~~~

When they truly saw eachother for the first time they barely had a moment together but each of them was grateful for it.

Roe had made a point to find her the next time he brought a patient to the church. "What are ya doin' here?" Was not how he meant to speak to her the first time but it was what came out as he came to stand beside her. He liked her all the more when her response was to flash her angry, green eyes at him from where she knelt by a wounded man.

"I'm a nurse Eugene. I'm doin' my job." She stood up straight and had to fight back a wince at the stiff joints and sore muscles that harrassed her body. Lily was ready for a fight but that's not what she wanted.

He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that hadn't come out right, but he was glad she was the kind of woman to defend herself. With a deep breath Gene closed his eyes and started again, "I'm sorry, that's… that's not what I meant."

"That's how it sounded." There was no longer a bite to her words but she stood her ground all the same, "We're what's left of the hospital unit. Got cut off just like y'all."

Gene licked his lips and looked at his boots long and hard before he spoke, "I'm glad you're okay. I just didn't expect to see ya here is all."

Lily nodded, her posture relaxed, and silently accepted his apology. "I'm glad I got to see you."

Gene relaxed too and gave her a careful smile, "So am I."

"Doc!" The driver yelled from the door, "Let's go."

With a scowl Roe looks his way and then back to Lily. HIs fingers twitch. He wants to reach out to her, but doesnt.

She does though. Lily grabs for his hand and holds it in hers for a brief moment. She gives it a squeeze and offers him a sweet smile that nearly reaches her tired eyes. "Until next time. (French)"

"Doc!"

Gene glares towards the door again but gives Lily a flustered little smile before giving her hand a squeeze of his own and heading back towards the stairs.

~~~~~

The next time Roe is there he looks for her almost immediatly, but can't find her. He finally asks one of the other medics, "Hey, have you seen Lieutenant Beauchesne?"

The medic furrows his brow, sparing Eugene a glance while he worked, "Who?"

"A nurse, Lily Beauchesne, y'all might call her Beau. Accent, dark hair."

Finally the other man nods, even shares a sympathetic look with him which Gene didn't quite understand. "She's down on the end."

Roe looks but didn't see her at first. Not until he made it to the end of the church room and looks around. Where he finds Lily curled up on a low table, a makeshift bed, with a blanket over her. His heart drops at the sight of her. "Lily..."

She is balled up as tight as can be on the tabletop, the flimsy blanket obviously doing nothing to quell the tremors that rack her body as she shivers. Her face is pale and sweaty, her breathing raspy and her eyes sunken, hollow and closed tight against the pain. Lily doesn't aknowledge him until he takes a knee beside the table, to get to her level, and lays a careful hand on her.

"Lily... cher, look at me." Roe whispers to her without a second thought as he strokes her hair back from her clammy forhead.

Her eyes open and they struggled to focus. "Gene..." Another shiver overtakes her and she pulls her knees closer to her chest.

"Sweetheart, look at you." He continues to stroke her hair and moves his other hand to cradle the crown of her head, his touch sure but gentle. First brushing over her forhead, then gently tugging one eye open fully with his thumb grimacing at the size of her pupils, and finally stroking the tips of his fingers up her slender throat, the swelling under jaw plain as day. "How long you been like this?"

A wry smile fought its way through her grimace as she dodged his question, "I'll be fine."

His fingers traced the side of her neck once more before he settled his palm over her temple. "You're burnin' up." Roe looked her over and searched around for anything else to cover her better.

"Freezing." She corrects him.

"I know." He searched all around him and finds nothing for her. "You need some water?"

Lily shook her head as vigorously as she was able, "I'll just..." She shivered to the point she was unable to keep still, "I'll just toss it up again."

Suddenly a plan formed in his mind and he was glad to have it. He slid his hand down her arm under the blanket to look for an IV but found nothing. "Let me help."

He made to stand up but her trembling fingers clenched around the sleeve of his jacket. "We don't have anything." She tugged feebly, she wanted him back close to her. "Nothin' to spare." Her words cut off abruptly as she screwed her face up and blindly fumbled over the edge of the table.

Roe fumbled, but finally saw the bucket she was reaching for and holds it for her as she coughs and heaves. WIth his other hand he helped support her weight as she leant off the table and retches until her eyes are watering and her throat hurt. Once she's done he helps her lay back down and pulls her blanket back up to her chin. "Jus' be quiet and rest cher."

Her eyes are closed when she whimpers, "Stay. Just a minute."

WIthout hesitation he knelt down beside her again, his hands cradling her head and face as he leaned his forehead against hers, "I'm right here cher... I'm right here." He strokes his thumb back and forth over her filthy hair and occasionally smooths out the pained furrows in her brow.

WIthout really thinking about it he began to pray over her. He knew there was nothing to be done other than her to wait it out, wait for the fever to break and her stomach to settle. So, he prayed for her healing, for her strength and for her comfort. Prayed for her to sleep. Somewhere in the midst of his praying, still with their foreheads pressed together and his thumb caressing her temple over and over, he began to whisper to her.

"Couldn't believe when I saw you here, I'd thought about seein' you again so often and there you where."

She didn't say anything but she hums and seems to scoot a litle closer.

For a moment he was silent again while he prayed. "That first night, in the bar, I knew I'd fall in love with you. So pretty, so smart, voice of an angel."

Lily let out a whimper and her shivers overtake her for a moment.

Voice steady and calm, Eugene hushes her, "You'll be just fine cher, just go to sleep and let the fever run." He glanced down as her hand snuck out from under the blanket and wraps around his forearm. Gene even smiled briefly as her thumb stroked over his sleeve in time with his own.

Carefully, he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Rest for me, huh cher. Jus' rest for me."

He remained still and eventually felt her relax the slightest big, her face soft and she let out a little hum as she nodded off. Before he stood, Gene brushed a hand over her hair and prayed. "Let her sleep, Lord. Let her rest, and take this pain from her while she sleeps." He kept his hands on her head a moment longer before he dropped another soft kiss on her forehead and stood up straight. HIs chest ached as he looked over her one last time, gave her calf one last, comforting squeeze before he left her to rest.

~~~~~

The pain in his chest that day was nothing in comparison to the pain and dread he felt at the sight of the bombed out church. It's entrance little more than a pile of stone and debris. He nearly collapsed under the weight of a single thought. Lily had been here. Curled up on a hard table, sick and helpless. With a thick swallow he forced down the lump in his throat and turned back to the waiting jeep.

The bombs and explosions a dull echo as he retreated into himself. The world drown out around him to the point that he almost didn't hear it.

"Gene! Eugene!"

The shouts broke him out of his haze just in time for him to turn and see her. "Stop, stop. Stop the jeep." Roe didn't even wait for the driver to slam on the brakes before he had vaulted out of it and ran back down what was left of the street. He all but crashed into her as he wrapped her up in his arms and held her. Lifting her off the ground he hugged her so tight.

Lily didn't hesitate or shy away. No, she wrapped her arms around his neck and burried her face in it the best she could with both of them wearing the helmets.

"I thought you were gone." Gene murmured in her ear.

"I'm right here." She answered back, her voice thick with emotion.

An explosion rattled the whole block and Gene quickly set her down and covered her the best he could as he ushered her out of the open. "Last I saw you, you was down there. I thought…"

Lily just shook her head and smiled at him. "I slept all day after you left. Woke up to the fever broke, right as rain."

Behind them the jeep driver yelled, "What the fuck you think you're doin' Doc? We got to go!"

They both ducked at another explosion, Gene once again covering her body wtih his. Lily held him close after that, "Go. I'll be fine Gene. I'm fine."

Not an ounce of doubt or nerves in him Gene did not hesitate when he pressed her up against the brick wall behind her and kissed her. Properly, fully, like he'd always wanted to. His hold on her pressing them tight together as he claimed her mouth with his own.

Lily moaned, surprised, but quickly kissed him back. Her hands fisted in the front of his well worn field jacket and pulled him impossibly closer.

When they pulled away from eachoter Eugene's eyes drilled into hers as he straightened her helmet. "I'll find you. I promise mon cher, i'll come find you (french)" He kissed her again and relished in the feel of her one more time before he forced himself to pull away and run back to the idling jeep. Gene glanced back at her once, happy to find her watching him until he had turned, and then he watched her dart across the open and join a group of medics and wounded as they went for cover.

~~~~~

Eugene did not see her again for the whole rest of the war.

There were letters that caught up with him however and each one felt like he could breath again. She had written once that she felt much the same. Especially when he had written back to her, telling her Easy Company was finally moving off the line and heading for the crumbling but oddly much safer Germany.

The news that her unit had been discharged came to him in Austria. She was in England waiting to board a big steamer and finally begin her journey home.

Another letter never found him. HIs own company finally allowed to go home themselves, he spent a good part of his time on the boat across the Atlantic rereading the letters she had sent.

In them she had marvelled at how he had healed her, swore that he had his grandmothers gift after all. She admitted how the few times he had called her 'cher' had made her heart race and she never wanted him to call her anything else. She wrote about home, about missing him, about what she would do after the war. She reminded him he had promised to come for her, had promised he would find her.

Each letter was ended the same, "Love, your Lily" with big loopy, cursive letters.

~~~~~

Lily waited patiently for a response to her most recent letter. It never came, but she did not let herself get discouraged. Her patience paid off one evening towards then end of summer.

Her folks and younger sister were inside gathered around the radio. She herself had found she, more often than not, preferred the peace and quiet of the front porch since her return home.

That particular evening she was swaying idly on the porch swing and humming a hymm she had stuck in her head most the day.

The night was quiet but the frogs and cicadias were raising a ruckous and there was a stiff breeze blowing through the trees. The sound of all this very nearly drown out the crunch of boots approaching the front of the house.

When Eugene came up to the bottom step he was already grinning. His back straight, uniform crisp and his face clean shaven. He made eye contact with her as he climbed the few steps to the porch but stopped there to lean against the railing. "Wouldn't believe how many times I thought about you, just like this." His grin grew wider as he removed his cover and leaned his shoulder against the post.

Lily was smiling wide at the sight of him and her cheeks flushed at his words. She had no words of her own, only knew that every muscle in her body was screaming at her to run to him. The look on his face and what he had said kept her in place. He very much appeared to be enjoying the moment of a daydream realized.

FInally he budged, climbed the last step up onto the porch, and made his way over to her.

Once he got close Lily found her words. "You're home." She felt her heart start to race as he sat next to her on the old swing. The ropes creaking under shift in weight and the added motion.

"Yes I am." Roe laid his arm over the back of the swing and grinned at her. Brushed a strand of hair out of her face in the process.

She didn't say anything else before she closed the short distance between them. Excited to kiss him for the first time in nearly a year. The kiss had barely started before she pulled back, "What're you doin' here?" Lily leaned in to kiss him again, not bothering to give him time to answer.

Gene smiled into the kiss and took a gentle hold of her jaw to push her away the slightest bit. "Told you, I was gonna come find ya." He stroked the pad of his thumb over the soft skin below her ear as he gazed at her intently.

Lily grinned, leaned into his touch. "What're ya gonna do now that ya found me?"

Something in his smile changed then,"Oh I got a few things in mind," his eyes narrowed and his tongue darted out to wet his lip before he leaned to whisper in her ear. "Don't know that we ought to talk about that on your Daddy's porch though."

Bolder than he'd ever been he nipped at her ear before placing a kiss just below it and pulling back to take in the pretty, pink flush of her cheeks in the porchlight.

Blushing and chuckling Lily shoved him back playfully.

Eugene took it in stride and continued to smirk. Taking a moment before he pulled her back to him for another, longer, slower, less teasing and more promising kiss. Then he looked her in the eye with a sincerity that Lily had never seen before in any man. "I'm gonna marry you Lily Beauchesne. I'm gonna build you a house, I'm gonna give you as many kids as you want. I'll be a good husband and a good father and I'm gonna love you until the good Lord calls me home."

~~~Epilogue~~~

It was a summer night much like that night, a little over a year later, when Lily woke up to an empty bed. For a moment she simply lay there and listened. The room was silent and the night was still dark. After taking a beat she flipped back the light sheet she'd been sleeping under and put her barefeet down on the still relatively new, hardwood floor.

Gene had kept his promise. He'd married her. He'd built them a house with his, and a few friends, own hands.

As Lily sat in the dark, stretching her back and giving her foggy mind a chance to wake up a little, she thought fondly of that night he had showed up on the front porch of her parents home. He'd won her family over easily. Her mother had been sold on him the moment he'd stepped in the house, removed his cap and introduced himself to her in Cajun French. Her father had been a bit slower, unsure at first of this young man showing up late one evening in uniform and asking permission to start properly courting his daughter. Admittedly, the courting hadn't lasted long. It didn't need to.

Now, here she was, in their bedroom. Alone.

Still she smiled and finally motivated herself enough to stand up and go in search. Really there was no need to search. She found him easily.

Out on the front porch she spotted him through the screen door and watched for a moment. Taking a minute to enjoy the vew. He had his back to her as he paced the porch. He'd not put on any clothes beyond the pair of boxers he'd slept in. HIs hair, still short like he'd worn it in the Army, was tossled slightly like he half-heartedly combed his hand through it at some point.

Finally, Lily pushed her way through the screendoor, carefully sure, but it was impossible to open it quietly.

Eugene heard her and turned to face her. Face tired but with a soft smile. He leaned down to the baby he'd been bouncing in his arms and whispered, (French) "There's your pretty mama."

"What're y'all doin' out here in the dark?" She crossed the porch and stretched up to kiss his cheek and stroke the pad of her thumb over the baby's silky brow.

Gene stared at her in the way he had that looked like he still didn't quite believe he deserved this. "Your boy here was fussin', figured we'd come outside, let you get some sleep." Gene shifted his hold on their son so he could wrap an arm around his wife and pull her in close to press a kiss to her forehead.

Lily allowed it and took a deep breath, "Couldn't sleep?"

He didn't respond, but that was answer enough.There were plenty of nights Eugene couldn't sleep. Instead he just held her closer and kissed her temple.

She settled into his hold and together they stood there like that, listening to the cicadas. After a moment she lowered her gaze to her baby boy in Gene's arms and smiled. His eyes were fighting sleep, his tiny little fingers flexing unconsciously against his fathers chest. Lily turned to press a kiss to the point of Gene's shoulder and smiled as she whispered, "Look at that."

Eugene had always had a calming presence in her life. She often compared it to what his grandmother could do. Lily swore up and down that when that fever had taken hold of her in Bastogne it had been Eugene that had healed her. Of course he shrugged it off, but there was no way to deny that when it came to their son Gene was the one with the magic touch.

Their sweet little boy was smiley and cheerful and they were both grateful for it. They each had their tendencies to become a little dark and withdrawn after the war but their son had more than enough joy for all of them. The trade off was that he slept like his father; for short periods of time and fitfully. Lily could cuddle him, nurse him, sing to him, anything. Eventually he'd go back to sleep. Eventually. All Eugene had to do to get the boy to sleep was hold him.

The same was true that night, as standing there on the front porch their son was falling asleep easily in his arms. Lily kissed her husbands shoulder again and untangled herself to go and perch herself on the porch swing in the corner. From there she watched for the few minutes it took the boy to nod rest the way off and then for Gene to turn to her and whisper, "You stay right there, huh cher. I'll put him down and be right back."

So, she waited, idly swinging to and fro in the dark Louisiana night

When Eugene came back he opened and closed the screen door as quietly as he could and then came to join her on the swing. He sat down beside her and lifted his arm up in an invitation that no longer needed to be spoken and she tucked in beside him. Gene tugged her close and kissed her temple, "I'm sorry we woke you up darlin.'"

Her only answer was to shake her head and squeeze herself in closer to his side. "Worth it."

Gene smiled and kissed her again. He let his mind wander to the daydreams that had gotten him through some of the worst days of the war. This was exactly what he had dared to hope for, moments exactly like this. He kept them swinging slowly to and fro as he held her and thanked God for the life he'd been blessed with after the Hell he'd survived. The Hell they'd both survived.

He was vaguely aware of his wife humming a tune in his arms. Gene smiled and found his eyes suddenly heavy and burning with sleep.

Next thing he knew something was coaxing him to open his eyes. Vision blury he cracked his heavy lids open and in the darkness he saw Lily standing in front of him. God she was beautiful. He thought to himself, she was the only thing he'd ever need. If he survived the war, if they made it out of this alive he was gonna marry this girl. Even in his sleep fogged brain he was certain of that.

That thought jogged something in him. The feel of her hands tugging at him gently forced his eyes open even more. FInally his mind cleared. He wasn't in a frozen foxhole, his hands weren't stained with blood. The woman of his dreams was really standing in front of him. His wife was standing in front of him. Lily. He'd made it home and he'd married her.

"Let's go back to bed." Her voice was soft like her smile

Like most nights the thought that brought him peace when he found himself startled awake was Lily. He'd made it home to Louisiana. He'd married Lily Beauchesne and she'd given him a son. They had made a home together.

His eyes finally focused he smiled and hefted himself up onto his feet and settled his hands on Lilys hips and kissed her. Long and slow and sweet he moved his lips over hers and enjoyed the feel of her melting into him and her mouth opened under his. Eventually her hands pressed against his bare chest and pushed away from him barely.

Gene took in the sight of her, the feel of her, his eyes dark, "I still wake up sometimes thinkin', thinkin' all this just another one of my daydreams. Kind I used to have, over there."

"About me?" Lily whispered with a smile.

"Of course, about you cher." He shook his head and flexed his hands at her waist pulling her in tighter against him. Kissing her again, still longer and slower as she wrapped her arms up around his neck and moaned into his mouth.

She let him tug her close, enjoyed the way his eyes had darkened but still looked half asleep as he pulled away from her the smallest distance necessary to speak. "Just checkin'." Lily smirked and kissed him once more. Then she stepped back and took her hand in his and led him to the screen door with the intention of going back inside.

Her husband had a slightly different idea though as he stopped her in her track just in front of the door, hands on her hips and pulling her back into him as he ducked down to stroke her hair to the side and kissed the side of her neck. When she instantly leaned back against him he chuckled moved his hands under the shirt she wore as he mouthed at her neck greedily. Lily moaned in his arms and he smirked as he lifted his lips to whisper against her ear. "Don't think I'm ready to go back to bed just yet cher."

The End

[spacexfucker]

I wish I'd had the wherewithal at the time to properly document in real-time the influx of new people into Fandom spaces online during the start of the pandemic.

There's a very interesting set of people who, because they were spending so much time indoors, decided to navigate online spaces for more content of their favorite media. And, in doing so, dipped their toes in the first few inches of Fandom space.

I've seen most of these types of people on tiktok where it's fairly easy to access introductory Fandom content like fan edits and what are essentially AMVs. Because of the nature of those searches, most of the results at first are very surface-level. Nothing too crazy, just screen grabs, scene breakdowns, thirst traps, etc.

But, as is the nature of getting into a tag on tiktok, eventually the algorithm starts pushing you deeper content the more you interact with a tag. And suddenly, you're getting in-depth breakdowns, shipping content, and then, slowly, content that starts slipping away from strict canon.

So these people, who likely didn't necessarily anticipate the depth of Fandom or understand its quirks and layers, are thrown off. You see "discourse" at this level by people who have never been in Fandom before getting really pissy about things like crack ships, aus, or anything that isn't very strictly canon/explicitly said. Purists who don't want to be associated with the other people who have been in Fandom spaces for longer.

Now, this happens all the time even before the pandemic but because of both the pandemic and the popularization of titkok, this particular fan is a much larger part of Fandom. There's a lot of them and new ones every day and none of them know how Fandom works, what the like general rules and etiquette are, and a good chunk are very resistant to critiques on how they interact with fandom spaces.

The biggest culprit are people who, through tiktok, have literally been influenced to find fanfic. But not based on what they actually would like to read, but what they hear that everyone else has read or is reading again. Unfortunately, the fic that has had the most traction and spread on tiktok is Manacled, a Harry Potter fic. Anyone familiar with ao3 can look this up if you don't already know about it. And if you'd read the tags, I'm sure you could piece together why exactly a fresh new Fandom recruit or even just a regular person who happened to enjoy HP years ago would come across something that is being passed around as good and enjoyable and a way to relieve their favorite series may have terrible consequences.

Then there was this frankly huge influx of people who had never read fic before and had no idea how to parse the system of tags on ao3 reading a book about their favorite characters in a very dark, riddled with triggers, extreme AU. A lot of these people were basically following a trend. And most of the videos I saw talk about Manacled did not really do it justice in terms of preparing their audience for exactly what this fic had in it, nor how to properly interact with the Fandom space and ao3.

People were reading Manacled but not paying attention to tags and then making videos basically slandering the author for the story, hate reading it to talk shit and make hate content. But, on the flip side, there are people who loved it and wanted physical copies.

Unfortunately, this is where a singular tiktok comes into play in which a friend videoed gifting her friend a bound copy she'd made herself of Manacled. And like on tumblr, when certain posts get a threshold of interactions, it breaks containment. This caused another small influx of people who had never been introduced to Fandom, let alone fic, to flock to ao3.

At this point, we start getting into you-all-are-going-to-get-sued territory.

A large number of people read Manacled and other, mostly very popular dramoine, fanfiction. An undetermined amount of those people then, after seeing the video of the binding, began searching for ways to purchase a physically bound copy for themselves. For whatever reason, most were not willing to do this themselves, and so this is where the etsy listings came in.

There was a small boom of etsy listings for bound copies of mostly Mancled. In fact, you can still find these up. This, obviously, is both very illegal and very fucking insulting. This is a very big legal issue. In response, at least at the time, several of the bigger, popular fics took down their work from ao3. Which unfortunately didn't do much because in response, people who had downloaded the first prior were sharing those downloads with heartbroken fans.

You'd think that after being told that selling fic is illegal that people would stop. But they don't. If you take a look at one of the etsy listings, some of these are being sold for over 100 dollars. There's been a small push by parts of Fandom that have been around for a while to go to etsy occasionally and mass report these listings, but it's not really stopped anyone yet.

Fic authors have made a ton of requests either on tiktok or through ao3 for people to not do this. But, because most of these people don't know Fandom etiquette or even care about actual law or respecting authors, these requests have been mostly ignored.

Over the years as an author and someone who has also just read a lot of fic, there is a ratio involved in fic metrics. Generally, you can usually expect about 10% of the hits value for kudos and anything from 1% to 5% of the hits value for comments.

Due to the influx of people with no understanding of fic Fandom etiquette, if you look at the metrics for Mancled, it has over 8,300,000 hits. But its kudos and comments do not reflect the usual ratio.

There is even a strange crossover with goodreads where you can literally find reviews for Manacled. Which is honestly probably one of the most interesting things Ive seen. There are actually several dramione fics you can review on goodreads.

I'm still trying to process how some people's first introduction to fic was Manacled. I'm not saying the story isn't good or isn't well written. But, you have to admit it's a very strong first foray into fanfiction.

All of this to say, when you run into someone starting fights in Fandom space about canon or shipping, I'd say there's a good chance that you're interacting with someone fresh into the space who's entire online experience has likely just been Facebook and fan edits on tiktok. Metaphorically, a group of people who only have ever used salt and pepper on tv dinners arguing about your wine pairings, seasonings, and why you deviated from Marie Callender's fettuccine Alfredo recipe.

As a disclaimer, not all new additions to Fandom are bad. It's great to grow. It is interesting to see how a lot of antis come into the space, though.