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#return of the terrible markers

munsonfamilyband · 1 year

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I am a HoH Steve truther and I also firmly believe that he had to he dragged to get checked out the first time (Eddie said it was a date and he drove them to the ear doctor where Robin was waiting). He hates that he has to wear a hearing aid, but he’s glad it’s only on the one ear. Still, he hates it, it’s an ugly off white color and it looks terrible with his hair. He hates that people can see that something in him is broken. Logically he knows that he shouldn’t be ashamed of the hearing aid, Robin has told him that enough times, but he still feels awful whenever he sees it in the mirror.

He would regularly “leave it behind” when he went to visit the kids and he would go a couple days without it before the kids found it and gave it back, or Eddie and/or Robin realized he wasn’t wearing it and made him go get it.

That is, until the last time he left it behind at the Hopper-Byers house. He doesn’t see the Wonder Twins for a couple days after that, until they come rolling into the parking lot of Family Video on their bikes. Steve clocks them as weird immediately because it’s just Will and El, no one else. When they come in, Will looks nervous but El walks right up to the counter and grabs one of his hands, dropping something in it. It takes a second for him to recognize it, but he realizes that she’s returning his hearing aid. Only, it isn’t that awful cream color anymore, it’s been covered in colors and little flowers. Turning it over he sees a small crown with a baseball bat filled with nails going through it. Will, avoiding eye contact, tells him that it was El’s idea to paint it and so they came up with what to cover it in - they even called Eddie to get his favorite color (which explains the amount of yellow on the plastic). He also reassures him that they had Joyce help so that they wouldn’t get paint or marker in anything important.

Steve never takes it off after that, and every time he sees it in his reflection it makes him smile. (Years later when he has to replace it, he cries and calls Will to see if he can paint the new one too)

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #no idea if this is something you can do with hearing aids but I needed this to be a thing #mama steve

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otdiaftg · 3 months

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The King's Men - Chapter Ten

Day: Friday, February 2nd Time: 10:40 PM EST

Neil set his ice cream and spoon to one side and turned a searching look on Andrew. "Question," Neil said, but it took him a few moments to figure out the right words. "When you said you don't like being touched, is it because you don't like it at all or because you don't trust anyone else enough to let them touch you?" Andrew glanced at him. "It doesn't matter." "If it didn't, I wouldn't ask," Neil said. "It doesn't matter to a man who doesn't swing," Andrew clarified. Neil shrugged. "I don't because I've never been allowed to. The only thing I could think about growing up was surviving." Maybe that was why this was in that gray area of what was acceptable. It didn't matter that Andrew was a would-be sociopath or a man; the idea of Andrew was so intertwined with the idea of Neil's safety that this too was a means of self- preservation. "Letting someone in meant trusting them to not stab me in the back when terrible people came looking for me. I was too afraid to risk it, so it was easier to be alone and not think about it. But I trust you." "You shouldn't." "Says the man who stopped." Neil gave Andrew a few moments to respond before saying, "I don't understand it, and I don't know what I'm doing, but I don't want to ignore it just because it's new. So are you completely off-limits or are there any safe zones?" "What are you hoping for, coordinates?" "I'm hoping to know where the lines are before I cross them," Neil said, "but I'm open to drawing a map on you if you want to loan me a marker. That's not a bad idea." "Everything about you is a bad idea," Andrew said, as if Neil didn't already know that. "I'm still waiting for an answer." "I'm still waiting for a yes or no I actually believe," Andrew returned. "Yes." Neil took the pint from Andrew's unresisting fingers, stacked it on top of his, and leaned in. He stopped shy of actually kissing Andrew, not daring to touch him until Andrew gave him a green light. Andrew's expression didn't change but there was a subtle shift in his body's tension that told Neil he'd gotten Andrew's attention. Neil lifted a hand but stopped it a safe difference from Andrew's face. Andrew caught hold of his wrist and squeezed in warning. "It's fine if you hate me," Neil said. It was the truth, if a bit of an understatement. So long as Andrew was only physically attracted to Neil, this was safe to experiment with. Neil's death wouldn't be more than a faint inconvenience to Andrew. "Good," Andrew said, "because I do."

Art used with permission by Lunapiq. Thank you @lunapiq

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championashley · 4 months

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Alright. I said I would write this and I’m gonna stay true to my word.

I’ve been seeing a lot of takes since The Giggle has come out questioning the potency of 14’s ending. People have been citing multiple different times during the reboot era where the Doctor has “settled down” somewhere, from Darillium, the university in S10, to even Trenzalore. However, I think all of these comparisons are apples to oranges, completely missing the details of each instance and how The Giggle’s ending rebukes all of them.

So, because I cannot leave an inaccurate take alone, I’m going through every single one of these instances and explain why 14’s ending is different from them, in chronological order.

I’m gonna start with a weird one: S7EP4, The Power of Three. Because it provides a good example of all the things we’re going to be talking about.

Prior to this episode, long time fans already had a good idea that the Doctor…does not do well in monotonous environments, a truth that is consistent across multiple incarnations.

“I don’t do families.”

“Street corner, two in the morning, getting a taxi home. I’ve never had a life like that.”

“Here you are, Living a life, day after day. The one adventure I could never have.”

“Christmas dinner.” “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Oh god I had a terrible nightmare about you two!” [Talking about Amy and Rory having a normal life in Leadworth]

The entirety of The Lodger

“There’s a bigger, scarier adventure waiting for you in there.”

The Power of Three, spells this truth out in bold, montage style marker pen. The Doctor “needs to be busy”. Why, as Amy later asks?

Personally I think this answer varies slightly between regenerations, based on experiences and losses each face goes through. 9 couldn’t imagine a life of peace coming out of a war, a war that he had a major hand in. 10 continues that idea, with the added baggage of losing Rose. 11’s reasoning is a bit subtler: he says to Amy that he is running to things before they go, as if he now understands how short beautiful things last. He’s going from one thing to the next in avoidance of staying to watch things die.

“And what’s the alternative? Me standing over your grave?”

This doesn’t change by the end of the episode. The Doctor explicitly tells the Ponds that he’s only staying to watch the cubes, and once the threat is gone, he’s already out the door. He only stops because of a potential threat, an idea we will return to in the next example. He even accepts the idea of Amy and Rory wanting to stay behind: “things to do. Worlds to save. Swings to swing on. Look, I know. You both have lives here. beautiful, messy lives. That is what makes you so fabulously human. You don’t want to give them up. I understand.” The Doctor is saying, ‘I know you have lives here, and that I can’t always be a part of that. And that’s ok.’

This episode in my opinion is a perfect microcosm of The Doctor regarding this topic, spelling out explicitly why The Doctor can't ever settle down. The Doctor needs to have something to run to because they don't feel secure enough in any place to not allow their altruism outweigh their need to process their trauma. The only thing that could motivate the Doctor to stop, even just for a second, is the promise that their friend(s) will be there too. The next example is the worst-case scenario of this issue.

Trenzalore is an interesting case. When I first heard of it being counted, I immediately shut it down, because Trenzalore was a literal war zone (wars are obviously not a good place for mental health time). But in doing research, there is actually way more baggage contained in this period making it unsuitable for this argument than just that fact.

Trenzalore was set up to be the Doctor’s final resting place, where they would truly die. It wasn’t the first time a death prophecy had surrounded the Time Lord, and once again, just as with The End of Time, the thing that kills them is, what Davros would later call The Doctor's “greatest indulgence”: compassion. Tasha Leem warns 11 that she will burn the planet upon the possibility of the Time Lords returning, a warning the Doctor takes extremely seriously.

“This planet is protected.”

“Christmas has a new sheriff.”

For 300 years, 11 stayed true to his word. He fought long and hard, for the townspeople and his own. He was celebrated and was loved. But Clara returning with the TARDIS revealed how he really felt about all of it.

“Everyone gets stuck somewhere eventually.”

“But you didn’t have your TARDIS.” “Well, that made it easier to stay.”

There’s an unspoken sentiment in these words, echoing 11's philosophy in Power of Three: the Doctor will always want to leave, in this case, to understandably avoid his prophesied death. But he doesn’t, because “Every life I save is a victory”. Their compulsion to help, their innate capacity to help those in need. So often it’s been their greatest strength, but here it’s framed as destructive selflessness. 11 has become so wholly committed to helping others before himself that he’s willing to accept his own death.

Clara correctly calls this out: “What about your life? Just for once, After all this time, have you not earned the right to think about that?” The Doctor didn’t stay on Trenzalore for himself, he stayed for everyone besides himself. It’s only because Clara gave the Time Lords a proper verbal smackdown that the Doctor managed to survive. Had they not intervened, The Doctor would've suffered and died, once again to protect them, despite already saving them from annihilation in the previous episode, Day of The Doctor. Trenzalore wasn't The Doctor stopping, it was a century-long effort to keep satiating the bottomless survivor's guilt they still carried from The Time War.

Darillium is yet another case of looking like a time the Doctor settled down somewhere on the surface. But the details don’t match that conclusion. The entire thesis of 12 and River’s final conversation was about the fleeting nature of their situation.

“Times end, River, because they have to. Because there’s no such thing as happily ever after. It’s just a lie we tell ourselves because the truth is so hard.”

The Doctor says this, cries at hearing the Singing Towers, despite already knowing they have 24 years in a night. Because he knows it can’t last. There’s already a deadline on their moment of peace before it’s begun. Eventually River must go to The Library.

The final quote of the episode punctuates this: “And they lived happily ever after.” Fading away until “happily” remains. Because they didn’t have their “ever after” and they didn’t “live”, because a person can’t entirely experience life to the fullest with a clock hanging over their head.

While they got their moment of happiness, it was only a moment. 24 years is just a blink of an eye for a Time Lord, and sure enough, we see by the end of “The Return of Doctor Mysterio”, the next chronological episode, 12 is ready to leap back into the fray. Still the same overall Doctor he was before.

The University is an extension of this. We find out that the only reason he has stayed is to guard Missy in the vault. When 12 tries to mindwipe Bill (an eerie parallel to both Donna and Clara), he directly says: “I have no choice, I’m in disguise. I have promises to keep.” Just like with Trenzalore, The Doctor’s altruism has trapped him somewhere he doesn’t actually want to be. The second he hesitates, he immediately runs after Bill, inviting her into the TARDIS and sneaks off to the universe behind Nardole’s back.

So, now that we’ve gone through each past instance, what’s the connection? What’s the key issue(s) that prevented the Doctor from permanently stopping in any of these cases?

The (fear of) loss of their friends, and the Doctor’s own self-loathing. Either out of fear of the march of time, or the chains that their altruistic nature binds them to, The Doctor always runs away from the picket fence life.

Now, let’s look at 14 and how this ending departs from all other examples.

Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle more prominently explains 14’s origins as a coping mechanism. The reason why 10’s face came back was to retreat to an incarnation that didn’t invoke the loss of The Ponds, Clara, and Bill. The second destruction of Gallifrey and the reveal of The Timeless Child. The Doctor’s avoidance of their trauma has now been made physical, just like how mental stress can often manifest as physical changes or ailments.

“We stand here now, on the edge of creation, a creation that I devastated, so yes I keep running, of course I keep running!! How am I supposed to look back on that?!”

Already this is a departure from the instances we’ve discussed, because by the very nature of having 10’s face again, it’s forcing the Doctor to ask why.

“It’s like I'm trying to tell myself something. Like I’m trying to make a point.”

But 14 chooses not to answer it, because answering it means accepting the truth: it’s too much. The trauma can’t be avoided anymore, because The Doctor would always be reminded of what they’re trying to avoid by looking in a reflection. 14 telling Shirley, “I don’t know who I am anymore.” Then asking Donna, “what am I? What am I now?” It’s not because he’s been given a blank slate and doesn’t know what to do with it, like other regeneration stories. In trying to run away again, to bury the trauma and pain, The Doctor has made it more visible than ever, and doesn’t know what to do with that.

Ironically, the Toymaker causing the bi-generation was the greatest gift he could’ve given the Doctor, because 15 was exactly who 14 needed to see. He’s happy, energetic, full of life and wonder, but also empathetic, understanding and open. He’s the only other person in the entire universe who The Doctor will listen to (well, one person, we’ll get to the other later), because he knows all of the trauma they went through, and yet, made it through ok.

“But you’re fine.”

“I’m fine, because you fix yourself.”

15 is leading by example, their own ‘ghost of Christmas future’ but positive. 14 now has an ideal self to strive towards, a face born from love and empathy. 14 doesn’t have to ground herself out of moral obligation, 15 will now protect the universe.

But that leaves one question: why Donna? Out of all of the people to settle down with, why her? That’s easy: because she gets it.

Donna, out of all of the companions the Doctor traveled with, understood the soul behind the legend, because she recognized someone fundamentally similar to herself. One of Donna’s signature character flaws is her horrendously low self esteem: “I’m nothing special.” no one ever listened to her (thanks Sylvia, for at least cleaning up your act later), so she covered up the silence with noise. She held onto whatever indisputable moments of genius she had to drown out the cacophony of voices shutting her up. Wild Blue Yonder explained this perfectly: Donna believes she is both brilliant and stupid at the same time.

She lives in two contradictory self images at once, and so does The Doctor. The genius and the idiot. The universe’s most fascinating person, and the person who would easily throw away their life for the betterment of others. She’s seen their blinding arrogance/rage (the Racnoss, Jenny) and their crippling self doubt/loneliness, and always met both with empathy and kindness.

“Doctor! You can stop now!”

“Cause sometimes I think you need someone to stop you.”

“It won’t stay like that. She’ll help you. We both will.”

“Is ‘alright’ special Time Lord code for ‘really not alright’ at all?” “Why?” “Cause I’m alright too.”

Donna shouldered the burden of destroying Pompeii, she silently hugged 10 after coming back from Midnight. All because she knew what all of that would feel like in her own life. She didn’t need to know the history of The Doctor and Davros, because she saw her best friend afraid and knew he would want comfort, because she would too.

Even if Dalek Caan manipulated the timelines to get Donna to him, That friendship was completely real to both of them. We saw what Donna was like without the Doctor in Forest of the Dead and Turn Left, and she always felt some level of unhappiness. 15 years removed from them and she still felt as if something was missing. In every future/reality, she always wanted them there. Same for the Doctor too. Within only a few episodes of losing her, 10 started to fall into becoming the “time lord victorious”. 12 looks the way he does because of Donna’s plea to adhere to his name, and save people. Even before 14 came into existence, the Doctor was willing to tell other people how important she was to them, on account of River recognizing Donna by her name: “you’re Donna, Donna Noble.”

Donna didn’t just travel with the Doctor and she wasn’t just friends with them. She completely understood them, their soulmate. Two halves of a greater whole, The DoctorDonna. 14 stayed because there was a more stable incarnation to take his place, and because his best friend would be there alongside him, helping and supporting him through and through. The Doctor stayed because, for the first time in their life, they felt safe. In where they would be staying, and what they would be leaving behind.

That's why 15 doubling the TARDIS was so significant. In giving 14 her own TARDIS, 15 is allowing his younger self to have what they always removed from the equation: free will. The Doctor can still go anywhere they want, which makes them even more motivated to stay and fix themself. 14 can feel safe staying with Donna, Wilf, Mel, Rose, Shaun, and Sylvia because the option to travel is still there.

And the truly amazing part of all of this is that the TARDIS knew it from the beginning. Was it a coincidence that very soon after 13 regenerated into 14, the TARDIS landed close to where Donna and Rose would be shopping?

“You didn’t always take me where I wanted to go.” “No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

The TARDIS brought the Doctor home, and this time, they stayed. Because it was a place where they wanted and needed to be.

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #fourteenth doctor #donna noble #dw meta #dw spoilers #doctor who meta #meta writing

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tinkerbelle05 · 9 months

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Snuggle Bug

Characters: 1610!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Miles is such a snuggle bug.

Warnings: none :)

“How long has it been since you've seen the sun?” You jokingly asked Miles. Rather than his desk being filled with pens and sketchbooks, textbooks and pencils replaced them.

You watched in amusement as he lets out a scream, clearly not expecting you. “How did you get in here?”

“Well when two people love each other very much-” You were interrupted with a pillow thrown at you. “Okay, okay, no need to be so aggressive.” You looked over at his desk, “What test?”

“Uh Trig,” he responded.

You give out a wince to it. You never liked Trig or math in general. Plus the teacher was a hag with a terrible wig.

“Maybe you should take a break. Take a nap with me,” you suggest to him slyly.

“As much as I would love that, I have to study for this test next week,” he tells you. “But afterwards, I promise.”

You fix him a look and rolled your eyes, “Okay fine. In the meanwhile, can I look at my pictures?”

“Fine,” he huffed out and went back to studying.

Smiling with joy, you went to Miles’ sketchbook collection and looked for the one with your name on it. He had a whole book dedicated to you in multiple styles and mediums.

Some were realism while other cartoonish. Sometimes he used nothing but graphite pencils and the white of the page while other times he used markers, colored pencils and pens all in one drawing.

You could get lost in the pages, feel giddy every time you saw a new drawing of you. It made you feel loved.

“Okay, I’m done.” Miles announces and stretches his body causing bones to crack and pop.

“Wow, who knew you were such an old man,” you muttered under your breath, eyes still in the book.

Suddenly you felt a large weight on your back, trapping you in the bed. It could only be one person.

Miles snuggled into the nook of your neck and you hear a muffled no. Then soft snores reach your ear and you let out a sigh as you subsumed to your fate as a human bed.

You light jabbed Miles with your elbow because if he's going to use you like this, the absolute least he could do is help you get your bonnet. This hair wasn't cheap.

“Okay, okay I’m gonna get it,” he said groggily and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He extended his arm and you grabbed it immediately.

“Don’t you dare use your web shooters to get my bonnet,” you warned him. The last time he did that, you literally had to throw the whole bonnet away. It was your favorite too.

He grumbled but got up to get it anyway. He gave you a warm smile before fitting the bonnet around your head gently and kissed you on the cheek.

He laid on his bed with a deep sigh but he looked at you with bedroom eyes, half-lid and a lazy smile. And you just sit there, on the bed admiring him. It was amazing how he could do so little and still look so beautiful.

“You gonna join me down here or…?” He questioned but didn't wait for an answer. He pulled you into his arms and returned his face into the nook of your neck. Eventually, your legs tangled and twisted together into one, and with your combined body heat you quickly went to sleep.

Tags: @butterfi, @justbeethings, @jam-skullz, @dreamxcollide, @shibble, @sleepdeprivationis4coolkids, @somber-starz, @maypersonne, @hoeboat101, @rosebunny, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @mur-docs, @eight-cats-in-a-box, @sawi-06, @707xn, @nagi3seastorm, @ghostsimp000, @cloudstrifefantatic, @vixqn, @yourtsahik, @spider-bren, @im-jisoo-im-okay, @andhdi68a, @avatarl0v3r, @randomhoex, @ellatienesuscosas, @m4rihrts, @jell0buss-37, @baddiebehaviourxx, @laylasbunbunny, @minimari415, @all444miles, @sheluvv-jen

Anonlist & Taglist & Masterlist & Reqs Info & 500 Follower Celebration!!

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beefboyandbabygirl · 11 months

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Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror.

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.”

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.”

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?”

You smile softly. “Sure.”

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs.

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside.

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed.

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat.

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock.

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up.

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in.

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head.

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment.

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute.

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!” _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is.

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was.

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses.

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess.

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands.

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected.

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way.

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter.

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you.

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake.

It’s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak.

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless.

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door.

“And when Mary birthed the-”

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-”

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows!

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service.

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then.

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here.

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line.

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.”

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained.

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially.

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?”

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it.

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..”

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little.

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-”

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully.

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.”

“What?”

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.”

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.”

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?”

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat.

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..”

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.”

“What about you? Keep busy?”

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.”

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.”

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof.

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-”

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?”

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.”

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.”

“Okay. See you then.” _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!”

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown.

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.”

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.”

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.”

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college.

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed.

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then.

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?”

Oh.

Shit.

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.”

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff.

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.”

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.”

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.”

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee.

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.”

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.”

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.”

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.”

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.”

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock.

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you.

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?”

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about.

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.”

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!”

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.”

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants.

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously.

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.”

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?”

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.”

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-”

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!”

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms.

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon.

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage?

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself.

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse. _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again?

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly.

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection.

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs.

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?”

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain.

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor.

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary.

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.”

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t.

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously. _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together.

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement.

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.”

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.”

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas.

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad.

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.”

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you.

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?”

You nod. “We are.”

“When are you leaving?”

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.”

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-”

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours.

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard.

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his.

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups.

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down.

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands.

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly.

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents.

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.”

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment.

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away.

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.”

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly.

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity.

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.”

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.”

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less.

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.”

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness.

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor.

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.”

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.”

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock.

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way.

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.”

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.”

#svt smut #svt x reader #svt chan x reader #svt dino x reader #svt chan smut #svt dino smut #svt angst #svt chan angst #chan x reader #chan angst #lee chan x reader #lee chan smut #lee chan angst

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circe69 · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐧

As you arrived in the rainy Manchester, England, you found yourself to be in a slight predicament. With a drenched suitcase in one hand and a wasted train ticket in the other, you wander into a somewhat shady bed and breakfast, with Simon Riley's grandfather as the owner, and Simon Riley himself being your neighbor.

“leap year”, is one of my favorite movies, so definitely inspired this!

🗝cw: fem!reader, catcalling, 🗝 genre: fluffy fluff 🗝 a/n: part 2?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

"Please, there has to be some misunderstanding, I bought this ticket months in advance. It's pouring outside! Is there nothing you can do-"

"Look, I'm sorry ma'am but the ticket seems to be invalid, I can't let you on without a credible QR code."

You groan in frustration, pressing your acrylic-clad fingers to your forehead and pinching the bridge of your nose. The short man standing in the booth spoke again, "Manchester is only about a mile away, maybe you could-"

"You expect me, a woman who's alone, to walk in this weather?" Your tone was getting ruder by the minute, and your face was heating up. How stupid could he be?

He tried to apologize and say he was only trying to make suggestions, but you walked away in the middle of his sentence, furious at the ignorance some men have these days. As you made your way to the front door of the train station, preparing yourself to go out, you hoped that if you did die or get kidnapped, the short man would read about in the paper and feel like he allowed it to happen.

Your pink umbrella stood out among the black ones, but you didn't have time to care. It barely worked anyway, so eventually you decided to put away the cheap plastic. Your shoes were getting soaked, and so were your clothes under the thin fabric coating your suitcase. Walking past the bench outside the station, a few men whistled in your direction. "Hey, nice bra," one of them said, and as you looked down, you realized your white sweater was completely see-through from the rain, your black lace bra basically yelling for people to stare at it. You took a deep breath, and without even looking back to see his toothless, disgusting smile, you kept walking.

These parts of Manchester were old and rustic, cobblestone lining the pavement in uneven slabs and vines taking over sides of buildings. If you weren't so drenched and freezing right now, you might've enjoyed the sight. You could tell good people lived here, people who liked to live their lives the way they wanted to. Your mood was almost lifted until you stepped in a huge pothole, your entire foot being submerged in mud. "UGH!" You scream, this was the worst beginning to any trip, and the rain wasn't helping at all. Tears were welling in your eye, but they ceased when you looked up to see a quaint inn,

"Riley's Pub House and Inn", a big sign said at the entrance, some letters, not all, being lit up by red LED's. You sniffled back the tears in your sinuses and walked up to the building. When you got to the front door, you read another sign that gave you a little bit of hope, something that told you maybe this was a sign that this was a good call, "Grandson, Simon Riley, returns home from the military!" You smiled at the words, the terrible hearts and smiley faces drawn around it in crayon and marker. All the sudden, the thunder boomed and scared you, making you squeal and drop your suitcase on the wet pavement.

Okay, the universe obviously wants me to stop being so sappy, it's making me too vulnerable, you thought as you picked up the luggage and opened the wooden door. A loud creak declared your welcome, drawing everyone's attention in the pub to look at you in all your glory. A wet, messy, insane-looking woman walking into a pub.

You smiled awkwardly at the lack of talking once you entered, the clearing of throats and scooting of chairs filling the silence occasionally. "Hello," you said quietly, your hoarse voice making you realize you hadn't talked in hours. No one said it back, but instead continued talking and drinking, and as the crazy slowly filled the pub once more, you walked up to the tall, older men behind the counter. He wore a dirty apron, one with splotches of messy markers just like the sign outside, and was cleaning mugs while smoking a cigarette. He spoke first, thankfully, "What can I do for ya?" He tried to not stare at your undergarments from underneath your shirt, and you admired the sentiment, but at this point, you didn't care.

"I'm in need of a room for the night," you said, leaning against the counter with an elbow, slightly pulling back as you realized how sticky it was. "Oh wow, a room? No one's asked for one of those in a while," the man said before having a laughing fit, inducing one for every man around him as well. "Whew, I'm just kidding, sweetheart, they're not that bad. Oi, Simon!" He yelled, and you flinched as you felt your eardrum recoil. The man turned around to get a ring of keys, and from behind you, you heard a gruff, deep voice, "Right here, pops." You turned around facing him, a tall muscular man with dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes. His face was perfectly chiseled, his jawline even more so, and the veins running down his arms made you want to slide up his sleeve to see where they led. You swallowed back the thoughts, and looked up at the man in front of you.

Simon made eye contact with you and held it as he reached behind you to grab the keys from the old man. "I'll show you to it," Simon said, his voice being unnaturally and sickeningly seductive. How many steroids did he have to pump himself with to sound like that, to look like that? You didn't so much as even respond before he picked up your suitcase and started walking towards the hallway. Simon led you up a flight of spiral stairs, and it took every ounce of courage in your body to speak up, "So, is he your dad?"

He inhaled quickly, "Grandfather." Oh right, the military man. "Oh so you're the Simon Riley who just came back from the military!" You said loudly as he stopped in front of a room door and set down your luggage to retrieve the keys. "That's me," he made eye contact once again and you could've stared for hours. You hated to admit it, but his eyes were so unbelievably dark, almost sad but still beautiful.

Once your door opened after a few jiggles of the key, he put a hand out in front, signaling you to go in first. You nodded your head and walked into what seemed more like a closet than anything. Your face must've expressed it too, and Simon must've noticed. "Not good enough, doll?" You shook your head feverishly, "No! No, it's- it's great. Homey." He furrowed his eyebrows and barely smiled, "Homey?" He repeated, confused.

You laughed slightly, "Yeah, it's homey. Y' know, like, comfortable." Simon nodded and slid his hands into his pockets. "It's bloody disgusting is what it is, I keep telling that old geezer to fix this place up," He spoke quietly as he ran his finger along a side table, blowing the dust off. "Well, I'm staying across the hall while I'm here anyways, you better not snore, bug."

Your face turned red at the comment, but you managed to look away just in time, "I don't snore." Simon opened the door to walk out when he said, "Sure ya don't. What do I get if I get awoken by your unexpected but terrible sleep apnea?"

"Well then, you can bang on my door and tell me to shut up."

Simon smiled, teeth and all, "What's your name?" He whispered, leaning against the doorway.

"Y/N." You whispered back, breath hitching at the low tones of your voices.

"Well, Y/N, would you open the door if I banged on it?" He said your name like it was a secret, like it was something he'd keep forever. You couldn't get over how good it sounded coming out of his mouth.

"Maybe, maybe not."

He turned around and said from over his shoulder before opening the door to his room, "Breakfast is at 8. Be there." Before you could respond, his door shut, shaking some of the mini shampoos and conditioners on the counter. Through the closed door, you could hear Simon yell, "And make sure to dry your bra!" You gasped, covering your breasts by folding your arms over. Smiling to yourself, you wondered if he'd do what he said; if he'd ever bang on the door, and if you'd open it.

#ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #modern warfare #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #circe69scribbles

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parkermunson · 1 year

Text

eddie dating an artsy person

your mind is messy, constantly working and full of ideas. it almost feels like it'll explode one day. but eddie has a way of helping you sort them

will sit next to you while looking at an art piece and suggesting ways to finish it/make it better

goes to every art show with you. whether or not you're showing work. he wants to support you no matter what

will let you sit in on Hellfire for inspiration. even lets you take photographs throughout the meeting when you notice how nice everyone looks under the lights

at first his friends snicker under their breaths when he lets them know about the relationship. then it becomes painfully obvious why you found each other– two kids with messed up heads, misunderstood by their peers but not by each other.

he'll let you draw on him. loves it actually. started wearing shorter sleeves just for this reason. he hates washing off your doodles at night but you'll replace them the next day

uses his money from dealing to buy you art supplies. makes you promise to make him something in return

will hang every art piece you make him in his room. when his walls run out of space, wayne gives the okay to hang his favorites in the living room

will get one of the first drawings you ever gave him tattooed. even if you aren't friends as adults, it'll make him smile

asks you for ideas on his campaigns and listens to you closely. he values your opinion greatly

when you get overwhelmed, he'll sit with you until you're ready to talk, break something, or move on

never ever makes fun of you. not your strange fashion, your mannerisms, your art. nothing. he likes it all. so much.

pushes you to apply to art school or a school with a great art program. doesn't even doubt for a second you'll get accepted. when you get the acceptance letter, he asks for your autograph, "because it could be worth something now."

you make a card for his birthday every year. he keeps all of them in a box in his closet. it's like a timeline of how your art progressed over the years.

is definitely a bad influence when it comes to impulsive ideas. leads to bad haircuts and terrible hair dye colors.

he poses for you often. it's one of the few times he's not jumping around causing trouble

your classmates notice how often you use him as a subject and think its cute he's so supportive

helps you set up for showings

relaxes you the night before showing a piece to your class

has definitely drank out of the paint brush water cup more than once

definitely used a drawing marker as a pen when you weren't looking

aside from being your subject, will also be your canvas. afterwards, you'll have the sweetest sex while cleaning him off in the shower

everytime he buys you a new sketchbook, he'll leave a note on one of the pages. you won't find it for a while, and it makes your heart flutter when you finally do

a big one– he'll stay up with you late at night when a certain idea keeps nagging at you. does his best to draw your thought process together until you can finally sleep

he just loves you and your creative brain so much!!!

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie stranger things #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things headcanons #stranger things hc #mandi writes #parkermunson

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Note

New characters reactions to y/n falling asleep on them?

I assume you mean Delvin and the milks so here we go (adding the weed plants because I can so implied drug warnings there)

Devlin

The struggles are real. While he does feel fatigue, Devlin often avoids sleeping as any drawbacks are handled by his immortality. He also has trouble sitting still for long - but damn you look cute passed out on his shoulder. At best he snaps a dozen pictures or so. Worse he's gently poking and prodding at you to see if you flinch. If theres a marker or pen laying around, you'll wake up looking like a lovesick, albeit terrible artist's walking museum.

Plant Monsters

As there is a high chance they'll be the cause of your drowsiness and the electronics stolen from your neighbors, these plants first priority is making sure you'll be a functioning person when you get up... till you try to leave. They leave water bottles and snacks within reach of you, cushion your body with theirs and commence a snuggle pile that doesn't let up even once you awake.

Mint Milk

Gives you your rest... mostly. Life's hard sometimes. If you want to use them as your mattress they have no choice but to comply. Mint is a bit of a watcher though. Hard not to be when you've got a cutie on your shoulder and the world just feels like everything's clicked. There's also the whole thing of casting your hand for various reasons, but what you don't know doesn't hurt you

Oat Milk

Precious angel. Your kind and loving Oat Milk will take good care of you during your rest. She thanks you for making yourself vulnerable to her and tells you all the wonderful stories of your long future together. Like how one day the creator will return to the world, and the two of you will be all that remains in their rewritten kindgom - tied eternally by the strings of love and fate.

Spice Milk

Stuck between mom friend and pouring their heart out to you. They make sure you have a proper place to lay and are comfortable before attempting to leave, but soon he finds himself venting about the way you make him feel. He justifies his harsher actions by a need to protect you, but he has no excuse for the bad advice he gives others. By the end of it he works you falling asleep on him as a sign that his efforts are not wasted as cruel as they are.

Chocolate Milk

Shows little emotion, but takes off his jacket and lays it over you. If others are in the room he swears he'll bust skulls if you so much as flinch from the noise. Lightly scolds you if you have bad sleeping habits, but if you ever had the need to look at his phone - you'll see a new picture on his lock screen

#Oat milk kinda bad ngl. Need me a freak like her fr #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere blurb #male yandere #female yandere #yandere hybrid #Milk farm tag

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alolanrain · 1 year

Text

I’m just going to start piling my Ta!au quotes into one post instead of spamming everyone's timeline with it.

----------

(after a missions, Ash had a nightmare and can’t sleep and neither could Rowan)

Ash: That’s a terrible story.

Rowan: not all of us fight Gods and win, my boy. so take what I have.

Ash:.... tell me how you survived the Dragalge again?

----------

(later in the Alola timeline-think before Kukui announces the first league)

Ash: You're an asshole, you know that?

Lillie: Mankey see, Mankey do.

Ash: *flashbacks to all the times he’s used the exact phrase* *deep sigh* fair enough.

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

(on a simple date after a long stake out mission)

Ash:*tired AF* Are you going to keep looking at me like that or are you actually going to kiss me?

Raihan: Can’t I enjoy looking at my meal before digging into it?

Ash... *tired, flustered and now angry because he’s flustered*

Raihan: *too pleased, the smug bastard* that’s what I thought.

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

(after noticing Meowth working at the new malasada truck outside of school, completely ignoring James and Jessie who ignore him in return)

Ash: hey-not here to pick a fight, put your claw’s away-do you know Lillie’s brother?

Meowth: *suspicious but interested* the emo kid?

Ash: yeah.

Meowth:... why?

Ash: would it be insulting to you if I call him a ragged wet Meowth?

Meowth: *instantly relaxing* if you don’t call him that I will.

Ash: *grabbing the malasada's James hands him without making him pay* let’s tag team him then.

Meowth: sounds perfect to me, now get going. you’re holding up the line Twerp.

-----------

(meeting and conversing with Goh and Chloe for the first time)

Goh: my mission is to catch Mew and then go on my first Pokémon journey!

Ash: *bites tongue and thank the legendries he’s where sunglasses to hide his uncontrollable flash of anger*

Chloe: Don’t listen to him-

Goh: Hey!

Chloe: -he’s the dumb one

Ash: *silently already picking favorites* I see.

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

(after a prank war)

Gary: does my life truly mean so little to you?

Ash: *w/ neon green hair and permanent marker on his face* YES!

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

(on a random Tuesday in Alola)

Ash:*swinging in a hammock with sunglasses and his hat* Are you here to kill me? *slurps annoyingly loud at his drink*

Mewtwo:... no but I’m thinking about it now.

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

(after loosing the kids in the forest for a while)

Ash: where have you been!?

Lana: *sopping wet*

Mallow: *beginning of a rash on her lips*

Kiawe:*looks like he got into a fight with something and lost*

Sophocles: *also looks like he got into a fight with something and lost*

Lillie: *covered in flowers with a few Cutiefly buzzing around her*

Lana: I think you already know.

-----------

(Champion meeting in Kalos-Lance is sick and Ash is his second by Orange Isles proxy)

Diantha: You're late. As usual.

Ash: *not high as a kite but not sober either* be happy that I’m even here in the first place.

Rose: it’s really innapro-

Ash&Diantha: not a word out of you.

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

(Kiawe and Lillie hanging out with Ash even though he’s cleaning all his knives)

Ash: Put that down! You're like a child.

Kiawe: *pouting and placing down a sheathed knife* I’m a teenager, not a child.

Ash: uh-huh.

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

(Ash begrudgingly letting Lana indulge the rain before class one day)

Ash: Well, don't stand there in the rain all day. Come on.

Lana: but I like the rain.

Ash: okay-let me rephrase then so you understand. Don’t make me give you detention-

Lana: *darts on past*

Ash: *smirking and start to trail behind* that’s what I thought.

-----------

(after being trailed by some mercenaries from a Gala)

Rowan: we’re safe now, aren’t we boy?

Ash: *checks around corner of the alleyway they ducked into to loose their trackers* Yeah... yeah I think so old-

Goons: *appearing on the other side of the alleyway* there they are!

Ash&Rowan: *in unison* fuckshitfuckingtitballs-

----------

(in Hisui)

Ash: I swear it wasn't me.

Cyllene: *annoyed but in a motherly way* now why don’t I believe that?

Ash:.... because I’m your favorite survey member? *Growlith eyes and slight cheeky smile*

Cyllene: get out of my sight.

Ash: *squeaks* yes, Captain!

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

(after an intense debrief after a mission going tits-up as Ash was unknowingly stalked by another mercenary)

Gary: Who did you piss off this time?

Ash: *slumping down in a chair next to Gary and the large as computer screens* it’s more like who I haven’t pissed off.

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

(after first trimester of finals)

Kukui: *walks into the classroom, see’s Ash blank face and staring at the other doorway where Kukui originally left though*

Ash:

Kukui:

Ash:

Kukui: you gonna keep staring or what?

Ash: *broken out of the strongest dissociation spell in a long time**jumping out of his seat and making a fool of himself while falling down onto the floor* cheese and crackers on balls, you motherfucker-

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nickfowlerrr · 1 year

Text

meet cute

pairing: steve kemp x curvy!reader

warnings: mention of a bloody knee. not much else? this blog and all of my fics are 18+ only.

words: 1.2k

notes: happy saturday everyone! i wrote this for @the-slumberparty’s warm up: one word drabble. my word was hot. i tried to keep it shorter but we all know how terrible i am at that lol. i only went over this once really quickly, so sorry for any mistakes! i hope you guys like this, and thank you in advance for reading and reblogging! as usual, feedback and comments are more than welcome and always appreciated. 🖤

It was so. damn. hot. You were sweating and the long sleeve you were wearing, though light weight, was only adding to the heat that was suffocating you. The sun was beating down and the black color of your top worked to absorb the light, converting it into heat and effectively roasting you as you forced your body onward. Your car was so close, you just had a little bit more of a walk left.

You briefly considered taking the top off completely, but you didn’t want to happen upon anyone else on the trail sporting just your bra. You knew it wasn’t necessarily a scandalous idea to exercise in just a sports bra, but you didn’t feel comfortable doing that - especially knowing your soft middle and cleavage would be on full display if you did. Your mother always told you to keep your chest covered, “It’s a blessing and a curse, your curves. You just gotta learn when to flaunt 'em and when to keep' em hidden.” You’d rolled your eyes all throughout your teenage years, but as you’d gotten older, begrudgingly accepted she may have been right.

Another couple minutes passed and you just couldn’t take it any longer. You hadn’t seen anyone the entire time you were walking and you were now coming up to the one mile marker. You looked around, making sure no one was around as you adjusted your bra under the shirt, making sure it covered you as well as it could before finally pulling the long sleeve up and over your head.

Of course, the second you’d removed it, a figure made its way around the bend. A tall, lean man with poofy brown hair was running right toward you. His head was down as he was on his phone and you had to practically jump out of the way before he barrelled right into you. In your haste to not get run into, you’d left your water bottle sitting in the path, causing the man to trip and fall right next to you.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry,” you apologized, bending down to make sure the stranger was okay.

“No, I wasn’t looking, that’s on me,” he laughed at himself, lightly hissing as he bent his scraped knee. He looked up at you, his brilliant blue eyes meeting your own, a crooked smile forming on his lips as he stared at you. “Hi,” he breathed, offering his hand out to you, “I’m Steve.”

You took his hand in yours with a nervous laugh, not having expected him to be so attractive, and gave him your name in return.

“So, you come here often?” he joked before pulling himself to stand. You followed his movements and stood back up yourself, taking a step back so you weren’t entirely in his personal space.

“Uh, not really,” you confessed. “Trying to get more steps in my day, a friend told me this was a good trail to try out. Said it's usually pretty dead,”

“It is, yeah. That’s why I like it, the seclusion is nice. This might actually be the first time I’ve ever seen anyone else out here while on a run,”

“Well, sorry to get in your way, I’m uh, gonna keep on,” you tilted your head to the direction you had been going in, “but it was nice to meet you, Steve,” you smiled, wringing your top in your hands as you felt your skin heat up even more thanks to your embarrassment.

“No, please, don’t apologize, I didn’t mean to seem like you were -”

“It’s totally okay,” you shook your head, laughing lightly. “I really should be getting on, though. I’m like five minutes away from passing out from heat exhaustion, so,”

Your laughs intertwined and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach at the way he smiled at you.

“Black attracts heat,” he said, nodding toward your shirt.

“Yeah, I uh, did not check the weather before I left the house today,” you grimaced, wrapping the long sleeves around your waist and tying the shirt around you, wanting to cover your exposed midriff, avoiding his eye now.

Bending down to grab your water, you saw his phone still on the ground. As you moved to grab it for him, his screen lit up with a text. You didn’t mean to read it, but it was instinctive as the world flashed up on the screen.

Noa: Had a great night last night. Excited to see you again. Xx

You swallowed down the awkward lump in your throat as you stood and handed his phone to him, a tight lipped smile on your face. Girlfriend, probably. Not at all surprising, the man was gorgeous, but a bit disappointing nonetheless.

He thanked you as he read his screen, squinting at the text before pursing his lips.

“Dating app dates,” he laughed halfheartedly. “You never know if you’ll actually click with someone until you meet them in person, ya know..” he trailed off before looking back at you. “Sorry if this is odd, but I could use a woman’s perspective. What’s the best approach to letting someone down easily?”

“Oh,” you were immediately flustered by the question. “Uhm, I think just being honest is best,” you offered, not really sure how to answer. “If I’d gone out with someone and had a good time, I’d want to know right away if they felt the same or not.”

You watched him as he considered your answer before he typed something on his screen. You heard his message send with a swoosh before his eyes returned to yours.

“Honesty. No games. That’s the way to do it,” he smiled.

You nodded in agreement, “They say it’s the best policy.”

As you looked down again, your eyes landed on his bloody, scuffed up knee. “God, that must sting. I’m so sorry,” you apologized again, hesitating a second before continuing, “my car’s right down there, I have a first aid kit, I can help patch you up really quickly,” you offered.

“I think I’ll take you up on that, thanks.”

—-----------

You finished applying the flexi band aid to Steve’s knee before standing fully.

“Alright, you’re all set,” you declared as you took a step back, zipping up the small kit before throwing it in your back seat.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. It feels better already,” he smiled.

“Least I could do,” you waved him off, trying not to let the way he eyed you get you flustered all over again.

“Like I said, it was my own fault. In fact, I definitely owe you for this. I know a good ice cream shop a couple minutes from here, maybe a scoop’ll help cool you down. You do look hot,” he said as his eyes ran up and down your figure before meeting your own once more, a flirtatious glint in them as he smiled charmingly. There was no fighting the way your skin began heating up again under his gaze, but you sucked your lip to stop the dumb smile threatening to break across your face. “Can’t have you passing out on me so soon, we’ve only just met,” he continued with a smirk, earning a titter from you in response.

“Yeah, okay, ice cream sounds good,” you agreed, nodding and smiling back.

#steve kemp x curvy!reader #steve kemp x plus size!reader #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp fic #steve kemp drabble #steve kemp #sebastian stan characters #steve kemp x y/n

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gay-strawberry · 6 months

Text

neil: so are you completely off-limits or are there any safe zones?

andrew: what are you hoping for, coordinates ?

neil:

(the whole real scene is after /read more/ because im obsessed with that conversation and i think you should read it)

"Question," Neil said, but it took him a few moments to figure out the right words. "When you said you don't like being touched, is it because you don't like it at all or because you don't trust anyone else enough to let them touch you?"

Andrew glanced at him. "It doesn't matter."

"If it didn't, I wouldn't ask," Neil said.

"It doesn't matter to a man who doesn't swing," Andrew clarified.

Neil shrugged. "I don't because I've never been allowed to. The only thing I could think about growing up was surviving."

Maybe that was why this was in that gray area of what was acceptable. It didn't matter that Andrew was a would-be sociopath or a man; the idea of Andrew was so intertwined with the idea of Neil's safety that this too was a means of self-preservation.

"Letting someone in meant trusting them to not stab me in the back when terrible people came looking for me. I was too afraid to risk it, so it was easier to be alone and not think about it. But I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Says the man who stopped." Neil gave Andrew a few moments to respond before saying, "I don't understand it, and I don't know what I'm doing, but I don't want to ignore it just because it's new. So are you completely off-limits or are there any safe zones?"

"What are you hoping for, coordinates?"

"I'm hoping to know where the lines are before I cross them," Neil said, "but I'm open to drawing a map on you if you want to loan me a marker. That's not a bad idea."

"Everything about you is a bad idea," Andrew said, as if Neil didn't already know that.

"I'm still waiting for an answer."

"I'm still waiting for a yes or no I actually believe," Andrew returned.

"Yes." Neil took the pint from Andrew's unresisting fingers, stacked it on top of his, and leaned in. He stopped shy of actually kissing Andrew,

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itsahotminuteinbetween · 9 months

Text

Back again I have another chapter I'm flingin it at you. I'm too tired to really explain much of it but if you have a question you're welcome to shoot me an ask abt it and stuff.

Okay Imma take a nap here wake me up when it's over. @itsberrydreemurstuff and @laegume, saved ya'll a seat in the front row. I'll edit this to put the other chapters in at some other point, but for now...

On with the show!

(Word Count: 1,302)

Moon watched over his charges, running his hands through the hair of the child in his lap. She was a new one, loud, too. She’d burst in with her brother while they were occupied in their room. They’d heard you enter this morning and remained upstairs, both hoping to delay interaction with you and seeing the current task as far more important.

(Said task was to make sure their joints wouldn’t randomly lock up throughout the day. Those had gotten to be a problem as of late, but they weren’t going to tell you that.)

You’d asked about it afterwards. Sun let it be known that their business was their own. Damn company wouldn’t even give them a moment to themselves without sending their rat after them.

Said rat currently sat at the desk, slouched over with their head down. Moon took it upon himself to investigate, silently making his way over and dropping down in front of you, hands slowly reaching for your chair to yank you forward…

Faint snoring.

Moon froze.

That couldn’t be right. You never slept in the Daycare, you never even took a lunch break off. And here you were, apparently tired enough to have gone down for the count like the kids. They’d never seen you so…vulnerable.

A terrible decision on your part, really.

His hands changed trajectory, instead grabbing your bag and conducting a short ‘inspection’.

The contents of your bag was different this time. No headphones, no little snacks. You’d brought another book today, and an old one by the looks of it. He flipped through it before dumping it back in. Not terribly interesting.

You’d brought your laptop as well, not an uncommon occurrence. He rummaged deeper for something new, something he could actually punish you for.

Like the bottle of pills he found innocently placed inside one of the pockets.

That was not what he was expecting.

He examined it, glancing over to you. You? Taking medications?

Focusing back on the curious object in his hand, he quickly scanned his database to identify it.

Hm. Tylenol. Commonly used to treat moderate pain.

Sun butt in with a suggestion. Maybe it’s that person they were calling yesterday?

No, Moon replied. They said they would drop it off that night. And it wasn’t for the children, since Management supplied and refilled the Daycare’s medicinal aid.

Maybe they’re sick?

Moon rolled his eyes. I’ll check. He scanned you and huffed at the results. You seemed mostly fine, save for a small cold and your visual stress levels. Hardly dire enough to take medicine. How weak humans were.

Dropping the pill bottle back into your bag, he set his eyes back on his original goal and devised the perfect means of torture.

A couple markers and googly eyes later, Moon gazed down at the finished product, snickering quietly. While not the most devious nor mature plot, it would most definitely be a cause for some mild embarrassment. He procured your phone from your pocket and snapped a photo of it, commemorating the moment forever.

Satisfied with his work, Moon took his leave and returned to the children.

Lights on, Sun out. Playtime resumed as always, though he noticed you weren’t present for it. He looked around before finding you still asleep at the desk.

Of course. This is why management relied on machines. He never got tired, he performed at maximum capacity 24/7, 365! He could be depended on to get results!

He didn’t fall asleep during a shift.

Sun’s gaze flickered back to you. He supposed he would have to wake you up, since you had made no move to do it yourself. Citing a short excuse to the already-occupied children, he approached the desk, taking notice of your face and stifling his mechanical laughter.

Well.

Moon had certainly been decorative.

He’d let you find out about that, though; he didn’t want to spoil Moon’s trick.

He carefully reached his hand out to tap you on the shoulder, already having a sharp remark at the tip of his metaphorical tongue.

He didn’t get the chance to so much as nudge you before you pop your eyes open and rear back, panic flashing across your face momentarily before it was overtaken with relief. Your shoulders dropped slightly, though you kept that tense aura about you, eyes wide and cheeks soon flushed in embarrassment as you processed the situation. You shrunk under his gaze, a tight smile appearing on your otherwise mortified expression. “Ah…Did I…”

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Sun exclaimed with false cheer. “If you’re quite finished with your little impromptu nap, you have an actual job to get back to!”

Your cheeks burned brighter and you nodded, pointedly not looking at him. “R-right, I’ll get back to work, sorry…” You stood up from the chair, arms pinned tightly at your sides and wrapped around your chest. You kept repeating whispered apologies, shrinking in on yourself until you cut yourself off tersely, “I’m sorry, I…I think I just need a minute.” you said thickly, excusing yourself.

He blinked. That was new. He was sure if he’d said one word more to you, you likely would’ve shattered beneath him. You looked almost on the verge of tears. Sure, he’d caught glimpses of you when you were worked up, but you always seemed fine

A cackle in the back of his head snapped him out of his thoughts.

Quite the reaction that was. They look like they’d break if you so much as looked at them. What did you do to trigger that, eh, Sunny?

I don’t know, Moon, he responded. I don’t know.

Well, whatever it was, it worked. I’ve hardly ever seen them like that before.

Sun hadn’t either.

Moon perked and paused, an idea forming. Saaay…maybe that’s how we’ll get them.

What do you mean? Nothing works with them-

Maybe not, but maybe we’re not pushing hard enough. Maybe they need more pressure before they crack. We have to hit them where it hurts.

Sun’s rays retracted an inch, knowing he'd have gone paler if he were human. Moon…

What? Moon countered. You want them gone, just like I do. Nothing else is working. We can’t off them with Management watching us like harpies, and intimidation does nothing. Think about it. If they don’t want to work with us, if it’s too unbearable, they’ll quit. They’re too chicken to file a report about it, they don’t like making a scene.

I suppose…Still, he hesitated, though he didn’t know why. He did want you gone from his Daycare, out of his rays and out of his way. Even so…

The lunar animatronic sighed. Fine, I’ll do it myself.

And with that, the link shut.

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

You splash your face with water, scrubbing away the remnants of marker scribbles and tear tracks. You rub your red-rimmed eyes and take a shaky breath, trying to will away the fresh tears that threatened to spill.

You were an adult, damn it, you shouldn’t be crying in the bathroom over the words of your robotic jester coworker. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal, anyway. All he told you was to get back to work, it was nothing serious and he had full right to do so.

Why did you have to overreact over nothing every time this happened?

You calmed down enough to pull yourself together and at least pretend to be normal for a few more hours. You could sob into a pillow at home, but you were at work and it was not the time to act pathetic.

You berate yourself a little longer before composing yourself once more with a carefully set expression that did not coincide with how you felt at all.

Brave face on, you step back into the Daycare.

Two hours left…

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

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry it was a bit short this time, I had to do a lot of editing. I'll prob release chapter 6 a couple days from now cuz I'm lazy.

#sorry to bother #don't mind me #fnaf moon x reader #fnaf moondrop x reader #fnaf moon x y/n #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf sundrop x reader #fnaf sun x y/n #Where the Stars Don’t Shine

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shih-coulda-had-it · 1 year

Note

Five head canon game:

AU AFO is All Might's Bio dad and All Might Izuku Bio dad family drama ensues, can be afohiko if you so desire!

hope you have a nice day!

Another addition to the dfohiko verse! Alright then,

Similar set-up to previous dfohiko branches. Toshinori spends a few years in the States. He returns to Japan when he’s in his mid-to-late 20s, and with Sorahiko’s info, and makes excellent headway in dismantling AfO’s network at the expense of exposing his identity to AfO. AfO is displeased with his son’s decision to reject the ‘good’ family legacy, complains to his followers about red-blooded, hot-tempered youths, and receives the following tentative question: Does Toshinori have a significant other? A boyfriend? A girlfriend? A partner in general?

AfO, who romanced and married and had a child with Sorahiko by Toshinori’s current age: omg you’re so right. He just needs to redirect his passions elsewhere, and then he’ll realize what a terrible world this is to raise a child. Who among you have weddable progeny? To clarify, I want you all to know that this WILL lead me to be that child’s father in-law, and I WILL be taking all grandparent rights.

The thing is, it’s not enough to just fling sexy singles in the area into Toshinori’s path. Toshinori is, worryingly, taking after Sorahiko’s practice of abstinence and just not going on any of the dates that AfO is setting up. So AfO hops over to Sorahiko’s place to complain about their son’s destructive habits, and the lack of grandchildren being brought into the world. The unexpected turn of conversation tricks Sorahiko into thinking, ‘Oh, shit, I’ve accidentally taught my son that love is a nightmare and marriage is a deal with the devil.’

By the time Toshinori entered his late thirties, he’s obliviously rejected any and every potential spouse that AfO AND Sorahiko have set before him. His parents are in despair, though for different reasons. Then. THEN. On a rare evening of freedom, Toshinori spies a despondent young woman sitting alone at a table, holding a book with a red rose’s stem tucked inside like a marker. People are side-eyeing her. He hesitates, but takes the plunge, politely asking Inko if he can sit opposite of her while grabbing his dinner. She’s grateful, but equally wary.

They order dinner, and drinks, and in the meantime, conversation happens. A tentative spark of connection happens. One dinner turns into another, and another. Toshinori nervously confesses to Inko that he has no model for a happy marriage, but he knows what good partners do for each other. He remembers that much, at least. And Inko promises that whatever family they’ve left behind, the one they’ll make will be better.

+1 Izuku is born; Sorahiko learns about his grandson when Izuku manifests the tell-tale AfO hand holes at age four, and a panicked Toshinori calls for advice; AfO learns four years after that, when he crashes All Might’s Bring Your Child to Work Day.

#bnha #afohiko #toshinko #all for one #gran torino #torino sorahiko #yagi toshinori #all might #midoriya inko #dfohiko verse #shih.txt #asks #ravelights #the devil’s in the details for the family drama reunion tbh #the drama stems from both afo and sorahiko's competition to matchmake toshinori #and also the fact that AfO just. skipped a generation.#popping up stronger in Izuku than it does in the grandfather himself

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rpgsandbox · 9 months

Text

kickstarter

Welcome, traveller, to the fungus-wracked tangle of Dolmenwood, and beware, for all here is not as it seems…

Dolmenwood is a fantasy adventure game set in a lavishly detailed world inspired by the fairy tales and eerie folklore of the British Isles. Like traditional fairy tales, Dolmenwood blends the dark and whimsical, the wondrous and weird.

Streamlined rules and helpful introductory materials guide novice players, while unique new magic and monsters bring a fresh sense of the unknown to veteran role-players. We’re launching the three Dolmenwood core books, plus a range of delectable extras.

Check Out a 76-Page Preview PDF!

Check out our free 76 page preview PDF of material from the 3 core books!

Preview also available at DriveThruRPG and necroticgnome.com (no account required).

Rife with intrigue, secrets, and magic, Dolmenwood draws travellers of adventurous spirit, daring them to venture within.

Explore the wild places of the Wood, travelling through bramble-choked dells, fungus-encrusted glades, and foetid marshes, bedding down among root and bracken amid the nocturnal babbling of strange beasts.

Unearth treasure hoards in forgotten ruins, haunted fairy manors, dripping caverns, crystal grottoes, unhallowed barrow mounds, and abandoned delvings.

Confront fell beasts, roving fungal monstrosities, terrible wyrms, tricksome fairies, and restless spirits of the long deceased.

Recover saintly relics and shrines lost in the befuddling tangle of the Wood, gaining the favour of the Church by returning them to civilisation.

Forage for weird fungi and herbs in the untrod depths of the woods, many with useful magical powers—and many that can be sold for profit.

Strike against Chaos, defending civilisation from the encroaching forces of the wicked, half-unicorn Nag-Lord who lurks in the corrupted northern woods.

Unravel secrets of deep magic, charting the obelisks, dolmens, and ley lines littered throughout Dolmenwood—but beware the sinister Drune cult that wards them.

Seek the counsel of witches and hags, masters of magic that can heal, hex, or divine the future.

Meddle in the affairs of the nobility, allying with a noble house in its intrigues and power plays in the courts of High-Hankle and Castle Brackenwold.

Journey along fairy roads, ancient magical paths bordering on the ageless realm of Fairy that allow travel throughout Dolmenwood—and perchance to realms beyond.

Return to the homely hearth to share tales of peril with quaint locals over a mug of ale and a well-stoked pipe.

The Dolmenwood Player’s Book (A4 size, Smyth-sewn hardcover, 192 pages approx., 1 ribbon marker) contains the complete game rules plus all character options.

Player’s introduction to the intrigues and mysteries of the forest realm of Dolmenwood.

Familiar character creation with the six classic stats, level and XP, Hit Points, and Armour Class.

6 playable kindreds: goat-headed breggles, starry-eyed elves, tricksome grimalkin cat-fairies, everyday humans, fungus-riddled mosslings, and bat-faced woodgrues.

9 character classes: cleric, enchanter, fighter, friar, hunter, knight, magician, minstrel, and thief.

4 kinds of magic: mighty arcane workings, fairy glamours and runes, holy prayers to the host of saints, and the odd knacks of mosslings.

Detailed, flavourful equipment with lists of adventuring gear, armour, weapons, mounts, hounds, inn lodgings, tavern fare, beverages, pipeleafs, fungi, and herbs.

Simple core rules: roll a d6 or a d20 plus modifiers versus a target number.

Easy-to-follow procedures for travel, camping, foraging, dungeon delving, encounters, combat, and downtime.

Full examples of play and introductory materials make the game easy to learn.

The Dolmenwood Campaign Book (A4 size, Smyth-sewn hardcover, 464 pages approx., 2 ribbon markers) presents a lavishly detailed campaign setting, ready for years of adventure.

Referee’s introduction delving into the regions and history of Dolmenwood.

Mysterious lore of the lost shrines, standing stones, ley lines, fairy roads, Wood Gods, and fairy nobles.

7 major factions: the Chaos-godling Atanuwë, the wicked fairy Cold Prince, the sorcerous Drune, the human nobility, the breggle nobility, the monotheistic Pluritine Church, and the enigmatic witches.

12 settlements detailed with major sites and NPCs and beautiful maps.

Expanded procedures for weather, getting lost, encountering monsters, fishing, foraging, and hunting.

200 pages of fantastic locations waiting to be explored.

Over 280 NPCs with their own desires and schemes.

Referee advice on starting and running campaigns, awarding XP, designing adventures, and creating dungeons.

Starter adventure to get you right into the action.

Hundreds of magical artefacts from enchanted oddments to mighty relics.

Over 250 rumours to drive adventure.

Easy-to-reference presentation designed to minimise page flipping and prep time.

The Dolmenwood Monster Book (A4 size, Smyth-sewn hardcover, 128 pages approx., 1 ribbon marker) details a bestiary of creatures that lurk under Dolmenwood’s eaves.

87 fully detailed monsters dripping with flavour, including encounter seeds and beautiful illustrations.

48 mundane animals including unique Dolmenwood fauna such as gobbles and gelatinous apes.

9 types of of normal humans: anglers, criers, fortune-tellers, lost souls, merchants, pedlars, pilgrims, priests, and villagers.

27 NPC stat blocks for common adventuring classes.

Adventuring party generator for rolling up NPC adventurers on quests of their own.

Over 300 rumours describing monsters as featured in local folklore.

Monster creation guidelines to keep players on their toes.

Easy-to-read stat blocks and bullet point presentation for quick reference.

Dolmenwood uses a lightly customised version of the acclaimed Old-School Essentials rules system, tailored to Dolmenwood and with some major quality-of-life upgrades. Players of all editions of Dungeons & Dragons will find the Dolmenwood rules very familiar.

Ability Scores: Roll for 6 ability scores: Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution, Charisma.

Kindred, Class, and Level: 6 kindreds, 9 classes, levels 1–15.

Hit Points (HP): Roll 1d4, 1d6, or 1d8 (determined by Class) for HP. Re-roll 1s or 2s. 0 HP is dead!

Armour Class (AC): AC 10 = unarmoured, better protection raises AC.

Initiative: Streamlined side-based initiative makes combat fast and exciting: each side (monsters / adventurers) rolls 1d6 each Round—highest roll acts first.

Attacking: Roll 1d20, add Attack bonus and modifiers, try to beat the target’s AC, roll damage.

Saving Throws: Roll 1d20, add modifiers, try to beat a fixed target number on the character sheet.

Ability Checks: Roll 1d6, add ability modifier, 4 or higher succeeds.

Skill Checks: Roll 1d6, add modifiers, try to beat a fixed target number on the character sheet.

As an adventure game in the heritage of the RPGs of the 1970s and 1980s, Dolmenwood espouses the danger and excitement of the old-school play style.

Emergent character creation: Unique and surprising Player Characters emerge from quick random rolls, rather than from detailed character build optimisation.

Exploration, puzzles, and tricks: Players’ ingenuity and creativity are challenged by devious puzzles, traps, and tricks. Simply rolling dice to succeed is often not an option!

Creative thinking encouraged: Easy-to-learn rules for exploration, encounters, and combat provide referees with a robust framework from which to make impromptu rulings on players’ outside-the-box antics.

Fast, exciting combat: Combat encounters are quick to play out, leaving plenty of time in game sessions for exploration and role-playing. As in real life, combat is not fair or balanced—players whose clever tactics tip the balance in their favour will prevail!

Zeroes to heroes: Characters advance from humble beginnings to heights of great power.

Open-ended sandbox play: Campaigns focus on freeform stories evolved over the course of play, with players driving the action.

Kickstarter campaign ends: Sat, September 9 2023 4:59 AM BST

Website: [Exalted Funeral] [facebook] [twitter] [instagram] [youtube]

#RPG #kickstarter #Dolmenwood #Old-School Essentials #Exalted Funeral

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the-ballad-of-us · 2 months

Text

An: this is my interpretation of the story of these characters so if nothing is super correct its just cause im taking creative liberties lol. also idk if i like it too much lmao

Word count: 469

- Betty 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

James wraps his hands around my waist. Resting his head in the crook of my neck gently breathing in.

"Its only for a couple of weeks," I smile ruffling his hair. James shakes his head.

"I'm still going to miss you," he places a soft kiss on my neck and sighs contently.

"James, its one week, at the beginning of summer, we have the rest of summer after this!" I smile and walk over to my bed, James waddling behind me not letting go.

"But, I don't want you to go," he whines, spinning me around and placing a kiss on each of my cheeks.

"It's my grandma Jamie- she wants me to visit," I place a kiss on each of his own cheeks, fighting a smirk when he slightly blushes.

"I'm going to miss you so much B," James sighs and pulls you into a hug.

"I'm going to miss you more," I whisper softly, wrapping my arms around him and hugging him fiercely.

He lets go reluctantly and pulls back to look at me. "Whenever you miss me, just look up at the stars," I smile - thinking back to the nights when we used to sneak out and go stargazing on the roof of his house.

"And if you can't see the stars..." he trails off and grabs a marker delicately drawing a star on your hand. "Just look at this and know I'll be looking at my own too."

He quickly draws a star on his own hand and you both watch as the marker bleeds into your skin, leaving a trail of matching black lines on your skin.

"See? Perfect," James smiles. Picking your hand up and kissing it softly.

A grin appears on my face and I smile brightly up at James.

- James 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Betty was constantly on my mind. Day and night, she filled my thoughts. I had just watched her leave for her grandmas, smiling brightly at me and I'm already missing her terribly.

It's only one week.

I remind myself.

One week.

A car engine rumbles behind me slowing down to a stop next to me.

- Betty 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

James has been kind of distant ever since I returned from my grandma's. He had visited every weekend during the summer taking me on walks and adventures throughout the town.

But I noticed the way he was less there than he was before I left. He seemed less focused.

And now that school has started he's been even more distant than ever.

"Betty!" A voice snaps me out of my haze and I slam my locker shut, turning to Inez who is leaning against the locker next to mine.

"What's up Inez?" I smile.

She doesn't return my smile. Instead she drops her eyes and sighs before answering. "We gotta talk."