#still wanted a 50/50 split of features

[writingforfun0714]

I’ve seen ep3 of Ahsoka and…y’all…

SPOILERS

What is up with Jacen’s design?? First off, wasn’t he like 5 at the end of Rebels?? If about 10yrs have passed since then, shouldn’t he be around 15? He seemed a little young.

Now…I did hear about the Lego toy’s retconning of Jacen’s look in Rebels and was really upset when I saw it was just a regular lego dude who honestly could’ve passed for Han Solo. However, I also disliked Rebels’ version as well but at least in Rebels’ version we get to see parts of green skin and pointy ears that show he is biracial. His horrible green hair is so long in Ahsoka that it covers his ears, probably to cut costs. Also when he talks with his mother about wanting to be a Jedi, we have no idea why he wants that since he nor Hera make ANY mention of Kanan. Speaking of, the show feels eerily quiet about Kanan.

I think it’d be more compelling for Jacen to be a 14-15yr old, similar to Ezra in the beginning of Rebels, and want to be a Jedi from hearing stories about Kanan and Ezra. And of course having a more even divide of features between Hera and Kanan. I was so excited to see Jacen until I got a good look at him.

Edit: so my problem with the age thing was that I was thinking of Rebels as one long time and not as the seasons being a year each + an epilogue.

I don’t have a problem with Jacen being 10-11, but I just think it’d be more compelling to have Jacen be around Ezra’s age. But he is cute and I hope we get to see some of Hera’s fears in regards to Jacen wanting to be a Jedi and I really hope we find out how much Jacen knows about Kanan and Ezra.

[ihfmseatsoch]

Happy new year!!!!! I hope your new year is good!!! To start the new year off, would it be okay to request something softer with Jimmy? Dubcon of course with the reader topping and giving Jimmy soft praise to where he starts crying? Like he has a mommy kink and he unravels when he gets gentle sex?

-🥩

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!! 😁🎉 ermm i went a little crazy with this one. i love jimmy best when hes nice and pathetic

genre: smut, angst

word count: 3.6k

fem!reader

warnings/content: porn with a lot of feelings, heavy self deprecation, jimmy has mommy issues, mentions of parental abuse and drug addiction, mommy kink, sub jimmy, ooc maybe but IDC!!!!!

—

"Fuck are you doin'?"

Jimmy mutters, and you're unsure if he's confused, or upset. He makes the same expression for either emotion.

You're sat on his lap, straddling his hips while your fingers tenderly brush his hair back, raking them through the surprisingly soft strands. It's surprising, because he only uses that two-in-one shit from the dollar store.

"What do you mean?" You say, not really paying any attention to his usual snark.

He leans into your touch, almost like a cat; seeming to enjoy your attention, but there's a chance he may get sick of it in a split second and bite your hand. Still, he craves physical touch just as much as the next person, even if he'd never admit that to anyone, including himself. It's stupid, he thinks, to be that vulnerable. To crave something like a loving touch or a warm hug. It's corny.

He scoffs at your question, but it’s more lighthearted than anything. "I’m talking about you being all… lovey-dovey on me. You tryin' to butter me up for somethin'?"

You shake your head 'no', with a gentle smile. It's not like buttering him up would result in anything in the first place. Usually, if you really do want something, he'll complain and accuse you of being spoiled. Although, there's a 50% chance that if you give him a blowjob first, he'll be slightly more agreeable.

"Nope. Nothing like that. Am I not allowed to love you?" You press a kiss to his forehead, and you receive a quiet grumble from him in response. Jim's trying desperately to maintain his usual grumpy demeanor, but he's failing. He hates that you can get him like this, how you can make the all-consuming ache in his body dissipate with a squeeze of his hand or a kiss to his temple. Jimmy can never just accept that he wants your affection, but you can tell that he doesn't mind it one bit, even if he continuously acts like he wants you as far away from him as possible.

"Shut up…” He hesitates for a moment, clearly debating his next words. “I didn’t say you couldn’t… do that…” Jimmy mumbles, and his hand snakes around your waist, keeping you in place on his lap, giving your hip a tentative squeeze. "You don't have to be sappy about it."

"Being in love with you is sappy?"

You ask, holding both sides of his face in your hands, his coarse stubble scratching your thumbs as they caress his cheeks, feeling every groove of his protruding cheekbones. Every inch of him is sharp. Angular, and jagged. He tries his hardest to make his outward appearance match his heart. Unlucky for him, you're annoyingly determined to see him in a different light.

Jimmy's looking everywhere except your face, refusing to admit that he's quickly turning into a sniveling, needy boy who wants nothing more than to just be held. No one's ever loved him before. No one's ever said stuff like that to him, or ever made him as soft as he is now. He's not quite used to the idea of vulnerability yet. He can hear the voice in his head, telling him to pull back, to run and hide.

"Yeah," He reiterates, "It is."

You closely study the way his features soften. His brows, which have always seemed to be frozen in a permanent furrow, relax ever so subtly. Anyone would have to be as close as you are right now to notice the difference.

"Ah, I see." You nod in faux understanding. "My sincerest apologies."

He hates how much you know him. Hates how you pay attention to the smallest of details, to every bit of his body language. How you've cracked down his walls and managed to see him for the pathetic, touch-starved man he is right down to his very soul. It's embarrassing. Humiliating, even. But yet, he has no idea how to pull back. He's hooked. A nicotine addiction with even less ability to drop the habit.

"Don't be a smartass." He mutters in response to your sarcasm, looking like he's moments away from throwing you off his lap, but his hand on your waist hasn't moved since he absentmindedly placed it there.

You click your tongue at his ever present stubbornness. You'll have to take things a bit further to get him to quit being such an ass.

A subtle roll of your hips against his gets him to physically tense under you, his fingertips digging a little too painfully hard into your flesh, though it doesn't deter you. You trail a hand down his lean chest, purposefully tantalizing with how slow you move. "Don't be stubborn." You almost sound stern. Like you're scolding him.

Jimmy sucks in a breath at your obvious teasing, the sound devolving into a low, stifled noise. "I'm not being stubborn," His voice wavers embarrassingly, "And stop that."

"Stop what?" You bite back a grin at your feigned cluelessness, though it's not entirely meant to be all that convincing in the first place. You shift in his lap again. He's already getting worked up, and all you're doing is toying with him. Jimmy can't let you win that easily, right?

"Don't give me that shit, you know damn well what," He hisses, glaring at you with annoyance, "Stop... moving around like that." His voice betrays him a second time, cracking mid-sentence.

"Why?"

You tilt your head inquisitively, and before he can snap at you again, your palm presses down onto his groin, making all of his attitude fizzle out momentarily. Jimmy stiffens, his grip on you tightening. He doesn't respond to your question instantly, too distracted by how you're caressing his now apparent hard-on through his jeans, and a shaky exhale escapes him. The noise sounds so vulnerable, so uncharacteristic and unguarded for a man like him, and it takes him a couple moments before he's able to form a response.

"...You're a mean little brat, you know that?" He manages to get out through gritted teeth.

"Aww, don't be like that," You lean in to pepper a trail of sweet kisses starting at his cheek, down to his jaw, neck, and finally, at his collarbone. The way his breath hitches tells you everything you need to know. "Don't pretend like you hate this."

He makes a noise that rises from the back of his throat, between a whine and a growl, like a wounded animal in need of someone to soothe them Jimmy isn't used to having such a gentle and loving touch on his bruised, damaged body. You're treating him like he's something fragile, breakable, something to take care of.

He's not, he knows he's not.

Yet, he can't stop the way your kisses are burning his skin, heating him to the very core. Jimmy never thought he was someone worthy of being spoiled with soft, chaste kisses, being touched with gentle, adoring hands. And yet, here you are, doing that exact thing.

Jimmy tries to respond, he really does, but all he can do is let out a small, choked-up moan.

Noticing the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows down and contains his emotion, you pull back to look him directly in his eyes, pools of honey brown that only hold your reflection alone inside of them in this moment. "Hey," Your tone becomes more serious, less playful than before, "I love you, Jim. You never let me, but I still do."

That word. 'Love'. Jimmy hates it. Not because he's never heard it before, but because for some reason, it's never sounded real when directed towards him.

"Why?" Is all he manages to ask, not accustomed to this type of raw, vulnerable affection. Where's the screaming, the anger, the violence? Where's the toxicity?

"Why shouldn't I?"

You respond with a question of your own. There's a multitude of answers he could give you. He's been screwed up since birth, his own mom abandoning him at some junky trailer park with his father who found any reason to give him a black eye, or throw him out into the dirt. Quite literally, sometimes.

Or the fact that he's never made an effort to improve his own life, even after he made it out of that "home". Instead, he got addicted to heroin and sex and alcohol and destroyed himself for the thrill he got out of torturing himself.

Who would love someone like that?

Jimmy can't take your kind, loving gaze on him anymore, so he turns his head to the side, refusing to look at you. He wants to scream at you, to say something cruel and heartless, to tell you to knock off that 'doey-eyed' bullshit and give him the cold hard truth of the matter. That people like him aren't meant to be loved, that he's a disgusting, pathetic mess who doesn't deserve a single drop of your affection.

But all he can do is silently swallow down the lump in his throat, too emotional to muster up a reply.

You turn his head right back towards you, and kiss him on the corner of his mouth, right on an ugly scar that never fully healed properly. "Can I take care of you? Just once, will you let me?" You murmur against his skin, warm and flushed.

Jimmy's brain is wired to resist, to deny your advances and stubbornly hold onto any sort of 'authority' and masculinity he has left. To give in to you would be letting you win, surrendering to your kindness. That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

A long, shuddering exhale escapes his lungs.

"...Yeah," He whispers like it pains him to say it out loud, "Yeah, you can."

He's only semi-hard now, not exactly horny enough to get it up, but desperate enough for your attention in any form.

You take his cock out of his fly, holding him in your hand so delicately that he feels pitied. He doesn't want to feel so fragile. But, in your hands, it's not so terrible. His skin tingles with warmth, even deep inside of him burns with an aching desire to be wanted. Maybe that's why he agreed to this in the first place. Not because of sexual enticement, but instead, the intense yearning he's pushed down and ignored.

It's hard to wrap his mind around the fact that a woman like you actually seems to care about him at all. He's a parasite. He can't help but want more from you, to devour you whole and keep you in his clutches. Jimmy can't stand being touched like this, being treated like he's something valuable, something worthwhile. He wants to push you away and tell you to stop pampering him like he's a helpless baby, because he's not. He's a man, and men aren't supposed to melt and tremble at a loving touch.

But god, does it feel incredible when you begin to stroke him. Your hand is so soft, meticulously taken care of, while his are calloused, dry skin bitten and torn off, resulting in sore cuticles and rough palms. The rise and fall of Jimmy's chest gradually picks up speed, uncharacteristically subservient noises leaving his throat.

"I love you," You suckle a sensitive spot on his neck, mumbling praises between leaving a red hickey on his tanned skin, "I love you so much. I mean it."

Jimmy's mind is stuck in a haze of confusing emotions, every word you say goes straight to his head, fueling his self-destructive tendency to crave more, more, more. Why are you doing this? What do you gain from acting so sweet to him?

"You–" He shudders, "You're wasting your time with me."

Maybe he's right. You can't change him, not by a longshot. He'll never treat you the way you deserve, like a proper boyfriend. He'll always end up shouting at you out of frustration, he'll always break things and punch walls during arguments, he'll always slip horribly deep into his depression and self isolate, rotting alone in his room while you're worried sick about him.

But you're not trying to "fix" him. You're taking him as he is, flaws and all.

Jimmy's no longer sure if he can stomach the realization that maybe, just maybe, you genuinely love him.

The way you're pumping his cock, sending stinging jolts of burning hot pleasure that shoot straight through his abdomen, makes him react in a way neither of you expect.

He's crying.

It feels so good– you're so fucking infuriatingly good, all he can do is weep. Tears stream down his face as he whimpers, his breathing coming out as labored, choked gasps. A shaky breath comes from him, trying to compose himself before he speaks, "You should stop. Please. I don't deserve it."

You shake your head, persistent as ever when it comes to him. You wipe away a fresh tear as soon as it attempts to slip down his cheek.

"No," You say, "Don't push me away." The way you look at him, all love and tenderness; it makes him nauseous.

"Please..." He begs. He's not sure what for.

You shush him, a finger to his chapped lips, before you pull your pants down, underwear along with them. He's seen you bare more times than not, yet in this particular instance, it feels like your willingness to give yourself to him is an act of gracious mercy. He only takes, and yet, you give so freely.

"It's alright," You coo, melodic, "Just relax."

His heart is pounding in his chest as his eyes linger on your cunt, glistening and eager, just for him, and you can see the sheer need in his eyes. If he wasn't before, he's completely defenseless against you now, and it scares him how badly he loves and loathes it at the same time.

It takes everything inside him not to cry out as you guide him to your hole, sinking down slow so you don't overwhelm him all at once. Jimmy buries his face in your chest, his breathing labored and stuttering. "I'm right here, I've got you." You kiss the top of this head, petting his hair back, smoothing down every loose strand. Yhe way you're so gentle and attentive with him, handling him with care, it feels maternal. Motherly. Or, at least, what he imagines having a mother coddle you feels like.

You're warm. Comforting. Nurturing. Patient. All the adjectives that describe the parental figure he didn't have. You're what he's been missing, deprived of.

Jimmy holds onto you like a lifeline, helping you lift up, then sink back down onto him in a steady rhythm, your gummy insides pulsing to the beat of your heart around his aching cock. You're pulled flush against him, his lips lightly grazing the area around your collarbones, leaving an array of light hickeys.

"My perfect boy," You let out a satisfied sigh, lifting your bra up and over your body to reveal your chest to him, your tits bouncing at every movement, "Always so good to me."

Jimmy can't take it. The idea that he's perfect? It's so unbelievably rewarding to hear those words directed at him. He lets out a trembling whine at the sight of your newly exposed skin, before immediately burying his face into your tits, a hand moving to grope and squeeze one, his mouth latching onto the other, eagerly sucking and taking your piqued nipple between his teeth.

You let out a few moans of your own, gasping every time he nips you a little too hard. "F– Fuck, that's good, Jim." Your fingers grip the hair on the back of his head, tugging lightly, the way it makes his scalp sting slightly causing him to groan against you, the sound low and gutteral.

He can't think straight anymore, every single one of his senses completely overwhelmed. In the heat of the moment, he finds himself involuntarily crying out something that immediately makes him want to jump into a vat of acid.

"M– Mommy–"

You freeze for a moment, not from disgust or discomfort, just... surprise. Jimmy? Your Jimmy, calling you mommy of all things? You thought you'd entered another plane of existence. After forcing a quick recovery, you notice his own mortification.

"...What'd you say?" You ask, not intentionally trying to embarrass him further, you just wanted to double check that you actually heard what you thought you heard.

Jimmy is currently in a full blown panicked frenzy. He's never called anyone that in his life. Literally, he didn't even have a mother figure to give that title to. Trying to regain his bearings through the hot wash of shame coarsing through his body, his head feeling full of cotton, he stammers, "Fuck, I– I don't know where that came from, I–" he should just get up and go hang himself, he thinks.

"Hey, no, it's fine," You reassure him, even though it does nothing to alleviate his humiliation, "I don't mind, really."

He's expected you to call him disgusting, berate and mock him for being a creep; Anything but being so understanding and patient. "W– Why... Why are you so... you?" He asks, unable to wrap his head around how you haven't broken into a fit of laughter yet.

You shrug, chuckling a little at his impossible question, "Well, I don't exactly have the answer to that," Your hand moves to knead his shoulder, easing the tension away, "But... I do know that I wouldn't mind being your mommy. Not at all."

Jimmy hated how his cock twitched inside of you when you said that, the realization that he actually liked what he's hearing, that he wanted to call you mommy of all things, made him want to bang his head against the wall until it splits.

"...Just, don't– don't fuckin' make fun of me for this." He grumbles, burying his face back in between your soft tits to hide himself. He couldn't possibly maintain eye contact right now.

"Never." You shake your head, returning to riding his dick, slower and softer than you've both ever been in bed. It felt nice, to give up control. To let you take your time with him, whispering praises into his ear, leaving sugary sweet love bites on his neck.

This, he believes, is true bliss.

Being pampered like this... It's addictive, and he's not letting go of it now that he finally has a taste.

"Th– Thank you," He whines, low and needy, sounding choked up again, "Thank you."

It's rare to hear him show gratitude for something, especially in a way that's so deep, so genuine. "Thank you... what?" You decide to indulge yourself in this side of him while you have the chance.

Jimmy groans, knowing where you're going with this. He's too pathetic to deny himself what he wants at this point, and he whimpers pleadingly, "...Thank you..." He chokes the words out as if he's being forced against his will, but you can practically hear how eager he is to say the next word on his tongue, "...Mommy."

"There you go," You croon, "That's a good boy. You're mommy's good little boy, aren't you?"

He doesn't know why he feels like sobbing.

Everything you're saying is seared directly into his brain, scolding hot, like a brand. "Yeah," He breathes, "Yeah, I'm... I'm your good boy." Jimmy nestles his face into the side of your neck. He's a dog, rubbing against their owner, begging for attention.

As he nears his release, he gradually turns into even more of a mess, his salty tears falling onto your shoulder, arms wrapped so tight around your torso that you fear he'll snap your ribcage in two, babbling a broken, trembling string of "mommy, mommy, mommy–"

"Mommy's right here." You breathe, his cock hitting all the right angles deep inside you, and for once, you're setting the pace, which only enhances the experience for you.

Jimmy knows he'll regret this later. This entire experience will probably turn into something else his brain tortures him with at night, but, at the moment, he's too drunk off your cunt to care. His head is empty for once, fuzzy and blissfully silent. He can't even form a proper sentence anymore, the only words able to make it past his lips are desperate pleads.

"Are you close, honey?" You ask, and you receive a frantic nod from him in response, along with a strangled whimper. "I know, I know," You murmur with audible compassion, "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

He's sure that this is his new form of worship, his religion. Not that he ever had one to begin with. "Y– Yeah," He whines, breathless, "Please... Please–"

"You don't have to beg," You tell him, even though, truthfully, you were getting off on his begging this entire time, "Go ahead and cum for mommy. Cum deep in mama's pussy, baby."

Jimmy throws his head back, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut, and as if by your command, he releases inside of you with a drawn out, quivering mewl, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You can feel him throb, twitch, and tremor, coming undone, all because of you.

He looks more beautiful to you than he ever has, with a tear stained face and red rimmed eyes.

You comfort him as he comes down from his high, leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of his neck, from his adams apple to the area between his collarbones. You're like a soothing balm to an old and rotten wound he's long since tried to forget.

For better or for worse, he's never letting you go.

—

[songoftrillium]

Project Update 09/01/24

Hello, Kinfolks. We're a little under 60 days from releasing Book 1: Cliath, and I wanted to give you all a quick update, provide a few book facts, and hope this lets you share the excitement the rest of us have been feeling!

Book Layout

As you might've seen from our previews, writing is transitioning from writing to copy editing and book layout! If you haven't yet, check it out! The first two chapters are done, and chapter 3 is well underway. Outside of my work on Hearthbound, this is my first major book project, the largest book I've written, and the insights I've gained are ones I think might help future community content partners publishing work on Storyteller's Vault.

On Bluesky, a few months ago, I commented that you should "plan to take as much time doing layout as you do for writing." Even if one writes the book inline right in the desktop publishing program, annotation will still add time. With a WtE book we want to not just provide an adventure and a crash course on the Tellurian, but to also be a roadmap for Storytellers, new and old alike. This has happened on three fronts. The first and most important is we're taking the time to properly index everything in a way that'll let you look up specific book information quickly. The second is how we streamline information through the liberal use of cross-referencing in footnotes. In early chapters, you read truncated summarization, and in the footnotes, you can find book sections that expand on the information you're looking for and let you tune out the things that may not be so important for you to know at the moment. The third and most important feature, however, is where able, we cite our sources for our information. Should a Storyteller wish to learn expanded information on topics, they have a direct book and page citation where they can find deep lore to help construct their chronicles.

Cracking the Bone: now in coloring flats stage

For those that haven't been following, we are returning to old form. The moment you open Book 1, you'll be greeted with a fully illustrated and colored 22-page comic book showcasing life in the Age of Heroes. This story is centered around Dante (he/they,) our protagonist, and his first steps towards his First Change as a Bitten Homid Philodox. Throughout the book, we'll follow his journey towards becoming a Cliath, forming his pack under Earwig and his first mission as a Zedakh in a pack of other Queer Garou. In successive books, you'll see him transition from a scared baby gay Cub to a respected Elder in the Eastern Concordat! We're all absolutely thrilled to follow them on their journey. Illustrating this comic is the highly talented @mekanikaltrifle, who has partnered with us to bring Dante's story to life. I have a single pane I'd like to show you, bearing in mind these are just a first pass!

Book Pricing Information

We've also finalized some of our possible pricing on this book. On Storyteller's Vault, Community Content is priced on a per-page basis. The average is considered to be 12 cents per page. I did some early market work by releasing Hearthbound on a pay-what-you-want model with a recommended pricing of $2.99, totaling roughly 8 cents per page. I advertised exclusively here and on other social media platforms to queer audiences to help gauge a fair price for materials explicitly marketed to that audience. Of those that decided to pay for copies of the book, readers paid an average of 5$ per copy for an average of 14 cents per page. Given the voluntary nature of the release, we on the team have agreed that we'll be charging a rate of 14 cents per page for this release, which puts us on par with pricing for similar releases with a matching pagecount. With layout underway, we're currently looking at a book length of around 200-250 pages. 50% of proceeds go to the publisher, and the remainder will be split equally among all contributors, myself included. I and another artist have pledged to donate the entirety of our shares toward preserving the Kalapuyan language.

Book 1: Cliath releases on Halloween day!

I'd like to give a shout out to @a-boros-named-seamus, @madamebadger, The Bohemian, @peltofash, @ar2456, and Durodragon for supporting me on ko-fi, through yours and the donations of other ko-fi sponsors, we've managed to hire cultural consultants to review about half of what's been written. Because we weren't able to review all of our written words, we've narrowed our focus onto some of our most sensitive subject-matter, and believe that what we have coming out will be the inclusive Werewolf: the Apocalypse Quickstart you've all been waiting for. Thank you! It means so much to us that we have our own sept of Kinfolk out there who believe in this project!

If you'd like to help sponsor this project, subscribe on ko-fi to help us pay Cultural Consultants to work with us! We have some cool perks for subscribing, including access to book and setting previews, the ability to give feedback on game content we're producing, personalized advice for your own tables, and can even get a shoutout right in the book.

[wexhappyxfew]

saw you were taking prompts and am having absolute carrie x dougie brainrot! maybe something with “i can stay the night, y’know. if it’d make you feel better.” or really whatever you see fit for them!

I just think that have such a fun and interesting dynamic that i’m OBSESSED with.

HELLO LOVELY ANON!!!! :) apologies that i am now months late to this prompt - but i am happy to say, i have an incredibly fun piece written in response!!! this has gone through a few iterations i won't lie - with some of the pieces of writing most likely incorporated into other pieces in the future! BUT - for now, please enjoy my take on this prompt. thank you SO MUCH for the love on carrie and dougie! i have so much fun writing them and their entire dynamic and THANK YOU so much for loving on them!!!! carrie x dougie brainrot is REAL!!!! <33333 PLEASE ENJOY!!!!! :D

stay the night

(a/n): carrie x dougie, with a hint of angst, featuring a smidge of episode 5 in all its sad, grief-filled, angsty glory. if you squint, you can get some vivian x blakely in there as well - a prelude to them and an upcoming piece! <3 if you want to read a piece for a bit of an idea as to what both carrie and dougie discuss in the second half of this piece, highly recommend didn't think you'd notice as a starter! as always, please enjoy! carrie x dougie here fill my heart with all good stuff! :)

Carrie's head had begun to nod off at the bar.

Between the highest levels of exhaustion she'd been feeling in ages, the numbing realization that hundreds of men were being lost everyday, and a few piloting crews were out 50% of their men, meant she was on edge now more than ever.

And to top it off, Blakely's crew was missing - no one had seen them go down, nor had anyone seen their plane come back. And it'd been two days.

Everyone was feeling some sort of pain that they were trying to push away with light music, a little alcohol and the remaining crews.

After the Silver Bullets crew was split up, much to the highest distaste and dislike of both Annie and Francis; Annie, Bessie, Kennedy and Margie had gotten transferred to a new plane crew - co-ed. First of it's kind.

They were spread thin, they needed vets with the rookies. Some people got the short end of the stick - where there was no more flying and simply the Operation room as their closest companion.

That was Carrie.

Staring at maps all day, marking bombing runs with some of the navigators, filling holes where they were needed. She wasn't a map-keeper, she was a goddamn bombardier. But she didn't even bother to open her mouth.

Stress was high, tensions thick and everyone was trying to keep it together around her it seemed.

Annie was usually flying in the air or on training duty or in meetings more often than not, staving away any sort of reality that there was at this time.

Francis was nowhere to be found unless she was needed on a mission with her own co-ed flying death trap.

Bucky was gone to England with no idea that Buck, alongside DeMarco, were both MIA, along with Margie doing everything it seemed to ignore the obvious.

Judy was placed into a new crew - Rosie's Riveters - and every time Carrie saw her, squeezed the living daylights out of that poor girl when she could. Judy was a little sister to all of them. Knowing she was separated from the rest of the crew, Carrie considered going to church.

Marianne was stuck in Operations with Carrie - and she always brought Frank - which seemed to be the highlights of peoples' days when that fat orange cat would come around. Though, Marianne was fighting sleep most days, the stress becoming far too much for all of them.

Paulina was still Radio Ops, but she wasn't flying anymore - days and nights she spent beside Operations, translating and recording and writing until her hands damn-near broke.

Now, she was nursing a beer, cuddled up beside Hambone Hamilton across the bar, talking in the quietest voice anyone had ever heard from the woman. They were really all going through it.

And on top of all that, Vivian Ratcliff was spiraling beside Carrie this fine evening, trying not to lose her mind. Everyone knew how rough it was for her after losing James - they were supposed to get married, she wanted to have kids with him, he was planning to pop the question after the war.

Ev Blakely had become a good friend to her, a real good friend, probably closer than either of them had thought or even seen coming, but now, she was onto her second beer and sitting there with nothing but tears in her eyes and a blank face. Carrie was going to tell her to finish her drink and head to bed soon by this point; it hurt Carrie to see Viv like this. Ever since coming to England, it's been bad spell after bad spell for the waist gunner.

"Holy shit, it's Blakely's crew!"

Carrie's whole body froze. There were cheers and yelling and voices and a clammer of footsteps along the wooden floor to her left and she slowly turned her head to see, there coming through the door was Blakely, Crosby and Douglass. Carrie couldn't move, watching as guys hugged one another, slapped each other on the back and fell into their normal banter routine of laughter, cackles and drink offerings.

Carrie could only watch. And her eyes fell specifically right to Douglass. Stood there, his hair unruly, a few bloodied scars on his face, a wide smile on his lips as he laughed and eyes so soft she was sure if she could get her legs moving, she would be over there right now, trying to keep it together.

Carrie watched the group disperse, drinks a promise from Brady and Crank, and took to watching Dougie who was offered a beer which he took with a smile, before his eyes started roaming around. Her heart began to pound inside of her chest. Before-

"Ev!" Carrie looked up and over and watched as Vivian had looked up, jaw dropping open, a few stray tears lingering in the corners of her eyes, as she slid off the stool and hurried over towards Blakely. Carrie's heart warmed as her eyes tore off of Dougie to watch as Blakely whipped his head around, a grin blowing up on his face like some sort of hot air balloon, pushing through a few of the guys to meet Viv halfway.

When they met, it was a sort of bone-crushing looking hug, with her arms wrapped around his neck and Blakely's….rather-large form cocooning Viv against him there.

Carrie watched as Viv's form trembled a bit against him - she was sure Viv was shedding a few tears that she'd been trying her best to hold in the last few days - and watched as Blakely said something clearly enough to make her laugh.

And then, Carrie was looking over towards Dougie again, and found his eyes already on her. A beer bottle halfway to her lips and her eyes blown wide open, she slowly placed the bottle down and awkwardly lifted her hand to wave.

Why the hell was she waving?

The man had probably just seen death and she decided to wave?

Lowering her hand, she watched as Dougie smiled at her, offering a small wave her way. He knocked Brady in the shoulder, stood beside him and then began walking over towards her, a small grin riding his face.

Briefly, incredibly briefly in Carrie's mind, she remembered that feeling of kissing Dougie - and the fact that immediately afterwards, she had been pulling herself from him, mumbling about being drunk, and then avoiding him the entirety of the rest of the night. Only for the mission to be called that night, and she had found herself disappearing for the night to her cot, not telling a soul that she had been kissing James Douglass just an hour previous.

And when the news had broke that Blakely's plane had disappeared and gone down? And she hadn't said a goddamn word to Dougie the next morning, promptly ignoring him, she found herself ripped with guilt.

And now - he was here, he was back and standing right in front of her, and her only thought was that she was speechless. She didn't know what to say in that moment, and was having a rather hard time deciding if she should be upset or angry or overjoyed or pissed off.

She couldn't sort it out.

And with him standing here, after those two days, she was half-convinced she could just kiss him on the mouth and it'd be better than any other reaction she could've had.

"Hi." he said.

"Hi." she found herself saying back, fighting to say more, but keeping her walls up and closed in on every inch of herself. She was pissed the plane had gone down, that she had allowed herself to be beyond worried sick for him. She was pissed she had let herself feel like that. She was pissed he was standing here now and she was speechless and didn't have more to say.

Carrie stared at his face a little while longer, those bloodied scars along his face, his unruly hair, his kind eyes. She felt her heart begin to race.

"You should get those cuts looked at." she said quickly, her voice sounding choppy, her tone sounding fake. She sounded out of place, nervous, and flustered. She didn't sound like her.

"I will." he said with a smile, before drifting his eyes over her form and meeting her gaze again.

"Are you okay?" she asked, almost mechanically, "When I heard-"

"All good." he said, his fingers twitching near his hip, "You?" Carrie's face grew hot.

"Me?" she choked out, clearing her throat, "Fine, fine, I…I should be making sure you are." Her heart was beginning to pound harder inside her chest.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked her, before dropping his voice, "Somewhere not here?" She blinked, feeling her face turn a deeper red, before slowly nodding.

"Yeah." she said quietly, taking one more sip of beer before slowly moving to her feet, closing a few inches between them, the space between their faces minute for a split second before she stepped away from the bar, "Where to?"

"We can go outside." he said, meeting her eyes before patting the bar table and turning.

Following him out of the room and to the darkened outside world made her feel dizzy - she was sweating, red in the face, hyperaware of his presence, the way he had looked at her, and every single urge she had felt upon seeing him. Dougie stepped outside and she followed him around the corner of the hut, where for the time being, they were hidden from anyone's view.

For a moment, all they did was stare at each other, listening to the quiet rumble of their breathing, the distant voices, the chirping of mid-fall crickets and bugs holed up in trees. In the dark, she found it easier to breathe than when she had been stood inches from him at the bar.

The anticipation was killing her on the inside in every way possible - the lack of speaking (something not at all normal for either of them), they way all they could seem to do was stare (which yet again, was not normal), and the way Dougie was watching her now (she couldn't get her mind to work).

"I thought you were dead." Carrie said - quickly - her voice sounding rushed, as she met his gaze, "When they told us the plane hadn't made it back. And that the others had gone down, gotten hit. After hearing about Major Cleven's plane-"

"Carrie." Dougie said, stepping forward and gently placing his hands on her shoulders, "It's okay." He offered a small smile. "We're here now." Carrie watched him, the feel of his hands on her shoulders, his gaze on her, body inches from her own.

"But you know it's more than that." Carrie found herself saying as she stood there, "You know that." For a moment, Dougie just watched her - as if a bit dumbfounded and confused.

"Whatever is going on between us," Carrie managed out, shakily meeting his eyes, "I can't deal with it. It's suffocating. When I heard the plane had disappeared over IP - that you were on that plane. You, Dougie. I couldn't breathe." She blinked rapidly for a moment.

"Knowing the way we'd left things, and how I'd left things and now you're standing here in front of me and I'm blabbering like an idiot." Carrie said, "And I could barely sleep because I felt so guilty that I'd just left you there and then thought you had died. But now you're standing here and still alive and I….." She trailed off and grew quiet, before meeting his gaze. She knew something was wrong with her because the longer she stared at Dougie's calm and rather composed face, the more she could feel herself calming down. The presence of his hands, his eyes, him.

"I know." Dougie said quietly, taking a small step forward between them, that small smile on his face growing as she peered up into his eyes, "You okay? Don't need you losing your breath, huh?" Carrie managed a crack of a smile on her lips, before she found her eyes welling with tears.

"You're just saying that to not rile me up." she managed out, hoping her attempt at a joking tone was evident.

"Oh am I?" he asked with a laugh, his warm hand appearing on her cheek, his thumb brushing over the scars left behind from her time in the sky, left behind by the war, the memories scathed across her face, "You think that's what I'm trying to do?"

"It's usually what you're trying to do." she whispered, eyes flicking to his lips for a brief moment before meeting his gaze upwards again, "You're just like that."

"With you I am." he said, his face lingering closer, his dark eyes inviting her into him it felt.

"With me?" she whispered, her hands finding their way to the front of his B3, gripping the leather tightly as she stared up at him with a slightly watery gaze, "So, you do it just to piss me off?"

"Sometimes." he said with an almost surprised, gruff chuckle to follow that made her heart twist, "I also know it makes you laugh so…."

"Makes me laugh, huh?" she whispered as his other hand traveled down to her waist, his grip tight as he watched her in the darkness, "Not always."

"How so?" he whispered back, "I know you, Bergie." Carrie watched him - and she could feel her insides calm. It was true. He did know her. He really did. Just like in this moment.

He knew her.

With Dougie pressed so close to her, his gaze persistent in front of her own, her own eyes scoring the blood across his face, the damage of war done to someone she wanted to protect suddenly with her life, she couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"What're you laughing at now?" he whispered, "I didn't even get the chance to say anything funny." Carrie laughed again and shook her head.

"You know the first time I met you, I couldn't stand that carpet on your face?" Carrie whispered quietly, "I thought it looked like a squirrel, or….I don't know…a mangled bird." Dougie let out a laugh.

"A mangled bird, are you crazy?" he whispered, his thumb brushing on her cheek as his grin grew.

"Maybe." she whispered back.

"At least Ev appreciates the 'stache." he said and Carrie chuckled at his words, before going quiet, simply gazing up at his eyes, her own smile growing.

"What?" he asked her, "You always got that look on your face, you know that? When you look at me."

"I know." she whispered, her smile growing, her boldness flickering at the edges. Dougie watched her, his tender eyes quiet and content, and Carrie was sure she could spend the rest of the night simply staring at his face, memorizing that look in his eyes, the closeness of his face, all those little bits of his eyes you never saw until you were up close. She almost couldn't take the pounding of her heart anymore.

"I had wanted to kiss you, by the way," Carrie said quietly, "when we had danced together. And I guess….it scared me what it could mean. Especially during the war. And then it sort of came true. The possibility of losing you then. After they told me." Dougie smirked at her, before leaning closer to her, his eyes looking tired and lazy, his smile wide.

"Fuck the war." he whispered, before he leaned forward fully, his lips meeting hers.

It was a desperate kiss, she will admit fully - especially from herself. Clinging onto him, hands curled into the front of his B3, trying to pull him as close as she could, her mind a scattered array of thoughts as all she could focus on was his lips on her own.

Of course, the first time it had happened, she had been slightly buzzed, a little out of sorts, and taken off guard. Yet she had enjoyed every second.

Now, it was familiar, comfortable and safe. And she had never felt more wanted. It felt as if there was a million unsaid words between them in this moment, rooted in passion, desperation and grief that couldn't be described in any other way. Her hands were in his hair at one point, his cradling her face, her heart continuing to pound inside her chest. She felt out-of-body, like she didn't know what was happening to her.

When they had pulled apart, faces still inches from each other, trying to catch some sort of breath in this moment, all Carrie could do was stare up at him.

"What?" he asked her, his voice rich with warmth and what nearly felt like adoration in his tone.

She couldn't seem to get words in her mind and out of her mouth.

She was in love, she knew that much.

Softly, she gave him a gentle kiss before pulling back.

"Nothing to worry your pretty little face about." she whispered, as he chuckled. In that quiet moment, where they could only just watch the other, a soft red lit clicked on somewhere around the corner, near the door to the flying club. It hit the side of Dougie's face gently, and in a sinking realization, she saw the smile on his face drop, mirroring her own.

They both knew what that meant - another mission. Another mission. Dougie let out a quiet sigh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her own.

"I can stay the night, y'know. If it'd make you feel better." he whispered. They were walking a very thin line.

"Please do."

[holy-puckslibrary]

sid to a furry friend's rescue!

florist!reader gets flustered during sid's calendar shoot

parents mentors for the day

chief crosby's got a date... and its not with florist!reader

... was in a bit of a silly goofy mood, forgive me (and be sure to read the endnotes!)

gif from @littlemessyjessi

This is the last thing Sidney Crosby imagined he'd come home to: another man settled in his chair.

His cat is curled in the intruder's lap, and said intruder's hand is curled over your knee. And Sidney's soup—homemade and hand-delivered—split in bowls between you.

"Thought you didn't need a babysitter?"

Sidney watches the gleeful expression wilt on your pretty face—color drained like his bank account succeeding the egregious bid he matched to make bail—with equal measures of self-satisfaction and self-contempt.

"I-I didn't, I just—"

"Settle down, Chief," the ranger laughs. "I knew our little lady here was feeling under the weather, so I thought I'd stop by after my patrol shift and keep her company while you were indisposed."

Sidney glares into the bright cerulean eyes of one Anthony Beauvillier, a park ranger in the Atlantic Coast Uplands region.

If memory serves, he was recently transferred from Waverley to Blue Mountain but resides in Peggy's Cove. This is a 50-minute detour.

In the opposite direction.

The Fire Chief's jaw is painfully tight, his blood scalding. If it were't for his, albeit dwindling, sense of self preservation, Sidney would've marched up those two steps—recently refurbished at his hand, might he add—to forcefully remove the park narc's grubby paw from your body.

Mercifully—for all involved parties, you do so shortly and of your own volition before joining Sid in your driveway.

Guilt smeared over your sickly features, your mouth parts, an explanation hot on your tongue, but all that comes is a grizzly cough that stings Sid's chest just hearing it. Despite his vexation, he's patient with you; he owes it to you both to wait it out. He hopes this is just one big misunderstanding somehow.

But, before you're able, the absolute last person Sidney wants to hear from pipes up.

"Resting, ma biche. You're meant to be resting," Tito attempts to coax you back onto the porch—back to his side—with an outstretched, up-turned hand.

(my doe / my darling — reminder: see end for important notes!)

Not as quick with his French as he'd like to be, he growls at the perceived insult. However, rather than running his fist through the opposition's teeth in your honor, Sidney defiles it.

The park ranger, and everyone else who happens to be out and about tonight, are treated to an unexpected eyeful of their Fire Chief's innermost feelings rushing to the surface. They pour into your mouth with reckless abandon, unconcerned with his public image or the utter lack of privacy; this kiss could be broadcast on the Nightly News for all he cares.

All that matters to Sidney Crosby is making his intentions known, and crystal fucking clear. Staking his claim is just a bonus.

"Well, it looks like my work here is done."

At your dazed expression and Sid's bewilderment, Tito stands from the rocking chair with a genuine smile fixed on his face. As he deposits evergreen Stetson atop his wind-swept hair, he pauses.

"Y'all have a nice night," he winks with a tip of the brim, bidding you farewell before slipping into his government-issued Ram.

As gravel crunches under the vehicle's wheels, gears click into place behind Sidney's burnt umber eyes, now gleaming with clarity.

"Nate and Emmy." — Statement, not a question.

"Please, don't be angry. They just wanted to help because... because I didn't believe that... y'know." You gesture to the sliver of space that still separates you, a bashful little smile pushing up your feverish cheeks.

He couldn't find it in himself to be ticked off about your best friends' not-so-harebrained scheme—which, honestly, deserved more credit than he would ever be willing to give it—if he wanted to. Not while standing so close he can smell the PEI tulips you've been elbow-deep in all month, and definitely not having tasted the whisper of herbal tea lingering on your tongue.

Smirking, he closes the gap with a gentle tug.

"Oh, I know." Voice dropping to a thick hush, his lips hovering a lick above your skin, "D'you believe it now?"

The pinkish skin crinkles around his warm eyes as you pretend to think.

"I could do with a little more... convincing," you ultimately quip. "But, only if you're up for the t—"

The remainder of your cajoling is overtaken by a fit of giggles as he corrals you up and across the porch. The front door slams shut with a satisfying air of finality. Though, not before little Ember slips in with you.

Chief Crosby was thorough by nature, and he'd be damned if he didn't dedicate the evening to dispelling any and all doubts threatening to take root. Feigned, or not.

—

gotcha! teehee 😋 sid really said sick germs?? no match for my LOVE!!! ALSO! tito anon, this ones for you bbyyyyy 💓💓💓💓

***** 'ma biche' was chosen because its typically humorous and rarely intended seriously, + can be considered majorly outdated (even by 60s sitcom standards)—and its not always romantic! ... it also sounds a lot like an english insult, hence sid's reaction lol (at least, according to my french-canadian grandmother who remains very confused by my random call for a french lesson on infrequently used terms of endearment lol) *****

as always, i would really appreciate if you reblogged my work, left a comment or dropped by my inbox w some feedback :) fandom runs on engagement, and so do writers!! thx a mil in advance!

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

"like this post if you want a random spn ask"

what's a spn episode that seems underdiscussed, underrated, or even hated that you LOVE?

Ok so definitely not a hated episode but unrated/underdisscussed To ME: Mother's Little Helper (Gasp Shock Suprise Vic we had no idea you like this episode lol). So I am not out here claiming it to be the Best Episode Ever - BUT I do believe it deserves to reclaim its place in Sam Girl (gn) history. If you weren't there watching this episode on Tumblr the night it aired in the middle of the Experience that was living through S9 as it aired, I can forgive you for not understanding the IMPACT this episode had on Sam Nation in the moment. Like truly there was rejoicing in the streets, songs were sung (see Fig.1), and Sam Girl Christmas was declared (thanks @agelade) (see Fig.2)

Fig.1

Fig.2

This was the closest thing we had had to the hallowed Sam Centric Episode in what certainly felt like years - even though the timing split on this is I think actually pretty much 50/50 it in spirit is Sam centric because Sam spends the episode doing *gestures broadly* All That (see Fig 1.) and Dean spends it being mopey in a bar with Crowley (hyperbole employed for comedic effect).

Particular highlights of this episode personally for me:

Sam solo case - rare and precious thing (obviously I wouldn't want them all the time lol that's not the show but I do really enjoy seeing Sam working things more fully His Way which I think this episode showcases beautifully).

The implication that Sam Winchester is Better than You even when soulless lol - the fact that they even went so far as to point out that Sam wasn't "out of control" like these people and just committing random acts of violence, beautiful we love to see it.

Recorded exorcism on his phone HI HELLO HI - this episode has so much Sam's big beautiful brain but this is a fave moment for suuureee.

HENRY! <3

The scene of Sam setting the souls free and watching them return to their owners with this absolute sense of wonder (see Fig.3). It makes me emotional Every Single Time. (and was in fact a big inspiration for my fic Steps Toward the Water (shameless plug sorry but it really was)).

This episode features Sam looking (To ME) amongst the most beautiful he has ever looked like LOOK AT HIM (see Fig. 3, Fig. 4):

Fig.3

Fig.4

I can only assume that when Misha was directing this episode (still forget that fact and then Remember every time I think about it lmao) that he too was so overwhelmed by the Beauty of Sam that he felt compelled to capture it at its PEAK (v relatable I will give you This One Thing). In conclusion, Mother's Little Helper deserves it's status for its place in Sam Girl (gn) History, the simple joy of being given 1 (one) Sam centric episode that doesn't involve horrific torture, sexual assault (or metaphors for), or unrelenting angst (don't get me wrong I'm here for the Angst but just once its nice to seeee), and for being a particularly fine showcasing of Sam Beauty <3

[umemiyan]

𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗢 𝗫 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / stepcest, incest (it isn't technically specified so do with that what u will) / modern au / tattoo artist!choso, no pronouns for reader / choso is a smoker / mentions of m!masturbation / oral (reader receiving) / unprotected piv sex / creampie / 2k words

big brother!choso who lives with you in your shared apartment, because why not make it easier on yourselves by splitting rent and bills, especially when you’ve already lived together before? you get along well enough, so it only makes sense. what’s the point in trying to search for a roommate when you have each other?

big brother!choso who still pays your portion on bills sometimes even when you’re not falling behind, but just because he has the extra cash and he wants to. you insist he take your money because you don’t want to put him out or owe him anything (as if he would ever lord it over your head in the future), and sometimes he’ll take it just to shut you up.

big brother!choso who leaves a $50 bill next to your toothbrush in the morning, and you roll your eyes at the fact that he’s so impossible. it honestly turns into something of a competition sometimes; who can force the other to accept their goodwill the most?

big brother!choso who takes a break at the tattoo shop when you show up with food that you bought with the money he left you. he can’t refuse because he’s starving and you always know exactly what he likes to order, so after he finishes his cigarette with that stone-cold look on his face, he mumbles something about how you should’ve gotten something for yourself too. you tell him you already ate, which manages to placate him for the moment, but he still offers you some of his food regardless.

big brother!choso who almost never smiles, but is still incredibly happy to see you in between sessions with customers. dealing with people all day can honestly be exhausting for him sometimes, so he thrives on taking his quiet smoke breaks outside alone. however, he never minds when you're there with him.

big brother!choso who always feels a certain type of way when any of his co-workers or customers make comments about you, whether it be about your looks or your relationship with him. he grumbles and ignores them or tells them to shut their mouths, but it bothers him a little bit more than he lets on.

big brother!choso who barely ever goes out on dates (which he is also often teased for), and on the rare occasion that he does, there’s never any spark. sometimes he does it just because he feels like he has to, and he’s usually uncomfortable and wishing he could leave the majority of the time. he truthfully prefers nights at home where he can watch a movie with you and forget about the rest of the world.

big brother!choso who doesn't really pay attention when girls arch their little backs or wiggle their hips a tad bit extra when they're getting comfortable on his table for a session. they flirt and try to make conversation until his one-word answers and cold silence finally cause them to shut up. he’s a damn good tattoo artist, but entertaining isn’t exactly his forte. he’s simply not interested, and not for any particular reason or anything…….

big brother!choso who gets a little too comfortable seeing your face first thing when he comes home, almost as if you're something more than siblings. sometimes you have food for him, sometimes you're just doing your own thing, but it brings him comfort every time he steps through the door. you're his comfort.

big brother!choso who sits as still as a rock whenever you fall asleep and slump against him during a movie, not daring to disturb your peaceful rest. in fact, it makes him feel important to be the one you’ve trusted to lay your head upon, to offer your vulnerability to. he powers through any potential shoulder pain, not complaining a single ounce, but rather catching himself committing your sleeping features to memory. your nose, your lips, your eyelashes all look so ethereal when you’re leaning up against him like this. he’s just an artist appreciating natural beauty.

big brother!choso who has accidentally caught you coming out of the shower or otherwise indecent once or twice (you live together and share a bathroom—it’s bound to happen sometimes), and who, later that night, bites teeth marks into the back of his hand while quietly getting himself off. he’s been holding it in all day, trying to let it go and force it out of his mind, but to no avail. to spare his conscience, he tells himself it’s some sort of natural bodily reaction (he doesn’t exactly have very many sexual escapades), but he still feels disgusting when he cums to the thought of your body on display because the image won’t leave his mind.

big brother!choso who doesn’t know that your thighs got sticky one time as you watched him prep a girl for her rib tattoo, soothing over the skin under her breast and telling her to take a deep breath in that pretty voice of his. for a moment you understood the appeal and almost wished you were in her place, letting him touch your body and breathe over you, put his ink in your skin and feel the pain of the constant buzz mixed with the pleasure of his presence.

big brother!choso who secretly loses his mind every time you have a date. as per usual, he acts cool and collected on the outside, but he’s worrying about you the entire time, wondering if you’re being treated well, if you’re safe, if this person is planning on fucking you at the end of it. that last part weighs on his mind way more than it should because you looked so very alluring on your way out earlier.

big brother!choso who anxiously awaits your return home and who is a little more than elated to hear that things weren’t completely awful, but were, in your own words, “just meh.” he listens to you explain your disappointment as you nonchalantly dress down into your pajamas in front of him, leaving his face tinted red and eyes trying desperately not to scan your figure. he finally meets your gaze when you walk up to him with a smile and say you’d much rather spend the rest of the evening with him, lazily wrapping your arms around his waist and flopping your forehead against his shoulder. your scent fills his nose in both a calming and arousing way.

big brother!choso who wraps his arms around you in return and feels your rib cage expand against him with breath. he tells you that you’ll find the right person eventually, because it’s virtually impossible for someone as amazing and cool and kickass as you to not land the person of your dreams at some point. whoever it is will be the luckiest person in the world, but he secretly doesn’t think anyone truly deserves the honor of being with you.

big brother!choso who’s not expecting you to look up at him with sincerity in your eyes and lean in to kiss him right after, stealing the faint taste of tobacco off his lips from his last cigarette. there’s also a taste of something so very raw and him underneath it all, coating your tongue when it darts out to try tangling with his. he indulges for a moment, letting every repressed feeling rush to the surface until he finds enough resolve to pull away and catch his breath.

big brother!choso whose cock twitches in his jeans but who has enough sense to say “this isn’t a good idea,” even when it feels like the most perfect idea ever to exist. however, he’s not immune to the sound of your heavy breathing and the way your eyes look at him with more lust this time, silently pleading for him to not take this away from you, from both of you.

“please, choso…” you whisper, nudging at his jaw with your nose, “you’re the only one who can take care of me.” the slow kisses you place against his neck make him shiver and only entice him further, his head spinning with the idea of being your caretaker in more than just one way.

“and i’ll take care of you too, promise. just like always,” you continue, reaching a hand down to feel his hardening length through the fabric. his hips stutter and his breath hitches. “we always take care of each other.”

those words and one last kiss is all it takes for him to seal the deal.

big brother!choso who has suddenly assumed a new duty, tending to your needs because he’s supposed to be the one to take care of you, and he’ll absolutely prove that he can. he doesn’t care what happens to him, what sort of horrible sins will be added to his soul’s resume, all he cares about is making sure that you get what you want, what you need. in his eyes, you can do no wrong; he’ll take responsibility for it all, but for now, he’s going to pour everything he has into making sure you feel good.

he’ll gently place you on your bed with a pair of strong arms, devouring you with a worshipful yet gentle haste in each kiss. he’ll splay large hands across your waist, your belly, your rib cage where your heart beats beneath his palm, supplying you with the blood and life he holds so dear. he admires the beauty of every inch as you’re undressed because he could never make art as gorgeous as you.

big brother!choso who diligently laps at your cunt until you have to beg him to stop because it’s too much and you need more from him than just his tongue; you need to feel every inch of him filling you up because you’re convinced that’s the only way you’ll be able to feel whole. and as much as he loves having your arousal dripping down his chin, he can’t ignore the ache in his cock that makes him dizzy for you.

sliding into you for the first time is like a religious experience. he’s not exactly a virgin but he’s never felt anything like this before, and being able to stare into your eyes as it’s happening only makes him feel that much more convinced that he has died and somehow been admitted to heaven. you’re soaked and taking him in so well, wrapping your limbs around him as he gives a full-bodied shudder at the feeling of your molten heat accepting every inch. he feels both incredibly honored and guilty for being able to feel you from the inside like this.

big brother!choso who’s already panting like a dog just from being hilted in you, and who has to take it slow so that he doesn’t cum as soon as he starts pumping in and out of your cunt. it draws noises out of him that you’ve never heard before, and even though you feel like you’re being split in two, there’s never been a more satisfying sensation. no one has ever filled you so completely, both physically or emotionally.

big brother!choso who fucks you with so much dedication and care that you can’t stop the tears from wanting to well up in your eyes, especially when he begins repeatedly hitting the spot inside of you that makes the room start to spin. he grunts and groans against your neck, pushing his hips into you until he can feel you start to shake. every moan and clench of your walls tells him that he’s doing his job, so he feels a little less guilty about spilling inside of you once you’ve started to cum around his cock.

big brother!choso who kisses you tenderly in the aftermath, trying to come back down to earth after one of the most incredible experiences of his life. he’ll hold you when you snuggle up next to him with your exhausted body, giving him thanks for always being there for you. he thinks nothing of it, really. “that’s my job,” he says matter-of-factly before kissing you on the forehead. and it’s true; he doesn’t expect praise or reward for it, and he’d still take care of you even if you didn’t put in any effort in return.

he’s always done his best to be a good big brother, but now that he’s seemingly made you so much happier, he thinks he must be doing an even better job than before.

[hughiecampbelle]

Sunder (Shiv Roy Oneshot)

Word Count: 1,566

Character/s: Shiv

A/N: This is a draft I tweaked a little. Still not 100%, but I wanted to post writing anyways, so here is it! Feedback is always appreciated!!💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN

You loved one another, despite it all. You loved one another through and through. You loved one another and the worst part of it? It still wasn’t enough. 

You’re doing it again. You don’t ask what. You already know. You had a habit of staring at her. More than that though. Searching her features for her feelings, her thoughts, everything she wasn’t saying. Couldn’t say. She passed you her cigarette and you took it, a peace offering, a poison to pick. The smoke never tasted so good. She wears her blue dress. New and tight in all the right places. You resist the urge to take your fingers and untie the back, the straps sliding off her shoulders, letting the top fall, eventually the whole thing crashing to the floor as you pull the zipper down. You resist the urge to move closer, fill the gap between you, to breathe in her smoke and mess up her lipstick. You resist the urge to touch her one last time. Instead you exhale, the smell intoxicating and familiar and homey, thanking her and passed it back to her. Your fingers don’t touch. She is too careful, too regimented, and you can do nothing but oblige. You know your mom is a total bitch. She nods. Of course she knows. Of course you know she knows. The things she said, about you, about her daughter. They were awful. They were angry. They were cowardly. No mother should ever speak to her child like that. She didn’t- but she stops. Didn’t what? The love of your life. Serious, and cold, and tough, and yet, none of these things. She is soft and sweet and not everyone can appreciate that about her. The duality. But you did. Or, rather, you appreciated it at one point not too long ago. The rest of her sentence drops, clatters on the hard stone and shatters into a million little pieces. You watch it dissipate before looking back at her, watching her, wondering what kind of excuse she could have come up with. They believed her uncaring, but god, were they wrong. She was spiky, sure, but it wasn’t meant to offend, it was meant to defend. Far more years than you’d like she spent picking herself up, kissing her own wounds, looking out for herself. Of course they thought she was cruel, she was acting how they thought she would, not how she was. Underestimated for merely existing. That would make anyone a little jaded. 

We should go back inside. You’re not sure who says this, only that you’re both surprised. Not yet, the other says, trying not to sound desperate. Okay. No fight. No insistence.You’re both relieved. What now? You know you’ve come to the end. After this, it would be over. There were papers waiting to be signed. Magically, they appeared on the kitchen island. Identical twins, a copy for each of you, your lawyers. Your families had an entire team on retainer, though you both preferred to hire outsiders. It was quieter this way. Supposedly, it was easier. Both parties agreed to make things amicable. It was, even now, sharing a cigarette, it was split 50/50. Neither of you made the first move. You checked every night, every morning, as you were coming and going, but the lines at the bottom remained unscathed. Free of ink and decision. You loved her signature. It was delicate, it was sharp, it sliced you open every time you saw it. Her full name. You never called her Shiv. A name as beautiful as hers deserved to be said in full. She didn’t seem to mind, she never corrected you. There was no need. Her father only used it in anger. You could never be angry at her, not now, not ever. She knew that. You hoped she still did. 

Her mother’s wedding wasn’t something either of you had been planning on attending. In the end, she needed someone, and you were still that person. You would have given anything to get out of that apartment, away from those papers, the emails and memos and missed calls. Your lawyer wanted to go over your assets. That could wait. You couldn’t leave her side, not now, not to face her mother alone. You weren’t in denial. You weren’t stupid. You lived in this reality, you understood the consequences to your actions. Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t put off your responsibilities til you got back. She didn’t bring up, the deflecting, the aversion, the avoidance. Neither did you. You were in agreement: this divorce was better if neither of you made a decision. It was easier. This marriage wasn’t broken. It wasn’t fractured, there were no cracks in the foundation, there were no faults. There were no secret affairs or lying or cheating. This was not a gruesome death. There was no blood, no gore. You imagined it as quick and painless. Someone dying in their sleep. Warm, and safe, and final. Peaceful. There would be an open casket. There would be mourners. There will be a burial under a tree, you’d like to think, a weeping willow. Things faded. It wasn’t the fault of one of you. You tried to make it work. You did the best you could. That would always be how you told this story: you did your best, you and her, and when you realized it wasn’t enough, you went your separate ways. 

 You never wanted it to play out like this, though you were realistic in your expectations. Neither of you had grown up in homes that placed love on a pedestal. There were no happily ever afters. Marriage was, like all things in life, a business transaction. A deal, a commitment, between two people. Not a promise or a vow, something more surgical. Sterile. Sometimes it was used to procreate. Sometimes it was for appearances. Sometimes, though you knew none of the people involved would ever admit to it, it was a shield against loneliness. Your parents, her parents, none of their marriages ended well. You understood there was a cycle you could either break or repeat. There were no gray areas. You would have preferred not to repeat, but you couldn’t tie yourself to her, all dead weight. You couldn’t trap her into something neither of you were particularly fond of keeping alive. You still loved her. And she still loved you. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. It’s not how the fairytales go. It’s not how the movies play out. Where’s the fun in that? The happy couple walks down the aisle. They slip on the rings. They kiss. And then, the credits role. 

Viewers don’t realize there’s more to it than that. There is effort, and disagreements, and hurt, and mundanity. There are bills to be paid and careers that need tending and complicated family relationships. You and Siobhan were still considered newlyweds. If it wasn’t so hypocritical, your mother would have called it a moral and spiritual failure. You’re not making it to your first anniversary. Your marriage was in it’s infancy and already you were calling it quits. Her mother would have a lot to say once it’s finalized and you break the new,s separately, to everyone. By then, you won’t be around to protect her. You’ll go your separate ways, though you have a feeling you’ll cross paths again. You’ll be in one another’s lives. 

Do you want custody of Roman? She offers you a small smile. You know it is sincere. Still, it’s too early to joke about. Too new. Too fresh. You still wear your rings. She looks just as she did at your wedding. How could it possibly be over? It’s a thought that crosses your mind every time you look at her, every time you catch yourself saying her name. How could it not? This voice is quieter, it is defeated, but equally respected. You know they are both right. You sit in your silence, comfortable, serene, and you wait. Wait for her brothers to come looking for her, for her mother to whine to her, for someone to interrupt you two. There should be more of a fight. There should be more life. But there isn’t. You are not throwing in the towel, you are coming to terms with a great loss. That looks different for everyone. For some, there is thrown furniture and words that can’t be taken back. For others, there is a great hostility, a removing of oneself, hissing and spitting and alienation. It’s not like that for you. She will always be a part of you. She will always have a place at the table. You’ve made that clear. The feeling has been reciprocated. There is no explosive ending. It will be quiet, but not hushed. You will announce it on your own terms. You will carry on without her, at least for a little while. People will ask their questions and make their assumptions, but only you and her will ever know what really happened. In the end, it will be devastating. It will take their air from your lungs. It will be the worst thing that has ever happened to you, losing her, losing your Siobhan.

The grief will come all at once. For now though, you will sit with her and take her in and wait to be interrupted.

[laguezze]

PAC: Characteristics of your FS

This is for or all the people with intention to marry or have a long term relationship. Next up will be a soulmate characteristic PAC. I decided to split it in two to get more details!

Now onto the PAC!

Here are the piles!

Pile 1

Pile 2

Pile 3

Pile 4

Ready? Let's go!

Pile 1

This person is a rebel. Might be a bit hypocritical about it. Like they might come from money but decide to live out their best broke musician dreams while still living in their rich dad's apartment that he bought for them. That's just one case example, take it as it resonates.

This person loves to keep appearances, they love to be in control of how people perceive them. I'm seeing they want to be taken seriously.

Long, messy, brown, curly hair. Middle part is possible.

North America, Australia, Oceania, Hawaii, UK.

Dainty eyes?, Blue eyes, light eyes.

Not too defined features but also not ugly. Might be what people call "medium ugly" for some of you. Nothing too shocking about their features.

Musician, plays guitar, indie music taste, 420 friendly? Nirvana (the band), big social life, plaid shirts, leather jackets, bad boy persona, baddie aesthetic, motorbike, cigarette, old school lover, 70s aesthetic and fashion.

Pile 2

This person is very much hypocritical, they don't know what they want in life. Very much lost with their career and family life. You might help guide them.

They definitely have unconventional dreams like opening up a tea shop, or flower shop. Which is fine, but I'm seeing they want to do that for the wrong reasons. Very easily manipulated person, it'll be frustrating for you to see. But they'll get better with your help probably.

Probably from any capitalist country. Take that as you will.

Light eyes or medium eyes but not dark. Downturned eyes.

Short hair, pixie cut, wolf cut.

Wears bandanas, baggy clothes, long skirts, hippie style, boho aesthetic, activist. Necklaces and bracelets, lots of jewelery in general.

(sorry it's a bit short, your person wasn't too specific with the looks but rather with the personality)

Pile 3

You guys got yourselves a romantic, old school, kinda person. They probably listen to music from the 50s and 60s and jazz, lots of jazz. Might love to take things slow and smooth. Doesn't like running late to things and is always calm and early. Very collected person, never a hair out of place. Always is composed. They might have been different before they met you. They probably were chaotic and funny before they met you but something happened that made them this sophisticated, chic person. You might need to bring the fun in them back, I'm hearing. Might be a judgy individual.

Latinx, Hispanic, Southern Europe, North America (East Coast)

Brown eyes, very deep set eyes, intense gaze

Short hair, very short for men, curly hair, either Brown or dirty blonde.

Long eyelashes, very pretty features. Either small nose or large nose, no in between; defined face, high cheekbones.

Medium height, slightly muscular.

60s, 50s music and fashion, coffee and tea lover, might be a cook or love to do it, kitchen lover, architecture fanatic, probably loves house decor and renovation, secretive, mysterious, romantic, candle collector.

Pile 4

(idk i swear this is not Hozier themed, there's just something about him present here)

"imagine being loved by me"

This persoooon omg. So pure hearted. Truly has the best intentions at heart. They literally are sunshine personified. They radiate light, like their smile lights up a room and they always look clean and cheerful. The type of person everyone likes. No one ever dares say anything negative about them and if they do, it's because of jealousy.

They might have a lot of pretty privilege that makes this effect happen. Like if this person was a 6/10 (conventional attractiveness scale) their personality wouldn't be as appreciated. But because they're so beautiful inside and out, it shines through. I'm getting they realize this privilege and it rubs them the wrong way sometimes but they won't fight against it because it's helping them with their goals.

North America, Sweden, Finland, etc, Northern Europe and UK.

Blonde hair, short hair, curly hair, honey hair.

blue eyes, light eyes, almond shaped eyes

Bunny pretty (that one TikTok trend ifykyk), slim, short, cherubin look (if you don't know what that is, think cupid angel type of beauty), white clothes, flowy dresses, short eyelashes, defined jawline, big smile, straight teeth, bunny teeth, cardigans.

Hope it resonates for all of you!!! 💕

[deathbystero]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 - 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐏𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

𝐀𝐠𝐞 (𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟗) - 𝟏𝟖

B𝐨���𝐧 - 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟏

Paul grew up in the late 50s just off the coast of California as the middle child of a large family. He had two older brothers, both of whom were absolutely adored and spoiled by their father, and a little sister, who, in his mother's eyes, could do no wrong. His parents weren't rich by any means, but they were comfortable enough with money to afford a beautiful beachfront home that sat on an exclusive section of private property, filled with lush lawns and trees that framed a view of an endless stretch of blue water.  

Paul, unlike his siblings, wasn’t spoiled. In fact, the only attention he ever got at home was when his mother would scold him for being too loud or when his father would force him to try and sit still for longer than 10 minutes. It was rare that he ever received praise for something other than his grades, and even then his brothers were better. They were always better and Paul was always the disappointment. 

In school, Paul struggled to focus on anything that didn’t involve music. It was the only thing that he truly understood and the only thing that made him happy. It was his escape from everything else and seemingly the only thing he was good at. Most of his lunch breaks he would spend up in the music room, chattering away to his teacher until the next bell rang or admiring the intricate details of the many guitars scattered around the small, cramped space. 

He was fourteen when he first wandered into the local record store, losing himself among the colourful array of vinyls and guitars lining the walls. The owner, an elderly man who had been running the store for as long as anyone could remember, took an instant liking to the blonde boy, watching as he stared up in awe at a red gibson, eyes wide in wonder as he traced the curves of the instrument with his fingertips. 

“You like that one?” The old man asked and Paul nodded softly, turning to face him. 

“Yes, Sir.”

The old man smiled, “Can you play?” 

Paul nodded again, a small smile gracing his features. “I taught myself. My music teacher said I have potential.” 

“Ah,” The man couldn't help but smile wider at the childlike excitement in the young boy’s eyes. “Your parents must be very proud.”

Paul's smile faded slightly before he shrugged slightly, “Not really. Mom thinks it's a waste of time. Dad doesn't stick around to listen.”  He turned back to stare at the red gibson again, tracing the strings as if trying to memorise every single detail that he could. The old man watched him carefully, smiling sympathetically. For someone who seemed so bright and cheerful, so full of life and energy, the boy certainly seemed deprived of any sense of self-worth and attention. Paul was still staring up at the instrument when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I could get it down for you if you want? I’d be more than happy to listen to you play.” 

The blonde's eyes widened for a split second, before a shy smile crept across his lips. “Would you?” He whispered and the man laughed,  nodding his head. 

“Of course. It doesn’t get busy this time of day anyway.” He reached up and gently pulled the guitar out from its spot leaning against the wall, holding it out to Paul. 

From then on, everyday after school, Paul would spend his hours in the little record store, strumming along to the radio until his fingers were raw and bleeding and the sun was beginning to set. He would arrive home just before dinner, exhausted and content, and in his parent's eyes, it was like he'd never left. Every time he walked through the door, he smiled brightly at them, attempting to tell them about his day, however futile that attempt may have been, with the same enthusiasm he used when he played the strings of the gibson. He knew they didn’t listen, nor did they care, but he kept talking. He talked because he needed to fill this silence that was slowly eating away at his mind. He needed to know that they were aware of his existence, that they cared, that he mattered, that they wanted him around. It was their job to love him and yet they hardly ever noticed him. 

Paul stopped trying to be noticed by his family after a while. The old man at the shop had become more of a father than his own had ever been and it was impossible not to notice how different they were. His father was heavy handed with discipline and had spent most of his time berating Paul with words that no child should ever have to hear from their parent. But the man at the shop… he was kind, gentle. And he listened.  He listened without judgement, without condemnation, and  sometimes, he even smiled. And Paul loved him for it.

When he turned 16, the man offered him a job in the shop and, slowly but surely, Paul had earnt enough money to purchase the guitar that he had played every day since he was 14. He took it home, proud and beaming as he strode past his disinterested parents, past his nosy sister, and up into his room, closing the door and placing the instrument carefully on his bed. That night, he started at it for hours, the smile not disappearing from his face as he did so. It was almost like a dream, the feeling of owning something of such importance and beauty. 

Every night, he'd play. He'd play until his hands bled and his fingers blistered, until he passed out from fatigue and lack of sleep, before awakening the next morning and taking it with him to the shop. He'd never leave it at home; he didn't trust his family enough for that. He knew they despised the guitar because to them it was noisy and unnatural. Music wouldn't help their son to become a successful lawyer or teacher; if anything it was a waste of time and education. 

They had tried to convince Paul to do something with his life,  sitting him down one evening, for the first time in months, to talk to him. They told him that he had to go to college like his brothers so he too could become just as successful. They refused to have a musician in the family, especially one that was interested in rock 'n' roll. 

Paul, however, wasn’t interested in their plans for his future. No matter what anyone said to him, he refused. He knew how much music meant to him, and that he wouldn't give that up for anything in the world. He had something and he wasn't going to throw it away, not now, not after everything he'd done to get there. He refused to let them make his decisions for him, ignored their demands and went against their wishes. 

His father had shouted, his hand connecting with Paul’s cheek, and his mother had screamed at him, her words cutting deep as she demanded him to pack his things and leave. 

Paul took nothing but the guitar and fled. 

He left a note for the old man at the record shop explaining that he was leaving and thanking him for his kindness through everything. It was nowhere near enough, but the blonde had nothing else to give and hoped that the man would understand. 

Paul hitchhiked his way across California, stopping in a small beach town called Santa Carla where he worked odd jobs in record stores and played his guitar whenever he could spare the time. He didn't have a place to stay, renting here and there until, one day in the summer, he could no longer afford to pay and was kicked to the curb. 

He found himself lying in the sand, guitar by his side, the red paint worn with age, listening to the gentle wash of the waves and the hum of a concert somewhere on the boardwalk. He wondered briefly if he could still make it as a guitarist - if he actually had talent, if he had the ability to perform at all - or if that would just be another one of life’s mistakes. 

Perhaps his father had been right all along. He had been nothing more than a burden to his family, unable to fulfil any sort of goal or purpose other than staying away from their attempts to mould him into an obedient member of the family.  He had failed.  All he had ever done was fail.  What was the point at all when he was simply wasting away in a small town like this? 

Paul felt his chest tighten, panic rising in him. He was not unfamiliar to the sensation having experienced it numerous times before, the fear clawing at him as he struggled for breath. Panic attacks had become a frequent thing over the years and suddenly the crashing of the waves was too loud, the distant music pounding inside his ears and blinding him as tears welled in his eyes and he began to sob, curled up on the sand with the guitar resting awkwardly on his lap.

He cried until his head hurt and his throat ached and only then did he stop to catch his breath. He wiped his eyes roughly and sniffled once or twice, breathing deeply to try to calm himself. 

A shadow fell over him, blocking out the soft glow of the moon, and Paul jumped as a hand rested upon his shoulder. 

“You okay?” The voice was soft and low, the tone concerned and understanding. Paul opened his eyes, squinting up at the blurry face above him. 

“Do I look okay?” He snapped, wiping hastily at his eyes once more.

The figure shrugged and sat down in the sand beside him. Instinctively, the blonde hugged his guitar a little closer. 

“It’s always good to ask.” The man chuckled, and for the first time Paul could just about make out his features in the dim moonlight. He was tall, muscular and broad shouldered with dark hair that fell freely to his shoulders. 

The blonde turned away. “Why do you even care?” He muttered sullenly, looking down at his hands, scarred and bruised from endless strumming of strings and nervous picking of his skin. 

“Because I've been in your place before and it's no fun.” 

Paul tilted his head. “You have?” 

“Yeah.” The stranger nodded. “I've been thrown out on my ass more times than I can count.” 

Paul stared blankly ahead of him before laughing softly. “So you're just... wandering?” 

“No.” The stranger responded softly. “I've found a place now. And I’ve got people who care about me, people I’d consider family.”  

“Must be nice.” Paul remarked silently. 

“Yeah.” The man replied “But I can't just leave you out here on your own. You don't look like you'll last another night.”

“I'm fine.” He insisted. “Really, it's no problem.”

“Please.” The stranger implored, standing and offering a hand to Paul. “I'd really hate to find you dead on this beach tomorrow morning, knowing I could have helped you.”

Paul studied the man's hand in confusion before reluctantly accepting the gesture, being pulled to his feet, still clinging to the guitar. The stranger didn't question it, he only began walking further down the beach. Paul stumbled after him.

That night, the blonde became the fourth and final member of Max’s family.

A/N: Not sure how I feel about this, but it exists.

For the final time, this is my own take on things; none of what I have written is canon in any way, shape, or form and is simply a silly little thing I came up with over the x-mas break! Please don't come for me if you don't agree!

[autumnslance]

New Game+ Tutorial

"I don't remember this part of the story." "It's been so long since I played X expansion." "What happened during that raid again?" "Who was this character?" "I story skipped the MSQ/job quests so I don't know what happened and who these people are!"

There's answers to this, friends. Not only is the game's own Unending Journey (in inn rooms, or as furnishing in your FC or private rooms/homes) able to replay many cutscenes, and there's the completed quest log, but there are places online, such as Garland Tools and the FFXIV Game Script, that keep most (not all) of the quest text handy.

But if you want to relive those quests, and/or get the side dialogues and replay (or first time play!) the experiences, as of Shadowbringers 5.1 there's a feature called New Game+ to allow that.

New Game+ (or NG+) will let you replay past questlines, at your current level (which makes it go pretty fast in a lot of cases). There is No experience or rewards to gain through this feature--no using it to level alt jobs. It purely exists to allow experiencing, or re-experiencing, completed content.

Once defeating the Ultima Weapon and Lahabrea at level 50 in ARR's finale of 2.0, you can go to Vesper Bay and find the Wistful Whitebeard.

More info and images below the Keep Reading cut...

(image taken from gamesconsolewiki and their article on this feature.)

Once you've unlocked the feature by talking to him, you get a new menu option in your Duty menu (the exclamation point icon), right between Duty Recorder and Hall of the Novice.

Once you select the feature it brings up a menu of options; it usually defaults to Main Story Quests, but I also have a paused replay under "Suspend" in progress. There are also options that match other quest interfaces, like your Journal or the Unending Journey; Chronicles of a New Era for raids and trials, Side Story for quests like Hildibrand, the Scholasticate, Role Master Quests, Void Quests, and Chronicles of Light (story important side quests, like Tales of the Dragonsong War, Tales from the Shadows, Tales of Newfound Adventure). Tank, Healer, DPS, Crafting, and Gathering quests also have their own categories.

Each Expansion MSQ is broken into parts; usually 2 parts for the x.0 main expansion, and then 2 parts for the patches. They're only available after x.0 or the patch stories are complete.

Also notice the "Help" icon in the top right of the NG+ overlay; it opens a pretty comprehensive guide, divided into menu sections, about how the feature works.

ARR is split into 6 parts, and I do think 2.0 could use a rework in how they're split but for now, I'm selecting Part 6 to look for specific side dialogues that only exist in this timeframe.

Selecting Part 6 opens the description; the Crystal Braves have just been formed, to help the Scions with the turmoil still facing the realm--from refugees, to Garlemald's continuing threat, to primals and Ascians.

Once you do, the NG+ quest info shows up, usually around where ever you keep your MSQ quest marker. I hide my MSQ tracker once it's done, so NG+ fits in that same spot in the upper left for me.

It tells me to "Relive Past Adventures!", which expac and part I'm in, and which quest is my starting point in this case, "Traitor in the Midst", the start of the Ivy spy plotline in Patch 2.4.

From here it progresses as if I am back in that patch and on those quests, but without any experience or rewards. Aeryn's in her current level 90 appearance and skills, making it easy to skip past and handle level 45-50 enemies in these zones.

So long as I am in NG+, I cannot do current quests, plots, or other content; I can't complete new current level duties (duties new in NG+ itself are fine), I can't access the MB, my retainers, or the Unending Journey. I can manually Suspend my current playthrough, or performing some of these actions (like duties) will automatically suspend my NG+ playthrough. You also cannot start NG+ while doing certain things (like some quests, such as leves).

This also will not let you play through the start of other city-states, only your original starter town. Solo duties will let you choose their difficulty immediately, without having to fail them first like in normal play.

If I want to drop my NG+ save before I've finished the replay--maybe I found the info and screenshots I wanted--I can delete the save.

This is an extremely helpful feature that can be used to replay events and quests, either for the fun of it, or because you want to find specific dialogue or lore information that only exists in a specific point in game. Maybe you want to visit old friends lost along the way, or take new screenshots of your WoL as they are post-fantasia.

Maybe it's just been a few years, and you've found you've forgotten some things and want to remember how the story actually went, especially knowing what you know now.

[thevioletcaptain]

Hi! I don’t mean in any way to pressure you but I was wondering if you’re planning on continuing your fic “fortress”? I’d love to see it continue🥰 again no pressure I just really like your works!

Hi anon! Thanks for the message :)

Despite the hellishly long gap between updates, Fortress is not abandoned, and I do intend to finish it. It's actually pretty high up on my to-do list right now, and will be the next major thing I post once As A Friend is done.

Here's the order in which I plan to post DeanCas fics/updates over the next few months -- with some vague spoiler-adjacent-but-not-really-spoilery details for anyone who wants them:

Chapters 5 & 6 - As A Friend Roughly 35k words in total, split over these final two chapters. This will see Dean & Cas return to the bunker, announce their "fake" relationship to Sam & Jack, and then [redacted because I'm not giving the whole thing away even though you already know it's gonna be a happy ending].

Chapters 8, 9, & 10 - Fortress Roughly 22k words split between these three chapters. Chapter 9 (the during chapter in which Dean is suffering) & chapter 10 (the after chapter which follows the first days of Dean living with Cas after coming home) have been ready for a while, but chapter 8 (the before chapter, which features Robin's party when they were 16 👀 a party which you might recall was mentioned by Cas during the previous before chapter) has been holding them hostage. So as soon as 8 is ready I intend to post all three at once.

Oneshot - Hearts Beating Life (Into Each Other) Roughly 25k words of canonverse fuck-or-die fic. In which Cas gets cursed on a hunt, and you'll never guess what Dean has to do to save him..... lol. It'll probably get split into two or three chapters for readability, but I plan to post it all at once. This is only one final scene away from being complete at this point, but I want to finish As A Friend & update Fortress before I share it.

Chapter 8 - Isosceles Roughly 17k words, because this fic refuses to let me be succinct. Dean & Cas discuss more almosts, the angels make contact, we find out exactly what Sam said to Dean in chapter 4, Claire [redacted] when [redacted], Mary and Dean bond over [redacted], and the search for Kelly Kline picks up steam.

Chapters 3 & 4 - Empty Heroics Roughly 20k words split between these final two chapters. In which there is bed sharing, a plan is formulated, and Nobody Dies. I realize that barely anyone even read the first two chapters of this fic, but I still really like it and want to finish it off, so it's the fifth thing on my to-do list.

Oneshot - As-Yet-Untitled Shrinking Curse Fic Roughly 10k words of canonverse established relationship PWP. In which they've been together for literally three days when Dean gets hit with a shrinking curse that won't wear off for a year, and comes up with a creative solution to ensure that they can still enjoy the physical aspects of their new relationship despite being small enough to perch on Cas' shoulder.

Chapter 1 - One More Chain Does The Maker Make Roughly 10k words, and the first of five chapters. The whole fic should come in around 50-60k words, and it's canon-divergent from 15.06. Featuring a lot of pining, and Dean working on Jesse and Cesar's ranch. I posted about it here if you want to know more!

The final 5 chapters of Fortress & final 3 chapters of Isosceles will come next -- likely to be about another 30k and 45k respectively, based on current word counts and what remains to be written.

At some point in between all of this I also plan to post some updates to The Coda Project (I've written at least half of each coda up to 1.12 Faith at this point, I just need to buckle down and finish them off in order so I can start posting them again), along with a handful of short tumblr prompt meme ficlets I've written recently -- specifically, those based on the following six trios of emojis: [🧪🧛🏻‍♀️💦], [🔮🛁🫂], [🤠🎶🌬️], [🪼👀🎨], [🥬🍅✨], and [🥶😶‍🌫️🤯], all of which ended up being significantly longer than they should have been, hence the delay in posting them.

...aaaand I realize that this is far more information than you asked for so I apologize. But thanks again for your message, and for reading. I hope you enjoy all the updates when they're posted 💚

[anzuhan]

Anzu, other than Len Hai, what Vocaloid songs does Anzu like?

this is going to be. such a long post 😭

first off. anzu wants to preface. anzu has been into vocaloid for 10 years now, and anzu really only became a len-hai fan last year in november. so really, anzu has been listening to a very very veeeery wide array of vocaloid songs.. but anzu will try to cut them all into categories...! (they winded up moreso being paragraph rambles. oops) you can also take these as recommendations if you will, it'll be a split 50/50 between songs that are known and popular and lesser known..

when anzu just got into vocaloid in 2014, anzu (only) listened to kagamine songs.. which anzu finds funny to look back on. really, there was like no miku at all until anzu also got into project diva a year later ! most of the songs were also len songs.. cough. a lot of giga, he was gaining a lot of popularity back then, like gigantic otn and plus boy.. you know them. the ponponpon len cover.. the other rin and gumi covers after kyary pamyu pamyu (tsukema tsukeru & candy candy). when anzu just got here, it was really an array of whatever was popular back then, pretty sure the yandere theme was far more popular then as for anzu is 100% sure true love restraint and yandelenka (leleleP mentioned) were also some of anzu's earliest known vocaloid songs. whatever reol has put out and self covered as well was also absolutely heard by anzu then (luvoratorrrrry!, drop pop candy, hibikase, envy cat walk and such) but also other songs she's made a cover of (like systematic love). anzu was (and still is a bit. ww) also obsessed with hachiojiP.. though its still more recent, let anzu tell you, when gimmexgimme came out and it was a collab between hachiojiP and giga, that day was absolutely memorable and exciting asf to anzu LOL

it all sort of changed a lot on anzu's views upon vocaloid songs when anzu got anzu's first pd game pd2nd on the psp... this one already featured a lot of wildly different songs than those anzu was knowing, with more tame, cuter and more chill songs to say the least. before anzu knew it.. time has passed.. and anzu still loves all those songs and finds them hardly nostalgic. strobe nights by kz is still one of anzu's go to songs every single winter.. it's incredible, and despite it does appear in pd since the start, it's slept on a lot compared to other songs from kz. it has such a warm, incredible and at times magical feeling to it, that anzu finds as though not many songs have. walking out into the cold wintry days with it playing in anzu's headphones is really a great experience every single time ❤️ besides this one, anzu really really REALLY just loves every single song that appears in pd2nd specifically so so much. they all hold a very dear place in anzu's heart forever due to being with them for a decade now as well.. here's a list ! anzu also only means the playable ones (+dlc too!) as for anzu never mingled with the livestage ones and didn't hear some of them.. (little did anzu know leleleP has been there all this time as well.. ww)

anzu really cannot begin to even name favorites out of the songs above because anzu cannot stress enough how every single one in that list sincerely means the world to anzu. even lesser known ones, even lesser liked ones such as hato, beware of the miku-miku bacteria, i really do understand, velvet arabesque, VOiCE, updating my love list and so on !!!! some of these have also had their fair share of popularity a little bit at least back then.. but no one's talking about them anymore which is sad.

MOVING ON ! likewise with the things above, anzu also is fairly attached to all of the songs on project diva f2nd (as for anzu also had this one) and every single song that was an arcade release original (even if some did get rereleases in the console pd games, anzu tends to even prefer the og arcade vers sometimes.. like solitude's end). to be completely honest, all of anzu's favorite arcade originals are all rin songs WWW😭 besides the aforementioned, francisca & gothic and lonelines are Absolutely Incredible. anzu has played francisca exex map more times than anzu has seen anzu's family probably.

before the pd part ends, anzu must add that break;down and saturation are anzu's favorite songs in the entirety of the pd series. anzu has certainly lived without len so many years, but anzu cannot live without saturation. this song is so phenomenal. anzu does not even have words to describe it. everything about it is perfect. the lyrics.. the sound.. the lower voice tuning on miku.. even the ex map for it on pd! it's everything anzu could've ever asked for. anzu could not live without it.

um.. besides this.. everything else anzu got into was really purely by fate, anzu did not have vocaloid friends and even now anzu doesnt really have any, so all songs anzu has gotten into were because anzu saw them in the recommended, or found out about them from a place or another. while still on the topic of games a bit.. anzu also got into nnd compass in 2020 ! that game fully features just vocaloid songs, and all the themes for characters in it are incredible.. though you might absolutely know of them ! these are anzu's favorites but they're all popular as well: alkali underachiever & love/hate underachiever by kairiki bear, retro mania rhapsody by polyphonic branch, kire carry on by police piccadilly, reverberation by 164, killer b by umetora, i thought i was an angel by utsuP, crazy beat by tenkomori, dance robot dance by nayutalien, yokubou gaman surukoto nakare by cosmoBSP, kick-ass literally by pinocchioP, rhythm by deco27, oshioki gimmick by junky (this is anzu's favorite!!!!), violence trigger by hachiojiP (megu was anzu's main.. ww), clockwork girl by drop (this song means a lot to anzu)...

utsuP was mentioned above so anzu will go on to talk about him now. welcome to the love hospital used to be anzu's favorite vocaloid song of all time for quite a long time, and CD-R, to this day, is still anzu's favorite vocaloid album. anzu does not really follow through with his career as much anymore though, anzu is a way larger fan of his older works.. it's good that he's finally getting a lot of recognition ! he deserves it ! but personally for anzu, prefer back then when his songs were far more raw and how can anzu say it.. uncensored? his songs back then spoke up on a lot of issues that many would not want to bring up, with a lot of usage of grotesque language. it was beautiful.. feel as though his recent works do not feature such emotions anymore, which is also good that he can be featured in more spaces at least.. but that's all.

another producer that anzu loves a lot is wotaku ! likewise with how anzu said strobe nights above was anzu's go to for winter, the other song anzu has as a go to for these times now is noel by wotaku. again, an incredibly beautiful song, perfect for these times. the lyrics are much darker these times around for this one, but nonetheless, it's still wonderful. anzu's other favorites from wotaku are lexicon, dogma, sybil, gehenna, holon, control, speakeasy, literacy, snooze and omerta. as you can tell, anzu prefers wotaku's slower songs, however the more fast paced ones like manhattan, shanti, mafia, illuminati and magisa are also great. anzu also loves a lot of their instrumentals !! they're amazing as well.

this is going to be an amazing intro, but anzu's favorite mental breakdown songs are all from mitsu_akuma. we love a king catering to menhera and jirai keis dont we. anzu's favorites from him are my ex-blocker, virgin birth, necro-fantasista, choking lovers and lunatic luv.. he's definitely not that unknown But! anzu thinks he needs more love his way

as for actually unknown vocaloPs anzu loves. PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE !!!!!!! go listen to LIQ. you must do it. now right now. dude's been making vocaloid works for 10 years and hes so unknown anzu is about to explode everyone. we need to make him known. NOW !!!! anzu's favorites from him are alice in the black market (this song will be with anzu. forever. it's amazing.... it sounds to anzu a lot like SMT ost which is also incredible ww), neospectram, a°crenaline, BR Method and digital rhyme hustler. if you want voca rap or rock please please please check out LIQ. on the knees and PLEADING 🥺

we can go even lower in numbers and people knowing of them. falling down on the floor. guys please.. mukouniwa lily.. 300 subs and avg of like 80 views per song. anzu is crying. please check.them out. thank you... here's anzu's favorite song from them... thank youy.... anzu really wanted to reach out to them to work with them, but literally a day later after anzu did so they deleted their twitter so... well... erm............... well......! either way back to the song. anzu loves it so much.. it feels so nostalgic even though it was released last year. it's absolutely incredible.. anzu loves it so much. the lyrics are great as well...

another one !!! is piepieP.. though, as a fair warning beforehand, they even call themselves a producer making 'dark side tokyo pop' and that is not said lightly. they're also a producer focusing on menhera and landmine themes.. and there are lyrics at times that might mention gross things. with that out of the way, anzu also loves their works...! anzu's favorites are internet angel falling in love and tokyo cringe girl (yes this is quite literally what it's called)

theres a lot more. like anzu also likes a lot of popular producers just as much as the next guy... wanopo, pinocchioP, ryo, neru, nem, 40mp, last note, utataP, machigerita, owataP, zawazawa, circusP, kira, hachi, ghost, crusherP, wowaka, samfree, kikuo, maretu, camellia, masa, oster project, powapowaP, doriko, ferry, yunosuke... list goes on forever really. but anzu thinks if anzu keeps writing, the post will be too long and it wont go through KENWMNEG so. enjoy what was said until now. this post took like 2-3h to write and look up everything

[roserysttrpggarden]

Exalted Playtest 1

Hello there users of tumblr, after a long time in development, I now present the first playtest of the Exalted (Formerly known as the avatar) class for Dungeons and Dragons 5th edition. Originally created as part of my "Homebrew Class Design for Dummies" series, the exalted is a class based on divine heros such as Hercules, Sun Wukong, Cú Chulainn and Maui. As well as the Exalted TTRPG. You are a once ordinary individual that-through one way or another has been imbued with a spark of divine power, you now wield aspects of godly power as you carve your own legacy, weather that be as a great hero, a wise mentor or even a malevolent conqueror.

Playing an Exalted

For the most part, the exalted is a standard martial class, you choose your favorite weapon and you attack with it. However, the exalted has three core characteristics that make it stand out compared to other marital classes. Those being Willpower Points. Each time the exalted takes the attack action, it gains a willpower point, for every willpower point is has accrued it gains a bonus to the damage rolls of its divine implement (The classes signature weapon) Willpower points can also be spent to utilize special abilities, known as Providences

Providence Abilities: Providence abilities are miniature spell like abilities the exalted can preform by spending their willpower points, one example is "Split Heaven and Earth" which allows the exalted to cause a small earthquake, dealing damage to creatures in a 30-foot cone or 50 foot line, as well as creating difficult terrain. Providence abilities are granted both through your subclass, as well as through your epithets

Epithets: Epithets are the other main feature of the exalted, acting like a mix of warlock invocations and channel divinities, they grant you a unique providence ability. As well as granting you a passive ability known as a boon that enhances your capabilities.

Design Goals

Overall my goals for the exalted class are both A: To provide a more in depth and customizable martial and B: To make a class with the same level of flexbility as a cleric (Ie: where a whole party can play a cleric and still fill very distinctive roles) I also wanted the class to sort of redefine how the player thinks of the attack action, similar to a bladesinger wizard or the fizbans dragonborns. Hence why a good chunk of the providence abilities replace an attack action.

That's about all I have to say on the exalted playtest, the document also includes two new conditions, as well as a conversion guide for using the class with 2024 rules. I hope you'll read through the document, give me any feedback you got and possibly use this class for your own tables. Have fun and make sure to play some D&D

[ace-reviews]

Fall 2024 First Impressions Digest Part 2

Part 1 here.

Ranma 1/2: Hey, Mappa, cut out Happosai.

Puniru Is A Kawaii Slime: This show is going to be formative in nurturing the slime kinks of a bunch of young kids. Also, Puniru is the colors of the trans flag, uses a masculine pronoun (boku), and Kotaru keeps loudly insisting that she's "not a girl", but I'm sure none of that means anything. Anyway, it's a cute show but not my thing.

TsumaSho: I read a chapter or two of the manga this is adapted from a while back and completely forgot about it until checking the description of this anime to see if it could be interesting. It's not. I have very little patience for mothers being portrayed as perfect saintly beings at the best of times, and her being turned into a grade schooler gives it a layer of weird I really don't want to deal with. Ultimately, though, it's biggest problem is that it's boring. This premier dropped with two episodes and I didn't even make it through the first one.

Nina the Starry Bride: This one is also boring.

*thousand yard stare*

Magilumiere Magical Girls INC.: It's a good show. Wish the uniforms looked different.

Orb: On the Movements of the Earth: If the universe expands infinitely in all directions, then wouldn't everywhere and nowhere be the center of the universe? Either way, this is one of those shows that's so good that I have nothing to say about it. I'm not much of a medievalist but I do like a well-made, talky cartoon that portrays Catholics like horror movie villains.

Haigakura: Holy inelegant exposition, Batman! A premier opening with a history lesson immediately followed by some character explaining the protagonist's motivation to him is generally a bad sign. And it certainly doesn't bode well for this premier, which is roughly 50% characters explaining things to each other that they already know for the benefit of the audience and 50% lame slapstick. Anyway, it's bad.

Yakuza Fiancé: Raise wa Tanin ga ii: I do not like this art style and never have. That's the only negative thing I have to say about this premier, however. This is trash, but it's fun trash. We love a man voiced by Akira Ishida who can beat a man into a crate of beer bottles and then make this face:

he's like hakkai without the sister fucking

I might not stick with it all season (there are already a dozen other anime on my watchlist for this season and we're only halfway done with the premiers), but the way it delivers it's last-two-minutes-of-the-episode twist was chef's kiss.

You Are Ms. Servant: Do.... Do the people who decided on the English title not know that 'maid' is a common English word? They have to know, don't they? Maids are popular in anime and among anime fans why would they take the word 'maid' out of the title? That's so weird. I haven't even watched the episode yet and I can't concentrate on anything except how weird that is.

That aside (for now), this premier is worth checking out just for the OP & ED and their really extremely cool mix of really extremely cool visual styles. The actual episode is pretty good, too. Still, it is very weird that they translated 'meido' as 'servant' instead of, y'know, 'maid'.

A Terrified Teacher At Ghoul School!: This is another one I read a couple chapters of the manga of a little bit ago. It was cute. I mostly stopped reading it because it was on one of the official manga reading apps that's really bad (I think the Square Enix one that split one chapter into like 4 chapters and then limited you to only one 1/4 of a chapter per day).

way to be motivational, sensei

Regardless, the anime is also cute. The pacing is a bit hectic, but it's a fun time. It also makes for an interesting double feature with Kimi wa Maid-sama since Maid-sama kept making me think of Mahoromatic and this one makes me think of GTO, which are both classic anime that are better than these (though they're both fine).

[lady-pug]

in the morning (when the day is new)

Chapter II of Wouldn't It Be Nice

Summary: You sustain a head injury while on a mission but Whiskey isn’t fast enough to administer the alpha gel, so your memories of your time at Statesman don’t come back. Instead, you only remember up until the day before you were recruited and your memory ends up being reset every night. Jack makes it his mission to make you fall in love with him everyday (50 First Dates AU)

Pairing: Jack Daniels | Agent Whiskey x Reader

Word count: 3,5k

Warnings: memory loss

Notes: Yay, chapter two is up! And I’m already working on chapter three (I’ll try to have it out as quickly as I can)! I hope you, my dear reader, enjoy this chapter; I had a lot of fun writing it!

Next part | Previous part | Masterlist | Read on AO3

He stuttered, his breath hitching.

“What?”

He couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe, something as simple as inhaling was too complex of a task at that moment.

“Jack…”

He finally acknowledged Ginger, who was looking at him with something akin to pity in her eyes.

“What happened?”

She grabbed his elbow and practically had to drag him away into a corner.

“What happened, Liz?” he started rambling “Ain’t she supposed to remember by now? Haven’t you shown her that picture of her parents? Why ain’t she-”

“Jack, hey, listen” she interrupted “I don’t know what happened. She woke up, with no recollection of me, like usual. But when I showed her the picture… nothing. She only said she missed them, that’s all. She doesn’t remember you nor me!” she was frustrated, Jack could tell. It was understandable, you were her best friend after all.

“Uhm, excuse me?” you called, still sitting confusedly on the bed “Am I clear to go? Or is there anything else you’d like to do? Any other exams?"

They both turned to you, hesitantly.

“It’s just that I have a job interview today.” you explained, a hesitant although excited smile taking over your features.

“A job interview?” Ginger took a step forward “Where?”

“It’s a-” you hesitated, your smile faltering for only a split second before you recovered “a distillery. Statesman.”

Jack and Liz shared a look. 

“It’s the day we met.” Jack mumbled “Her memories were reset to the day we met.”

“What are you talking about, Whiskey?”

“At the bar out front.” he started rambling, explaining his thought process to Ginger “She, uh, she was upset, thought the interview and trials were no good to actually get her the job. I-I offered to buy her a drink ‘for luck’. But I already knew she was in.”

Ginger smiled at the fond, if not a little desperate, way Jack talked about the memory.

“Please, Elizabeth, I’m begging you” he grabbed her hands, fighting the stinging ache in his eyes “help her remember. She has to remember-” he paused for a brief second, not wanting to disclose too much of his feelings, the ones he was still coming to terms with himself “-us. Help her remember us.”

Ginger smiled sadly at him.

“I’ll do my very best to help her remember you, Jack.”

Jack was taken aback for a moment, but he should have known she could read him like an open book. Ginger was a smart woman.

“Thank you.” he smiled back.

She turned back to you.

“Do you remember anything that happened?”

You shook your head.

“I went to sleep last night, and then… I woke up here.” you looked around “Where am I exactly?”

“A hospital. You were in a car accident.” Ginger creatively came up with that as she went.

“Oh god, did anyone get hurt?” Jack couldn’t help but smile, the way you cared for others more than you did for yourself shining through even if you had lost part of your memories.

“You did, dear.” Ginger continued carefully “You hit your head pretty hard. I want to run a few more exams just to make sure you’re okay. It’s best if you stay the night.”

“But my interview-” you started to protest.

“I have a friend who works at Statesman.” not being able to stand the sight of you in distress, Jack intervened “I’ll give him a call, explain the situation and ask ‘em to reschedule.”

Your radiant smile warmed his heart.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Ginger walked back towards Jack.

“She seems to be suffering from a strange case of anterograde amnesia: she can remember things before her time at the agency, but not after. I’ll monitor her and see if she gets any better.”

“Okay.” he nodded, absentmindedly.

Walking out of the lab, Ginger stopped him before he could get too far.

“You should try and get some rest. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for her to regain her memories.”

“Of course.” he nodded, a bit disorientated when thinking about what he should do now “Let me know if anything changes, will you?”

She nodded and he started walking away, his mind clouded and his heart heavy. 

The moonlight was shining down on your skin. He barely registered the uncomfortable feeling of sand seeping in between his sprawled fingers, all he could focus on was the steady rise and fall of your chest laying next to him.

“I can feel you staring, cowboy.”

Jumping in surprise, he looked at how your now open eyes were staring at him from under hooded eyelids, a small smile playing on your lips.

“What are you thinking about?”

He shrugged.

“Just can’t wrap my head ‘round how dazzling you look, sweetheart.”

You snorted, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“You’re so corny, Jack.”

“What? S’true!”

Your laughter was radiant enough to light up an entire room, he thought. Maybe he was corny afterall.

Still laying on the sand, you squirmed on your back and wormed your way next to him, perpendicular to his legs, and settled with your head on his lap. He admired your face, eyes closed again, a peaceful look taking over your features.

“What would you be doing if you weren’t an agent?”

The question startled him slightly. What would he be doing if he wasn’t an agent? He took a moment to ponder. Remembering the life he could have had if only those addicts hadn’t decided to rob the very same store his wife was at was too painful. You were one of the few people he felt comfortable enough to talk about her and his baby boy nowadays. He wished you two could have met, he had a feeling you’d have been great friends.

“I think I’d like to be a teacher.”

Your eyes snapped open, a mischievous smile.

“Mr. Daniels, huh?” you smirked “What subject would you teach?”

“Math.” you giggled in disbelief “I mean it! I can solve some killer algebra equations.” you laughed even more, some tears visibly gathering in the corner of your eyes “But if I’m being honest, I’d rather it be kindergarten.”

Your face softened. Smiling at him you nodded your chin for him to continue.

“I love kids. Especially that age, when they’re discovering the world. The faces they make when they find something new and exciting. I’d love to be able to help in that process.”

The look on your face, the pure adoration he could see in your eyes, was enough to bring heat to his face.

“What about you?” he changed the subject “Got any ideas?”

You smiled shyly, averting your eyes.

“With the answer you just gave, mine is going to sound very lame.”

“S’not. I promise.”

Looking back at him, you grin turned mischievous once again.

“When I was a kid I wanted to be a vet, or a biologist, just so I could work at an aquarium.”

“An aquarium?” he asked in amusement.

“Yeah. I really wanted to work with walrus and otters. They are really cute!”

Jack laughed, amused with your thought process as a kid.

“Walrus? Cute?”

“Have you ever seen a walrus?”

“I have” he answered “and all they remind me of is Champ.”

You burst out laughing, nodding your head in agreement. He laughed so hard at your own laughter he almost cried. Once you calmed down, you sat up and turned to look at him, a new glint in your eyes.

“Do you ever think about getting back out there?”

“Out there?” he was confused.

“To dating.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he contemplated his answer.

“Maybe. If the right woman comes along.”

The look in your eyes held something mysterious, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

Just as he was about to ask you the same thing, something stopped him. A beeping of some kind.

“What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” you replied, but your voice sounded very far away.

“That!” he turned back to you, but you weren’t there “Sweetheart?”

He jolted awake, abruptly pulled from the depths of his consciousness. Sighing, he gripped the bridge of his nose, fighting off the tears that were slowly welling up in his eyes, their stinging a painful reminder of what was going on in his life at the moment. What wouldn’t he give to go back to sleep, back to that dream? It was a nice dream, most of it a fond memory he kept close to his heart. It was late at night after a rough mission in Hawaii a few months back, none of you were in condition to jump on a plane and go back to Kentucky, so Champ extended your stay in the hotel by the beach for one more night. Restless from the adrenaline that was still pumping in your veins, you both decided to take a midnight dive in the ocean, which led to a quiet moment watching the stars and talking about life. He wished he could go back to then, when things were easier.

A beeping noise startled him, almost making him jump out of his skin. It was the same sound he heard at the end of his dream. Stumbling around his room, he finally found his phone, which had a bunch of messages from Ginger. Dialing her number, he suppressed a yawn, jumping into professional mode.

“Whiskey.”

“Jack, you might want to come down here, as soon as possible.” Ginger’s voice sounded slightly strained. 

“What happened?” he was dressed and out the door in the blink of an eye.

“Just… get down here.” and with that she hung up.

Almost bumping into several other agents minding their business, Jack quickly got down to Ginger’s lab. The woman in question was waiting for him outside the door.

“Ginger, what happened?”

“I think it’s better if you see it for yourself.”

She led him inside, where he found you, still sitting on the same bed, now wearing a hospital gown.

“Hey!” you greeted them. You eyed him, a confused look crossing your face before you addressed Ginger “Who is this?”

Jack turned to Ginger, confused, but she was already looking at him with a sad smile.

“We met yesterday, remember?”

Shaking your head, you squinted your eyes as if making an effort to try and remember.

“Hmm, no. I think I’d remember meeting you.” 

“What do you remember from yesterday?” Ginger spoke up.

“I went to bed last night and then… then I woke up here” you looked around and Jack felt like he was having a deja vu “Where am I exactly?”

“She woke up and she didn’t remember me, nor where she was.” Ginger turned to him, speaking under her breath.

“Can I go now? I have a job interview today!” you spoke, excitedly.

“Her memories were reset overnight?” Jack spoke, his stomach churning with worry.

“Seems like it.”

“But how?”

The woman before him sighed, and for a brief moment she looked like she had aged ten years in just a day. Walking out of your earshot, outside of the lab, she started explaining.

“Whatever happened seems to have affected her brain’s ability to turn short term memories into long term ones. Sleep seems to be the trigger for the reseting.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“I can keep her here for a few more days, run a few more tests.”

“Yeah, more tests sound good.” he nodded, slightly disoriented by all the new information Ginger had just dumped on him.

“But Jack.” he hummed in acknowledgment “I don’t think you should keep coming to see her.”

His head snapped back towards her, eyes wide and furious.

“Why not?!” he asked, probably more harshly than he intended.

“I can see this is taking a toll on you. Seeing her like this I mean.”

“But I can’t not see her! That ain’t right! She- Liz, I-I can’t not know, I-” he stumbled over his words, worry and anger at the whole situation threatening to overflow him “She’s one of my best friends. I need to know she’s okay.”

Ginger sighed heavily, having noticed the redness and the glossy shine that had overtaken the man’s eyes.

“You love her, don’t you?” she spoke softly, almost whispering.

His rambling came to a halt, eyes widening as if she had slapped him in the face. He looked away for a moment and gulped, like even thinking about those words physically hurt him.

“Yeah,” he looked back at Ginger “I do love her.” 

“Then let me do my job.”

“I just-” he choked on a sob he was trying to supress “I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not again.”

“You won’t.”

“How can you know that?!” he snapped, practically shouting at her.

Her eyes hardened.

“Because I’m the one looking after her. And I’m really good at what I do.”

He deflated.

“I-I’m sorry, Liz. I’m sorry.”

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her eyes softening.

“It’s alright, Jack. I know how much she means to you.” she said “That’s why you should stay away for a while. I’ll keep you updated.”

“You can’t just expect me to sit around and do nothing, Ging.”

“I don’t. Can you go to her quarters, bring me anything you think might be useful in bringing her memories back?” she asked. “Trinkets, clothes, pictures, anything.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Do you ever think about getting back out there?”

“Out there?” he was confused.

“To dating.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he contemplated his answer.

“Maybe. If the right woman comes along.”

The look in your eyes held something mysterious, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

“And has she?”

“Has who what?”

There was something cheeky, almost bold in your smile.

“The right woman.” your smile only grew, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Has she come along?”

His eyes widened, almost the size of dinner plates. You were trying to kill him, he was sure. How could he answer that, without making things awkward for the both of you? He could always lie to save face, but he knew you could read him like an open book and would see right through his lies. Clearing his throat, he thought for a minute or so, before deciding to be honest.

“I guess she might have.”

Your grin turned into a soft smile. Placing a hand on his knee, you turned your body fully in his direction.

“Yeah?”

The glimmer in your eyes cast by the moon did something to him. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. With a crooked index finger under your chin, he tilted your head up, your faces only millimeters from each other. 

“I think she is closer than I imagine.”

And then he was kissing you. Closing the gap, he placed his chapped lips on your soft ones in a sweet, almost chaste kiss. It felt a lot better than he ever expected, it even felt kinda… magical. As you pulled back he realized you were smiling at him, your hand running down his cheek and cupping his jaw.

“I certainly hope so.” you said with a dreamy expression before climbing into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. You dived in for another kiss, your hands sliding from his jaw to the base of his neck, gripping his hair. The kiss was a lot more passionate this time. His own hands moved accordingly, the one gripping your chin sliding up to cup your jaw and the other resting on your hip.

“I just want to stay here and kiss you.” you whispered against his lips, barely pulling away “Again. And again, and again” between each sentence you pressed a peck to his lips “And again. And again, until you’ve decided you’ve had enough of me.”

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart.” he said, before kissing you again.

There was a soft beam of sunlight streaming through the drapes as his eyes opened against his will. That bit of the dream was new, nowhere near part of his memories. He should have kissed you, like in the dream, he now knows he should have. Instead he had cracked some half-assed joke and walked back to his hotel room. Retreating like a coward, he scolded himself for hours later as he laid awake in his bed. A part of him longed to go back to that night and make things right.

A glance at his phone let him know Champ was requesting an all-agents meeting first thing that morning, which made him sigh. It was going to be a long day.

The past three days had been torture for Jack. Ginger ran all the tests she could think of and yet you didn’t seem to be making any improvement. Everynight your memories were reset back to the day you met. He was getting more frustrated by the hour but there was nothing he could do.

Dragging his feet into the conference room, he noticed all other agents were already there, Champ at the head of the table, Ginger standing silently next to him.

“Good. Now that everyone’s here we can start.” Champagne said “Ginger, if you will.”

Ginger took a step forward.

“As you may know, Agent Cider has been compromised in action.” Jack swallowed harshly, still not totally rid of the guilt “After taking too long to administer the alpha gel, her memories of her time as a Statesman agent haven’t returned. What’s worse, since then her brain has suffered some kind of extensive damage to the point where her memories are reset every night. Meaning she believes she’s always going through the same day.”

A hand quickly shot up in the air.

“Like ‘Groundhog Day’?” asked Lemonade, a junior agent who usually compensated for lack of knowledge and experience with enthusiasm.

“Something like that, yes. Except she isn’t aware she has already gone through that day.” Ginger resumed her explanation “The day her memories are stuck on is the day of her Statesman interview and trials.”

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Vermouth asked in that arrogant tone both you and Jack both detested.

“We are going to send her back home.”

Jack stood up so fast his chair almost scraped against the carpet.

“What? Why?” he almost yelled, barely managing to contain his fury and confusion “You can’t just give up on her!”

“Sit down, Agent Whiskey.” Champ’s stern voice left no room for argument, so Jack complied.

“We aren’t giving up on her. According to her, and to the records we managed to recover, she is supposed to come here in the afternoon to be interviewed. Instead of the physical trials soon-to-be agents are usually put through I’ll run exams to see her daily improvement. I’ll also send word to our sister branch in England and see if they can help us.”

“Where do we come in?” Tequila intervened.

“Whatever agent that is on base is to conduct Cider’s interview, everyday until she gets better.” Champ's booming voice explained “Y’all went through that interview already, you should know which questions to ask. Then you are to take her to Ginger’s lab so she can do her sciency shit. And by whoever’s on base I mean whoever’s here” he emphasized, looking sharply at Vermouth, who was rolling his eyes “except for Whiskey.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“Why?”

“Because Ginger and I believe you’re already too involved and it’s not good for you. Take a step back and rest for a while, son.”

Whiskey went to protest, but Champ’s hardened yet kind eyes stopped him.

“Cider’s first interview is today.” the boss said after a moment “Y’all are dismissed.”

Sighing, Jack opened the door that led to the bar that was kept in the grounds of the distillery. He sat down at the bar signaling the bartender, an old friend of his.

“Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender narrowed her eyes.

“Are you sure, chief? It’s barely dusk.”

“Just keep ‘em coming.” 

She only shrugged, it wasn’t her problem really, so long as he didn’t start a ruckus or something.

With a long, defeated sigh, Jack laid his head on his arms on top of the counter, hiding his face from the world. His day had been shitty to say the least. First he got the news that Ginger was going to let you go, your memories having yet to return. Then he was notified he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore, that literally every other agent was going to interact with you and help except for your own partner. Except for him. He felt useless. Useless and helpless.

Once the bartender placed his glass in front of him with a soft thud, he raised his head, ready to down the entire drink in one gulp in order to drown his sorrows when something caught his eye across the bar. Nursing a drink and looking just as defeated as he felt, but at the same time just as beautiful as that first time (if not more) was someone he was beginning to lose hope in seeing anytime soon.

You.