#Catch the Rain campaign

[apacnewsnetwork0]

“Nari Shakti se Jal Shakti”: The 5th edition of Jal Shakti Abhiyan: Catch the Rain campaign kicks off with women at its helm

New Delhi: Union Minister for Jal Shakti, Gajendra Singh Shekhawat recently inaugurated the fifth edition of the “Jal Shakti Abhiyan: Catch the Rain” campaign, at the NDMC Convention Centre in New Delhi. Themed “Nari Shakti se Jal Shakti,” the campaign focuses on women’s pivotal role in water conservation and management. It operates under the National Water Mission, Department of Water Resources, River Development & Ganga Rejuvenation in collaboration with the Department of Drinking Water & Sanitation.

He also appreciated their potential to bring positive change in water resource management and viewed the “Jal Shakti Abhiyan: Catch the Rain” – 2024 as a “transformative movement towards a water-secure and sustainable future.”

Secretary, DoWR, RD & GR, Debashree Mukherjee, reminded attendees about the burden of water collection on women and stressed the importance of clean water sources for community transformation. She commended the central and state governments’ efforts in addressing water-related challenges.

Read More Here : https://apacnewsnetwork.com/2024/03/nari-shakti-se-jal-shakti-the-5th-edition-of-jal-shakti-abhiyan-catch-the-rain-campaign-kicks-off-with-women-at-its-helm/

[vynnyal]

Btw I'm basically speedrunning now

[thespoonisvictory]

desperately need more worlds beyond number episodes right now pls

[rainia]

I’m playing dnd with my two sisters and the sisters bf today hahahha, big excite

[springtyme]

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 ♡

based on a request from @what-the-jams asking for shy reader who starts crying when Eddie keeps complimenting her. it ended up a little different than first entended, but i hope you still like it <3

Eddie Munson x shy!reader || Masterlist || Eddie playlist

summary: Sometimes you have a hard time believing you deserve good things. Eddie thinks you deserve everything. He would gift you the moon and all the stars if you asked.

word count: 2.8k

warnings/tags: Shy and slightly insecure reader. Eddie being a total sweetheart. Fluff & comfort.

You sit cross-legged on the mattress of Eddie’s bed, your back supported by a fluffy pillow propped against the wall, the faint hum of the electric heater filling the room with a gentle warmth. Outside, the wind howls softly, rain rattling against the window panes, but inside, the atmosphere is warm and cozy.

The flickering light from the bedside lamp casts soft shadows, illuminating the little odds and ends that make the place feel so homely—band posters on the walls, scattered D&D manuals and notes for upcoming campaigns, and an old guitar propped in the corner. It’s cozy and intimate, and so, so Eddie.

Eddie is sprawled on the carpet, back flat against the floor as his tousled curls catches the dim, golden light from the nearby lamp as he strums absentmindedly on his guitar. He looks so carefree, lost in his world of notes and chords, a soft smile playing on his lips.

There’s a charming kind of chaos about him as he lays there—with his worn-out band t-shirt and mismatched socks peeking out from beneath his gray sweatpants. You sit quietly, taking in the sight of him completely absorbed in his music, and it warms your heart. 

You love being here, love being with him, sharing little moments like this with him, yet each time he looks your way, something inside you tightens. It’s been a little over a month since the two of you officially started dating, and even though you feel silly over it you’re still a little nervous around him. Not nervous in a bad way, though. It’s a kind of nervous excitement, a flutter in your chest that sets your stomach to churning. 

Eddie looks up, suddenly meeting your gaze, and the soft smile on his face widens as he sits up, guitar resting in his lap. “Hey,” he says, his voice light and playful.

“Hey,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. 

 “What’s on your mind?” 

You clear your throat, searching for words. “Just… you know, this is nice,” you reply softly. The weight of your shyness makes your voice drop an octave, but Eddie seems to get it. 

“Yeah, it is,” he replies, leaning back on his hands, his gaze steady and encouraging as he studies you. “I got the coolest, prettiest girl in all of Hawkins sitting right here with me, couldn’t be much nicer than that.”

His compliment catches you off guard, a lump forming in your throat. You’re not used to guys being this nice to you. You’re used to guys either being way too pushy, just wanting something from you. Or the hasty conversations that usually fizzle out and just leave you feeling more alone than before. But Eddie—he’s different. His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, ideally suited for the weather outside, and the sincerity in all he says never fails to make your heart race and make shy butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

Words escape you, and all you can manage is a small smile of acknowledgement, before averting your gaze, looking down at your hands who are mindlessly fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Eddie’s brow furrows slightly as he takes in your reaction. 

“You alright, doll?” Eddie asks, removing the guitar from his lap and setting it aside before shifting closer to the bed.

You nod, but you don’t say anything.

He sits up on his shins, placing his forearms on the mattress and tilting his head to get a better look at you.  “You know, you don’t have to be so quiet around me.”  

A wave of warmth washes over you as you look up to meet his gaze again, his brown eyes filled with a mixture of concern and encouragement. There’s an openness about him, a willingness to understand without judgment, and it makes your heart swell.

“I’m just…” you fumble for words, “I’m not used to being around people like this.” 

Eddie leans forward, his eyes filled with a kind of warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. “People like what?” 

“People like you,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. 

“Like me..?” he repeats, and you can see the genuine curiosity in his gaze, mixed with something you are having a harder time identifying.   

You can’t articulate it. You can’t explain that he makes you feel seen, like you’re something worth looking at. You can’t put into words the way his eyes make you feel like you could melt, like you could fall into them and disappear.   

He’s probably thinking you’re being silly, you think. You can’t help but feel like a little bit of a mess around him, like your whole life has been a series of fumbled attempts to make sense of everything. 

“You just make me feel…” you start, but the words get caught in your throat.  You can’t even explain it to yourself, let alone to him.   

“I make you feel… what?” he prompts, and he’s sitting so close now that you can see the tiny freckles on his nose.   

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and rough against your skin. You try to pull back, but he holds on, not tightly, but encouraging, his gaze unwavering as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Just tell me,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur, almost close to a plea. 

“You make me feel seen, and…” you begin before pausing for a moment, wanting to find the right words. “You just… you make it feel easy. Like I can just be myself without worrying about what you think.”

“That’s the point,” Eddie replies softly, his expression turning earnest. “I want you to be yourself. I happen to really, really, really like you, so you being yourself is kind of my favorite thing ever, actually.” 

“Oh…” The word slips from your lips, barely a sound. His words hang in the air between you. You can feel the weight of his sincerity. You try to speak, to say something more, but the words get caught in your throat. You’re not sure how to explain the jumble of feelings that erupts inside you, how he makes you feel so loved it almost scares you. 

 Instead, you sit there, heart racing, a swirling blend of admiration and gratitude crashing over you like waves. 

Eddie’s gaze doesn’t waver, staying locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm. “Baby, you okay?” he asks softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, a gentle tether grounding you in the moment. 

The word ‘baby’ makes your stomach flip. It’s a term of endearment that’s only escaped his lips a handful of times, and each time it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I just…” you start, but the words get lost in a wave of emotion that crests in your chest. 

The intensity of his gaze, the way he looks at you like you’re something special, it overwhelms you, finally breaking the dam. Tears prick at your eyes, and you can feel the familiar tightness in your throat.   

“I…” you try again, but all that comes out is a choked sob. The sound, unexpected and embarrassing, makes you flinch. 

Eddie, who was leaning forward with a gentle smile, sits back abruptly, his eyes widening in alarm. “Hey, hey, hey,” he says, clearly trying to keep a gentle, soothing tone, but he can’t hide the panicked concern in his voice as he scrambles to his feet. “What’s wrong? Did I say something? Did I do something?” 

You can’t stop the tears that are now streaming down your face. You feel ridiculous, a grown woman crying over nothing. But you can’t help it. He’s just looking at you, and you feel like you’re going to burst. 

His face etched with worry as he sits down next to you on the bed, the playful Eddie you love replaced by a panicking version of himself. “Hey, talk to me, doll. What’s going on?” 

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a muffled sob. You find yourself unable to look at him, the weight of your emotions feels too raw, too exposed and you’re scared that you’ll break down completely. 

His hands find yours, his warm touch calming the storm brewing inside you. “Baby,” he whispers, “what’s wrong? Please look at me.”

You inhale deeply, trying to regain control of your emotions. You’re not sure why you’re crying.  It’s not like anything bad has happened.  It’s just… you’ve never had anyone make you feel this way before. You’ve never had someone hold space for your feelings, acceptance radiating from their very presence. The way he’s right there, ready to listen without judgment, feels overwhelming and comforting all at once.

You let out a shaky breath, finally meeting his concerned stare. The warmth of his hands wraps around yours, grounding you amidst the emotional storm. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say, your voice still thick with emotion. “I just… I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying. It’s just… I’ve never had someone care like this before.”

“Please don’t apologize,” he says gently, his thumb tenderly stroking the back of your hand. “I just got scared that I was an idiot and said something wrong, but please don’t ever apologize for crying.” 

His voice is soothing, wrapping around you like a warm hug as you fight to regain your composure. “When have you ever been an idiot?” you sniffle, but the ghost of a chuckle sneaks out as well. “You just… you don’t know how hard it is for me to believe that I deserve this,” you whisper, squeezing his hands for reassurance in the chaos.

“Hey, listen to me.” He slides a little closer, eyes never leaving yours. “You totally deserve this. You deserve everything. I mean you probably deserve way better than me, but you’ll just have to settle, cause I’m not letting you go that easily. You’re amazing, and trust me, I’m the lucky one for having you in my life.” His gaze is fierce, determined. 

His words hit you like a tidal wave, each syllable resonating deep within your chest. The raw sincerity in his voice pulls at your heartstrings, threatening to break the last piece of the dam of emotions you’ve been trying desperately to hold back.

“You really mean that?” you murmur, your voice almost inaudible but trembling with hope. You’re searching his eyes for any flicker of doubt, any hint that this is too good to be true.

“Absolutely,” he replies, emphatically squeezing your hands between his, as if willing you to believe him. “You’re not just ‘good enough’; you’re remarkable, and it’s about time you recognize that in yourself.”

His reassurance washes over you like a wave, and you take a deep breath, grounding yourself in this moment—the two of you, messy and real.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you feel a hint of a smile creeping onto your lips despite the tears. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Eddie replies, relief flooding his expression. “Now, let’s do something about these tears.”

In one fluid motion, he reaches for his t-shirt, lifting it and swiping at your cheeks with the soft fabric. The gesture is so absurdly sweet, it catches you off guard, a laugh escaping your lips even as the tears continue to fall.

“See? Much better,” he grins playfully, and with that genuine smile, you feel the tension start to dissolve, laughter bubbling up as he wipes your wet cheeks with his shirt.

“You’re ridiculous,” you manage to say, but the warmth in your chest grows, your heart feeling a little less contracted. 

“And you’re gorgeous,” he shoots back, his look turning serious again, but the warmth flickering in his eyes gives him away. “Like how are you so gorgeous right now? I thought we as a species had agreed that we’re ugly when we cry.”

“Shut up, there is no way I’m not looking like a mess right now,” you protest. 

“Seriously, you’re gorgeous, even when you cry,” he insists, his eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity as he leans closer again. “I love it. Well, not so much the crying part. But I digress. You’re still the most beautiful person I know, inside and out.”

“Shut up, I just stopped crying, you gonna make me start again,” you retort, but the corners of your mouth can’t help but lift into a smile despite your embarrassment.

Eddie chuckles, that beautiful, infectious sound that fills the room with light despite the rain pattering outside. “I can’t help it, I just call it how I see it,” he says, glancing at you with a playful challenge in his eyes. “Gorgeous and a little foolish—my two favorite qualities in a person.”

“Stooop…”  Your protests are half-hearted at best as you raise your hand to place it over his mouth, but he catches it before you can, kissing your palm before gently pulling it away. His lips linger on your skin for just a moment, sending a delightful shiver up your spine.

This moment feels surreal—warm, inviting, yet fragile, like a delightful whisper on the wind. Eddie brushes a stray tear away he missed before with the back of his hand, and you watch, entranced by the kindness etched in his expression. It reinforces the truth you had all but hidden from yourself; that you are deserving of love like this—real, constant, enduring.

The warmth of the moment settles comfortably around you both, like a familiar melody you want to keep playing on repeat. Eddie’s gaze lingers on yours, searching for any flicker of uncertainty that might still be lingering in your eyes. You can feel the weight of his attention, but instead of feeling exposed, it feels like a gentle embrace.

He is still holding your hand, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb as if savoring every minute of this connection. The silence hangs between you, the world outside fading away, only the soft sounds of the rain and the warmth of Eddie’s presence anchoring you in this moment.

You take a breath, feeling the lingering remnants of tears giving way to a fragile, hopeful smile. “I really appreciate you, you know?” you say finally, your voice steadying. “For… everything. For being so patient with me.”

“You’re the one who always listens to me yapping about all my nonsense,” Eddie replies with a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So I think the appreciation goes both ways.”  

“Why don’t you show your appreciation with a kiss?” you ask, your heart racing at the sudden boldness of your request. It’s a teasing challenge wrapped in the sweetness of the moment, and you can’t help but smile mischievously at him, your vision still a little blurry from your tears, but he looks just as handsome as ever.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A kiss, huh? That seems like a pretty good deal,” he muses, leaning in just a touch closer, maintaining that captivating eye contact. The sparkling twinkle in his eyes makes you feel like the world is narrowing down to just the two of you, and suddenly your heart feels impossibly full.

“Yeah,” you reply, emboldened by his teasing demeanor. “But I want it to be a good one. If you’re going to show your appreciation, you’ve got to make it count.”

“Oh, I’ve always got good kisses on hand,” he teases back, his tone light but laced with sincerity. His gaze flickers to your lips, and for a beat, the air thickens with something electric, igniting all those butterfly feelings within you.

He leans in slowly, giving you a moment to back away if you wanted to, but your heart races in anticipation. You can see the gleam of mischief in his eyes, but there’s also an undeniable sincerity, a deep affection that sends warmth radiating through you.

When his lips finally brush against yours, it’s soft and tentative, as if he’s savoring the moment, wanting to make it last forever. You respond instinctively, leaning into him, and the kiss deepens, solidifying the fluttering connection that was growing between you.

It’s a kiss that feels like an embrace, a connection that transcends everything else swirling around you—the rain outside, the doubts that live within your own mind, the uncertainty that once loomed heavy in your heart. It’s a kiss that communicates everything you had just struggled to articulate, a promise of understanding, tenderness, and a future filled with endless possibilities. 

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as the warmth of the kiss still reverberates between you.

“Wow,” he breathes, eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight. “See? That was definitely worth it.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

[failed-inspection]

"All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill you.

But first, they must catch you."

Thinking about how dangerous the enemies are in Spearmaster's campaign... I mean they're dangerous in all campaigns of course, but Spearmaster has some real messed up spawns /pos, talk about a perilous quest.

Sorry I haven't uploaded in a hot second, mainly rain world related art block!!

[bratzkoo]

barely yours | mingyu pt. 4

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: rockstar! mingyu x reader Word Count: 1.5k Genre: fluff, angst, smut-ish Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings: written in third person.

Summary: you flirt, you fuck, but when you hint that you want to be more he dismissed it as if you’re joking… and when you decide to ignore him he comes back with flowers at your doorstep.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): ​​@ca-clover, @junniesoleilkth , @gaslysainz , @darkerrdaze , @mansaaay , @childish-fear , @lixisoul99 , @cherrylovescheol , @yuyu1024 , @tacolombe , @black-swan-blog27 , @tulipndtale , @xuimhao , @cookiearmy

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The pulsing beat of HHT's latest single, "Shadow," reverberated through the stadium, drowning out the deafening roar of 50,000 fans. As the final chords faded away, Mingyu raised his guitar triumphantly, his chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch as confetti rained down from above.

"Thank you, London!" Seungcheol's voice boomed through the speakers. "You've been an amazing audience! We are HHT, and we love you!"

As they took their final bow, Mingyu's eyes swept across the sea of light sticks and banners. Five years ago, he could never have imagined this level of success. HHT had gone from rising stars in the K-pop scene to a global phenomenon, selling out stadiums across the world and topping international charts.

The irony of their latest hit being named "Shadow" wasn't lost on Mingyu. The song, with its haunting melody and lyrics about chasing after something just out of reach, had resonated deeply with him during the writing process. Now, as he stood on stage, he couldn't help but think about the shadows in his own life – the lingering feelings and unresolved emotions that he'd never quite been able to shake.

Backstage, as the euphoria of the performance began to fade, Mingyu found himself in a familiar state of restlessness. He scrolled through his phone, barely registering the congratulatory messages and social media notifications.

"Looking for something specific?" Vernon's voice startled him. The younger man was grinning knowingly, a towel draped around his neck.

Mingyu locked his phone quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Just checking the time. We have that afterparty, right?"

Vernon's grin widened. "Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with a certain collection launch happening in Paris tonight?"

Mingyu felt heat rise to his cheeks. Was he that transparent? "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, but he knew it was useless. Vernon had always been too perceptive for his own good.

"Sure, sure," Vernon chuckled, clapping Mingyu on the shoulder. "Just remember, we have a flight to catch tomorrow afternoon. Try not to stay up all night stalking social media, okay?"

As Vernon walked away, Mingyu sighed and unlocked his phone again. This time, he didn't pretend as he navigated to Instagram and searched for a familiar name: @YN_Beauty.

The latest post showed an elegantly decorated venue, champagne flutes and flowers artfully arranged around sleek packaging of skincare products. The caption read: "Tonight's the night! Can't wait to share our new 'Solène' collection with all of you. ✨ #YNBeauty #SolèneLaunch"

Mingyu's heart skipped a beat, then began racing. "Solène." The name hit him like a physical blow, memories flooding back of a night long ago, of whispered confessions and intimate moments.

He remembered tracing the delicate script on Y/N's hip, the tattoo hidden from the world but shared with him in a moment of vulnerability. "Solène," she had explained, her voice soft in the darkness of her bedroom. "It means 'sun' in French. A reminder to always seek the light, even in the darkest times."

Now, seeing that name splashed across Y/N's beauty campaign, Mingyu felt a complex mix of emotions. Pride at her success, nostalgia for their shared past, and an ache for what they had lost.

His thumb hovered over the like button, trembling slightly. After a moment's hesitation, he tapped it, watching the heart turn red. It was the first time he'd interacted with Y/N's social media in years.

Four years. It had been four years since he'd last seen Y/N in person. Four years since she'd left her position as HHT's manager to pursue her own dreams. They'd kept in touch at first – casual texts, the occasional phone call. But as both of their careers skyrocketed, those communications had become less and less frequent, until they'd stopped altogether.

Now, Y/N was a celebrity in her own right. Her beauty and skincare lines had taken the world by storm, and she had become a fixture at fashion weeks and high-profile events. She was a regular on magazine covers, her face gracing billboards in major cities around the globe. The girl who had once managed their schedules and scolded them for being late to practice was now a sophisticated socialite, moving in circles that sometimes felt worlds away from the music industry.

But "Solène"? What did it mean that she had chosen that name, so personal and intimate, for her new collection? Was it just a coincidence, or was Y/N sending a message? To him? To the world? Mingyu's mind raced with possibilities, each more unlikely than the last.

He found himself opening their old text thread, scrolling up to see their last exchange. It was from over a year ago – a simple "Happy Birthday" from him, and a "Thanks! Hope you're doing well" from her. How had they let things get so distant?

Mingyu's finger hovered over the keyboard. Should he message her? Congratulate her on the launch? Ask about the name?

"Mingyu! Car's waiting!" Wonwoo's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Shaking off his tumultuous thoughts, Mingyu plastered on his best idol smile and made his way to the exit. He had an afterparty to attend, fans to meet, an image to maintain. But even as he posed for selfies and signed autographs, his mind remained fixed on a glittering event happening across the Channel, where a woman he'd never quite gotten over was celebrating a triumph that echoed with their shared past.

Meanwhile, in Paris, Y/N was in her element. The launch party for her newest skincare collection, "Solène," was in full swing. The who's who of the fashion and beauty world mingled in the opulent venue, the air filled with the delicate scent of her latest creations – a complex blend of fragrances that reminded her of late-night conversations and stolen moments backstage.

"Y/N, darling, this is absolutely divine," gushed a famous actress, sampling one of the new serums. "And the name! So intriguing. Is there a story behind it?"

Y/N's smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure. "Every product tells a story," she replied smoothly. "This one's about finding light in unexpected places."

As she made her rounds, shaking hands and accepting congratulations, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of surreality. How had the girl who once spent her days wrangling a bunch of rowdy K-pop idols become... this? A successful entrepreneur, a name brand, a socialite with an invitation to every A-list event?

Shaking off his tumultuous thoughts, Mingyu plastered on his best idol smile and made his way to the exit. He had an afterparty to attend, fans to meet, an image to maintain. But even as he posed for selfies and signed autographs, his mind remained fixed on a glittering event happening across the Channel, where a woman he'd never quite gotten over was celebrating a triumph that echoed with their shared past.

She excused herself for a moment, stepping out onto a balcony for a breath of fresh air. The Parisian night sparkled before her, the Eiffel Tower illuminated in the distance. Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze caress her face.

In moments like these, when the whirlwind of her life slowed for just a second, she often found her thoughts drifting to a certain tall, handsome guitarist. She wondered what Mingyu was doing right now. Was he on stage somewhere, sending thousands of fans into a frenzy with his soulful voice and killer riffs? Was he in the studio, crafting the next hit that would top charts worldwide?

Y/N pulled out her phone, giving in to the urge she'd been fighting all night. She opened Twitter, quickly finding HHT's official account. Their latest post showed the band on stage in London, confetti raining down as they took their final bow. Her eyes were drawn immediately to Mingyu, his face alight with the joy of performance.

A familiar ache bloomed in her chest. They'd promised to stay friends, to support each other as they grew. But somewhere along the way, daily texts had become weekly, then monthly, then... nothing. Their lives had taken them in different directions, their paths diverging more with each passing year.

"There you are!" Her assistant's voice startled Y/N out of her thoughts. "The CEO of Sephora wants to discuss potential exclusive distribution deals. Are you ready to go back in?"

Y/N took a deep breath, schooling her features into a polite smile. "Of course. Lead the way."

As she re-entered the party, slipping back into her role as the poised, successful businesswoman, Y/N couldn't quite shake thoughts of Mingyu from her mind. She absently touched her hip, where the "Solène" tattoo still rested, hidden beneath layers of designer fabric. She had worked hard for this life, this success. She should be happy, fulfilled.

So why did that one little word, now emblazoned on products around the world, make her feel more vulnerable than she had in years?

Little did Y/N know, halfway across Europe, Mingyu was asking himself the same question. As both of them went through the motions of their glamorous but separate lives, neither could shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was time to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

But fate, it seemed, wasn't done with Mingyu and Y/N just yet.

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 2)

part 1 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Steve spends a lot of his spare time at the gym. Comes with the territory of modeling or whatever. Gotta keep himself strong, without developing bulging muscles. Gotta keep himself toned, without becoming too lean. Somewhat of a balancing act to this media fuckery circus.

Times are changing, yeah maybe. But not for puffy-lipped preps with killer bone structure. Steve still falls under the category of stereotypical Pretty Boy, and he’s chill with that. Fucking owns it.

Most days…

He’s currently cooling down on the treadmill - brisk walk, almost a jog. It’s a good pace for multitasking some adult shit that he needs to get done. Staying hydrated, keeping his photoshoot calendar up-to-date, answering a few emails. Yada yada.

Steve takes a swig of his seaweed (more like arsenic) smoothie. Opens the top email that reads:

The Fallen King - Final Commercial Cut

Right. Steve almost forgot about this particular shoot. Well, tried to repress the thoughts of that mega-douche director who kept referring to Steve’s ass as ‘prime real estate.’ Fucking creep.

He scrolls down to the attached file and slides his headphones back over his ears.

The ad opens with a wide shot of Steve draped over the throne, fog swelling around the bottom of the screen. The music is an eerie cello solo, set to a heavy bassline. 

Just another oversexualized cologne campaign, he thinks. Probably will barely feature the product because they paid big money for Steve’s body. Gotta get their fill of it (ha, they fucking wish Steve would fill them up).

But then the narration rolls into his ears and the room does a somersault. Practically inverts it’s axis at the sound dripping in Steve’s ears:

‘The mighty will fall from grace…’

“Oh shit.” Steve almost wipes out on the treadmill, has to catch his fall on the side bars. His knees are tingling, calves molten and shaky. Already half hard, which is definitely going to be a problem in these flimsy, mesh gym shorts.

‘Forbidden love and public slander…’

But that voice. That tone. That sinful register set in the minor key of Holy Fuck.

‘Will bring them to their knees.’

Alright, that fucking does it. Steve pauses the video before he’s fully tenting-out in a goddamn fitness center. Packs up his shit, chucks the sludge smoothie in the trash, and finds an empty stall. Emphatically locks it.

“Agh, damnit!” Steve's thumb slips over the screen and exits out of the video. It scrolls back to the top of the email - a new message has been added to the chain.

Seriously, what obnoxious fucker does ‘Reply All’ these days?

The new message reads:

Great work, team. (Sorry for being such a vocal slut.)

(… Not that sorry though.) - Eddie Munson

That’s right - the voice artist. Almost didn’t recognize the voice, but the repressed memory of that day comes flying to the surface when Steve sees the name. 

He recalls the guy being objectively cute too. Not in the California ‘sun-kissed skin’ kind of way. More in the Seattle ‘rain forces me to be a pale homebody’ kind of way. His eyes were something else though. They reminded Steve of the sepia tone filters he used in his early modeling portfolio. No way in hell Steve could ever forget knockout eyes like that.

The locker room is empty. Steve reopens the video, raises the volume high enough to mute out the thin hum from the air conditioning unit. Only wants to hear Eddie’s voice. That’s it. 

He’s already touching himself when the first phrase falls out of the headphones. Can’t even help it now that he’s alone. It’s all too good. Works himself up all stuffy and sensitive by the time the new part comes up:

‘Drenched in their guilt. Soaked in their shame.’

Fucking christ.

‘Choking on worthless confessions…’

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Choking? Worthless? What is this, a sado hotline? Steve feels the heat spreading on his neck, flushed over in a non-exercise way. There’s a thump in his dick, has to squeeze his fingers around it. Like his body needs a reminder to calm the fuck down.

‘Until all that is left of them is desolate darkness.’

Pretty sure the raspy exhale after every phrase is going to do Steve in, saturate his last ounce of dignity with want. Eddie’s breathing is taking Steve’s breath away, and that’s an outright mindfuck. Earfuck. 

Something is getting fucked, and somehow, Steve still needs more.

While the song sustains, Steve strokes himself to the percussive rhythm. 

‘The Fallen King. The scent of secrets.’

The hiss on the last syllable fades into the music till everything fizzles out, going dead silent.

Well, everything goes silent except for Steve, who is utterly rattled. Can hear his dense breath and it’s way too noisy for a public space. The pulse in his neck is irregular, hitched the fuck up. His smartwatch is buzzing, alerting him that his heart rate is elevated, which duh. His whole body feels like it underwent some sexual awakening in the middle of a fitness center. 

And, sure. That’s a common place for people to realize how gay and desperate they are, but not like this. Not with zero visuals of sweaty bodies. 

Before he starts the video over to… finish the job, a phone call lights up his screen. Because of course it does.

He reads the name and swipes it open. “What’s up, Buckley?”

“I need coffee.” Robin whines, already pouting into the phone speaker no doubt. 

“You always need coffee.”

“Yeah but like… it tastes better when you buy me coffee.”

“Oh, so you want to mooch off of your own client?” Steve teases because he can. They can annoy the shit out of each other and write it off as endearment. “Pretty unprofessional of you, Ms. Manager.”

Robin groans. Makes it a long one too - probably to show off both her annoyance and lung capacity. “Fuck all the way off, you were my friend first. Always friends first.”

“Always friends first.” Steve agrees. She’s right, usually is about most things. Robin has been his manager since his last agency went bankrupt from pouring their funds into promoting Fyre Fest. And everyone knows that turned out to be an entire fuckshow.

Honestly, it’s easier this way - Robin being his manager. They get to hang out more, he has more input on gigs that he’s interested in…

Interested in. Huh. The metaphorical lightbulb flicks on in Steve’s voice-drunk brain. Having his best friend as his manager is also convenient when Steve needs the phone number of a certain co-worker.

“Alright, fine.” Steve has a sly grin on as he talks. “I’ll bring over some coffee.”

“Thank god.”

“If!”

“Ugh.”

He huffs out a laugh. “If you can send me the cast and crew contact sheet from the Fallen King commercial.”

“Ew, why?” Robin asks, sounds totally repulsed. Valid, that shoot was Objectification Station.

But truly, Steve’s not in the mood to make up an excuse. He’s sore and sweaty and half-hard. So he just gets to the damn point. “Look, do you want coffee or not?”

“Okay okay.” That’s one way to speed up the process. Caffeine threats - works every time. “Dropping the file to you now.” 

“You’re the best.” Steve sings.

“I know, I know.” And the line clicks dead.

Okay. This is not a booty call, it’s not.

Steve is just texting a semi-stranger to tell him that his voice is potentially the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Okay, he’ll definitely phrase it better than that, maybe throw a few emojis in there to normalize the tone. Soften it up to sound very un-stalkery.

Yeah. Not a booty call. And if Eddie happens to send an audio message, and Steve happens to jerk off to it… still not a booty call, right?

Pathetic, maybe. But not basic, thank fuck.

He types, then re-types the message out way too many times before settling on this:

Steve: Great work on the commercial voiceover! Got ur number from the call sheet. hope that’s cool.

Steve hits send before realizing he didn’t have the goddamn common sense to introduce himself. He’s not even a rookie at hookups, why is he suddenly so frazzled by this guy?

“This is Steve by the way…” he mumbles into an audio message. Hits send, then quickly makes another:

“The… model guy.”

The model guy? What in the flustered hell is going on with him?

A chime notification goes off maybe two minutes after Steve sends the last message. Which is like… hot. Shameless fast texters are a millennial turn-on, for sure.

It’s a voice text, so Steve takes thirty seconds to calm down whatever involuntary throb just happened in his sweatpants. He sucks in some air and presses play:

“Pretty sure all the kids these days just send a ‘u up’ message to people they wanna dick down at midnight.”

Damn. Eddie’s voice sounds totally different, but just as sexy. Like amateur porn sexy. Is amateur audio porn a thing? It should be.

Steve quickly saves the audio file and types back.

Steve:  Ok pls don’t mention ‘kids’ while I’m trying to flirt with u

Eddie: Waitwaitwait So we're definitely flirting right now? I actually interpreted that correctly?

Steve: Like u said It’s midnight So… *shrug emoji*

And a phone call comes through. Eddie’s contact name flashing in a harsh light, too blinding and too unexpected. Steve’s heart is hammering at his rib cage, suddenly so fucking nervous. He waits until the last ring to answer, buys himself some time cause god knows, he needs it.

Steve takes a breath and swallows. “He-”

“Okay, so you do realize this is the sewer rat voice actor guy from the commercial shoot, right?” Eddie interrupts, sounds out of breath. “And not like… a fellow model or Timothee Chalamet’s cousin or something?”

That earns a hearty laugh and eye-roll from Steve. “He is so not my type.”

“Thought he was everyone’s type.”

“Nah.” Steve rolls onto his belly, very giddy and disarmed by the ease of the exchange. His nerves are set aside, replaced with his usual confidence. “More into sewer rat voice actor guys.”

“That… is some very specific criteria.” Eddie coughs or maybe it's just a dry laugh. He sounds pleased as hell, so laugh seems more likely. “Holy shit, I’m flirting with a model!”

“You’re cute." Steve should not be so charmed right now, but the impulsive honesty is really doing it for him. "Dorky, but cute.” 

Eddie mumbles something incoherent, then clears his throat. Speaks quieter this time. “So why’d you text?”

“So why’d you call?”

“Just, uh… needed confirmation that this is real life.”

Steve lets out a ‘hmm,’ thinks of a proper response to that. “If I was there, I could pinch you. Ya know... so you’d know it’s real.” Okay. Maybe not proper, but whatever. It’s late. His brain is half scrambled from hormones and exhaustion, cut him some slack.

“Would do a lot more than pinch you if you were actually here.” And sure, Eddie might have mumbled that, but Steve clearly heard it. He heard exactly what Eddie just suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this?” Eddie whispers.

Steve turns onto his back again, lets his hand wander down. “If you’re into that. Like hearing your voice, Eddie.”

“Like hearing you say my name like that.” And Eddie sounds like he means it. His tone is smoothing over, the same way it did in the narration. “You sound so worked up already.”

Steve moans, chest falling hard enough that the phone slips. Has to reposition it to get all that good vocal seduction back in his ear.

“God, wish I could see what you look like right now.” Eddie exhales, getting that nice rasp that Steve likes so much. It’s sultry and rich. Breathless at just the right moments. “Bet you’re lying down, aren’t you? Phone wedged between your neck and ear cause your hands are too busy to hold it properly. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Steve pushes past the waistband of his sweatpants, then his boxers.

Eddie hums. Growls. “The things I’d do to you like that. Lying down, looking so eager to please. Saw how good you are at taking direction that day of the shoot. Does that apply in the bedroom too, baby?”

“It… fuck.” Steve strokes himself slowly. Can barely get the words out cause it feels like he's chewing on Eddie's voice. Swallowing every syllable. “Yeah, it does.”

“See - that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That I don’t know what you’re into. How you like it.”

“Pretty open to… trying things.” Steve reassures, eyes closing to soak in every sensation. “Just keep talking.”

And thank all that is holy, Eddie does just that. He keeps talking. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty neck of yours. How I’d kiss it, suck on it till your skin goes tender and soft under my lips. Till your head rolls back like it did in that video.”

Eddie's words are syrup. Heavy and tempting. “I’d let you rest it on my shoulder while I get my hands all over you. See what sweet spots drive you wild, get you to squirm for me.”

Steve's grip tightens, pumping at a pace that’s close to getting fucked. A pace that makes it easier to pretend that it’s Eddie’s hand wrapped around him, making his vision blurred and spotty - even with his eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie, you’re… oh my god.” Steve whines, knows it must be pretty fucking loud with the speaker smushed against his cheek. “You’re so good at this.”

Eddie shushes him, sounds like he’s snickering a bit. “I’d tease you like that until your thighs start to tremble. Until you beg me to go further. End the torture.”

“Fucking christ…please.” Guess Steve really is that good at taking direction. Or maybe he’s extra easy for guys that turn his brain into liquor. Too busy begging to know which one it might be. “Keep going.”

Eddie’s laugh is dark and rough. “Sounds nice hearing you beg like that. Like sin.”

Feels like sin too. 

Steve’s fingers are slicked nicely with precome. The friction of his palm is making everything warmer, better. And stirring all of those feelings up with Eddie’s voice? Fucking hell, Steve is close. He’s so damn- “Okay, okay. If we don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

“I know.” Eddie purrs, sweetly mean. “Thought that was the point.”

“Cannot believe I'm about to say this, but maybe…” Steve has to dig his hand out from his boxers to complete the sentence. Knocks his head against the wall because his behavior is totally batshit right now. “Maybe I want to see you again first? Is that weird?”

His skin sort of tingles from going this long without finishing. Never solved the blue-balling issue back at the gym either, so Steve’s on the verge of climax insanity right now. Didn’t think he’d discover an edging kink at the ripe age of twenty-five, but eureka. Here it is.

“Not weird.” Eddie’s voice returns back to a calmer one. The one that doesn’t make Steve want to bend over and get fucked so hard that his organs shift around. “I mean, I’m weird, sure. But wanting to complete this in person is not weird. Very un-weird, in fact.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yeah well… voice actor.” Eddie says, sort of deadpan. “You couldn’t see that, but I just did ‘razzle dazzle’ hands.”

Shit, Steve really likes this guy. He just used the phrase ‘razzle dazzle hands,’ and Steve is still horny for him. Wow.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Steve manages to say before overthinking it.

“Tomorrow-tomorrow, or like today-tomorrow?” Eddie asks. “Cause it’s past midnight.”

Right. Booty call time moves at an entirely different pace than normal time does. “Today-tomorrow. If you’re free.”

“Free as a dead composer’s anthology of music.” Eddie answers happily.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it because what? What does that even mean? Is that a yes or a no? Goddamnit, his head hurts. Too many questions, not enough orgasms.

“Most classical music is royalty-free.” Eddie clears his throat, sounds like he’s tapping on something. “… So yeah. I’m free.”

“Right.” Steve chuckles, hard to believe he’s unapologetically gushing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Great. See you today, Steve.” Eddie is still snorting at his own joke while the call ends.

They haven’t sorted out any of the details yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening. It’s real.

So real, that he wants an actual date with Eddie before steamy phone sex. He wants to make Eddie laugh before making him come. That's like... unheard of for Steve. Uncharted.

Damn.

Today-tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

[0hmanit]

One of my favorite types of Rain World rooms are rooms that supposedly have additional cameras/room connections, but they don't.

What do I mean by this? here is an example:

LF_J01 is one of the rooms that bugged me the most, especially when when I notice it during my countless rain deer rides. It's eye catching and makes you wonder if you can bring a grappling worm all the way from the Underhang just to test your dumb theory, only to realize it's not true and be so disappointed.

Fun fact, Rain World Drought is perfectly using this room's potential: by using it as a connection between your starting region and Farm Arrays.

The tutorial room also gets it's own secret, where eventually you find out about it at the start of the Spearmaster campaign. Downpour in fact have a lot of these, and it's one of my favorite additions in this DLC.

Not a secret, just a whole huge region connected through this singular room connection.

Unfortunately SI_C09 didn't receive any additional room connections from the DLC. I remember the first and only time this room tricked me like the fool that I am, into thinking there is a continuation, and got me to jump cluelessly to the left and fall to my death. I guess it's had to do with how open seems this part of Sky Islands look. Gameplay wise I can understand why it stops there, from that point you guided to go up into the heart of the region. And expanding the room from that point, kind of adds too much to the region and makes it more chaotic and confusing to navigate than it needs to be.

Last but not least, this room always seemed odd to me.

Considering that you climb up towers many times in Rain World, it's not very visually appealing when you can't climb up to a place that looks like it has an upper part.

But in all of the presented rooms, you can quite understand why continuing on the region from there would be weird. You have to create a weird fork in the map that distract the player from actually progressing through the game's entire map. And often it makes them get lost and frustrated. this is one of the common causes that makes new players lose their interest in Rain World.

Although you could also go against that point by claiming that Rain World's core gameplay is exploring and getting lost in the world, or at least is what makes the game so appealing. And expanding the region would help increase that feeling of being lost in a complex simulated ecosystem.

I can still understand that for vanilla Rain World, this game is not for everyone. but I mean if you chose to play Downpour as your first experience, that is kind of your problem. Because the whole point of the DLC is to expand significantly the map of the known world.

uh, um. I think got a little bit carried away, lol. This post is still about silly rooms, but I feel like I can't really talk about cool rooms and regions without talking about their important role in the core gameplay.

[shootingstarpilot]

In Which Helix Loses His Godsdamned Temper

A gift for my dear friend @themonopolyhat, who wanted to know how the swivel chair race briefly mentioned in Chapter 11 of like lightning changing hands went down <3

Helix and sleep are passing acquaintances at best.

Not enemies, no- he's not a fool. He's a good medic. He knows sleep is important. Even for the clones, who were conditioned to function on half as much sleep as a human nat-born- toxic byproducts need to be processed. New neural pathways need to be formed. Memories need to be filed away. So of course he makes time for it. He most certainly doesn't need Needle coaxing him away from his desk or switching out his stims or shoving him down onto a cot and sitting on him until he passes out- no matter how much the younger medic might protest otherwise-

But. His point.

He makes room for it. Their moments of true downtime are few and far between, but Helix always makes sure to squeeze in a treasured nap or two when he gets the chance.

Which is why, when he's rudely awoken by shouting outside the medbay door that is not immediately followed by the reveal of some horrific injury, Helix decides he's well overdue to rain hellfire down on whatever hapless idiots decided to work out their post-campaign jitters right outside his fucking medbay.

He pulls the pillow off his head, rolls to his feet, and stalks towards the door, carefully selecting his most threatening expression and arranging it appropriately.

When the door slides open, he inhales-

And then lets the air out again in a slightly anticlimactic whoosh when he comes face to face with an empty hallway.

Feeling immensely irritated, he steps out of the doorway and glances to the left and right.

Where-?

The noise is barely a ripple at the back of his mind, at first. Almost indistinguishable from the ever-present rumbling of the engines.

Then it very quickly overtakes it.

Helix, operating solely on well-honed instinct, flattens himself against the wall just in time for a blur of motion to careen around the corner. They slow as they hit the curve, just enough for him to make out-

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Auks, on the swivel chair, gripping both edges with white-knuckled hands- Wooley, hands on the back of the chair, moving at a dead sprint-

Auks' gaze flickers up just enough to catch Helix's eyes, wild glee melting into a pants-pissing terror. They disappear around the next corner, and Helix indulges in a mental pat on the back when he hears Auks' distant shriek of-

"Go faster!"

Right.

He lets them go. He'll catch up with them later.

After a moment's consideration, he steps into the middle of the hallway, studying the water stain on the ceiling with all the appearance of sincere diligence.

The distant rumbling grows louder.

Hm. He should think about filing a work order with Maintenance.

Underneath, now, the sound of footsteps-

They don't want to let that pipe burst, after all.

"OhshitohfuckCOVER-"

He doesn't move.

A screeching noise, an even louder scream-

A tangle of limbs tumbles past his left, slamming into the corner with a force that Helix deliberately doesn't wince at.

Longshot is the first to sit up, carefully disentangling himself from the pathetic remains of the chair. He doesn't look at all frightened when he looks up at Helix.

Just resigned.

"In my defense," he says, rolling his shoulder assessingly, "I told them this location was a bad idea."

"It was," Helix agrees, poisonously sweet.

Gearshift is the next to emerge, clutching at his face. Longshot pats him on the back. "All good?"

Faintly muffled, slightly more stuffy-

"You broke my nose!"

"I broke your nose?"

"You!" Gearshift amends, pointing at Helix, the effect of his glare somewhat lessened by the blood pouring between his fingers. "What were you thinking?"

"Standing in the hallway?"

"Y-"

Gearshift falters.

Helix smiles at him.

"Do you know how big this ship is, Gearshift?" he says mildly.

"Pretty big, sir," Gearshift mutters.

"Do you know how often I have time to nap?"

"Probably not very often, sir."

"Do you know how loud you idiots were?"

"No, sir."

"This was the third round, though," Longshot adds blithely. "Can't have been too bad if you slept through the other two-"

"Shut your mouth," Helix says pleasantly. "Where are the others?"

Longshot points.

"Right," Helix says, already running through his death-be-upon-you-if-you-try-this-banthashit-again speech in the back of his mind. He jabs a finger at Gearshift. "Stay here. I want to take a look at your nose when I get- stop tilting your head back, do you want to asphyxiate on your own blood? I'll be right back."

He stalks off without waiting for an answer.

The others aren't far off. Two hallways down and Helix can already make out the cheerful chatter, rising alongside his blood pressure.

"-and Auks clocked in at three minutes on the dot, fastest lap yet," Waxer says cheerfully. Helix picks up his pace. "Right, Trapper, you're up- who's your partner?"

Trapper is, however, doomed to a life of loneliness, because it's at that precise moment that Helix rounds the corner and launches into a lecture that will be whispered about among the shinies for years to come.

"-swivel chairs! Fucking swivel chairs, I thought you were all supposed to be soldiers, not tubies running along the godsdamned catwalks-"

Trapper shrinks backwards, ducks his head, and his patient resignation drives Helix's ire to new heights-

"-had the entire ship to be suicidal in, but no, you had to plot out your fucking racecourse directly outside my fucking medbay when I was getting the first sleep I'd had in three days-"

Waxer scuffs his foot against the floor, looking like he's considering taking a step backward, and then thinks better of it-

"-slammed his head into the wall and broke his fucking nose, if he'd hit half an inch higher his brains would've spilled out like soup because you couldn't even think to use your fucking helmets-"

Boil seizes the opportunity when Helix is forced to stop for breath.

"We did have supervision," he points out. "Medical. So, you know- we got cleared-"

"Who," Helix grits out, "the fuck-"

The crowd pulls back like the tide, and Helix stares.

Stitch stares up at him from where he's perched on the edge of yet another swivel chair, white-faced.

Needle, holding onto the back, offers him a wave.

"Integrated supervision," he says cheerfully. "New management principle I heard about, thought we could give it a try-"

A muscle in Helix's jaw jumps.

"You two," he grits out, "with me. And the rest of you-" he snaps, at the rustle of a collective relieved sigh- "pull this banthashit again, and I'll deliver you to Grievous hog-tied on a platter- now, am I understood?"

At the affirmative murmurs, he turns on his heel and strides off, followed hurriedly by his two renegade medics.

The strained silence is broken only by two sets of footsteps for some time.

"Stitch," Helix says, after a moment, "get off the chair."

A pause. Then three sets of footsteps.

Then, so quiet Helix has to strain to hear it-

"Is Gearshift okay?"

Helix closes his eyes and forces a slow exhale out through his nose.

(His head is pounding.)

"Yeah," he says, making a conscious effort to gentle his voice. "Just a broken nose. No other trauma that I could tell. You deal with that when we get back, okay? Run him through the gauntlet. Use your best judgement."

"Okay, Helix."

The silence gains a certain obnoxious quality to it.

"And you," Helix says, considering-

Then it hits him.

"You can put that nutritional learning module to use," he decides. "Kitchens. Run through the new requisition forms with Terror. Help him rebuild a sustainable menu; the routine shipments got changed last week."

Needle does not appear half as peeved as Helix would like him to.

He catches Helix's glare and grins, irrepressibly sunny. "Will do, boss. Terror and I are friends, I like his company."

"Terror doesn't do friends."

"Mm, fair. We're nemeses, then. I think that's the closest thing he has."

Helix's glower darkens.

The rest of the walk back is silent.

They split when they reach the medbay. Stitch heads for Gearshift immediately- and Longshot, who, Helix notes with mild surprise, had stayed with him. Needle peels off for the kitchens, humming under his breath with a nonchalance that makes Helix want to deck him.

And Helix-

Helix heads for his office.

All inclination towards sleep has vanished. He grits his teeth, settles into his chair, rubs at his forehead-

He's sure there's some flimsiwork he can get ahead on.

Later:

After he realizes exactly why Stitch is skittering away from him at every turn-

After he sits him down and patiently explains that the absolute worst punishment he will ever receive- the punishment for the Fuck-Up Of All Fuck-Ups, the punishment if he is found to be unfit for medical work- will be being reassigned to a different unit-

After he sees their youngest primary off to bed, guilt still pulling his shoulders low and dragging at his steps-

Needle comes back.

The first Helix knows of this is when a knock at his office door rouses him from staring at the same page on his datapad that he has been for the past forty minutes.

"Come in," he mutters, and Needle pokes his head through the door.

"Hey, boss," he says, and steps in fully, carefully shutting the door behind him. "New menu's been filed. Double- and triple-checked."

"Mhm."

Needle settles into the chair and sets a cup Helix hadn't noticed him carrying onto his desk.

"Tea," he says quietly, in answer to Helix's questioning look. "Thought you might need it."

Helix grumbles something incoherent, but picks up the drink anyway.

The warmth seeps all the way up his arms, into his shoulders, and he relaxes quite against his will.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

"Things were getting tense in the training rooms," Needle says at last. "They were at each other's throats. Kamei had already dislocated Trigger's shoulder, and he didn't even seem sorry- you know how those two are."

Helix blinks. He does- and- that's right, they hadn't been there, had they?

"This was the first thing I could come up with. I should've thought of the helmets, you were right about that- I'm sorry I didn't. I just wanted to get them moving."

"And of course this was the first thing you thought of," Helix mutters. He sees Needle's expression twist briefly, and guiltily musters up a quirk of his lips. "Sounds like you."

Needle returns the smile, and then his gaze drops to his knees.

"I didn't know you were sleeping, either," he says eventually. "You- you don't usually. I should've checked, I know, I just figured- keeping the medbay on the route would make for easier access if someone did get injured."

Helix takes a sip of the tea.

It's not caf.

But it's-

Good.

"Sorry about that," Needle finishes lamely. His fingers twitch and flicker and jump before he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

Helix takes another sip- longer than he'd meant to, this time, and when he looks down he realizes he's nearly drained the cup.

His headache is easing.

"Longshot said that was the third round," he says at last. "How'd you two do on the others?"

Needle stares at him, uncomprehending, for one long moment-

Then a smile like the sun splits his face.

"Oh, knocked them out of orbit, boss."

"Good," Helix mutters. He stands, places the empty mug on the table, and stretches until he feels his back crack. "Right. I'm going to get some sleep, then. You got the shift?"

"Course I do," Needle says easily, and Helix squeezes his shoulder on his way out.

Stitch is sitting up when he emerges, ruffled hair and sleep-fogged eyes sending a pang through Helix's chest.

"Hey, kiddo," he says quietly. "Mind if I join you?"

Stitch squints at him. "Helix?" he says at last. "Needle said you needed to lie down."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Helix mutters, glancing back at the office door. He doesn't even bother to try mustering a glare.

"Uh-huh," Stitch hums, already slipping back into sleep. He curls onto his side and pats the empty space next to him. "Come on."

Helix kicks off his boots and obligingly settles under the blanket, and Stitch shuffles a bit closer and wraps an arm around his chest.

"Needle told me you two won," Helix murmurs.

"Yeah," Stitch says sleepily. A slow smile blooms across his face. "He can go pretty fast."

"Well," Helix sighs. "I guess that's okay, then."

As it turns out, sleep can come easily after all.

[ohyespotatous]

(Daily Journal 🌼)

Wed, May 8, 2024

🤍- <6.57 AM> I'm so thankful for the crisp air I got to breathe in this morning after the rain. I couldn't sleep last night, but I'm happy I still found the energy to get up and get going. At least I didn't give up and end up stuck in bed all day.

< TO DO >

Focus goals

• Catch up on Statistics study materials and assignments • Make some progress on the marketing campaign strategy

Focus tasks 🌼

✅ Discussion 4 - Statistics (9 AM - 12 PM) ✅ Marketing campaign strategy - draft (1 - 4 PM)

Other tasks

• Catch up on the overdue Statistics tasks (Discussion 1-3, Assignment 1) • Set up the mediation house social media • Update content brief - growth mindset campaign

°

🌙 - <11 PM> I didn't do much, but hey, good job, me! At least you finished the main tasks! (giving myself a comforting pat on the back :3). I need to get moving and nourish myself so I can get more restful sleep and pack even more activities into my day!

<DAY 2/100> <100 DAYS OF PRODUCTIVITY>

[biscutlovingbitch]

Your so cold.(Pt.1)

Eddie X Reader

Word count:2633, Got a little carried away 🙃.

Warnings: 18+ Language, Somewhat fluff, Forced proximity, Heavy petting, Teasing. (Smut in pt.2)

It was a Friday night and you had had plans to go over to your friend Steve's house for movie night, it had become a tradition since freshman year. You Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and of course Eddie Munson. Now you didn't really have a problem with him its just he was a little too "wild" for your liking. He always seemed to get you in trouble by doing something stupid then when you would try to bring it up to him the next day he'd say that it wasn't his fault and ignore you, or somehow make it your fault. But since this was Steve's house and not your own you weren't going to be that upset if something happens because then it wouldn't be on you.

As you started to get ready it was already almost 5:00 and you had promised Steve that you would be there at exactly 5:30, not only was he a few blocks away from your house but you also didn't own a car and would have to walk there and it was starting to rain, your only choice was to walk. Now you could have called Eddie but you didn't feel like having him come here with his rusty old van and blowing your eardrums out with his loud music, not that you didn't like his music but you preferred other genres more. As you looked for the umbrella you swore you had put in the holder by the front door the clock was ticking down minute by minute. After a few minutes of searching you decided that you could just brave the rain, and the cold.

As you where walking to Steve's you realized that you had totally forgot to put on a bra earlier and you where wearing a white shirt on top of that, you thought your day couldn't get any worse then you herd it. The familiar sound of screeching tires and a loud stereo from down the road behind you, you tried not to look but he did. "Hey there princes, whatcha doin' out here in the rain?" he said slowing down to talk to you as you kept walking. Covering your chest by crossing your arms you turned to him to talk "Oh you know dont have a ride so i just figured id walk to Steve's" you say laughing a little bit. "You know you could have called me, I would have picked you up in a heartbeat" he says smiling at you with that devilish grin he wore so proudly. "Oh i just figured you had a Hellfire meeting today so i didn't want to bother you" You say obviously lying to him. "But you know that we dont have hellfire meetings on Friday" dropping his smile and squinting his eyes at you. Oh fuck how where you going to get your ass out of this one. "Well I just figured you would have had a campaign or something to do" you said hoping that he wouldn't catch on. "No i did not, but dont you still have the schedule from when you where in hellfire?".

Yes its no surprise that when you where dating Billy Hargrove that he had told you about a drug dealer by the name of Eddie the freak Munson. He had taken you along with him on one of his runs and that was the first time you ever met Eddie, since then you two along with your other friends you have practically been inseparable. After you had broken up with Billy you had seen that there was a new or at least you thought new club at the school called Hellfire. When you got there it was filled with your usual geeks, weirdos and losers but one had stood out among the rest, Eddie. He wasn't like the other people there, the others had good grades and smarts and his was well... questionable. After that first meeting that you went to he started taking you home after school and picking you up in the mornings, you dont know what had changed but one day he didn't show up and you just figured that he was done with you. since then you only really see him at the little party's that your friends throw, and sometimes a casual friendly wave in the hallways but your not as close as you once where.

"Well i'm here now right, you should hop in you seem... cold" he said looking at you, you where visibly shivering and teeth chattering as you spoke. You thought about saying no because you didn't want to make things weird but then if you didn't then you would probably catch hypothermia so you decided getting in was the best option. As you got in you had uncrossed your arms to pull yourself inside, forgetting about your outfit malfunction. Eddie had seen your chest through your shirt as he looked a you getting in and something changed inside of him. He wasn't the smiling Eddie that had just offered you a ride, no he wasn't even looking at you and he was barley even talking to you when you tried to make conversation, why?

The drive to Steve's was silent, Eddie had turned down the music when he stopped to talk to you then jut never turned it up again. You looked out the window and sighed, he noticed and looked over at you. Seeing that you where still shivering. "I uh have a shirt in the back if you want to wear it. its kinda old and ive worn it before but it might be warmer" he said still looking over at you. "Are you sure? I mean i'm fine in this" you said teeth chattering and still shivering. "Yeah sure you are princess" he said scoffing and looking back at the road. "okay okay where is it?" you said climbing into the back, you had a skirt on and you ass was practically in his face when he looked in his rear view mirror. "well they dont call it a rear view mirror for nothing" he mumbled "its next to that pile of blankets on the floor" he said noticing a tightening in his jeans as he adjusted them a little to be more comfortable.

You wiggled your ass while looking for the shirt unaware of what you where doing to Eddie "where-Oh wait i found it!" you said picking up the shirt and looking at it. It was an old iron maiden tee-shirt, black unlike the one you had on, it matched your skirt perfectly. As you went to take off your shirt and change you had forgotten you had no bra on, so you did what any reasonable person would do .You put it on over your soaking wet tee-shirt and tried to take off your skin tight white turtleneck under the other tee-shirt. It went horribly, meanwhile Eddie had parked at Steve's house already and noticed that you where... struggling so he decided to offer you some help.

"Hey princess need some help?" he said as he crawled in next to you. "No i got it!" you said even though you defiantly did not have it. Your turtleneck had shrunk in the washer to begin with so it was already tight and now you had to take it off under another tee-shirt without accidentally flashing your best friend. "No you dont, just hold still let me help you" he said as he reached out to tug on the bottom of the iron maiden tee-shirt. As you where still trying to take off the sleeves you felt him grab your left sleeve and start pulling it. Afterwards he helped you with your right sleeve and then the hard part. You had done your hair and make up so nicely and didn't want to ruin it so you held your hands in front of your face as he pulled the neck up and over your head. "Sorry about your hair" he said trying to help smooth it down for you. "Its okay" You said smiling at him "Thank you".

As you walked up to Steve's front door he came out. "Jesus i was wondering where you guys have been, been waiting for you guys for like 20 minutes!". "Well were here now aren't we?" you said stomping into the house with a pissy tone. "Shes not happy that i messed up her hair" Eddie mumbled to Steve. "Oh messed up her hair now?" Steve said with a grin and wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie. "Not like that man come on" Eddie scoffed as he moved past Steve to follow you. Meanwhile you where in the kitchen with Nancy and Robin, talking about Nancy getting married. "Alright so now that everyone is here we can start the movie" Steve said grabbing the popcorn and drinks. "So what movie did you pick out for us this time big boy?" you said as you plopped yourself right in between him and Robin. "Risky Business" He said smirking over at you, god was it going to be a long night.

Eddie had sat down right next to Steve, Nancy and Johnathan had shared the love seat. Everything was going fine till the sex scene came on. You felt Steve's hand creep on your thigh but when you turned to look at him his eyes where glued to the TV, but Eddie's weren't. He was staring right back at you with heavy lids and his tongue licking his bottom lip. "Oh fuck were out of popcorn" Steve said "Ill make some more, you just stay right there" You said getting up and grabbing the bowl out of Steve's lap. As you walked to the kitchen you thought you herd someone behind you but when you looked back no one was there. Oh well you thought to yourself but as you rounded the corner Eddie was standing right there.

"How did you get in front of me?" you questioned him. "Oh you know i'm a ninja" he said jokingly. "Yeah right, you a ninja? Next to Robbin your the clumsiest person i know" you said as you put the popcorn bag in the microwave. You turned and leaned on the counter and stared at Eddie. "Why aren't you out there watching the movie with everyone else?" You said looking a bit confused. "Eh its not my favorite, plus ive already seen it so you know" he said leaning on the kitchen island across from you. "Yeah I dont know i mean i like it, plus tom cruise is hot" You say getting the popcorn out of the microwave and putting it into the bowl. "Oh yeah and why is that?" he says looking at you. "Because he has nice hair and nice hair turns me on" You said this time getting closer to his face then leaving.

When you returned to the living room Steve had moved closer to Robin so now there was only space next to him where Eddie was sitting. As you sat down Eddie had squeezed himself in right next to you, man spreading. You couldn't help but look down at his legs, you saw a bulge. You had herd stories about how big he was but you didn't realize that it was true. You forgot that you where staring then Eddie had caught on. "See something you like there princess?" he said whispering into your ear. you quickly looked up but it was already too late he knew. You tried to turn away but his hand came up to your jaw forcing you to look at him, you whimpered but only loud enough for him to hear. He bit his lip and looking into his dark pools of eyes you stared. but then you felt Steve's hand on your thigh again breaking your little staring contest with Eddie.

You looked over at Steve but this time he was looking back at you. He bit his lip a little then started to drag his hand up further, but just as you thought it couldn't get any better you felt another hand. It was Eddie's ,now you where stuck with both of your best friends hands on your thighs. Not waning to make things awkward you got up to use the bathroom. You stayed in there until you herd the ending credits come on. When you walked out Nancy and Johnathan where passed out and Robin was nodding off next to Steve. "Alright its time for bed i guess" Steve said as no body but Robbin said anything in response. "Hey do you have any shorts i can barrow this isn't very comfy to wear to bed" You said asking Steve. "Uh yeah up in my closet theirs some old gym shorts you can barrow" He said laying out blankets for everyone.

Steve was a nice friend he always had been, Ever since he sat next to you in biology class you two just clicked. You didn't like Tommy and Carol though, they where assholes to you always making fun of your hair or outfits or what ever else they could find. Your relationship with him wasn't always like this though, not until last spring when you and Steve had hooked up after prom because both of your dates ditched you. After that it got well...Weird, you started hanging out in groups because with the two of you it was just awkward. After school you'd make out with Billy in his car at lovers lake but never dared to go further than just over the clothes. You liked Billy but not that much, You had never slept with anyone until Steve so obviously you have a bit of a soft spot for him.

As you put on Steve's shorts and headed back downstairs you start to think about Eddie and how much you two have done together too. Never as much as you and Steve but you've shared a drunken kiss once or twice. As you got back to the living room you saw everyone lying on the floor and couches, trying to figure out where you should sleep you felt a hand on your shoulder. It was Eddie "You can sleep with me if you want, Ill keep you warm" He said smiling a little bit. "Okay" You said getting on your knees to lay down, You two where behind the couch which you thought was a bit odd but you didn't care too much.

As he laid down next to you, you covered yourself up with the blanket because you where cold, it was big enough for the two of you but only if you where extremely close. As you started to scoot backwards you noticed that Eddie had turned towards you and you where now rubbing against his very prominent hard on. You kept trying to get warm by rubbing up against him but you just ended up making your situation worse. He grabbed your hip with one hand to try and make you stay still but you where still trying to move. "Are you trying to kill me here?" He whispered into your ear as his breath hitched in his throat. "What no, why would i do that?" you said trying to change the subject. "You know why, You've been torturing me all day princess dont act like you dont know what your doing to me." He said almost sounding in pain. "I dont know what your talking about" you said trying to act innocent. "Oh really you dont know? I'm talking about this" He said as he started to grind into you. "All of this just because you where cold" He said as he stopped grinding. This was going to be one long night.

Part 2 coming soon!

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You–Ch. 7 [3zun Raise Jingyi Prequel]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[Ao3 Link]

[Holy shit, how has it been 2 years since I last updated this fic?? ANYWAY HELLO HI I MISSED YOU. We're keeping the baby, guys. CW: Disjointed, slightly nonlinear narration; negative self talk; more talk of battle aftermath, bodies (gross but no more graphic than prev chapters), and death; focus on lots of trauma to do with death and grief; general Twin Jade parental trauma; vaguest mention of child death, in that he repeatedly tells himself there isn't one and remembers part of his nightmare about Wangji/A-Fu dying]

Who are you?

‘Wen Baiqi.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Say goodbye. Tell her goodbye.’

It’s raining in Qishan. It’s nothing like the rain in Gusu.

Who are you?

‘Hei Xuecen.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘All my fault all my fault ALL MY FAULT--’

This rain isn’t crisp, but disconcertingly warm. It doesn't bring life. It soaks into the ground, milling the dirt back into the blood and gore bloated mud of that night, sucking at their feet. Reeking of putrefaction. It coats Xichen’s tongue and throat.

Who are you?

Each time, there is a chance he will receive a reply from the Yiling Patriarch himself. 

‘Ye Qian.’

He never does.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Never apologized--’

What would he do if he did?

Who are you?

What would Zewu-jun do? Clan Leader Lan?

What must be done?

Would he soothe his spirit?

Who are you?

Ghostly fingers pluck at his sleeves constantly. 

Who are you?

‘Nie Zixing. Never knew him, tell them--’

When he had first arrived, the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s Wen contingent still hung from the gate to the battleground. Or what remained of them. After scavengers, time, and the elements had had their turn. Swaying in the warm, wet breeze along with carrion birds’ cries and the distant tunes of the guqin language. Grisly pendulums. Dripping.

There is no small boy among them. He had hoped against hope, but now he knew for sure. This secret is tucked deep, deep down beneath his heart.

Who are you?

The corpses on the ground are Wen. They are Lan. They are strangers. They are Da-ge, lying bloody on the floor of the Scorching Sun Palace. They are A-Zhan.

"We should burn them like they did to our people. Scatter their ashes, so they will never rest." A venomous whisper from his own disciples, a young man, face twisted in rage.

(“They’re killing everyone,” he had choked his sobs into A-Yao’s arms. “My people--my family are all dead and I did nothing.”)

A-Yuan had been so, so pale against the sheets. So tiny compared to the infirmary bed.

“These people?" Xichen’s voice is quiet. "These cultivators that studied healing? Miles and miles from Qishan?”

Silence.

“Did they destroy our home? Did we fight them in Sunshot?”

Too little, far too late.

There is no small boy among them. There isn’t.

A-Zhan, gray and slack, eyes glassy, head lolling--

He pushes the dream-memory away.

Who are you?

‘Jin Mingni. 

My father--’

"We will bury them and hold the proper rites, as we have the rest of the fallen. And I will ask you to swear yourselves to secrecy regarding their exact resting place. In case anyone later shares your thinking.”

‘Zhou Sanniang. Never wanted to come. Save me.’

“Help me bring them down.”

There may be no small boy among the Wen, but he sees corpses all day, every day. They're in his dreams. He cannot stop seeing them. And he cannot stop seeing a boy (Afuyuanzhan) among them, from the corner of his eye.

He can never quite catch the face before he realizes there is no one actually there.

A skeletal hand is unearthed when they lift a body--a remnant of the Sunshot Campaign, years before. There were plenty of partial skeletons from that time that the Yiling Patriarch had raised to fight them. It seems some didn't have the strength to fight their way out from the mud. The death here has layers. A slow growing mountain of violence and dead and blood instead of stone. The building of the Burial Mounds’ successor.

Do the Burial Mounds have as many crows? Is it a feasting ground, as this has become?

They carry the quiescent dead, cover them with cloth, lay them in rows. Those whose spirits have passed on easily. They lie with their Sect members--when they are able to discern who they are. Still, fields of undyed cloth mounds, waiting to be retrieved by their loved ones, if they still live. Somewhere out there, there must be people still alive, families whole and happy, living in the sunshine. Somewhere.

Who are you?

His fingertips bleed from days playing Linhai and Liebing.

What must be done for you to rest?

Even those here that are living shamble like the dead--the rogue cultivators, his Lan disciples, the handful cultivators from other Sects, all here for the same goal, all hollow eyed and pale. He is supposed to be here for morale. 

They work deep into the night, far from familiar, ingrained rules about schedule and tidiness, here. Adrift.

What must be done--?

The fierce corpse is not a powerful one, merely tenacious. Shuoyue snakes out. It crumples immediately with a muted splurch into the muck, halved.

‘Tell her I loved--’

The top half of the corpse writhes, still scrabbling for him. The sound it makes from its ruined face is horrid. It's a wonder it can sense his yang qi at all; no eyes, no nose. Its robes are a splotchy black and rusty brown-red, but the Lan ribbon around its forehead manages to show a ragged white through it, here and there.

The talisman sears, blinding. It is enough. The body slumps for the last time. He can settle into that mud, summon Linhai from his qiankun bag for the Songs of Rest.

Who are you?

‘Lan Ruicai.

Show them all--’

The blood of the walking dead is no longer life-hot, but the same, unnerving lukewarm as the rain. He cannot feel it. He can’t tell where it’s stained him until he reaches his tent each night. 

He is efficient. He is in control.

The rain here doesn't cleanse anything. It hasn’t stopped for days.

Everything is the same color; the sludge, the thick haze of lingering resentful energy, palms, boots, the hems and knees of robes. That old clotted wound color. Dirt repelling talismans can only do so much before they are overpowered by the sheer weight of yin energy permeating everything. Stained.

There's no use cleaning. He tries anyway.

‘I was so scared, so scared--’

Who are you?

Sometimes, the spirits do not answer. Sometimes, they speak first, before he can even start the questions, raking the strings repeatedly in their anguish. Sometimes, they try to tear the guqin from him, try to rend his clothes, squeeze his throat. Sometimes, banishment is the only way. 

The sudden shrieks and roars at night startle everyone from sleep. If Wangji was well, he would be here. He is known for going where the chaos is.

Is that what had led him to this? To Wei Wuxian? An affinity for soothing chaos? For chaos itself?

Who are you?

‘Don’t know. Want to go home--’

"I can't anymore, zongzhu, I-I--"

"It's alright. Return to the Cloud Recesses. You’ve done enough."

Sometimes, he wakes in the night to find that he is in the middle of dressing, having no memory of doing so, a clump of cleansing talismans clutched in his numb hands. He has cut down so many fierce corpses, he’s lost count.

Who are you?

Food is tasteless glue in his mouth.

Who are you?

Every night, he is sure to take the medicine that gives him no dreams.

‘Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgods--’

Every night, he prays that he has not left Uncle overwhelmed, that his people are being cleansed and healed back home, that Wangji has stopped bleeding, that A-Yuan is healing, that A-Fu is….

Who are you?

(What right do you have?)

What must be done?

He has been here for days that run into one, long, dark, meaningless drain. 

‘Son. Baby. Where is he?'

Who are you?

‘Pan Liu.’

His raw fingers pause on Linhai’s strings, still humming. Rain patters quietly on the hat that shields his face from it.

He knows that name. How does he know that name.

There have been plenty of others he had recognized among the dead, from different Sects and his own, from childhood, from Cultivation Conferences, from class. But each time, he must pull himself back to that life to remember, away from the rain and the red and the dead.

He can’t place it.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘My baby. Safe.’

The spirit is a thin wisp of light, playing about the strings, shining on the dark wood. Focused. Waiting.  

Who is your son?

‘Lan Fu.’

His mouth is dry.

("A-niang?" A hopeful little voice. The memory of a crumpled form in the blood-churned muck, a shoe print between shoulder blades….) 

It is cruel, endlessly cruel that he is the one alive. That he is the one sitting in the mud across from this poor young mother’s spirit. That he is the one with blood enough in his hands to leave rain blotted stains on the strings as he tells A-Fu’s mother; He is safe.

(Shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.)

A hesitation. Then, ‘Who are you?’

Lan Xichen. Zewu-jun.

‘Zongzhu.’

He will be safe. I swear. 

‘...Safe.’

Rest, now.

‘...Rest….’ The notes are quiet, exhausted. Longing.

Then, silence. That pale light is gone. 

She is gone.

He sits, still and silent as the soft caverns in the clotted mud continue to patter around him. His face is wet--mist and rain and blood. He almost wishes it was tears. 

He aches in a new, terrible way, now.

Oh, little one. You were so loved.

He has been witness to both sides, now, of this small, destroyed family reaching for each other through the dark. And how useless he has been in the task of bringing either of them lasting peace. 

To bring anyone lasting peace. 

(Useless.)

And do you serve anything so fiercely that it would be your last thought, taken across into death? 

It is irrelevant. The soul quieting ceremony had been performed on them as children, with all the other inner disciples. He will not linger as a ghost, even if he were to be struck down by a fierce corpse this instant.

He finds himself trying to remember if his mother had ever mentioned having had such a ritual performed on her….

Selfish. You would have your own mother suffer and linger as an unquiet ghost for some sort of twisted confirmation that you were loved? 

Xichen remembers childhood before the death of his parents. The infinity of all of it. It probably never crossed A-Fu’s mind to beg her to stay with him. (“No, no go! P’ease!”) She had always returned before. 

The memory of A-Fu clinging to his hands so tightly he had drawn blood with his nails is inescapable. 

During that final farewell at the Jingshi, A-Huan too had had no idea it would be the last time he would ever see his mother’s face. He didn’t know what creeping death looked like, then. She was simply her, smiling, twinkling at them.  He had kissed her cheek and taken Wangji’s hand and waved to her through her ornately carved window screen as Uncle led them away. Wangji had always been the one to pull back, to fuss over leaving. Uncle had always made sure that Xichen set a good example for him.

The snowy day she had left this world, cold and dry, so far from the warm wet muck he was in now, something in him hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t believed that someone could just…no longer exist, just as suddenly as a storm might blow over the mountain summit with no warning. 

He saw her so sparingly, it seemed impossible that she wasn't just simply waiting in her front room for them to visit with a smile and open arms.

How? he had asked. When? Why?

Uncle had said that it was not for children to know. This pulled it even farther into the unreal, stretching his comprehension. It felt like a dream, a lie. A story. But if he could just see her…if he could just prove that this was some sort of…misunderstanding--

(Xichen had never asked again after that first refusal sat in his gut like a chilly stone. He suspected that Wangji had not either. Even now, decades later, he still did not know how his mother had actually died. 

He suspected enough, however. 

He knew it was sudden. He knew it was unexpected. He knew no one spoke of it. He knew it had broken his father beyond any hope of repair. Uncle had not volunteered the information, even now, when they were both grown. And Xichen will not allow useless rumination. Rule 60.)

 He remembered he hadn’t been able to stop crying. A-Huan had always hated crying--he always tried to hide away and not bother anyone with it, but this had been constant. 

Uncle had squeezed his shoulder and spoken softly, and reminded him after hours of stopping and starting that he must not grieve in excess, that he would make himself sick, that he was agitating Wangji, that he needed to calm himself, death was a natural passing, like the moon or a river, one must not let their emotions control them.

But still, that something in him that just knew it wasn't true waited until it was dark, until curfew set in and the snow lit the night full-moon-bright, reflecting the stars and lanterns. He had pulled on his boots and slipped from his window, cautiously darting across the paths of the Cloud Recesses in just his pajamas and his blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, shivering from more than the cold. 

This had to be a trick that he didn’t understand; a joke or a punishment for something he had done wrong. When he figured out what to apologize for, he would be able to see her again. 

The fear of being caught breaking the rules was washed away when he crossed beneath the familiar bower wound with skeletal winter vines. His mother’s house stood dark. All around it, snow was churned and broken, as if many people had been there. In all his memory, no one else had ever visited the Jingshi. The door was unlocked. 

It opened onto emptiness and moonlight. 

Everything was gone.  Her plants. The blue cushioned couch. Her desk and papers. Her dragon incense burner. Her tall candlesticks. Her big, thick, round rug they laid on and played games. The pictures he had painted for her.

He had drifted, stunned, through the shell of his mother’s home. The only proof that she had ever even been there were the scratches on the floor from where furniture had been dragged. That, and the scent of her that still lingered underneath the smell of whatever they had scrubbed the floor and walls with. They had erased her completely. Like she was never there in the first place.

Then it had settled on him like a cloak of lead, dropping him to his knees; the understanding, the true deepness of what this meant.

She was really gone. Forever. 

The ‘always’ was gone. The ‘next time’ and promises. That warm, constant presence on the rim of the Cloud Recesses, the visit that marked his days as cyclically and surely as the sun had simply...vanished. In just one moment, the world was made completely lightless. Incomprehensible. It had a hole ripped in its center, cold and inescapable.

She would never brush back his hair and kiss his forehead. She would never pout when she lost a game. She would never squinch up her nose and do an accidental snort-laugh.

If he had only known that it could happen so fast…if he had only known that people could leave so quickly and completely, he would have taken something. A set of her dark, weighty chopsticks, one of her bracelets, a letter; anything. But there was nothing.

Somehow, he had found himself in front of the Hanshi, his feet numb, his face and hands frozen. Thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember what his 6 year old self had planned. He wasn’t sure that there had been a plan. Maybe he had just wanted a parent. Maybe he had been seeking out the one adult that might have cared as much as he did that his mother was gone. Uncle didn’t understand--A-Huan and A-Zhan had always known that he didn’t like her. He was always polite, because that was important, it was in the rules--but he was always stiff and short. He frowned the whole time--every time--picking them up. He hated talking about her.

But the father he had hardly met, that distant, hidden figure--he had married her. He had loved her.

He would care.

The Hanshi, too, had been dark--and he panicked. Had his father left--or died like his mother and no one had told him? He had yanked the door handle--and to his shock, it slid open. He had been expecting a lock like the one that he saw being done up behind them when he and A-Zhan left the Jingshi. (A choice, not a prison, he had realized as he got older. Not in the same way, at least. Other things kept Qingheng-jun bound.) 

It was dark inside, curtains drawn, vague shapes of things illuminated by the light creeping in behind him. He stood in that doorway, frozen in body and mind, unable to trespass that much farther. It smelled unfamiliar and sharp. He had never been in his father’s home before. 

It was so dark.

He had called into that darkness, choked and quiet; “Fuqin?“ 

Silence. 

“...Diedie?”

(“They made choices. These are consequences,” is all Uncle had told him when, younger, he had asked why both of his parents were locked away from him and refused to say more.

Afterward, A-Huan had always been afraid that he might accidentally make those same choices, that he would be kept from his brother and his Uncle and nannies for it. Because no one would tell him what those choices were, he studied the rules obsessively so he could be sure to follow every single one. So he would never be locked up.)

There was a rustle, a clink. A shape had formed in the shadows, someone sitting up from being slumped on a table. A pale hand swayed into the pool of silver moonlight, pointing. The voice that followed had been rough, slurred like a mouthful of rocks. “You are not supposed to be here. Go.”

A-Huan had fled as fast as his numbed legs could go. Stumbling, breaking through the crust of snow, falling and rising and falling, back up through his window to collapse on the floor. His breath had burned in his lungs as he coughed and sobbed as quietly as he could, hot tears stinging his frozen cheeks.

Not quietly enough, though. A-Zhan had eventually crept into his room and curled up next to him on the floor without a word, arm wrapped around his middle.  When A-Huan had rolled over and held him more tightly than he had ever held anything before, he realized that A-Zhan was the only part of his mother he had left in the entire world.

And now, what did A-Fu have left of his parents, of a life he knew? 

A story, at the very least. A reason. A goodbye. The truth. It was all he could offer. It was all he had left for the boy. These other spirits and their wishes can only be passed along to others, if they were attainable at all. But this, this he can do; this, he can set right. To make absolutely sure that her will is found and executed, that the family who cares for her son is told the story of her last farewell, so he will know, too, in time. 

So a son will never have to wonder.

This much peace, he can provide. With those who can bear this place no more and an endless caravan of cloth draped bodies, he returns to Gusu, leaving behind Qishan’s bleeding sky.

-

The quiet of home stuns him. There are no screams, no groans echoing down the mountain. The trees don’t muffle sounds of sword or talisman sizzle, merely birdsong and wind. There is beauty here, something he hadn't known his soul craved like water in a drought until he saw it in rich blues, blooming whites, lush greens. The coolness, the clarity of the water and the touch of leaves. Nothing here is red-brown. All that bleeds is hidden away behind pale bandages and pale walls.

It's almost too much. 

(His hands feel filthy, no matter how many times he scrubs them. Discontent among such blessings is an insult to those that can no longer come home to them. He will kowtow in the shrine for this disrespect later.)

Time has meaning once more. In theory. There are places to eat, to rest. 

(It hardly makes sense to him anymore, despite the schedule being as familiar as the stone beneath his feet.)

Home, in the Hanshi, surrounded by familiarity and comfort, sitting at his desk as the incense burner next to him delicately permeates the air with sandalwood and the trees outside rustle and no one screams at all, he holds Pan Liu’s will in his hands. It is a brief, frail little thing in the face of such sorrow. It must have been hastily written after her husband’s death, as she willed A-Fu and her remaining possessions to the care of her younger sister. Who upon brief investigation of his ever growing list of the dead was found to have been killed in the battle against Wei Wuxian as well. The sister, yet unmarried, had no will of her own--probably too young to have begun to even consider death as a real possibility before life and Wen and war swept their way in. Their house had been one destroyed in the Wen’s sacking of the Cloud Recesses, their personal possessions few. No one else remained of their immediate family.

Pan Liu clearly had not expected to die before she could update it.

In his heart, somewhere, he had known that something like this was the case; that A-Fu was truly alone. Xichen had carried him for days and no one had come looking? No one had wondered where he was, wanted him home safe, with them? 

He had not wanted to look directly at this, at the time, knowing he would have to give A-Fu back to that loneliness, that uncertainty. Even though A-Fu is not the only child in the Cultivation World or even the Cloud Recesses with the same fate, it had been…different. He couldn’t have said why--still can’t--but it had felt like a betrayal to the boy. A loss, savage and personal. Even when he knew any other choice came nowhere close to making sense.

Still. Even he and Wangji had had their uncle and the small, rotating cadre of minders that were familiar to them. He saw his mother once a month and knew his father was there, somewhere, out of sight. There had been a thread connecting them to their parents and the life they could have had with them. 

A-Fu has none of this. 

And yet he still cries, still calls out, because he trusts that someone he knows will come. Of everything in these last few days, this is what is almost too much to bear, a knife stuck in his ribs that gouges with every breath. He does not feel sadness or regret; only pain. Everything else has been out of reach for a while now.

The rattle of his door opening onto seeping sunshine and fresh, bloodless air has him looking up. His Uncle steps over the threshold. “You’re back,” he says warmly by way of greeting as Xichen rises.

“Shufu.” He bows, then offers him his customary seat, more out of habit than necessity; this teatime visit was a familiar ritual in a life not too long ago.

 They take their places at opposite ends of the low, square table at the center of his sitting room as Xichen opens his tea cupboard. “It’s been a while since we have been able to simply sit and have tea together,” Uncle observes, easily.

Yes; nothing has been right or normal for a long time. “Mn.”

When he continues to set out the cool porcelain cups and the dark pot with no further elaboration, Uncle watches him work, expression a thoughtful blur in his periphery.  “...The library is not where I expected your first stop to be.” 

He sounds only mildly curious, but Xichen knows that it is unspoken approval that he had not gone straight to Wangji.

He hesitates, then continues his methodical ritual of movement. “There was a time-sensitive matter that I wanted to attend to.”

In truth, after the bath he had taken upon his return--where he had had to call for 3 rounds of water (Do not be wasteful, Rule 23; broken) before it was no longer clouded dark with dried blood and mud and rot--Xichen had stood on the Hanshi’s front porch, staring down at the blindingly white path before him, forking off through the trees. 

His heart had tugged him one way and his cowardice in the face of pain another. The thought of seeing more bodies just lying there, of seeing those dear to him--Wangji, A-Yuan, those in the infirmary--suffering while he could do nothing to prevent it was….

It was not something he was capable of, at present. Just for now. Just for these first few hours. It was selfish, but true. And so, he had gone to their records room in the library to request Pan Liu’s will. Pain had won. His heart was weak, choosing the easier duty.

Unable to stop himself, though he knows it will cloud his uncle’s relaxed and pleasant demeanor, he asks; “Is Wangji…?” He trails off. 

Awake? Improving? Well? …Alive? A sharp internal rebuke at this last. Do not exaggerate. Rule 671. Uncle would not be so calm if things were dire. He is angry, not cruel. He would have been told.

(A heavy hand on his shoulder. An empty house. Churned snow.)

He would have been told.

Uncle’s face does, indeed, darken. “Hmph.” A mirthless, scornful snort. “He wakes on occasion. He refuses to speak, refuses to acknowledge anyone. He is simply lengthening his own punishment.” Uncle eyes him, adding, “You should be able to talk some sense into him. He always has listened to you best.” 

‘And so how could you have let this happen? How could you have let him do this?’ 

(When will you stop being angry and start being afraid for him?)

Xichen lowers his gaze to the dark wood of the table and scoops the tiny, furled up leaves of the tea into the pot, the smokey green scent tickling his nose

It’s true. Of everyone--their caregivers, teachers, and relatives, Wangji has always responded to him best. He would not always necessarily disobey outright, but he might frown or hesitate before complying or pretend not to hear--especially if he were called to come away from Xichen’s side. “Your class is this way, xiao-gongzi,” the minder would call and A-Zhan would continue his resolute little stride beside him, hand squeezing tighter around Xichen’s fingers the only indication he had heard anything at all. 

It was when Xichen squeezed back and knelt down to straighten his robes, smiling up into his serious face, saying, “It’s alright, ZhanZhan; I’ll ask if I can come out early to pick you up, mn? Go on, be good,” that he would allow himself to be led away with no further fuss.

 He had been the only one who could finally convince him that kneeling in the rocky ground every month when they should have been visiting their mother would not force anyone to bring her out to them. The first time, he had asked him to come in, come home. But knew his brother. He was not surprised when he silently refused to even show he had heard him. 

And so he hadn’t asked again, never having the stomach to fully destroy the hope that he would be let back into the Jingshi if he just waited long enough. 

But Uncle had become frustrated, their teachers and nannies muttering. They were impatient with his refusal, seeing it as disobedience. They didn’t see his mourning, only his stubbornness. So A-Huan had had to protect his brother's soft heart from those that didn’t understand. “We can kneel together, back at home,” he had whispered, his fingers screwed tight around A-Zhan’s cold hand. “I’ll wait with you as long as you want. But niang would--” his throat had caught and he had wrestled his tears from his voice. “Niang would hate if you got sick, sitting out here in the cold all day.”

A-Zhan’s dark eyes had bored into him, thinking. Reason and punishment and demands from adults had not moved his stubborn frame one inch, month after month after winter-to-spring month. 

Then, finally, this second and last time, A-Zhan had listened to him. Whatever it was about him was what finally got his little brother slowly, stiffly to his feet to hobble back home with him. Xichen remembered that he hadn’t felt relieved at all. He just felt like he had taken their mother from him all over again.

“I will speak with him, shufu.”

 Uncle nods, then heaves a sigh. “What news is there from Qishan?”

Mechanically, as if operating his own mouth from across the room, Xichen relays numbers, movements, and times. He almost reflexively scolds himself for lying; the mundane description of dry duty and the lived horror so far from one another that they were entirely irreconcilable. Just words passed across a shining table over fragrant tea, cool wind brushing the sun-pale windows serenely with tree shadows

When he reaches the final fate of Wei Wuxian’s executed Wen contingent, Uncle approves. “It was wise to swear the disciples to secrecy. This has all gotten so inhumane. Denying them burial was an unnecessary cruelty,” he says heavily as he shakes his head, eyes closed in weariness. “I pray that we are done with this madness at last, with that Wei Ying finally taken care of. What a mess.”

There is silence. Xichen cannot fathom what his response to that could possibly be. Should possibly be--as Wangji’s brother, as the Lan Clan Leader, as his uncle's nephew. As Wei Wuxian’s…what. Friend? 

…As one who cannot delight in his death, in any case. 

Despite the period of kneeling before the Jingshi, Wangji had never been a troublemaker growing up. He was always the Jade who grasped the Lan way of life more easily, molded himself to the rigidity of the rules with that same stubborn tenacity. 

It was Xichen who failed in that, who smudged the black and white lines to gray, bent them so they were slightly more comfortable around him; bearable--once he discovered that they could be. 

He was the one who accidentally got drunk trying to see if he could filter out alcohol with his core, he was the one to kiss Mingjue first in the Jin Gardens during a Cultivation Conference. The one to urge his brother to befriend a talented teenager who was gleefully and repeatedly stomping all over their Clan’s ancestral rules.

He was the one who had told Wangji to step outside his rigid view of the world, to see people for their hearts. And then Wangji's own heart had been torn out. As his uncle said; Wangji had always listened to him best. This much would never have happened without Xichen's deliberate meddling. 

All those years ago, when Wei Wuxian had first cannonballed into their lives, Xichen had just wanted Wangji to be happy. To have friends. Alone didn’t always mean lonely, but he knew he saw it in his brother. Saw Wangji with peers who were merely in awe of his talent, who respected but did not like him, love him, know him, want to spend time with him. He knew the difference, no matter what Wangji showed the rest of the world. The older he got, the less he smiled--the soft, secret ones that so many others failed to see. Xichen had missed them, dearly. And so he had pushed.

Everything that has happened sense feels as if it’s unshakably all his fault.

As the tea is poured, they speak; it passes over him like clouds. Which elder is still in which stage of recovery. The smith they called to repair swords and assess the spirits of those now without a handler. 

Something touches him.

 “Xichen!” 

His hand burns. He is on his feet. Shuoyue’s naked blade buzzes, ready in his hand. He does not remember moving. Every fiber of cloth on his skin feels alive and writhing. Blood courses. Scalding tea is cooling, dripping from his knuckles.

The touch had been spiritual, not physical. From the corner of his awareness and the Cloud Recesses boundary wards at once; a warning, tasting of wild metal (close to blood, so close). 

The Western Wards, crossed.

“Do not unsheathe your blade in a residence!” Uncle’s face crinkles from shock to a wince. “And contain yourself, this is not a battlefield.”

It takes a moment. His killing intent is up, streaming from his core like a river of blades, of blood. 

Sucking in a breath, he takes the torrent in internal hand and yanks it back, firmly, like the reins of a horse, winding the silk rope of it over again and again in the palm of his concentration, until the thrum of it eases. The pressure that had filled the room with the promise of death ebbs. Shuoyue hums warm, expectant. When he does finally sheathe her, the connection between them flickers, confused. 

Above his hammering heart, he hears Uncle continue, frowning, “I felt it, too. Was it someone passing outward or inward?”

His tongue, his mind is mud-stuck slow.

Focus. There is no battle here. You are home. Get a hold of yourself.

“...Outward. Less resistance. Nothing powerful.”

Oddly, at this Uncle’s frown deepens, shadows of concern replacing mere puzzlement. “Hmm. Those were in the West…far….” After a moment of thought, he rises.

As he steps out the door and calls for a servant from the Hanshi’s porch, Xichen continues to try to pull in slow, deep breaths.

Have you regressed to being such a novice that you cannot control your own qi? Your own battle intent? Are you a child? Though his uncle's voice is low and his attention is divided, the words ‘searchers’ makes it through the pounding blood in his ears. Strange.

When Uncle slides the door back open, Xichen asks, “Searchers?”

His silhouetted form hesitates, framed by the sunlight that pours in behind him and dazzles Xichen’s eyes, leaving his expression briefly in shadow. “...Yesterday evening, a child managed to wander into the woods alone.” A spike of cold worry threatens to heighten the wild surge of energy within him once more as his uncle continues, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “We have had several teams scouring the backhill and the whole of our land since then. They are young enough that their spiritual signature isn’t strong enough to register on normal tracking talismans.”

“Why was I not told?!” 

It burst from him, harsher from shock than he had meant and Uncle blinks, pausing in settling himself back onto his seat, brow furrowed.

But he cannot bring himself to care about disrespect, just now. Any child alone and lost is terrifying, awful. There is something, though…something about his tone, his expression that has breath caught in Xichen’s throat as slow, glacial horror creeps up from the depth of his gut. He is avoiding specifics. 

Why.

 “It is being handled already; why would I distract you from your duties? You’ve only just returned and you must--”

“Who. Which child.”

He huffs in irritation, brow furrowing further. And he shuts his mouth, lips compressing.

Xichen no longer needs an answer.

Behind him, he can hear Uncle’s voice raised in startled alarm, but he is already out the door, already leaping from the porch onto Shuoyue. The wind howls in his ears as shoots upward, speeding west to where he had felt the wards ring within him. To where A-Fu has just crossed beyond their safety.

He knows. He doesn’t know how, but he knows.

Xichen can barely breathe around the air battering his face and his own terror. The shrieking sky threatens to rip him from Shuoyue’s blade. Everything at once feels heightened, his awareness expanding to notice how chilly it is despite the sun, how the damp of the wind tearing at his hair and clothes tells of rain in the past day, how dark the woods look beneath the thick canopy blurring by below his feet. He had been alone and cold and terrified, out all night. Had the boy been trying to find his mother? Xichen? The thought made his gut writhe within him.

(They peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams…)

Please please please please please

How could this happen? How could he have ever allowed this to happen? There were rivers, cliffs, steep slopes of scree, ponds, caves, animals--gods, animals alone would--

He is well enough to move, to cross the wards.

If it was him. If it were not a strong enough spiritual animal to trigger the alarm. 

There is no boy hanging among them THERE IS NO--

The invisible boundary rears up in his senses, mere seconds full tilt sword ride from the Hanshi but so, so far for a tiny child, wandering in the night. Beneath the canopy, before Shuoyue even manages to drop to a reasonable height and speed, he has already leapt off, landing at a sprint. Internally, the memory of the disruption in the web of the spell warps around his spiritual awareness like a broken arch as he crosses in that exact place. The ground is not suddenly more treacherous, the trees no more menacing, but beyond the relative safety of the Cloud Recesses, his hammering heart sees the whole world is a death trap for this little child.

(He cannot bear to see a tiny body, he can’t, he can’t--)

Skidding to a stop, he wheels in place, eyes scouring everything at knee level and below. “A-Fu!” his throat is pinched, his mouth bone dry. “A-Fu?!”

The ground cover is thick with bushes, shrubs, trees both young and fallen. The sun shines spots into his eyes through the swaying leaf cover above, dappling the floor with shadow and light, dancing, blurring. Silence. Even the birdsong had stopped when this strange being had suddenly crashed into their peaceful little clearing. He sucks in a breath to call again--and then he hears it.

There is a small child crying somewhere nearby. 

Quiet and hoarse but unmistakable.

He isn't slow, gentle, or cautious or anything that a terrified child might need right now; something else has a hold of him, now. He blindly crashes through the brush towards the sound, half skidding down a slope until--until! There! 

A blur of white amongst tree roots halfway down, a curled shape and-- “A-Fu!”--a little face, smudged and red cheeked and tear stained raises and his little eyes light with recognition and he scrabbles, fumbling and crawling out as Xichen tears back up the slope--slips, rights himself--and reaches and the boy throws himself off the lip of the hollow and into his arms, colliding hard with his chest like his heart coming home. 

He staggers, momentum and sudden weakness buckling his knees. A gnarled tree catches his side and he slides them down into the huddle of its roots, curled around him. Against his chest, wrapped in his arms, A-Fu is damp and chilly. He is covered in muck and sticks and burrs but he’s alive--alive--safe and hiccuping and piteously hoarse, tangling his hands through Xichen’s hair as he clutches him back, gasping.

He can breathe. He can finally breathe again.

Some unnameable agony, like some wild beast, is thrashing, welling up, bursting from his chest. It shakes him, tearing at his throat, his heart, his lungs, burning. It’s not relief. It's not fear. It’s…

Heedless of stitches cracking and bursting, he yanks his thicker outer robes open and over the child, tucking him deep into the pocket of warmth. He can feel him shivering, his tiny heart speeding.

He had forgotten that his head is so warm, that his hands are so tiny, just how real his weight is in his arms. When he buries his nose in the baby fluff of his hair, under the dirt and musty forest chill is that wild-sweet child smell he remembers from carrying him for days beneath his chin--and long ago from when Wangji was young. 

He tries to pull back to check him for injuries, for bruising, but he latches onto his neck and sobs. Mere minutes before, Xichen had never wanted to hear another scream again--but now he wishes A-Fu’s cries were as loud as the first day he held him, deafening and demanding, sure and strong in their conviction. These sobs are private, weak, exhausted little things. Not calling for attention. No longer certain of a trusted adult’s return.

“P’ease,” he croaks and that pain, that pressure bears down on Xichen and it feels like drowning; it feels like dying.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m here,” he whispers back, thick and choked (that thing inside him that aches, that wails, that loves is strangling him), and he draws up his knees, he wraps his robes tighter and rocks and rocks them both as it breaks--all of it, calving and crashing and surging and molten and ugly and broken--and he wants to beg ‘scream, little love, scream your heart out; someone is coming, someone will always come,’ but he doesn't have enough breath as it tears from his locked throat in silent sobs, because with unworthy hands and heart, he holds this blameless little life that has wandered through the halls of his heart leaving muddy fingerprints, and does the cruelest, most selfish thing he can ever recall doing. 

He realizes that he cannot let him go again. 

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

01/26/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Renew As A Crew/Hoist The Ads; Cast & Crew Sightings; Queerties; Twitter Watch parties; Articles; Reasons to keep fighting; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonights Taika;

== Renew As A Crew / Hoist The Ads ==

Tumblr Post / Twitter Post /Instagram Post

Link to vote

==Cast & Crew Sightings==

While the sighting hasn't occurred yet... looks like Vico Ortiz, Nathan Foad, and Con O'Neill will all be attending Galaxy Con in San Jose on August 16-18, 2024 at the San Jose Mcenery Convention Center. Tickets available now. Src: _irene_adler on IG

One thing to note.. Chaos dad has been pretty consistent about reaching out every 3 days-ish lately.. I'm interested to see if tomorrow he shows up again. Just a theory.

== Queerties ==

If you're down, please vote for the Queerties each day! If you want to just vote for OFMD categories, feel free to visit: TV Comedy Best TV Performance Wanna help another Taika/Rhys verse Queertie? Vote for Kaimana for Best Film Performance in Next Goal Wins!

==Twitter Watch Parties==

Sadly, today #PirateOmens came to an end, but our friend @dandeebakes is already fast at work getting other cool Watch parties together! Please send them some love!

=HuntForThePirateHome=

HuntForThePirateHome Watch Party Starts Sunday Jan 28 at 3 PM EST, 12 PT, 8 PM GMT. Hashtags for that event are:

#HuntForThePirateHome

#AdoptOurCrew

#SaveOFMD

Thank you to @blueberreads for catching these trends on twitter during the Pirate Omens watch, definitely kept engagement up.

==LubeAsACrew==

#LubeAsACrew is back on 1/31/24 at 4PM PT, 1PM ET. Next up are S1 Episodes 5, 6, 7.

== How To Help ==

How To Help Save OFMD Task List - US How to Help Save OFMD Task List - Outside US

==Articles==

15 Things We’ll Miss About ‘Our Flag Means Death’

2024’s Canceled Shows, for Your Final Consideration

Relisting The Guardian's article from yesterday because they've opened comments, and it can help with engagement so feel free to comment on it now!

Also, @itsmfgames Has been kind enough to be keeping up a running list of Articles about the campaigns -- so if you have the time and want to go catch up on some articles, please checkout the guide below and visit this google doc for the list! It's been added to the Daily Renewal List for both US and Outside-US, so feel free to check it out there as needed.

== Reasons to Keep Fighting ==

Throwing in some great points from our tumblr folks regarding the cancellation that really helped me feel pumped today.

@celluloidbroomcloset's Our Flag Means Death was cancelled because it’s gay.

@queerly-autistic's break down on why Not All Fan Campaigns Are The Same.

@saltpepperbeard's reasoning for Clinging Onto Hope

@tulipseason's lovely reasons The Show Is Irreplaceable

== Love Notes ==

Alright lovelies. I have so many words to say about how great you all are, how much I love you (and I'm sure you're tired of hearing them), but I went back to work today after 7 days of being sick and now my brain is mush. So instead I'm going to put the text of one of my son's books in here because I think every one of us should feel loved like we were when we were 5.

On The Night You Were Born - By Nancy Tillman On the night you were born, the moon smiled with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, “Life will never be the same.” Because there had never been anyone like you… ever in the world. So enchanted with you were the wind and the rain, that they whispered the sound of your wonderful name. It sailed through the farmland High on the breeze… Over the ocean… And through the trees… Until everyone heard it and everyone knew of the one and only ever you. Not once had there been such eyes, such a nose, such silly, wiggly, wonderful toes. When the polar bears heard, they danced until dawn. From faraway places, the geese flew home. The moon stayed up until morning next day. And none of the ladybugs flew away. So whenever you doubt just how special you are and you wonder who loves you, how much and how far,  Listen for geese honking high in the sky. (They’re singing a song to remember you by.) Or notice the bears asleep at the zoo. (It’s because they’ve been dancing all night for you!) Or drift off to sleep to the sound of the wind. (Listen closely… it’s whispering your name again!) If the moon stays up until morning one day, or a ladybug lands and decides to stay, or a little bird sits at your window awhile, it’s because they’re all hoping to see you smile… For never before in story or rhyme (not even once upon a time) has the world ever known a you, my friend, and it never will, not ever again… Heaven blew every trumpet And played every horn On the wonderful, marvelous Night you were born

== Daily Darby / Tonights Taika ==

The gifs today are courtesy of our lovely @ofmd-ann who blesses us every day with gifs that make me swoon. Darby / Taika

Warning to all you gif makers, I'm gonna be bugging the crap out of you soon for permission to share on these recaps :P -- feel free to say no!

[kkpwnall]

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part two | rated t | 4k words [ part one ]

all my thanks and love for @fragilecapric0rnn for beta reading again. thanks for your help, and for kindly correcting my silly mistakes 💜

Eddie catches all the not-so-subtle winks Dustin throws him every time one of the kids wheedles details about the next campaign out of him, or Robin gets him going on government conspiracy theories, or Steve cracks him up with a bitchy remark.

The kid’s about as subtle as a train full of cowbells crashing into a packed clown car.

But he makes it seem so easy, to just… be their friend. Too easy. As if Eddie doesn’t have a lifetime of reasons not to.

Against his better judgment, slowly but surely, they’re eroding his finely-honed walls. Growing like moss, like ivy between the cracks.

The kids barge in one day arguing at full volume. Steve trudges in behind them and drops into the crummy plastic chair closest to Eddie’s bed, the one usually occupied by Wayne or Dustin. Well, when Dustin’s not going toe to broken toe with his friends over—

“We can’t split the party under these conditions!”

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

Steve heaves a ragged sigh, and Eddie watches as if entranced by the complicated movements of Steve’s fingers as he alternates pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging over his eyes.

He looks wrung out. When was the last time he got a decent night’s sleep?

“So someone has to pull double duty. We’ll draw straws and rotate every week,” Mike says, like he’s being the pinnacle of reasonableness. Whatever it is, Eddie’s sure he isn’t.

“That’s not fair! We should just pull someone off and make them exempt. Like Nancy or El, someone we need on more useful things.”

“What the hell are you little gargoyles arguing about?” Eddie reaches for his DM baritone and comes up short. Maybe his diaphragm got rearranged with all the rest of his guts.

It still works to cut through the kids’ argument though. Steve shoots him a grateful look.

“We’re trying to decide what everyone in the party would do in the inevitable zombie apocalypse,” Mike hurries to explain.

“Inevitable..?” Eddie glances out the window he can just barely see from his position on the bed.

It’s been weeks since they wasted Vecna, with no sign of his sorry ass returning. No blood and ash raining from the sky, no earthquakes splitting the town apart, and definitely no zombies.

“Yeah, ‘cause see, if we’ve got El on recon, Nancy and Lucas take point with ranged weapons. Argyle’s in charge of foraging and cooking—”

Steve groans and slumps back in the seat as the kids pick up steam again. He’s so dramatic, Eddie can’t help a snort of laughter he covers with a cough. Steve’s got a hand splayed over his face, from his jaw up into his hairline, like he can block out the whole world. Or at least this one conversation.

With hands like that, maybe he can...

“But someone’s gotta stay back and guard the base! And you can’t have one person on watch, what if they fall asleep or get attacked or—”

A stupid little smile curls over Eddie’s lips as he watches Steve out of the corner of his eye while the kids keep arguing.

“We’re thirteen people now, Mike! There’s no way to divide watch shifts evenly between thirteen people and twenty-four hours in a day! Even Holly can do that math!”

Eddie whips around as reality drops on him like a load of every perfidious brick this group has worn down over the past couple weeks.

“What did you just say?”

Dustin gives him a disappointed look, “C’mon, Eddie, I know you of all people can do this math. Thirteen—”

No way. Absolutely not. That cannot possibly be correct. It has to be a mistake. It has to.

Eddie does a headcount, checking them off on his fingers hidden under the thin hospital sheets to double check their math. Someone got counted twice or not at all.

His three Hellfire gremlins plus Lady Applejack and Red. Nancy and Robin and Steve round out the Hawkins crew. Add in Supergirl and Zombie Boy with their whole “saving the world” schtick for an even ten, and now he’s really starting to sweat. Then there’s Jonathan and that guy Argyle. Plus Eddie makes…

“Oh my god, I’ll do it! I’ll be the designated hitter,” Steve half-shouts. The kids just stare at him blankly, and he sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes so hard Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t black out from it. “I’ll take the double shifts in your make believe zombie apocalypse. Happy?”

Steve’s hand, the one that was covering his face, sits warm and heavy over the sheet covering Eddie’s trembling hand. Eddie has no idea how or when it got there, or if Steve even really registers where it’s landed. Not exactly holding his hand, not with the sheet between them, but definitely there. Something to focus on that’s not how he already died and he’s still being fucking haunted by the spectre of his birth.

So no, he’s not happy, and neither are the gremlins. They immediately start shouting over each other to argue with him.

“Out!” Steve starts to rise from the chair, leaning his weight on Eddie’s hand and points at the door with a snap. “Get out! Go bother Max and Lucas with this shit, or I’m not driving your sorry asses back here tomorrow.”

And just like that, Dustin ushers them out, still grumbling and arguing. He shoots Steve a look, but Steve glares him down with a hand on his hip.

The door slams behind them and it’s finally, blissfully quiet.

“Jesus Christ with those kids,” Steve mutters as he reclaims his seat, “It’s like they can’t shut up for five minutes.”

Eddie is silent next to him in the bed, and he’s pretty sure if Steve’s hand wasn’t on his, it’d be shaking. The rest of him is. This clawing, aching, tingling vibration just under his skin. The tremor is coming from inside the house.

He knows better than this, he knows better, what the hell is he thinking.

He needs to stop fooling around and get his act together, or with his luck, there really will be a zombie apocalypse and all of these people will be casualties of it. All because of him.

“Sorry,” Steve says, sheepishly. “This is like, your room. I shouldn’t’ve kicked them out if you wanted them here. You just... you looked like you needed a break.”

“Yeah, I— yeah, it’s fine,” Eddie says on a rough exhale. Takes a steadying inhale. And judging by the bags under Steve’s eyes, “Looks like you could use a break yourself, man.”

“They’ve just been arguing about that stupid zombie apocalypse shit for hours!” Steve throws himself back in the chair and launches into his own rant.

One hand gestures wildly, digging through his hair and underscoring his words, while the other stays where it’s been planted, gently covering Eddie’s. Twitching and flexing occasionally.

He lets Eddie catch his breath. He gives him enough space that Eddie could slip his hand free, could pull away without making a big deal out of it. He has to feel Eddie’s hand by now, he has to. But he doesn’t move away.

Eddie doesn’t move away either.

He doesn’t have a good reason not to. In fact, he’s got nothing but good reasons to pull his hand back and let them both pretend like none of this ever happened.

But Steve’s hand is warm and solid over his, even through the sheet. And where would he put his hand anyway? Where would it go, untethered? If anything, it’d interrupt Steve’s flow, and it really seems like he needs to get all this off his beautifully hairy chest.

“—And they’re acting like it’s such a problem we’ve got an uneven number now!“

“Well they’ve kinda got a point. I mean, with thirteen…” Eddie interjects.

Steve flashes him a broad, cocky smile. “Hey, thirteen’s my lucky number.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie mumbles, mostly to himself.

Steve hears him anyway. “No, I’m serious! It’s been my jersey number since I was a kid. Like even way back when I was just playing tee ball. Oh, and get this! Somehow, all through grade school, I was number thirteen on the roll call list. Every year! I mean, that’s crazy, right?”

No, crazy is being pulled out of hell itself by the sheer force of will and determination of a guy whose lucky number is thirteen.

This is just too ironic for words. It’s bordering on absurd.

But Wayne’s always tried to tell him truth is stranger than fiction.

Eddie keeps his mouth shut with gritted teeth, holding back a laugh. Or maybe a scream. Either would land him in the loony bin, because once he started, he wouldn’t ever stop.

“And anyway, the way I see it, our luck’s never been better.”

That unsticks Eddie’s mouth.

“What?” he sputters. “Steve, three people are dead, Red and Henderson both have broken bones, and you got chewed on by fucking demon bats!”

Steve shrugs his shoulder loosely, like it’s just the price of doing business. “Yeah, but we actually figured out who’s behind all this shit. I mean like, everything, since ‘83. Since Will went missing and Barb... We finally got answers. And we closed all the gates now, for good. He’s gone. It’s over. And we’re all still here.”

Steve’s eyes slowly trace over Eddie’s own slightly mangled body. Over the tubes and wires snaking out between the bandages wrapped around his arms. Over the one taped across his cheek, until he meets Eddie’s eyes through his lashes. “We couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

Eddie doesn’t have a clue what to say to that. To any of it. The only thing he brings to the table are nerdy references and loud music and a penchant for getting anyone close to him killed.

But Steve makes all that sound like a good thing. Like Eddie is a good thing.

If he keeps this up, Eddie might almost start to believe him.

Steve clears his throat and releases Eddie from the trap of his honeyed hazel gaze, but not before Eddie sees the rosy pink color starting to tint his cheeks. The same heat rising over his own face.

“Sorry man, we’re doing a terrible job of letting you get any rest today. The kids came in here arguing, and then I just went off like that. I can go, if you want some peace and quiet,” Steve pushes the chair back, and Eddie’s fingers twitch under his hand.

Yes. “No, you… you can stay. If you want.” Eddie grabs the remote with his free hand and waggles it at him, plasters on a smile. “Let’s just watch some tv. Put on whatever you want.”

Steve doesn’t look quite convinced, but he does scootch his chair back closer to the bed. “No no no, it’s your tv, man. I know Dustin’s always stealing the remote.”

“C’mon, seriously…” Eddie thinks for a moment until he lands on, “What did you watch when you were home sick as a kid?”

“Uh no, absolutely not.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You’re gonna laugh...”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie says, with all the sincerity he can muster.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, before he blows out an aggrieved sigh. “Alright, look… when I was little, like real little, like younger than the kids, my mom would set me up on the couch with a big blanket with a hot water bottle… And she’d put on General Hospital.”

Eddie presses his lips shut tight to contain his snort of laughter. It still blows his cheeks out though, and there’s a smile he can’t quite keep in.

Steve glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it.

Eddie shakes his head, grinning, “General Hospital it is.”

They surf the channels for a while but can’t find it playing anywhere. Instead, Eddie lands one of Wayne’s old favorite spaghetti westerns, and starts outlining all the tropes of the genre. But it turns out Steve’s grandpa was just as big a fan, and Steve matches him beat for beat as they roast the stilted dialogue.

Eventually, Steve’s eyelids start to droop. His head drops a few times, before he jerks back up, blinking hard. Eddie keeps talking to him, but softer now. Slower. More and more space between each sentence.

Steve’s breath slows and evens out, his chin tucks into his chest and one arm wraps around his stomach. He falls asleep in that uncomfortable hospital chair with his hand still over Eddie’s. 

It’s release day.

It’s finally, finally release day. Marked on his calendar and circled in red. Or it would be, if Eddie had a calendar. He’s never been good at keeping up with those kind of things.

The point is, he’s been counting down to this day for weeks. Weeks. But this is it, today’s the day.

He’s already been denied twice thanks to the government goons.

The first time, he was so out of it on painkillers, he didn’t even realize that maybe he should be taking their questions seriously. That one’s on him for answering everything in character as Samwise Gamgee.

The second time though, he’d bet his remaining guitar on petty revenge. All because he wouldn’t sign their stupid NDA without reading it thoroughly first. Or it could have been his demand for more than a pat on the back from Uncle Sam. Eddie wasn’t about to walk away from this all shit empty handed.

But all that’s settled now. He and Wayne got a modest farmhouse with some land, ready and waiting for them just outside of town. His name’s been cleared and the yokels bought the cover story, hook, line, and sinker. And there’s a stipend coming to a bank account with his name on it every month, as long as he keeps his trap shut. It’s enough that Wayne won’t have to work unless he really wants to.

All the doc has to do is sign his release form, and he’s gone. Eddie is leaving today or so help him—

But it’s not the doctor that comes through the door, or even Wayne.

It’s Steve.

With a “knock knock”, out loud, even as he knocks on the door, peeking around it, and beaming when he sees Eddie.

“Wayne sent me ahead with this,” he drops a hefty duffel bag on the foot of Eddie’s bed. “He and Dustin are just finishing up at the house, they’ll be here any minute.”

Eddie balks a little at that, but Steve chuckles knowingly.

“Don’t worry, Henderson’s leaving with me. I had to bribe him with a trip to the comic book store, but at least it’ll give you and Wayne some time to get settled at the new place.”

“Is it good?” Eddie can’t help but ask. Hates how small it comes out. There’s always a chance the suits decided to screw them over.

Steve answers with one of those soft smiles of his. “Yeah, man. It’s great. You’re gonna love it.”

“Good, good,” Eddie says absentmindedly. He has to tear his eyes away and grab the bag, start rifling through it. All the while trying not to wonder who picked out these clothes and who packed them up and—

“I’ll uh, give you some privacy,” Steve says as Eddie pulls out a heavy red plaid and a pair of sweats.

He pulls the curtain around Eddie’s bed between them, but he doesn’t leave. Instead he asks if Eddie wants the latest (and hopefully last) hospital gossip.

“Uh, duh! I gotta know if Luellen’s made a move yet.”

Eddie wrangles his arms inside the hospital gown and pulls it roughly over his head to throw it in a heap in the corner. Ooo-ing and gasping at all the right moments during Steve’s tales of intrigue.

He has to move slower than he wants to, has to take his time and sit on the edge of the bed, dangling his legs to the floor to shimmy into the sweatpants.

And whoever picked the flannel deserves a goddamn Nobel prize. He’s able to slip it on easily without agitating his remaining stitches or lifting his arms above his head. And once he’s got the buttons done up, it’s loose enough not to snag or cling.

Eddie digs around in the bag again and fishes out a pair of slip-on shoes. They’re not his, not his usual style, and definitely don’t go with this getup. But the worn leather is soft, and at least he doesn’t have to deal with the whole mess of bending over to tie them. Or— god forbid— ask Steve to come over and tie them for him.

That’s an ordeal he’s not sure he’d survive.

Whoever packed this bag is getting a fruit basket.

In a soft purple crown royal bag tucked in on the side, he finds his rings and his necklace, and it makes something in his heart clench. Something slots into place, just by sliding the rings back on his fingers, the pick over his head. Whole, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Screw the fruit basket, they’re getting a whole goddamn orchard.

Eddie’s been quiet for a long moment, not quite keeping up his end of the storytelling experience.

Steve’s gone quiet too, and Eddie’s not sure how long it’s been since either of them said anything.

On the other side of the curtain, Steve clears his throat, and his sneakers squeak on the tile as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Are you decent?”

Eddie snorts out a laugh. “I’m dressed if that’s what you’re asking.”

He catches the tail end of Steve’s eye roll as he pulls back the curtain. He looks Eddie up and down as he comes around. Smiles softly and gets comfortable on the foot of the bed, one leg folded underneath him.

“Ready to go?”

“You have no idea,” and Eddie has to fight the urge not to throw himself back dramatically on the bed. Damn the stitches.

“Yeah, I don’t blame ya. My longest stay wasn’t even half as long as they’ve kept you, and I was climbing the walls by the end of it.” He rubs unconsciously at the scar running through the edge of his eyebrow.

Eddie does not take his hand and pull it away to soothe the aching memory himself. He doesn’t even think about it, really. Definitely doesn’t have to distract himself with an old habit like sliding his rings off and on his fingers.

“What, unseasoned hospital food doesn’t appease your refined palette?” he teases in a haughty voice.

“If I had to eat one more piece of dry, rubbery chicken…” Steve threatens.

“No way, man, the pork chops are way worse.”

They argue back and forth, ranking the rest of the limited hospital menu on a scale of pudding cups to sawdust, and it’s good, it’s easy.

Until there’s a lull in the conversation, and Steve clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. Sits up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders like he’s psyching himself up.

“Hey so I was thinking… Maybe once you’re all cleared, I can take you out for dinner sometime? I promise it’ll be better than any of this crap.”

Steve looks so earnest, so hopeful, with that confident damn smile curving his lips and his heavy lidded eyes watching Eddie. His hands flex like he wants to reach for him. But he stays still and gives Eddie his space. Must somehow know Eddie would be even more likely to run if he did.

A tight knot of want and can’t claws roughly up Eddie’s throat and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing.

He has to tell him. Knowing Eddie, being friends with Eddie, it’s dangerous. It always has been. He’s let himself indulge in this fantasy for way too long. He has to put a stop to it, now.

It’s more dangerous than Dustin, than Wayne, than Chrissy. Not just a friend but something— someone more.

“Steve…” who Eddie cannot even begin to think about being anything. He won’t.

Eddie Munson is nobody’s happy ending.

“You don’t want— this,” he chickens out at the last second.

Steve’s smile slowly fades and he blinks a few times. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his head tilts to the side, considering for a moment. “I think you should let me decide what I want.”

And Eddie wants to scream.

This isn’t about you!

But of course, it is. It’s about him, and every single person that’s come before him, and every one that’s sure to come after him, and everything that has and will go wrong.

The words catch in Eddie’s throat, and he can’t say any of them. So he just sits there, frozen and silent and begging Steve to understand.

Steve looks away and lets out a long breath. Not quite a sigh as he shakes his head. He stands and starts heading towards the door.

He turns back before he gets there though, catching Eddie again in his earnest gaze.

“The real question: is what do you want, Eddie?”

And nobody’s asked him that in such a long time. Every day since he woke up in the hospital has been the same. All of his meals are pre-planned and brought at the exact same time, whether he’s hungry or not, whether he likes the food or can even keep it down or not. His schedule, from when to sleep to when to take his meds to when he does physical therapy, has been out of his hands. And then Dustin shows up with whoever he decides to bring with him that day.

Eddie’s been resurrected, but what choice has he really had?

Part of him, this new part of him born from his death and a second chance at life, is just daring him to see how far he can push his newfound luck. To prove once and for all if the curse really is broken.

Eddie’s never said no to a dare.

Steve turns to leave, one hand reaching for the door, and Eddie scrambles to his feet. Takes a few shaky stiff, baby deer steps forward as he calls him back, “Steve—”

He holds Steve’s gaze for an impossibly long moment, tracing the swirls and whorls and questions in his hazel eyes, his freckles and moles and scars.

Go big and go home.

“How about a kiss?” Eddie asks. “For luck?”

Steve’s face morphs through several expressions so fast, Eddie can’t keep track of all of them. He lands on something incredulous, his lips curving upwards in a smirk even as his eyebrows fall and pinch in the middle at the sheer audacity—

But he crosses the room in two swift strides to stand in front of Eddie. Throws a quick glance at the still-shut door, at his mouth, before meeting his eyes again. Eddie barely starts to nod, and Steve’s lips are on his.

His gentle strong hand around Eddie’s elbow reels him in, pulls him closer. Eddie’s lands on his bicep, and the flex of muscle ignites a frisson of sparks under his palm to race through his bloodstream.

Steve’s other hand caresses Eddie’s unblemished cheek. Like he’s something precious. Something to hold onto, something dear.

As far as kisses go, it’s Eddie’s first.

Soft, sure and confident, the kiss is everything Eddie could have ever dreamed of. Hurried— not as in frenzied. Hurried as in greedy. Desperate to steal the breath from his lungs before he’s even noticed it’s missing.

Eddie kisses Steve back with equal fervor, trying to pour everything he has, everything he wants, everything he fears into the movement of his lips, the sweep of his tongue.

Eddie’s hand joins Steve’s on his cheek, keeping him close. An anchor in the tsunami flooding his senses with everything Steve. Cherry lip balm and hairspray, fresh laundry, and the musky hint of sweat underneath it all. It’s intoxicating. Incomparable. Incredible.

And Eddie’s just gonna blame the weeks-long hospital stay for how fast he goes weak at the knees.

Steve’s sure, steady hand in the small of Eddie’s back guides him slowly backwards until his thighs hit the bed again, and he sits hard, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Eddie reaches for him, eyes wide and staring up at Steve through his lashes, hooking his fingers through his belt loops. Two steps away is too far but Steve wastes no time crowding closer to stand between Eddie’s legs. He gently tips Eddie’s face up with a featherlight touch and kisses him deeply while Eddie holds him firmly by his hips.

Consuming and consumed, devouring and devoured. Wanting and wanted.

When they come up for air, Steve swoops back in, once, twice, and a lingering third time, like he’s reluctant to stop. And Eddie strains his neck to meet him kiss for kiss.

Steve finally pulls away just far enough to sigh breathlessly against his lips, “Is that all you want, Eddie?” His eyes screwed shut tight.

No. Eddie wants everything. For now though, he’ll settle for– “Somebody said something about dinner and movie?”

“Oh so now there’s a movie, huh?” Steve says, but he’s smiling and nudges his nose against Eddie’s.

“Don’t go thinking I’m a cheap date now, sweetheart,” and Eddie’s smiling too. Smiling too much for more than quick kisses that skate across their lips.

With each peck, Eddie schemes how to get Steve’s lips on his again. How to keep him. Keep him safe.

They break apart when the sharp clack-clack of heels echoes down the corridor from Eddie’s room, heralding the doctor’s arrival.

Eddie was born under a bad sign. But maybe here, in this new life, he can make his own luck. 

[ also on ao3 ]

[red-velvet-0w0]

Erins list of media recomendations

Are you bored and looking for a new show to get into?

Did you follow me for one specific fandom and now have no idea what 90% of my posts are about?

Well look no further!

here is a list of a bunch of really cool media (of various genres/mediums) that I love and you might love too! (these are mostly going to be smaller fandoms/media that i dont think gets the attention they deserve):

Hello From the Hallowoods (podcast): My beloved! if you are a fan of Malevolent or TMA, and want other queer eye themed horror podcasts, this is my #1 recomendation. It is by far my favorite podcast of all time, and needs way more love then it gets. its currently still releasing episodes and is on its 4th season (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a scattered group of survivors of an apocalypse known as "the black rains" fight to survive in a strange and magical forest, as an all seeing god watches from afar)

Witherburn After School News (podcast): Another great underappreciated queer podcast. its still releasing episodes and is currently still in its first season. Though there are supernatural elements, the story remains far more grounded and interested in the ordinary lives of the people. Gives a lot of the same vibes of season 1 TMA, but if instead of the statements being the focus, the characters were given the spotlight while the supernatural stories loomed in the background (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a young reporter in a small town decides starts an afterschool radio show, where she discusses the goings on around town, and takes it upon herself to investigate the dissapearences of children that the police refuse to acknowledge)

Aurora Webcomic (webcomic): A webcomic made by OSP Red herself! the art and storytelling is phenomanal, and all of the characters are impecibaly written. it is currently in its second arc, and regularly releasing 3 pages a week. (also fun fact its where i got the name erin from) (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a demigod must rescue his master from a god-stealing witch before she is able to use his soul to end all life on earth. along the way he meets up with a cast of colorful characters, each with their own quests, who decide to band together to save the world)

Nova Drift (video game): did you ever play that old Asteroids video game back in the day? did you ever wonder what it would be like if it was instead a fast paced bright neon roguelike where you massacred everybody who stood in your path with high tech machinery? well nova drift has you covered! its a ton of fun and increadibly addicting, with tons of complexity and endless replayability

Epithet Erased (indie cartoon): If wordplay was a series. it was created by the youtuber JelloApocalypse based off of a rpg campaign he played with friends. Though its artstyle is relatively simple due to its low budget, the limits put upon the animation allow it to find new and creative ways to tell its story. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): In a universe where people have words tied to their souls that grant them powers, 6 people must battle it out in a museum for control over an ancient artifact)

The Wandering Inn (web fiction): another one of the reasons I go by Erin! though I honestly really need to catch up with it, I highly recomend the wandering inn if youre interested in more long-form stories. It is currently on volume 10 (i think im not sure) and each volume is longer then the last. If youre a fan of storys with hundreds of characters and shifting viewpoints youll love it. otherwise you should run in fear because you will not be able to remember half of the characters by volume 2. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): A chess prodigy from earth named Erin Solstice suddenly finds herself transported into an RPG style fantasy world with magic, classes, and levels. to survive, she decides to become a bartender)

Bigtop Burger (indie cartoon): If youre a fan of absurdist comedies, this is the show for you. Its made by the youtuber Worthikids and just finished its second season. its incredibly short and can be binged in its entirety in just over half an hour. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a clown themed food truck attempt to sell burgers, while fighting with their rival food truck, and slowly realizing that their boss is not who they thought he was)

Kid Vampire (indie cartoon): much like Bigtop, KV is a simple and charming show with not much more going on. if your looking for some fun fluffy stories about some kids having fun, id recomend it, but if your looking for something more serious you might want to look elsewhere. Its made by the youtuber Mummy Joe, and is actively releasing episodes. (slightly spoilery pitch (if you dont like spoilers look away): a vampire child named Kid Vampire is sent to go to school with humans to kill them and steal their blood, but ends up making some new friends instead.)

Those are nowhere near all of my favorites, but id highly recomend you check at least 1 out! I adore all of these and if I can get even 1 more person to become a fan, ill consider that a win!