#I hope this is wwII enough!!

[yeagrave]

hello hello! I think it would be cool too see WWII hangster (if that's something you're interested in!!)

homecoming :')

[stillunusual]

The word "Nazi" has a specific meaning to normal people, but to vatniks and tankies it has five basic meanings…. "anybody I don't like" "anybody who disagrees with me" "anybody who's a citizen of a country that Russia wants to invade" "anybody who opposed or simply didn't want to live in one of the tyrannical regimes I simp for" "anybody who was oppressed or killed by one of my favourite mass murderers" EDITED TO ADD: a tankie clown reblogged this post and made some typically asinine comments, so I thought I'd elaborate a little bit…. Tankie clown: @well1x is either referring to the fact that a lot of the "deaths under communism" listed in "the black book of communism" (which gives us the 10 million number or whatever) are quite literally Nazis in WWII, or they're referring to the fact that the only people who have been made to deliberately suffer under communism have been literal Nazis and fascists (generally speaking)

Joining the tankie cult requires you to live in a delusional clown world and believe in a shit ton of made up (and often contradictory) nonsense that requires a considerable repertoire of mental gymnastics (and lies) to maintain….

@well1x is literally trying to claim that all victims of communism are "nazis and facists" (sic), which - back in the real world - is a very obvious lie. It's also a blatant example of victim blaming. For example, most of the millions of men, women and children who were robbed, raped, imprisoned, sent to the gulags, tortured, starved to death, executed or ethnically cleansed by Stalin's henchmen were not Nazis or fascists, and many were innocent of any crime. The vast majority of the population in Stalin's Soviet Union also had to put up with crippling poverty and backwardness, the brutal suppression of their religious and community life and the total lack of freedom.

Based on his comment, I doubt if the tankie clown has ever read "the black book of communism" and I'm also not sure why he mentions this book in particular, when there are thousands of others that thoroughly document the numerous crimes of the regimes tankies insist on being the useful idiots for, and I think it's safe to assume that he hasn't read any of those books either (in fact, I doubt if he's ever read any book whatsoever)…. Tankie clown: Karina then shows an image of (presumably) some kids in the Ukraine famine. This is completely unrelated though because this famine was not manufactured by the USSR as say the Irish famine was by the English. Can't really attribute natural disaster to "muh communism"

Again - a typical genocide-denying tankie lie.

Tankies generally start by saying that the holodomor was Nazi propaganda, and when you debunk that they claim it was just a natural disaster, and when that doesn't work they make up some bullshit about how millions of farmers who barely had enough to live on were wealthy kulaks who burned crops and slaughtered cattle (and therefore deserved to die). And when you point out that the red army actually broke into their homes and confiscated all their grain, every cow or chicken or any other food they had, and that the Soviet authorities blacklisted villages, sometimes purely for containing relatives of Ukrainian independence fighters, and prevented the villagers from leaving, shot them for even collecting ears of grain from the fields, and watched them starve to death - tankies will just deny it, or laugh, or pretend that millions of holodomor victims were all rich landlords (and therefore deserved to die) etc etc….

I've also never seen English people pretending that the Irish famine never happened, or claiming that the victims deserved it, or that it was a good thing, or that Britain should re-conquer Ireland. On the other hand, it's difficult not to notice Stalin's smooth-brained groupies swarming all over social media every day denying or justifying the holodomor and other crimes of Russia and the USSR, and hoping that Russia not only re-conquers Ukraine but also Finland, the Baltics, Poland and other countries it has invaded and occupied in the past.

There's no point trying to reason with tankies using facts, logic or common sense - and appealing to their sense of decency while they're simping for their favourite mass murderers is a complete waste of time. Tankie clown: Karina then says @well1x is defending imperialism(???), defending ethnic cleansing (which …what??), dreaming about labour camps and mass shootings (for Nazis yes plz), and does not do any praxis (based on?).

Yep - most tankie clowns claim to be communists while simultaneously embracing Russian fascism, supporting the imperialism of Russia’s mega-rich ruling class, mindlessly repeating the Kremlin's propaganda and cheerleading their war crimes. These morons seem to have no idea that the Russian Federation is an empire made up of many conquered states that Russia invaded, occupied and colonised in the 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th and 20th centuries, or that Russia's war against Ukraine is a brutal attempt to reassert control over one of its former colonies. Russia's history of imperialism is at least as bad as that of any western country - and they're still doing it in the 21st century.

And I have seen countless examples of tankies speaking openly of wanting to mass murder their ideological enemies (or people they don't like) - because they also delude themselves into believing that if their revolutionary dreams ever came true, they'd be the ones doing the arresting and killing, despite the fact that in a real revolution they'd be about as much use as a fart in a spacesuit. They also have no idea how their small dick energy is somehow going to bring capitalism to its knees, which they'd inevitably end up crying about if it ever actually happened in reality.

Most of them are complete losers who spend the majority of their time sitting in their bedrooms huffing their own farts while reading tankie fan fiction online. Tankie clowns also claim to be against western imperialism and capitalism, despite living comfortable lives in western capitalist countries and owing everything they have to capitalism, including the freedom to use their capitalist smartphones or laptops to post anti-capitalist tantrums on social media platforms owned by western capitalists (thus helping these western capitalists to maximise their profits).

This is generally the sum total of a typical tankie's - ahem - "revolutionary" activity.

The vast majority of tankie clowns wouldn't dream of ever giving up the comforts of capitalism to move to one of the authoritarian shitholes they stupidly simp for, because then they might not be able to play their favourite capitalist video games anymore….

It's also a fact that Russia and the USSR have ethnically cleansed millions of people. Tankie clown: OP takes this insane train all the way to the station, and says @well1x is talking about anyone they don't like which… no. They're talking about the traditional Nazis.

No - they're falsely claiming that all victims of communism are Nazis and fascists. Learn to read…. Tankie clown: But also let's break this down. Who does OP think is being called a Nazi? "anyone I don't like" I mean I don't like Nazis, but I don't think everyone I don't like is one lmao. Funny tho, dude throws around the word tankie until it has no meaning.

In my experience, if you disagree with tankies about anything, they will pretty soon call you a fascist or a Nazi. It's they who throw around words like "fascist" and "Nazi" until they have no meaning (and most of them hilariously claim to be opposed to fascism while simultaneously supporting it - if it happens to be Russian). Tankie clown: - "anyone who disagrees with me" if you disagree that all human beings deserve to live a dignified life regardless of race/sex/gender identity/sexual orientation/age/disability/whatever then yeah you probably are a Nazi

Straw man. See above….

It's also amusing to observe the doublethink of somebody who apparently believes that "all human beings deserve to live a dignified life" while simultaneously thinking that when his favourite mass murderers oppressed and/or killed huge numbers of people it was perfectly OK…. Tankie clown: - "anyone who's a citizen of a country that Russia wants to invade" why the fuck are we talking about Russia? Believe it or not OP, USSR does not stand for "United Soviet States of Russia" lmaoooo

We're talking about Russia because most tankie clowns support Russian imperialism and mindlessly parrot the Kremlin's propaganda about how Russia's latest invasion of Ukraine is some sort of special de-nazification operation (see above). Tankies are generally so ignorant, gullible and stupid that they will literally believe anything the Kremlin tells them…. Tankie clown: - "anyone opposed or simply didn't want to live in one of the tyrannical regimes I simp for" tyrannical regimes lmao. These were only "tyrannical regimes" for people who actually were in fact Nazis.

Again - this is the kind of reality-denying nonsense I'd expect to hear from a tankie clown. One thing that really appalls people in the central and eastern European countries that experienced the reality of being occupied by the USSR and/or Russia, is the staggering ignorance and stupidity of western useful idiots who have no idea what it was actually like, and are not only dumb enough to join the tankie cult, but insist on westsplaining to the victims and their descendants about how the horrors they and their families suffered (usually for doing literally nothing) either didn't happen ("cuz the CIA made it all up") or claiming that they somehow deserved it ("cuz they were all Nazis/fascists/kulaks/slave owners").

Back in the real world, these were tyrannical regimes for tens of millions of ordinary people who had done nothing to deserve being subjected to tyranny…. Tankie clown: - "anyone who was oppressed or killed by one of my favourite mass murderers" yeah basically that's what I've been saying.

Thanks for proving my point….

And please note that smoking weed on your mum's sofa isn't actually going to bring the world revolution closer.

That was just a joke…. 🤣😂

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

Hiii ! Congratulations on the 350 followers !! I love your blog so much you totally deserve it, I’m so happy every time you post a new writing !!

Thank you for tagging me it was so unexpected but I’m truly honoured 🫶🏻. Would you consider doing head cannons for jason x daughter of athena ? Im a cabin six girl and Jason is my fav. If you don’t have time or if you don’t want to write it I completely understand :)

By the way I love all your fics they are AMAZING.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ jason grace x daughter of athena! reader hcs

content: jason grace x daughter of athena! reader hcs warning: i think language???? author's note: YOU!!! MY NUMBER ONE FAN YOU!!! i love love seeing you spam my notifs, it makes me so happy!! so of course i tagged you as a fav, duh!! anyways YOURE AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

NERD'S FALLING IN LOVE ALERT

you guys met through leo, strangely enough

jason had been hanging around bunker nine when a goddess walked in-

jk jk jk but that's fr what he thought

you handed off some blueprints to leo, explaining what each one was, getting excited as he bounced ideas off of you

"oh, right, this is jason. jason, y/n," leo introduced with a wave of his hand, walking away as he went to put the blueprints in a special place

"oh! lovely to meet you," you said, offering him your free hand

"y-yeah, same- same here," he stuttered through his sentence, unable to pull his eyes from you.

you breathed out a laugh, ducking your head and turning away from the blonde boy, chewing on your lip as you called your leave

jason stayed put, watching you go, unable to move, breathe, speak-

"dude, don't drool in here. that's gross and also a slipping hazard," leo mocked, though he was growing excited at the prospects of playing matchmaker with piper.

but he didn't need to, as you stomped up to the zeus cabin the next morning during breakfast

jason had been sitting there, lonely as could be, passively reading some history book chiron had lent to him while chewing away at an apple

"hey, jason, i was just- oh my gods, i love that book!" you cheered, your thoughts getting cut off as you noticed the book in his hand

jason jumped, his eyes instantly darting up to you in a panic, his heart working double time

"what chapter are you on?? it gets so good after five," you rambled, leaning towards the boy with an excited glimmer in your eyes that jason was rapidly falling in love with

"just finished five. it's gets better than that?" he questioned, attempting a joke and earning giggles from you.

his new favorite prize

all good love stories start with the bonding over a wwii book, duh!!

then, you guys started trading books

you gave him one about architecture that annabeth had gifted to you and he gave you one on aerodynamics leo had given to him as a joke

you guys traded books for a few weeks until you came up to him, meeting at the previously declared trading spot, though this time the book was clutched to your chest

"okay okay, so...i- i annotated this one. for, uh, for you," you muttered, holding the book out to him.

jason beamed a soft smile, taking it from your hands like it was the finest gold.

"that was very sweet, y/n," mused jason, which left both of you blushing

you quickly stole his book from him and marched away

jason was eager to read the book, shooing away everyone so he could lay in his cabin the whole day and read what you had to say about the book

naturally, the highlighter and tabs were color coded, a little legend in your handwriting at the start of the book

this was the most jason ever smiled while reading a damn book and it was because of you

he finished the damn thing in one day, refusing to stop until he was done

the very last annotation had jason jumping out of his bed and racing out of his cabin in search of you

there, on the last page, in light blue pen it read, "now, when are you going to catch on that i like you and ask me on a date, jason grace?"

it did it a lightening fast speed, finding you and the words to ask you on a date falling out of his lips

you just smirked up at him, nodding your head in agreement

athena always has a plan, right?

typically, most dates consist of you and jason hanging out in his cabin and reading

sometimes you sit in jason's lap, or you guys are just next to each other, or you guys are other sides of the cabin

it doesn't really matter as long as youre together

when you guys take snack breaks, you explain everything that's happened in your books since the last snack break

jason made you a bookmark, putting his own sketches on there of an owl and an eagle

you called him cheesy but also haven't been seen without it since soooo

you like to steal jason's glasses away, putting them on your face as he tries to take them back

"now im gonna finish my book first! ha!" you cheer, snatching his glasses and taking rapid steps to the other side of the cabin

"get back here!! this is ableist!!" he calls after you, trying his best to find you with his blurry vision

you gently put them back on his face after he catches you in his arms, planting a soft kiss to his lips

"hmmm. you look better as a blurry blob," he smirks, the look on his face giving away that he doesn't mean a word of it

"looks like i'll just have to steal them away again," you tease hands inching closer to the glasses again only for jason to swat you hands away

you guys are a pair of nerds together, but the cutest pair of nerds to like every nerd fr fr

[shelyue99]

You see the three musketeers sit around the table here shooting the bull, so while it rolls on I'll see if I can make any sense out of this. The three are Irishmen-one Capt. Nixon, and Lt. Welsh and last of all the Major. Now Capt. Nixon is the biggest drunk I've ever seen, known, or hope to see. He's worth a small fortune, never'll have to work a lick in his life, but absolutely the most reliable man I've ever known. Welsh is as bullheaded as you'd expect an Irishman to be.

—May 16, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

At the present time we're (Nixon and I) ribbing Lt. Welsh about marrying an Irish girl by the name of Kitty Grogan. He hopes to be married inside of four months. We're carefully explaining that some 4F will grab her off before that. If he does manage to get married, we promise to steal the bride for the balance of his leave unless he hires us to protect him from others who may have the same intentions. Price is 1 qt. of scotch for Nixon and 1 qt. of ice cream for myself. He doesn't take us seriously.

—May 30, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

I've mentioned Capt. Nixon I believe, of Nixon, N.J. [W]ell I've got him writing his first letter since last Nov. to his wife. Quite a guy, he's having one hell of a time getting organized and down to work. Claims he hasn't anything to say to her, just to his dog. He has a baby boy that he's never seen, but he won't talk about his son, it's always his dog. Knowing you, why I know you could spend an enjoyable two or three hours talking about how awful he is-if you knew him. However I'll tell you he's idealistic. I've known him three years and lived and slept aside and fought with him for two. This guy loves one thing right at this stage of life: a bottle of spirits or a fight. He's OK in a fight, but Jesus, outside of that he's absolutely the most undependable man you'd ever want to find.

Since we've been overseas he's only run around with one girl. An English girl and she was anything but beautiful. However she was a good listener and companion. In fact I am not too sure but this guy might end up staying over here in England. Ah yes, things are really snafu-and don't ask me what that means.

Now here we have Welsh & Nixon mixing Vodka, rum & vermouth-oh boy it won't be long now.

—June 2, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

(Writing about the job offer at Nixon Nitration Works) “I don't count on a thing until I have it," Dick confessed, "but it sounds good."

—September 2,  1945, Letter to DeEtta

Do you know what this new regimental C.O. has gone and done? Declared me essential. Why? Well you know all those nice things one can say at a time like that. Me, with 100 points as of V-E Day, and about the only officer in the regiment who has enough points to get out, and who doesn't want any part of the army, stuck until the division goes home. Which won't be this year. Boy, do you smell smoke? Don't worry, it's just me.

Capt. Nixon left this week, which makes everything just dandy. I am about as lonesome as a lovesick swab who married a Wave on an eight hour pass.

—September 16, 1945, Letter to DeEtta

From “Hang Tough: The WWII Letters and Artifacts of Major Dick Winters”

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

smut ,Joe liebgot and the reader dry humping and slightly pleasing eachother in there foxhole in the cold

Body heat - Joe Liebgott x F!Reader

Anon, I loved this prompt! Thank you! I hope you enjoy it! ;)

Warnings: 18+ content sorta, dry humping, making-out, cursing, she/her pronouns, 1st person pov (female).

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt 2: This was fun to write and I enjoyed the idea a lot! Hope y'all enjoy it! Please comment, like, reblog :) :)

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

Another gust of wind lifts the tarp covering the top of our foxhole, blasting cold, wet air around us effectively stealing what little warmth we'd managed build up around ourselves.

"Goddamn it! When this is over, I never want to see the rain or snow ever again." I grumble, pulling the blanket tighter around myself, but it's damp and can only do so much.

"Quit bitching, you're ruining the mood." Liebgott smirks at the glare I shoot him.

"Fuck you." Any venom I have in my voice is lost as my teeth chatter.

"Would love to, but it's too cold." I see him shiver slightly.

"Glad to know that's the only reason." I roll my eyes.

"Course it is." He shoots me a wink and I feel a little bit of heat crawl up my neck and cheeks. Suddenly I'm thankful it's pitch black right now so he can't see my blush.

"Shut up." I mutter half heartedly, shoving his shoulder before attempting to get comfortable next to him. We are silent for a few minutes as, I assume, we try to get semi warm enough to doze a little until he speaks again.

"You know...sharing body heat is a great way to get warm." His voice is low but the words bounce around us on the wind. Again, I send a thank you to the universe that he can't see how flushed I am. I turn my head to tell him to shut up again and find his eyes already on me. The heat in his eyes has the words dying on my tongue.

"What?" Is all I can manage to get out, which I mentally kick myself for. Real smooth. His hand slips out from under his own blanket and grabs mine, tugging me towards him.

"Come here." He moves me around like I'm his own personal ragdoll, rearranging our blankets so one's over the top of our heads and shoulders and the other is around my back with the ends tucked behind him. The new position has be straddling his lap, our bodies centimeters away and our faces so close we are sharing each others breathes. I can feel his hands rubbing up and down my thighs, squeezing my hips every other time. My own arms are draped around his shoulders.

Joe nudges my nose with his. "Told you this would be warmer." All I can do is nod, making him smirk. "I don't know about you, but my lips are still cold."

At his words my eyes drop down to his lips and watch as his tongue runs over them, then look back to his eyes that haven't lost their heat. I make the split second decision to worry about the consequences and what-ifs at a later date and close the gap between us. He eagerly kisses me back, moving one hand to the back of my neck to hold my head where he wants it, while the other wraps around my waist to keep me flush against him.

Our tongues meet and we enjoy a long exploration of each others mouths; licking and sucking and nipping. After a particularly sharp bite on my bottom lip, I grind down onto his lap and then groan at the feel of his growing erection beneath me. I grind down again and this time Joe groans with me.

"Do it again, baby." He pleads against my lips. When I do he kisses me again to muffle the noises we make. I move one of my hands to grip his upper arm tightly to help my leverage and swivel my hips until I find the angle that gives us both the pleasure we need. Once I find that I set a hard pace that Joe eagerly lifts his hips to match.

Soon the cold around us is forgotten as we focus on keeping the other quiet and chasing the pleasure building inside us. Joe lets go of my neck and I feel both his hands grabbing my ass, using it to press me harder against him. My pace starts to become erratic.

"Fuck, I'm close Joe." Joe gives me a hard nip on my jawline and whispers in my ear.

"I got you, let go baby." My head turns to the side and I bite down hard on his shoulder, trying to hide my moan as much as possible. As I'm coming down from my high, I feel Joe's movements becoming more frantic. I turn my head away from his shoulder, nipping at the bit of flesh exposed on his neck and then his jawline.

Three thrusts later he stills beneath me, breathing heavily as he lets out curses and my name. We melt even more into each other, enjoying the post-orgasm bliss and warmth we created around us. Just as I'm drifting off, I feel Joe drop a kiss on the top of my head and my heart flutters.

But that's something to address at a later time.

[yanaromanov]

close to your heart

- rosie betzler x daughter reader

summary: rosie comforts her daughter, hesitant about leaving for her training weekend, and gives her a gift to always remember her by.

warning(s): WWII era, mentions of nazis and hitler etc., war talk, slight mention of bullying, tiny bit of angst but mostly just fluff and comfort, reader is jojo’s twin sister (age 10)

authors note: there are barely any rosie fics out there and that’s criminal so i wrote one. ps, i need her to give me a hug rn.

3.2K words

The face that stares back at you in the mirror isn’t one you quite recognise. It seems to have fallen that way over the last year, fading away to a person you didn’t entirely know. Perhaps it was added to by the attire you now adorned, the tan blazer and black skirt sitting oddly against your skin, the white shirt underneath itching at the nape of your neck. You missed the summer dresses your mother often dressed you in, the cardigans patterned with embroidered flowers or the blouses in beautiful pale colours. Now it was all stripped away to a dull uniform, your girly flowers replaced by the red jungvolk symbol stitched into the arm of your coat. It was the image of everything your twin brother loved, and everything you were so unsure about.

“Do you have everything ready, my love?”

The voice startles you from your thoughts, your head spinning from your reflection where you stood previously examining your outfit. But when you spy the owner of the voice, your tensed shoulders loosen, greeted by a soft and familiar face.

“Ja, mama,” your reply, smiling back as the blonde-haired woman walks further into your room. Her eyes glance over you, then to the desk to your left.

“Do I need to check there are more than just books in that satchel or can I trust you this time?”

Your eyes follow to the brown satchel that sits upon the wooden desk, previously packed the night before for your expedition that weekend. Despite your brother having been packed for weeks, it had taken you longer to get round to it, your excitement barren compared to his. Still now, you push a smile on to your face, looking up at your mother.

“There are more than just books. I promise.”

She looks down on you with a playfully suspicious eye, a giggle stifling itself in your throat. “Alright, I’ll believe you this time.”

As a smile creeps on to her lips, her delicate fingers find the rolled neckerchief around your collar, adjusting the woven woggle until it sits perfectly straight against your shirt. She picks an invisible piece of dust from your shoulder before her hands land atop of them, eyes glinting down on you. “Come, I’ll do your hair for you.”

Her head nods in the direction of her bedroom, just across the hall from yours, as she turns away. Guided by a hand grasping hers, you follow your mother until the pair of you stand inside her room, your eyes momentarily fluttering over the comforting patterns and colours the decorations held. In front of the mirror, you take a seat on the small cushioned stool, looking over your shoulder as your mother reaches into the drawer you know she keeps all of her beauty supplies. It’s off limits to you for now but she says she’ll teach you everything there is to know about makeup and being a woman once you’re old enough, something you can only hope comes sooner rather than later.

When your mom returns with the hair brush in her hand, you swivel back around in your spot. You watch in the reflection as she begins to pull the bristles through your hair, humming a nonsensical tune as she frees you from any knots. “Your hair is getting so long, huh?” she muses from behind as she pulls your hair back from your face, intertwining strands to form two long braids down your back. You simply watch in a peaceful silence as she continues to hum to herself, just as much concentrated on your mother’s face as the work of her fingers. No matter what, it always seemed like she was able to appear put together, perpetually beautiful even doing the most mundane of tasks.

When your braids are completed, neatly running over your shoulders, your mother reaches across to the dresser. Atop, sit two small ribbons which she pulls between her fingers, previously unnoticed by your eye. From behind, she lifts up one braid at a time, tying the ribbon around the bottom until she places them both at the front, two perfect little bows in place. The blonde’s head comes to rest upon yours, both of your eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirror. She smiles widely as she looks back at you. “Beautiful.”

A small kiss is placed on the crown of your head before your mother turns away, returning to her dresser and the secret beauty drawer it holds. While she tidies away, your eyes remain fixed on your reflection. For a moment, your fingers reach up to touch the small ribbons in your hair, the material soft and silky against your skin. Then they drop to your lap, a small sigh exiting your lips. The distraction of your mother’s soft touch has now gone, your mind fading back to the small distress it found looking at yourself just ten minutes before.

It seems with your sigh, you show more expression that you intended, and with it, you cause your mother to turn in her spot. Her eye meets you again in the mirror, her smile quickly dropping into a perturbed frown. “Why such a long face, hm?” she asks, closing the gap between you both as she comes to stand behind you. “You don’t think I did a good job?”

Immediately, you shake your head, forcing a smile onto your face. “No, you did, mama.”

But this isn’t any old person you’re trying to fool. Your mother knows you like the back of her own hands, and sees straight through your forced happiness. “Then why do you look so sad?”

With her words, your expression drops once more. Your eyebrows dip as your lips fall into a pout, your gaze dropping to your lap and the pair of anxious hands that rest there. “I don’t want to go, mama.”

The words ring out familiar, something you’d not only already told your mother, but also yourself a hundred times over. The training weekend was supposed to be a great trip for the jungvolk, a chance to learn real skills surrounded by professional soldiers, but the entire idea of it made you feel rather sick to your stomach. Going to school alone made you feel a slight homesickness, longing to return back home with each hour you spent away, so the concept of an entire weekend spent out in the forest sounded almost unbearable. Perhaps it was just the idea of being away from your mother for so long that made your stomach churn, a longing attachment to her lingering around your head ever since you’d been a small child, something the other girls at school hadn’t missed out on and found opportunity to pick on you for. The entire thing wasn’t helped by the fact your brother was a complete fanatic, entirely devoted to the jungvolk and non-stop going on about the weekend and how much fun it was going to be. You, on the other hand, just couldn’t wait to be back home.

A small sigh escapes your mother’s lips as your statement befalls her ears. You feel her move beside you, then in your peripheral see her kneeling down on the carpet in front of you. “I know, darling,” she says, voice gentle. “But you have to. Who else is going to look after your brother, hm?”

You scoff as you raise your eyes to meet hers, scowling slightly as you look at her gently smiling face. “Jojo will just be with his stupid friends the whole time. And he says I can’t hang out with them because I’m a girl.”

Your mother clicks her tongue. “Ah, yes. Well, boys are stupid. A sad fact us smart girls have to learn.”

You know she’s trying to joke, trying to make you smile, but this morning it’s not in your heart. It hurts a little to ignoring her playfully smirking face, one that always has you creasing at the corners of your eyes, but still your eyes fall back to your lap, your expression returning to the sad frown the planned expedition has caused.

You hear your mother let out a small sigh, adjusting herself where she sits as a hand reaches out for one of yours, grasping and squeezing ever so gently with silken soft skin. “Maybe this weekend you can make a friend of your own, hm? Finally find someone to talk to besides your books?”

You know your mother’s words are coming from a place of warmth but still they manage to twist the knife in your gut. You’d always struggled to make friends, the girls at school never quite accepting you and always finding a reason to holler a mean comment your way. “Maybe,” you mutter under your breath, knowing that the likelihood of her proposition was next to none. The fact all the girls from your school were also attending the training weekend was just another reason for your hesitation to go. Now trying to fight back small tears that pool at the corners of your eyes, you look back up from your lap. “Why can’t I just stay here with you, mama?”

Rosie gives you that motherly look she so often does, soft but assertive. “Darling, we talked about this,” she says, head tilting, the previously spoken conversation seemingly translating through her eyes. “Besides, I have things to do while you’re away.”

You frown. “What things?”

“Mama things,” she replies, eyebrows raising.

Her response only seems to deepen your troubled expression. “You’re always doing mama things.”

Rosie sighs, adjusting herself where she kneels on the floor. “Well I have to do mama and papa things now, hm,” she hums, trying to meet your gaze that has fallen away from her face. “It’s not so easy keeping you and your brother fed, especially since he’s decided he’s the man of the house and should eat as such.”

Another joke, another one of your mother’s attempts to make you laugh. The memory of your brother’s demands surfaces in your mind, dictating that as a ‘man’ he should get a bigger portion than you because you were just a ‘little girl’. An argument had of course ensued over the fact he was only fourteen minutes older than you and that he wasn’t a man, just a little boy too. The memory of it all is one you know your mom has brought up to make you laugh, but your mind instead sticks to the previous comment befallen from her lips.

It’s been almost three years since your father had been conscripted for the war, and over two years since you’d received your last letter from him. Your mama told you constantly he was doing what he could, fighting to end the war so he could come home to all of you. But every day his absence seemed to hurt a little more, like a thousand needles poking at your little aching heart.

“I miss papa.”

The words are uttered to your lap, the tears threatening to fall off the cusp of your waterline. There’s a sound from your mother that echoes out, almost a gasp but somehow gentler. Then another, a sigh, as you hear her stand to her feet. A pair of hands reach out for yours, pulling gently and tugging you to your feet. As you stand, long arms envelope you in an embrace, one of your mother’s hands coming to rest on the back of your head. You bury yourself into her warmth as she sways gently, holding you close. “Me too, little cub,” she whispers softly. “Me too.”

For a moment, you simply bask in the comfort of her touch, hidden away in her arms from a world you didn’t want to face. “He’ll be home soon, right?”

You're pulled away from the hug, your mother holding on to your shoulders as she smiles down at you. "Very soon, my darling." Her words are meant as a comfort but you're old enough now to know they're not strong in truth, the same promise uttered to you over more months than you could care to count. Still, you take this moment to pretend to yourself that this time it is true, that very soon your family will be reunited once more.

It seems your mother must notice your still solace expression as her hands move to your own. She grabs hold gently as she turns you, guiding you towards her bed. "Here, sit," she says. You follow her instructions, sitting yourself on the edge of the mattress, watching as your mother crosses the room. You try your best to see around her as she rakes through a drawer in her desk, moments later returning with something hidden in her hand. "I was going to save this for your birthday but I think now might be a better time for you to have it." You watch intently as she kneels next to you, eyes focused on her clasped hand and whatever it may be concealing. "Plus, I think it might give you some strength for this weekend."

Curiously, you watch as her hand extends out to you, her fingers unfurling to reveal whatever gift she may have. When you spy what it is, a soft gasp elicits from your throat, eyes trained on the alluring glint radiated by the golden metal sat in your mother's open palm. You notice her smile from the corner of your eye as she reads your face. "You remember this?" she asks and you nod quickly.

A small hand reaches out to touch the piece of jewelry bundled up in her hand, fingers tracing along the chain and then the shape of the metal. "Your old locket," you reply, voice barely above a whisper as you admire the necklace, the golden centrepiece delicately inlaid with intricate swirls and patterns. There was a time your mother wore it every day, up until your father had bought her a new one for their anniversary.

Rosie hums happily at your recognition, her smile deepening. "Open it up," she says, face awaiting your reaction.

You do as she says, carefully reaching out for the necklace and taking it in your hands. With attentive fingers, you click open the clasp, opening up the locket's two halves and letting them sit delicately against your palm. A smile immediately appears on your face as you see the images printed inside, a warmth bubbling up inside your chest. On one half is your father, the other half your mother, both smiling back at you in their Sunday best. They are the same images contained within your family portrait down stairs, only this time they are hidden away in a small locket meant just for you.

"Do you like it?" Rosie asks, her face waiting in front of you. You meet her eyes with a glint, smiling wide from ear to ear.

"I love it."

The smile on your mother's face deepens as she laughs gently. "Here," she says, standing to her feet. "Let me put it on for you." You follow her to your feet, moving to stand in front of the mirror as she takes the necklace from your hand. Watching the reflection, you seen her unclasp the locket before moving it around your neck. She fastens it back up, allowing it to rest against your shirt. Quickly, she pulls your hair out from the chain, making sure it is perfectly secured around your neck before meeting your eye in the reflection. You smile widely up at her as your fingers find the locket, playing with the metal and once again tracing its engraved details. "It's beautiful, mama."

Rosie smiles, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Almost as beautiful as you." She reaches out gently for your shoulders as she turns you around to face her, bending ever so slightly at the knee to reach the same height as you. "Now," she says. "You wear this and me and papa will always be with you." Her hand reaches out towards your chest, resting to cover the locket. "Right here. Close to your heart, okay?"

You nod, feeling the warmth in your chest not only from her touch but from the sentiment of your new found gift. "Ja, mama."

Just then, the serenity of your moment is suddenly shattered as you hear a scream radiating through your house. Both you and your mother turn your head towards the door as the yells from down stairs travel through the house and to your ears. It's your brother's voice, most likely from his bedroom, screaming the same words over and over, a salute to your country's ruler. His voice gets louder as you hear him run through the house, eventually throwing the front door open and simply howling out to the outside world. As you hear it dim away, guessing he's moved away from the house and most likely down the street, you turn back to look at your mother. Her expression is rather amusing, looking quite confused but, in a way, also entirely used to your brother's odd antics. "That boy has too much energy for his own good, you know that?" she says, meeting your gaze. You laugh at her comment, imagining your brother running down the streets of town like he so often did. Just then, your mother smiles back at you, her expression immediately softening. Her fingers reach to hold your cheek, grasping so gently at your skin. "There's my beautiful smiling girl."

Her words can't help but deepen your smile, looking up her eyes so full of love and comfort. You two bask in the moment until she turns away, reaching for the small black beret that sits upon the edge of the bed. "Here," Rosie says, placing the hat upon your head and adjusting it so it sits just right. She bends at the knee, looking at you with a warm expression. "You are going to be just fine this weekend, I promise." Her hands find your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "And when you come back, I'll give you the biggest mama lion hug in the whole world and we can eat chocolate by the fire while you tell me how annoying your brother was all trip. How does that sound?"

You meet her playful glance with a lighthearted smile of your own. "Sounds good, mama."

Rosie winks, clicking her tongue in unison, a trick that always brings a smile to both you and your brother's face. "That's my girl," she says, holding on to your chin for just a moment before she straightens up once more. She brushes away invisible dust on her trousers then smiles down at you. "Now let’s get some breakfast packed up for you and your brother. You can catch up with him and both eat it on the way, hm?"

You nod, content in the idea. "Okay, mama."

But before she can turn to leave the room, you're reaching out for one final touch, your arms wrapping around her waist and face burying into her chest. She holds you back, placing gentle kisses to the top of your head. "I love you so much, my darling cub," she says, voice as gentle as the summer breeze. And in her warmth you smile, because no matter how frightening the world may seem, how apprehensive you are to venture out there, she would always be there as a shining light to guide you back home.

"I love you so much too, mama."

[aninventoryofthepossible]

Inspirations for VOID 1680 AM

Earlier this year, I released a new solo TTRPG: VOID 1680 AM. In it, you use a deck of cards, a six-sided die, your music collection and a voice recorder to create your own late-night radio show.

The cards help you dig deep into your collection to reconnect with music you love; they and the die also help you create anonymous Callers and the concerns, hopes and obsessions that drove them to reach out to you, a fellow lone voice in the darkness.

I also included steps for joining the library of Callers for other players to use, and even to submit your full show for broadcast on the "real" VOID 1680 AM. You can see some of those Affiliate broadcasts here. They're genuinely very cool.

You can check out the game here, and I'm proud to say VOID 1680 AM is now a Judges' Spotlight Winner in this year's ENNIES.

Okay, enough table-setting. Let's get into it.

VOID was the culmination of a lifelong obsession with commercial radio; both the technology (which feels retro despite scarcely being over a century old) and the melancholy romance of lonesome voices baring themselves to an audience they'll never know the scope of.

This, to me, is an apt metaphor for the act of making something - anything at all. Speak into the Void, the back cover copy says. You never know who is listening. So it is with putting something you love into the world.

So what inspired VOID? I cite both Anamnesis by Sam Leigh and The Wretched by Chris Bissette in the book itself, two solo RPGs whose tones and methods did much to help me find my own.

But if I'm being truthful, VOID's inspirations mostly reside outside of games. Here are a few things that haunted me profoundly enough to drive me to respond.

The first is Talk Radio, specifically Oliver Stone's adaptation of Eric Bogosian's play. The movie's tagline is "the last neighborhood in America," which to me frames radio's persistent relevance and puts social media - often called a "town square" itself - in proper context as one piece of the many ways people find connection with others, for better or worse.

Contra the VOID DJ, Barry in Talk Radio is very, very aware of how his audience receives him (hint: not well). Barry must be heard, and so must the similarly damaged souls who call in to dump the poison in their brain into his... and everyone who's listening in, besides. It's a host of people who want to connect but don't know how, spiraling in decaying orbit around each other until something awful happens.

VOID 1680 AM was originally much darker before I decided to pull back and let players pick their own tone, and Talk Radio is why.

Oxenfree is a narrative video game about a small group of teens stuck on an island haunted by hungry ghosts who can be tuned in and out of reality with handheld radios. There's more to it than that, but I'll leave you to discover what on your own - because I would recommend this game to just about anyone.

Insofar as VOID 1680 AM can have a "soundtrack," it is this one by scntfc, created using WWII-era radio equipment.

The Vast of Night is a quietly alarming lo-fi/sci-fi set in a small town in New Mexico in the late '50s. A radio DJ and a switchboard operator pick up strange signals, and then... things happen.

This specific radio station (stylized in the poster above) is what I picture for "my" VOID 1680 AM.

Then there's Stevie in The Fog, played by Adrienne Barbeau. She's the bridge between VOID 1680 AM and my earlier solo game, Lighthouse at the End of the World.

She is, yes: a late night DJ. And her radio station is, yes: in a lighthouse. She's living my dream, at least until the ghost pirates show up.

Spoilers, I guess?

But the most important influence? VOID 1680 AM cover artist Jordan Witt's fan art for the podcast King Falls AM years ago. This image took up residence in my head, so much so that I still use it as phone wallpaper despite never having listened to the show it's for.

When it came time to partner with a cover artist, who that cover artist would be was never in question. Entirely unknowingly, Jordan took all these loose ideas in my head and gave them something to cohere to. A beacon, if you will.

They spoke something into the Void, and I listened.

Fun fact: Jordan even jazzed up the original logo I made for VOID 1680 AM when that title only applied to the AM transmitter in my garage. Here's my original - you can plainly see the influence of Jordan's art on that O. It all really came full circle.

Those are the biggest ingredients in the stew that made VOID 1680 AM. It's fun to talk about stuff I like, but also I hope it might nudge someone - anyone - to get going on something they're after.

(That's you. I'm talking about you.)

A project finding its voice is a wonderful thing, but there's no real miracle to it, no outside influence that will tell you what to do. It's just things in your head magnetizing to each other until they got a shape that - with coaxing - can stand on its own.

See you on the dial.

[floralcyanide]

ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ɪɪ

Your job at the museum teaches you more than you think when it’s opening night for a WWII exhibit.

pairing: professor!john "bucky" egan / fem!reader

warnings: none!

author’s note: I'm thinking the next part to this will be an actual fanfic but we'll see (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

✦ You work hard on your first paper based on your thesis. Dr. Egan gives you pointers here and there. Sometimes, you go to his office just to chat when you aren’t doing research. 

✦ He doesn’t go into detail about his personal life, but you do know he’s divorced and has a kid who’s a teenager. He talks about his son a lot, and it brings a smile to your face. Dr. Egan says he hopes his son is just as smart as you when he gets to college. 

✦ He mentions a trip to DC for the Master’s program. You jump at the idea, much to Dr. Evan’s delight. You ask if he’s going, and he says no. You wonder why but don’t bother to ask. There’s a lot that Dr. Egan doesn’t seem like he wishes to tell you. And you wonder if it’s simply because he’s your superior or if it’s something else. Either way, you’re curious. But you don’t want to cross a line. 

✦ You talk a lot about your grandfather to Professor Egan; he always listens patiently and even gives you a moment to gather yourself when you become emotional. You also talk about your father a good bit. Dr. Egan asks what he does, and you explain that he used to be a pilot in the last war. Dr. Egan makes a peculiar face but brushes it off quickly.

✦ He asks what squadron your father was in. “My father was in the Hundredth. He talks about his experience a lot.” Dr. Egan suddenly checks his watch and excuses himself, saying he had to be somewhere and that you were welcome to return to his office tomorrow.

✦ You leave confused about what caused the sudden change in Professor Egan's demeanor but shake it off. You do come again the following day and bring coffee, apologizing for anything you may have bothered him with.

✦ “It wasn’t anything you said, don’t worry,” Dr. Egan says, “I just lost track of time. I tend to do that with you a lot.” You try not to get flustered at his comment when he gives you a soft smile with it. 

✦ Whenever you aren’t researching or hanging with Dr. Egan, you work at the local World War II museum, creating exhibits and giving guests tours. It’s the opening of the new exhibit of the airmen of the war tonight, and you’re dressed your best. You’re happy to explain to guests the timeline of the war and show them photographs and artifacts. 

✦ A familiar figure catches your eye. You notice a tall, graying man with his hands shoved in his pockets, eyeing photos of the squadron your father was in that he donated to the exhibit. You approach the man, “Have any questions?” he turns around, and sure enough, it’s Dr. Egan.

✦ “Professor Egan! I didn’t expect you to be here!” you smile as he looks at you knowingly, with a bit of defeat. “I knew you’d be here, actually,” he says. You give him a confused look.

✦ Dr. Egan points at the group photo of the remaining airmen from the 100th who live to V Day to a specific man with a dashing grin. “See this guy here? Does he look familiar to you?” You squint, leaning close to the photograph you’ve seen many times. Then you realize that dashing smile only belongs to one person.

✦ You carefully look over to Dr. Egan, unsure of what to say. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask. “Didn’t want people, especially students, to see me differently.” “How would they see you in any way other than a hero?” you ask, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not really the ideal profession,” Dr. Egan swallows, unable to look you in the eye. You sigh, “It was war, Professor. You did what needed to be done, unfortunately. And it’s over now.”

✦ “I just felt you needed to know about my past,” Dr. Egan admits, “Especially since we’ve grown so close professionally and your father was in the same squadron as me. It was only time before you found out.”

✦ “I’d love to know everything you’re willing to tell me. Especially since it’ll help with my research. Not to mention there’s probably stuff my father never mentioned,” you chuckle. There’s a mischievous glint in Dr. Egan’s eye at that statement. “Lunch tomorrow?”

[siriusleee]

nowhere fast

there is a monster at the edge of the mountain that haunts the townfolk. ghost x reader | twisted fairytale au 5.7k | smut, kidnapping (sorta), dubcon, minors dni request a fic here a/n: while writing this I got an idea for another twisted fairytale. thank god I'm off work this week.

You don't believe the rest of the town folk when they whisper of the monster in the woods - a horrendous fiend that haunts the mountain's edge looms on the horizon, blocking out the sun during the winter months. The rumors had started a year ago, whispered in the local diner as hunters clutched their coffee cups. The tails of traps set to catch the men who travel too far when hunting doesn't turn you away from fantasies of roaming the mountain's edge, of pushing farther through the forest than anyone else in town has. Even your father's warnings that he wouldn't come to save you if you decided to do something reckless didn't push the thoughts out of your head. 

So when the leaves start to brown again, and the trees start showing their bare patches, you leave. In the middle of the night, you shoulder your backpack, your dad's pistol situated in the waistband of your jeans and a flashlight tucked into your back pocket. The sounds of your family sleeping, of your mother's soft snores, aren't enough to get you to turn back as you step out of your front door, locking it behind you against whatever phantoms travel the night. The air is crystalline around you; the dense forest floor muffles your footsteps as you walk. The sound of the forest fills the air, and wraps itself around you; in the distance, the mountain never grows closer as you head towards it. Behind you, the lights from town disappear between the pine boughs. 

It takes two days of walking, of sleeping in a thin blanket underneath pine trees, before you reach the first sign of someone living in the woods. You're exhausted, and there's a blister forming on the edge of your pinkie toe when you stumble across a felled tree. Hunger gnaws at you and for the first time you think about the life you left behind; you think of your mother's venison stew and thick bread served in the same bowls your grandmother saved during WWII. An axe, free of any rust, leans against a section of the log. You trace your fingers against the handle (is it a trick of your mind to feel the warmth on the wood or is it that someone just got done cutting tonight's firewood and they're only a little ways ahead of you in the forest?).

You think for a moment about shouldering the axe, about how it may come in useful later. But the press of your father's gun - the once cold metal warmed by its two days pressed against your skin - reminds you that whatever is in the forest: monster or bear, won't be stopped by the swing of an axe. And besides, how would explain to the owner that you stole their axe, stole their way of providing themselves warmth if it came down to it?

So you leave it, leaning against the fallen tree for whomever it belongs to, to find it again tomorrow. 

Dusk begins to fall when you see the smoke in the sky. It's almost romantic, the way the smoke curls, tendrils disseminating in the clouds. You imagine a quaint little cabin in the distance, the smoke curing from a squat chimney; imagine yourself stepping inside and being greeted by the warmth from the fire, cutting through the chill that's starting to take over. Distantly, thunder rolls, and the steel gray sky threatens a storm. You know that if you want a shelter for the night, you have to find the source of the wood smoke and hope that whoever is there is benevolent enough to let you sleep inside for the night. You think of the monster that haunts these woods (and what kind of monster would need a fire to keep it warm at night?) and wonder if this is it.

You press ahead, toward the smoke. Only a hundred yards have passed when the sound of a tree branch snapping makes you freeze. You've lived near the edge of the forest and hunted the animals with your father long enough to know that unless what dwells in the forest wants you to know it's there, you won't ever hear it. Whatever is behind you is bigger than you, and not scared that you know it's there. Adrenaline's sharp edge starts in your veins, and your hand twitches towards the handgun at the small of your back. You steady yourself with a deep breath and press on, trying to let whatever is behind you think that you don't know it's there - that you still believe you're all alone. That you aren't a danger to whatever it is. 

You barely make it ten feet before you're yanked to your back. The contents of your backpack and the gun dig painfully into your skin; you feel something cut through the thin flesh of your hip bones as you hit the ground. Your head is spared only by your hands that reach up instinctively, but it feels like every knuckle on your right hand is broken when it slams against the ground. Stunned, you lay there, prey with its belly exposed as your eyes water and distort everything in your vision. Something monstrously huge leans down over you, blocking out the last bit of sun that remains. You try to blink the monster into sharper vision, but can't. Fairytale visions of werewolves, blood dripping from their maws shiver through you.

A warmth presses down on your chest, keeping you pinned to the ground. Through the pain, you can feel it's a hand, large enough to cover you from sternum to throat. 

"What are you doing here?"

The monster speaks in a low growl, and you realize it's just a man pressing you into the dirt and leaves. He doesn't give you a chance to answer before he yanks you to your feet, the hand at your chest gripping your jacket enough that you can feel the strings in the collar popping underneath the pressure he's putting on the fabric. 

Your feet dangle, your toes barely touching the ground as he shakes you (you want to tell him to stop, the pain in your head is enough). You grab his wrist, pulling him away from you. To your surprise, he recoils at your grip, dropping you to the dirt again. You land, for the second time, painfully in the dirt. This time you have enough wits about you to pull the pistol from your waistband, to raise it towards him as you stand. 

And the man just stands there, hands lose at his side. He towers over you, large enough that you have to look up at him, to take him in. Your hand doesn't shake against the trigger fingers as you take him in - dark jeans and scuffed boots, black shirt, and balaclava. The faded white outline of a skull covers the mask; in normal circumstances, you might think to laugh at it, but here in these strange woods you feel a tinge of fear for the first time, for the first time thinking back on the monster stories the locals would sit around and tell each other around night fires. You can imagine the white of that skull shining through the moonlight, around the curve of a trunk, and how terrifying that might be.

"I asked you a question," he growls out; the sweat on your palms makes the gun slip, just incrementally, on your hand.

"I'm the one holding the gun." Your voice sounds unnatural and weak after not speaking for two days. 

"If you were going to shoot me you would have done it already."

You hope he doesn't register the look on your face - the one that says he's right; you don't have any intention of shooting him as long as he just stands there. You never even had the stomach to shoot deer with your father when it came time to put food on your family's table. 

"I just came for a walk in the woods; nothing illegal about that."

He still doesn't speak. Your shoulder throbs from where you hit the ground; the gun falls just an inch. You half expect him to take advantage of this, to rush you and wrap his fingers around your throat until you're nothing but a half-memory in his mind, but he stays where he is at.

"I don't see how it's any of your business anyway."

"You're on my land."

"No one owns this land."

"I do."

Your arm falls another inch. This time, he pounces. One of his hands wraps around your wrist, pulling it to the side enough that you lose your grip on the gun. The other holds your shoulder - more gently than you could have imagined a mountain of a man to hold anything. 

The gun hits the forest floor silently. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a noise, to keep from letting him know that he's hurting you; the taste of iron coats your tongue. Up close you can make out every blonde eyelash of his, make out all the gold flecks in his iris. His breath is warm through the balaclava; he smells like woodsmoke and vaguely vanilla. 

"I don't think you came out here for a little walk, love."

The first raindrop falls between you two, crashing against the earth with a force that nearly knocks you over. Your skin burns you where he touches, the callouses on his hands rough against the sensitive skin of your wrist. 

Another drop falls, this time landing on his fingers. You watch it roll to his wrist, to the sliver of tattoo-covered skin that you can see as the sleeve of his shirt pulls away. The thought to reach out and trace the path of the raindrops with your tongue flashes in your mind; you feel yourself smile slightly and try to repress the feeling. The corners of his eye crinkle, you know he's frowning at you, eyebrows knitted together as he tries to figure out why you're here. 

Without speaking, the man pushes you forward; in your peripheral you see him bend down and pick your father's gun up before tucking it into his own waistband. You think about how angry your father would be at him touching your father's gun, at touching you - someone other than him, some other man, touching something of his. You're not sure if the shiver that runs down your spine is from the thought or from the biting cold air that blows through, bringing more raindrops with it. 

You walk towards the smoke in the distance, the man's hand pressed into your shoulder, forcing you to walk faster than usual.

"What's your name?"

"Why?"

"Well, I should know the name of my kidnapper and potential murderer."

He lets out a sound that lets you know he doesn't appreciate your description, but he doesn't dispute it. He doesn't speak again until you stumble over a root, and his hand is at your elbow to straighten you up and force you to keep walking. 

"It's Ghost."

The cabin is nothing like you expected it to be. It's not even really a cabin - more of an abandoned witches' house, ivy trellising up one side and wrapping around the chimney. It could have once been described as Victorian, but now you're not sure if that description would do it any justice. It's two stories, bigger than what you'd expected it to be here in the forest. A dog with thick brown and black fur is curled up beside the front door; its ears perk when it spots you and Ghost but doesn't move towards you.

When you pass by, however, the dog reaches out to sniff you, his tail wagging. Ghost reaches out with his free hand to pet the dog once before reaching around you to open the door, his back pressing against yours for just a moment.

The rain falls harder against the two of you as he pushes you inside, the door falling shut behind him heavily. You listen for the sound of a lock shutting but don't hear one. The dog shakes the water out of its fur before leaving the two of you alone in the foyer, disappearing down the hallway. 

You watch Ghost as he pulls his boots off; you follow suit, kicking yours off. Your feet throb, the pain of non-stop walking for two days finally catching up to you. You're barely able to catch your balance before Ghost's hands are at the straps of your backpack, pulling it off of your shoulders and dumping it to the ground beside your shoes. 

With one hand presses firmly into your back, he leads you down the hallway, pointing out each part of the house you might need. 

"Why are you showing me around, what if I want to leave?"

"You can leave whenever you want. But you can't go back to the town."

There's nowhere else for you to go (he must know this). The thought should chill you, but it doesn't. Ghost stops outside of a heavy oaken door, his hand pausing on the doorknob before pushing the door open.

"You can sleep down here."

You take in the room - dust-covered but clean. The bed is massive, and covered in more pillows than you think you've ever seen in your life. the air inside is stale, you know that no one has touched anything in this room for years. 

"Where do you sleep?" You've asked the question before you even mean to. The hand on your back curls just enough that you can feel the bite of Ghost's nails in your back. 

"I sleep up the stairs. You can go anywhere you want in the house, just not upstairs. Do you understand me?"

The nails in your back threaten to break through your skin; you're not afraid, but you know that Ghost hasn't shown you half of the strength he does have, and that does scare you. You nod, silently; Ghost's hand leaves your back, leaving an emptiness in its place. 

It rains for days - a torrential downfall that washes down the mountain; Ghost lingers around the house, and the two of you circle each other - planets with opposing orbits. On the third day, you find the library tucked away in the back corner of the house. It's attached to an empty solarium, the glass washed clean from the rain outside. 

That day, when Ghost comes to find you to tell you that he's finished cooking he finds you on your hands and knees, scrubbing the dirt and dust away from the mosaic tiles with cleaning supplies you'd found tucked away in an unused backroom.

"What are you doing?" He asks, leaning against the doorway. Riley, always stuck to Ghost, sits at his feet. 

You don't look up at him as you speak, sweat dripping down your forehead. You watch your hands swirl across the tile, releasing the years-old dirt from the grout.

"I figured if I'm trapped here, I might as well put myself to work."

"Who said you're trapped here?"

You can barely hear Ghost over the rain on the solarium walls. Leaning back on your heels, you wipe your forehead on your shirt, trying to think about what to say to him. You choose your words carefully, chewing on them until they feel right.

"You would really let me leave?"

It's Ghost's turn to think about his words; you can feel his eyes boring a hole in your back. 

"No."

You don't say anything else to him as you turn back towards the floor. 

"Don't you think your family will come looking for you?"

"Probably. But they won't go any farther than the forest edge. They're terrified of the monster that lives here."

"And you're not."

"Not yet."

When the rain finally stops, Ghost disappears. He leaves Riley with a stern warning to guard the house before disappearing into the woods. You watch him leave from the kitchen window. The thought that you could escape teases you. It wouldn't be hard, you just needed to run down the mountain faster than he could realize you were gone. 

You leave that thought at the window. The lights flicker above you; Ghost had briefly explained about the solar panels at the backside of the cabin and you wonder if he installed them himself. The cabinets are nearly bare, but there's evidence that he leaves sometimes: name-brand can goods and a sack of bread flour. You wonder if you had ever walked by him in town, his mask off, and you never realized. The thought thrills you, that he could have been hiding in plain sight from the same people who whispered fearfully of him.

When he comes back, it's to the smell of fresh bread. The kitchen is clean, cleaner than he'd ever seen it; he watches as you turn the bread out of a pan and wrap it in a clean town. On the stove, a pot sits, something simmering inside. 

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

You can tell by the set of his shoulders that he doesn't like that - doesn't like the sarcasm that rolls easily from your lips. You turn to stir the stew on the stove, waiting on Ghost to say something, anything to fill the silence in the kitchen.

"Why are you cooking?"

"Because you're keeping me here captive for free. I figured it would nice for me to do something for you."

"You don't live here."

You know what he really means is that you don't need to make yourself comfortable - don't need to pretend that this arrangement is domestic.

***

You want him to hear you when you're curled up in your bed. You left the door open intentionally - an invitation if he would take it. Your fingers dip into your own cunt, pumping at a pace that is barely enough to satisfy you.

You hear the sound of the floor outside your door creaking; you can imagine Ghost out there, cock in hand, stroking himself at the sounds of you finger fucking yourself. Your breath catches in your throat when you moan out his name, face pressed against a pillow as you bite down on it, imagining if it was him.

The floor creaks again, and for a moment you think you see the curve of his shoulder in the doorway. You pull your hands out of your panties; lick the taste of yourself off of your fingertips. The shape of him is gone from the doorway in a flash. You fall onto your back, breathless from your orgasm. 

Heavy footfall on the stairs is heard from the hallway, followed quickly by the sound of a door shutting.

The weather turns for the worse as the weeks pass. The morning you awake to the first layer of snow on the ground, a letter is left on the counter beside the coffee pot. 

Gone to get winter supplies.

You're alone. Again. Riley pads into the kitchen lost without Ghost. He follows you across the house, nearly tripping you pressing himself so close to your feet. You intend to work on the solarium again - the weeks had seen you turning it into some recognition of its former glory- but you pause at the bottom of the stairs. An intense curiosity overtakes you - you want to go upstairs, to see what Ghost is hiding there from you. Your foot lands on the bottom of the staircase, when the sound of a car door slamming shut pulls you out of your thoughts. 

Your heart crashes in your chest, thinking of all the people who could have stumbled across the house, who could be forcing you back home. You press yourself into the banister, one hand outreach to bury itself in Riley's fur when Ghost steps through the door. 

Instant relief washes over you as his figure blocks the doorway. For a moment, you think about rushing towards him. He leans forward to place the grocery bags in his hands on the ground; you can see his eyebrows knitted together even through the balaclava. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

You worry that you speak too quickly, too suspiciously. You worry that he can read your thoughts, read how you almost betrayed him. So you press towards him, coffee cup landing on a small table right inside the doorway, trying to move the conversation away from your almost betrayal.

"Do you need help carrying everything in?"

"No."

But you want to help, want to get your mind off the thought of upstairs. You ignore him, and step outside, shivering in the cold air. An old truck you've never seen before is backed nearly up to the door, the back loaded down with supplies. 

"Is this all for the winter?"

"Once the snow starts falling we won't be able to get down until it thaws again."

It's all the explanation you need, but a new question erupts from you before you can stop it.

"How many winters have you had up here?"

"Enough."

The snow is thick when you've finally finished the solarium. Without you asking him to, Ghost dragged your bed to the room, followed by the dresser full of someone else's clothing that you've been wearing. It's where he finds you when he comes looking, curled up on a loveseat you'd found in an empty room in front of the fireplace. 

"Yes?"

You speak without your eyes ever leaving the book in your hands. You hear Ghost shuffle in the doorway. 

"Can I come sit with you?"

Without speaking you pull yourself in tighter, making room for him on the other side of the loveseat. He shuffles into the room, sitting down gently near your feet. He doesn't speak to you as you flip the pages. 

"What are you reading?"

"Bulfinch's Mythology."

"What is that?"

The question makes you smile, and for the first time since he'd walked in, you pull your eyes away from the book. Ghost isn't looking at you - he's focused intently on the flames dancing in the fireplace. He's tense, wound tightly enough you can almost see his muscles tense underneath his shirt.

"It's a translation of Greek mythology. It's your book, you don't know it?"

"I bought the house with everything in it."

"So none of this is really yours?"

Ghost doesn't answer, his hands are fisted tightly on his thighs. You know you're pushing it, asking him too much about his past. You shift, pressing your toes into the seam on his thighs, feeling his warmth through the denim. 

"How about I just read to you? Do you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?"

Ghost's only answer is a shake of his head. You flip through the pages, looking for the page you want. When you read, Ghost doesn't speak. His hands loosen, the one closest to you dropping onto your ankle. When you feel his touch against your skin, you stumble over your words. 

His touch makes you bold; you shift, never pausing your reading, to sit up and slide one foot onto his lap. His hand follows your ankle; when you've moved too close, his grip on your ankle tightens you, telling you that you've gone too far, too fast. 

You read over the soft sounds of snow falling on the glass, of the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. Softly, Ghost begins to draw patterns on the top of your foot. The feeling of his touch is starting to wind something inside of you. When you finish, you let the book fall closed in your lap and turn your attention to Ghost. He speaks quietly, barely louder than the ambient noise around the two of you.

"So she still loved him? After all of that?"

"Yes, after all of that."

Ghost's nails dig gently suddenly into the soft skin on the underside of your ankle. You can tell he's struggling to say what he wants, his mouth opening and closing beneath the balaclava before he finally speaks, his words desperate. 

"Would you still love him after everything?"

His voice is tight, his nails dig harder into your skin. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can feel the tension in the air. 

"What if I said no?"

Ghost's hand twitches against your skin, his grip suddenly painful. But still, he keeps his eyes trained on the fireplace, never looking towards you. 

"I suppose you would have to find your way home."

You let the book slide off of your lap and drop heavily to the floor. The fluttering in your stomach quickens at the heaviness that hangs over the two of you. When you speak again, your voice cracks - Ghost finally looks at you, eyes dark and burning.

"Of course, I would still love him after all of that."

Ghost nails disappear from your ankle; his hand slides up to your thigh before pulling you closer. You lose your balance, you fall back and before you can pull yourself back into a sitting position, Ghost is pressing his hand onto your abdomen, pressing you into the soft cushions. He slides one of his knees in between your thighs and presses it against the seam of your shorts. Your cunt throbs at the feeling; you whine, but keep your hands down at your side, worried that if you touch him, he'll run. 

"Do you want to stay here? With me?" He whispers, not lowering himself down onto you like you want him to. 

His warmth feels like it's drowning you; you squirm trying to rub yourself against his thigh- Ghost pulls away just enough that you can't reach him. He doesn't have to say what he wants, you already know it without him saying anything. 

"Of course, I want to stay here. With you."

You know it's not a lie when you say it; you hadn't thought of going home since you'd first stepped foot into the forest. And now, with Ghost pressing himself against you, you can't imagine leaving this place, leaving Ghost behind to go back to your family, back to everything you once knew. 

His knee presses harder onto your cunt and you grind down, trying to find some release. His hands' hook on the edge of your shorts, pulling them down, past your knees until you can kick them off. Your hands search for skin, dipping underneath his shirt. You dig your nails into his back as he trails his nails up your thigh, the feeling sending a shiver through you. He wraps one hand around your knee, hitching it around his waist until he's pressed against you. You can feel his erection through his jeans. He grinds into you, the rough denim rubbing against the soft fabric of your panties.

"Please." You don't know what you're begging for, just some sort of release from the tension inside of you. Maybe for him to touch you more, maybe for him to grind into you again.

Ghost presses his lips to your neck, the fabric of the balaclava warm against your skin. His hand sneaks between the two of you, fingers teasing your clit through your panties. You pull him closer, trying to press yourself into him, press his fingers into you. He keeps himself pulled back away from you, not letting himself sink into you.

"Why did you come here?"

He whispers in your ear, fingers pulling away from your clit when you don't answer. You try to find his hand and put it back, but he pushes you back down, a promise he won't do anything until you speak.

"I wanted to- to see if the rumors were true. I wanted to see if you were the monster everyone said you were."

You can feel the hint of a smile against your neck before he speaks again.

"Is that it?"

"I wanted," you swallow around the words, trying to pick which ones to use, "I wanted to get away from home."

His fingers dip under the waistband of your panties, teasing you. 

"Am I the monster you were expecting to find?"

You shake your head, burying your face in his chest and bite down on the moan that escapes you.

"Are you going to leave me when the snow thaws? You can if you want. I won't stop you." His voice is rough, almost tired. You hear a hint of sadness as if he already knows you're going to say yes, that you're already planning your escape.

You shake your head; his fingers start to pull away from you when you realize what he wants from you.

"No; never."

That's enough for him. He buries two fingers inside of you; you hiss at the sting, but it quickly turns into a moan when he pumps his fingers inside of you. You're not wet enough to take him, but you know that you will be in just a moment.

"Close your eyes."

You do as you're told, and you feel his lips press against your collarbone through your shirt. You turn, seeking his lips, eyes still pressed tightly closed. Ghost knows what you want, you can feel his nose trailing up your neck, the feeling of the balaclava pushed up around his nose. 

"You won't look?" He whispers against your lips, and you nod.

"I promise."

When he kisses you, you taste the coffee from earlier; his canines snag against your bottom lip as he pulls away to breathe. His fingers inside of you are working you into a release, faster than you've ever reached on your own. When it crashes into you, you cry out; Ghost whispers soft soothings to you, his free hand pushing your hair out of your face gently before fisting it to pull your head back and expose your neck just quick enough for him to press a kiss to your jugular. 

He disappears for a moment; you want to look at him, to watch him as the sound of his belt coming undone and falling against the floor reaches you, but you don't want to betray his trust, don't want to do anything until he tells you to. His hands are gentle on you as he rolls you over onto your stomach, pressing your face gently into the cushions so you can't see him. His hands trace the valleys of your body before he pulls your panties down to your knees, forcing them together. 

His fingers dip into your cunt before pulling away quickly; you hear the sound of him licking the taste of you off before his wet fingers fall on your ass, tracing patterns into your skin.

His hands grip your hips, pulling them up so he can place his cock between your folds. He doesn't push into you until you push backward, your hand between your thighs trying to guide him in. 

You moan when he presses his cock into you, the sound muffled by the cushion. He's larger - larger than anything - anyone - you've ever taken before. The feeling of being so full of him, so stretched out by him twists you and pushes you towards an ecstasy that you've never felt before. You mewl for him, pressing back into him as much as you can.

He's quiet, the only sign he's enjoying this is his bruising grip on you. He's soft at first, and you beg him for more with each stroke, but he ignores you. You can feel him holding back, feel that there are inches of cock still waiting for you to take it. You beg for more, beg for him to fuck you properly.

"Look at you, begging for the monster in the woods to fuck you harder."

On his last word, he slams into you; the pain of it makes you instinctually try to scramble away from him. He holds you, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, keeping you pinned to the couch. 

"You were just begging for this, remember? Don't run away now."

He fucks you with a brutal pace, hands not leaving you until he folds himself over you. One of his fingers traces a small circle around your clit as he bites into your shoulder. You cry out, hands gripping the cushions. 

"Ghost, I can't - I'm going to - fuck."

"That's it, baby - come on my cock like a good girl."

His words push you towards your orgasm, and when you crash again, he fucks you harder. You squirm underneath him, trying to get away, to get a break from his relentless pace - from this brutal fucking that you want more desperately than anything else in the world.

"Stop running."

His hand snakes under you, to grip your throat loosely. His chest presses against your back, his breath warm on your neck. You can feel another orgasm building up inside of you; you keen, pressing yourself into Ghost. You can't remember a time when anyone has ever fucked you this good - a time you've ever wanted someone the same way you want Ghost.

"I'm going to finish inside of you," he growls in your ear, movements bordering on erratic. "I'm going to make you mine."

You can't do anything but pant out a 'yes'. You feel it - the warmth when he finishes inside of you, but he doesn't stop pushing himself inside of you - he keeps fucking you, pushing his cum deeper into you until he finally stills. 

He stays on you for a breath before pushing himself up. You can't move, can't do anything but lay there and try to catch your breath. You feel him hook your fingers in the waistband of your panties once again, but this time he pulls them up, hand smoothing across your back. 

His hand traces the pattern of your spine before burying itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. You try to catch your breath under his touch.

"I meant it earlier when I said you can leave."

"I know," your say as you turn your face towards him, catching just a hint of the chin as he pulls his balaclava down. 

"I want to stay."

[hopeless-eccentric]

Im not one to do a lot of book recs, but seriously, if you guys haven’t read the Dave Brandstetter series by Joseph Hansen, I can’t recommend them enough. 

The basic pitch is a neo-noir mystery series written from the early 1970′s to the early 1990′s following an openly gay life insurance investigator, David Brandstetter. He’s a sarcastic, middle-aged WWII vet mourning the death of his lover of twenty years and learning to gradually, somewhat messily, heal. He’s smart as a whip, like 12% catty but mostly at family gatherings, and he has horrifically bad music taste. Man leaps straight off the page.

The books are fascinating both as a snapshot into post-Stonewall southern California and as political pieces responding to their own varying circumstances between 1971-1991. There’s a lot of value just in the window they give us into queer history.

Besides that, they’re genuinely really good mysteries. They’re about ~150 pages, with interesting side characters and tight, well-written plots. The main character and recurring cast really just jump off the page as well, so the b plot of whatever’s going on in Dave’s personal life is usually as engaging (if not more) than the rest of the story. 

There’s also a lot more thematic density than I usually expect from paperback mystery novels. There’s a lot of conversation around gender presentation and straight-passing, men’s mental health and socially normalized unhealthy coping mechanisms, age/physical ability, etc.

Long story short, I’d highly recommend these to any fans of either the noir genre or the many, many works responding to it, as well as anybody who wants a good firsthand look into queer history. They’re criminally under-read, largely because the author marketed them to a straight audience, potentially a few decades too early to make them take off very far. Regardless, I hope this rant strikes a chord with somebody!

[loveanddullknives]

fic recs!!

keep on keeping on, dean winchester by quentsy

THEE widower arc fic. very beautiful about dean's grief and cas' return.

psalm 40:2 by unicornpoe

I think about this fic once a week. pre-series dean with s15 cas. can't say enough about this one

Ninety One Whiskey by komodobits

a classic of course, wwii au with medic dean and CO cas

if you look into my brain "you idiot, you asshole, this is what it feels like" is rattling around there

profoundly bonded (by law) by sobsicles

post-series fix it au? very sweet, my hope for the inevitable season 16

And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets

dean is a poet (undercover) and cas is an english professor and the poetry in this one makes me wanna torch something with fire because of the love in my veins

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination) by sobsicles

honestly just go read anything by this author, post-series, deancas, boom bang, you got it

[oskidontle]

A COLLECTION OF OVERLY DETAILED HEADCANONS ABOUT CRITTERS AS A SPECIES!

(Ahead is a wall of text! If you're prepared to read a bunch of non canon bullshit I made up to explain things that don't need explained you may proceed. If not, I would avoid clicking keep reading. Because I perhaps went a little overboard.)

General Lore:

Critters are a species of human originally created from U.S government funded human experimentation during WWII. Inspired by the extremes of the animal kingdom, the government hoped to make hyperdurable supersoldiers. Mostly unsuccessful, the main thing that sets critters apart from humans is appearance and wildly unstable genetics.

After years some of the subjects escaped and thanks to their various unusual methods of reproduction their population boomed fast enough that the world could hardly keep up. Generations later and critters are a widely abundant globally. Such abundance has allowed for them to integrate into society. However, not without difficulty. Food shortages in lower income states and social pushback has led many into bad living situations.

Physiology:

High genetic variation leads to a wide variety of critters, each with advantages and, more commonly, disadvantages.

For example; critters with proportionally larger eyes theoretically would have better eyesight. However, problems with eye dilation and distortion of eye shape leads them to more commonly have bad eyesight, or eyesight which easily wanes with age and sun damage. This is compounded with their general vulnerability to injury as they protrude due to their skulls barely keeping up.

Critters are prone to gene mutation. Two critter parents are likely to pass on faulty genes as the genetic makeup of reproductive cells often gets messed up. Upon inception these genes will mutate due to their faulty genetic code, sometimes leading to kids who looks drastically different than either parent. Even if this is not the case the faulty genes still create problems for the reproductive cells of the child as they grow, continuing to be changed and passed on.

Physical:

These mutations also lead to structural deformities. Strange growths and bone shapes aren't uncommon most commonly occurring on the skull, but can manifest as extra/less limbs unusual heights, strange spine deformations, fused/hyperflexible joints and bones presenting as cartilaginous or membranous.

Mutation of innards isn't all too uncommon either; ranging from lifelong organ issues, to benign growths of veins and nerves, to a unhealthy buildup/atrophy of fat and muscle.

Unfortunately all this genetic instability can lead to high rates of cancer, infertility, dementia, and mortality rates in infants

A few mutations are universal to most critters, most common is lack of visible nostrils and ears. Don't let appearances fool you however, they do still have functional noses and ears. Nostrils by default being closed shut by default can be opened and closed with adequate muscle control or significant air pressures. Ears meanwhile covered in a thin sensitive layer of skin allowing them to hear just as well, but with less directionality and mild trouble with environmental and internal pressure changes.

A critters epidermis has a wide variety of textures, colors, and hair lengths. Some of the texture of normal skin, some are velvety, some are fuzzy, some are scaly, some are smooth, some have hardened keratinous patches, and when exposed to cold enough climates for long periods of time, some can even develop a whole body coat of fur.

Phycological:

The high genetic variation also effects the brains of individuals. Critters are more likely to be diagnosed with mental disorders and learning disabilities of all sorts. They also tend to be highly emotional.

Interestingly as they develop their brains tend to latch on to specific emotions making them more likely to perform certain behaviors or feel a specific way. Individuals who ended up latching on to particularly negative emotions can lead rough lives as they find it difficult to feel any other way without active effort.

Despite this they aren't unable to feel other emotions if something to trigger another emotion occurs. In a sense the emotion they latch onto is more like a default then a solid state of mind.

Reproduction and development:

Critters can be seen with no reproductive organs, no visible reproductive organs, normal humanoid reproductive organs, both sexes of reproductive organs or reproductive organs not commonly found in mammals

Along with normal reproduction critters can reproduce with other means depending on the individual. This includes, but is not limited to: Parthenogenesis, external fertilization, vegetative propagation, budding and fragmentation. They can also have multiple ways to conceave and incubate the offspring. Live offspring, eggs and external fetuses, as seen in fragmentation and vegetative propagation are just some of the more common methods.

Development in critters is also highly varied depending on conception. While some are born through live birth. Some go through larval stages of sorts as they develop, some molt and spin cacoons as caterpillars would, some are closer to amphibians in that they smoothly develop as they grow, and some are raised in an almost plant-like fashion in which the fetus is placed in a sealed environment and fed nutritiants from external sources until they are developed enough to support themselves. On the whole a critter usually fully finishes their development by their early 20s

Many critters can reproduce multiple ways at the same time, leading to extremely high birthrates particularly with individuals who spawn externally. Despite high mortality rates the access to modern medical practices/technologies leads to higher survival rates than normal, offsetting the losses enough to where critters are still in the process of exponentially exploding in population.

SOCIOLOGY:

Critter populations are most dense on the North American continent where in the largest cities they can match human populations 1:1. Outside of North America, critters can also be found in relative abundance in other countries where they are better tolerated.

Due to a large chunk of their population having a rapid reproductive rate, It's speculated they will continue exponentially increasing their population until they will overtake human populations worldwide within a couple of centuries. That is assuming social pushback, laws, or lack of resources won't get involved.

Their sudden boom in population on a societal scale while surprisingly well accepted in their country of origin, worldwide they are less integrated into society and less accepted.

Those on the North American continent, particularly the U.S, are treated as any other person particularly by those in higher density areas who have lived with them longer. Classified as legal citizens they are entitled to the given benefits and privileges this brings. This is not without flaw however. Prejudice still exists, biases and income inequality are sadly common.

Interestingly due to a lack of visible sexual organs on some, it has become socially acceptable for said critters to wear minimal clothes. It is still preferable to wear at least some article of clothing, so most of the time you will see these individuals wearing an accessory or just a shirt/pants

[longitudinalwaveme]

Flash Character Descriptions

Jason Peter "Jay" Garrick (Flash #1): Jay Garrick was a brilliant chemistry student at Midwestern University when he gained his super speed. During a laboratory experiment with hard water (later retconned to heavy water), he worked long into the night and then decided to take a smoke break. In the process of lighting up his cigarette, he knocked over the beakers of heavy water he had been experimenting on, and was overcome by the fumes. The next morning, his professor took him to the hospital, where he woke up several weeks later. Not only had he suffered no ill effects from the inhalation of the gas, he now also had super speed!

After using his speed to win a football game and impress his crush, Joan Williams, Jay went on to graduate from college and become a scientist and professor, while fellow-graduate Joan (also a science major) went to help her father, Major Arthur Williams, develop an "atomic bombardier".

After reading about the crime that was plaguing Keystone City, Jay decided to do something about it. He donned an outlandish outfit (complete with his father's old World War I helmet), and started using his super speed to fight crime. Not too long after, Joan, who had known about Jay's speed basically from the beginning, went to him to ask him for his help in rescuing her father from some evil scientists who had kidnapped him in the hopes of getting ahold of his atomic bombardier. Jay succeeded in rescuing him, and from that point on, Jay and Joan would work together to help the Flash protect Keystone City.

Jay Garrick was a very intelligent young man, and a competent scientist, but he was also very light-hearted and was a bit of a prankster (something which came through in his fights with various criminals). He used his speed very creatively, and he was also well-versed enough in science to know how to best apply his speed to a given situation. In this sense, he was something of a mix of the two Flashes who would succeed him. Jay was very close to his girlfriend Joan, and he kept no secrets from her. The two of them worked together in tandem as a crimefighting team, and, as noted above, Joan was in on Jay's identity as the Flash from the start. (Jay disguised his maskless face by vibrating his face so fast that his features couldn't be properly recognized.) Jay was good-natured and kind, as superheroes tend to be, and it wasn't long before he started teaming up with other superheroic types to achieve even more good than he could have on his own.

Jay was one of the founding members of the Justice Society of America, and he helped them defeat such menaces as Vandal Savage and the Injustice Society of the World. More importantly, however, he and the JSA also fought against the Axis forces throughout WWII, both in the field and on the home front. Jay was, and is, very devoted to the defense of freedom.

When he wasn't fighting Nazis with the JSA, Jay was gathering his own collection of costumed criminals. The most prominent of them all was the Thinker (Clifford DeVoe), a former district attorney who turned to a life of crime after he failed too many cases, and who used his incredible mental powers to mastermind crimes and fight the Flash, but Jay also fought the Fiddler (Isaac Bowin), a man whose Stradivarius violin could weaponize sound, the Ragdoll, a thief who was also an expert contortionist, the Thorn (Rose Canton), a supervillainess with a case of Hollywood Dissociative Identity Disorder and the ability to control plants, and the Shade (Richard Swift), whose single appearance in the Golden Age gave very few hints of the immortal, shadow-controlling gentleman adventurer he would become under the pen of James Robison.

Jay also became friends with a trio of Three Stooges rip-offs named Winky, Blinky, and Noddy. While they weren't terribly bright, they were devoted and loyal friend to Jay and Joan, and they did their best to help the Flash in his efforts to stop crime.

After the end of the war, the JSA went into semi-voluntary retirement after totally-not-HUAC-we-promise tried to force them to reveal their secret identities to the government, and Jay Garrick married his long-time girlfriend, Joan. Unfortunately for him, the Thinker, the Fiddler, and the Shade had one last plot in mind...one which trapped the entirety of Keystone City, including Jay and Joan, in frozen stasis for decades. (At least, that's the Post-Crisis explanation. Pre-Crisis, Jay Garrick lived on an alternate Earth from Barry Allen, and was spurred back into action on hearing that Shade, Fiddler, and Thinker had escaped from prison and gone on a crime spree.)

Jay came out of retirement on the day he met his successor, Barry Allen. Barry, who was a huge fan of Jay Garrick and collected the comics that had been written about Jay's adventures, either accidentally vibrated his way to Earth-Two or found Keystone City and freed Jay, and it, from the stasis in which they had been locked for so long. The two Flashes then teamed up to defeat the trio of villains who were causing trouble, and from that point on, Jay Garrick and Barry Allen were close friends and allies, with Jay serving as something of a mentor to the younger Flash. He helped to reform the Justice Society of America, and he threw himself back into superheroics (something his wife, Joan, supported completely).

Jay Garrick is now one of the elder statesmen of the DC Universe. He's humble, approachable, and very wise, but he still has a twinkle in his eyes and a spring in his step. Everyone in the superhero community likes and respects Jay, and even his villains have come to have a grudging admiration for their long-time foe. Jay is also the most polite man in the DC Universe, and he is well-known amongst the younger heroes for his insistence that everyone keep their language G-rated.

Jay is very protective of younger heroes, and has served as a mentor for dozens of them, including Barry, Wally, and Bart. Jay is close friends with the Green Lantern Alan Scott, and has been for decades upon decades. While Alan is rather more ambitious and driven than Jay, the two of them nevertheless work very well together.

Jay and Joan are still married, and they are as in love as they were on the day they were married. Their marriage is rock-solid, and they almost never keep secrets from one another. In fact, I think they have the healthiest relationship in all of comics, and other superheroes in-universe often cite them as the model they hope to follow for their own marriages. Both Jay and Joan currently teach science at local universities, and neither of them seems particularly interested in retiring. Which is impressive, since they both have to be like 110 years old by this point (a perennial problem for characters who have important backstory ties to WWII).

Jay is very, very competent in the use of his powers, and he is still very fast, but his advanced age has cut his speed to some degree, and it severely affects his stamina. He can't run for nearly as long as the younger Flashes can---but he can mostly make up for these delays through his extensive experience.

Joan Williamson-Garrick: Joan Williamson, like Jay Garrick, studied chemistry at Midwestern University. She was the daughter of Major Arthur Williams, whom she would work for as a scientist after her graduation. Although Joan was initially dismissive of Jay due to his lack of football skills, she quickly warmed up to him, and was in on the secret of his super speed, and his identity as the Flash, from the beginning. She was a very intelligent, competent, and resourceful ally in his fight against crime, and the two of them were devoted partners and friends for the entirety of his Golden Age career.

The two of them were married in Las Vegas, and, after Jay's retirement, lived a peaceful life together for many years (possibly being frozen in time for awhile at some point, depending on which origin you go by). Joan worked a science professor at a local university, much like Jay, and the two of them were mostly very happy together (in spite of the tragic death of their adopted son). When Barry Allen arrived on the scene, Jay came out of retirement with Joan's complete support. She and Jay would quickly befriend Barry and Iris, and they often helped to advise the younger couple.

Joan Garrick is a sweet, loving woman, and she is something of a grandmother the superhero community (and particularly the Flash family). She is an excellent cook and is especially good at making cookies, and she is great at giving advice to anyone who will ask her. She also has a good sense of humor, much like her husband, and seemingly endless patience (vital for anyone who frequently deals with young super-speedsters).

Joan is also very clever and brave in her own right. Much like her husband, she is a science professor, and in her younger years, she faced down numerous criminals alongside Jay. She is not by any means weak or a pushover, even if she has slowed down a bit because of her age. Joan is Jay's equal in every since of the word, and the two of them have a happy and healthy marriage.

Bartholomew (formerly Barrence) Henry "Barry" Allen (Flash #2): Barry Allen was born to Dr. Henry and Nora Allen in the small Midwestern town of Fallville (he also had a secret twin named Malcolm who was taken from his parents at birth and who would grow up to found the lineage that would eventually produce Eobard Thawne, the Reverse-Flash, because comics). He grew up reading comic books about his hero, the Flash (Jay Garrick), and playacting as the Flash with his next-door neighbor and childhood sweetheart, Daphne Dean (who would grow up to become a famous movie star). After he graduated from Fallville High School, Barry went on to attend Sun City University, where he would earn a degree in forensic science.

Barry was hired as a police scientist by the Central City Police Department, and thus moved to Central City, where he met reporter Iris West (she worked for Picture News). Their first date was on the fourth of July, and Barry would eventually propose to her when both of them were riding a Ferris Wheel at a local fair.

Barry got his super speed when lighting crashed through the laboratory window at police headquarters, struck him and a nearby shelf of chemicals, and gave him a bath in some random chemical compounds. Showing some truly horrible lab safety skills, Barry brushed off both the lightning strike and the chemical bath and decided to just go home. After his attempt at hailing a taxi failed, he tried to chase after it---and discovered that he, like his idol, Jay Garrick, now possessed super speed.

After creating a costume, which he would store in a special compartment in his ring, Barry became the second Flash and started fighting crime, and it wasn't long before he started collecting a whole group of costumed criminals, from Captain Cold and Weather Wizard to Gorilla Grodd and Abra Kadabra. He also gained a sidekick in Iris' nephew Wally West when the same accident that had given him super speed repeated itself to give super speed to Wally.

Unfortunately, Barry had a bad habit of keeping secrets from people he cared about. He waited several months to tell Wally his true identity, and he didn't tell Iris that he was the Flash until a year after they married (consciously, anyway....Iris learned the truth on their wedding night when Barry talked in his sleep). He had no malicious intent in doing so, but it is something of a habit of his to keep his problems close to his chest and not talk about them to his loved ones, and sometimes this habit comes back to bite him.

Barry Allen is a very talented and effective police scientist. He's slow, careful, methodical, and patient, both as a scientist and as the Flash. His extensive knowledge of science allows him to use his speed in a variety of useful ways, and he is, of course, very fast. However, due to his scientific mindset, he struggles to use the Speed Force as freely as Jay and Wally, and he cannot access all of the abilities that they possess (such as the ability to create costumes out of the speed force or to lend and steal speed).

In his personal life, Barry is a loyal and devoted friend, but he has a small and rather eccentric social circle. Besides his vivacious wife Iris, to whom he is devoted, this social circle includes his parents, Daphne Dean, and Wally West, but it also includes the Elongated Man (Ralph Dibney) and his wife Sue Dibney, Iris' absent-minded adoptive father, Professor Ira West (a brilliant physicist), his twelve-year-old neighbor and fellow comic enthusiast Barney Sands, college student Stacy Conwell, Dexter Myles, the retired Shakespearean actor who runs the Flash Museum, Detective Frank Curtis, scientist Mack Nathan and his son Troy, Eric and Fran Russel, Iris' biological parents, who live in the 30th century (because comic books), and, perhaps most bizarrely of all, Dr. Albert Desmond, one of his supervillains who reformed and became his close friend, and Albert's wife Rita.

Barry is of course also a founding member of the Justice League of America, and he is friendly with most of his colleagues, but Hal Jordan (the Silver Age Green Lantern) is the only one of them who really seems to be his friend outside of work, and he does not get along at all with the Green Arrow (Oliver Queen).

Barry is a total dork. He has a crew cut and wears bow ties. He loves comic books (his collection is truly astounding to behold) and attends comic conventions regularly, and he is incredibly knowledgeable about the JSA. Furthermore, science, in addition to being his job, also seems to be one of his hobbies, and he really loves being able to teach science to kids ("Flash Fact!"). Barry is generally very good with children, and he was an excellent mentor and loving father figure to Wally West, who really needed a father figure growing up.

Barry is apparently a restless sleeper, as he both sleepwalks and talks in his sleep. (Weirdly, this is a trait he shares with his enemy The Top. Roscoe also talks in his sleep.) He is also afraid of roller coasters and likes to go to masquerade parties dressed as himself (that is, the Flash). He is a hard worker, but he is always, always, always late, something that occasionally draws ire from his superiors---particularly the punctuality-obsessed Darryl Frye---and sometimes draws ire from Iris as well.

Due to a long, convoluted series of events that I don't really feel like explaining right now, Barry and Iris have children in the 30th century---a pair of twins named Dawn and Don Allen. Dawn and Don are the superheroes called the Tornado Twins, and both of them end up being killed due to the machinations of the evil President Thawne (who is not the Reverse-Flash, or Barry's evil twin, but rather a descendant of them both). However, before they died, both of the twins married and produced children of their own. Dawn married a man named Jeven Ognats and had a daughter named Jenni, who would ultimately become the superhero XS and a member of the Legion of Superheroes. Don, meanwhile, married Meloni Thawne, the daughter of President Thawne (who was not evil, unlike most of the rest of her family), and had a son named Bart Allen, who would eventually be sent back to the present and become the superhero Impulse. I hate the Flash family tree so much (even though I like most of the characters involved)....

Barry Allen died saving the Multiverse during Crisis on Infinite Earths, and was dead for over 20 years of real-world time, but he was brought back to life in 2008 during the Final Crisis Event, now with stupid retcons to his history that I like to pretend never happened. (His now famous origin wherein the Reverse Flash killed his mother and framed his father for the crime wasn't introduced until 2009. For comparison, Barry Allen debuted in 1956!) I'm not upset he's alive again, since I like Barry a lot, but him being back does kind of confuse a lot of the stuff regarding the future stuff with his kids and grandkids (since initially, Iris lived out several decades in the future after Barry died, raised her kids, saw her grandchildren be born, and then went back to the present with Bart to save him from his accelerated aging). And that was confusing enough as it was!

Iris West-Allen: Iris West was born in the 30th century to Eric and Fran Russel. Unfortunately, the Earth of the 30th century was on the brink of a nuclear war, so Eric and Fran, desperate to save their baby, sent her back in time to the 20th century, whereupon she was adopted by Professor Ira West and his wife, Nadine West.

Iris has three siblings: an older brother named Rudy (Wally's father), an older sister named Charlotte (who mothered Iris' niece Inez), and a younger brother named Daniel (who fathered Wallace West). Unfortunately, both of Iris' brothers would prove to be less than upstanding men, and so Iris had to provide a lot of support and love to her nephews, who weren't getting it from other sources.

Iris earned a degree in journalism from Columbia University, and, after touring the world with the money her father had earned from his many patents, she settled down in Central City and became a reporter for Picture News. Iris is a determined, clever journalist and is one of the most respected reported in Central City.

Her journalism job also introduced her to Barry Allen (they met at a crime scene), with whom she hit it off. The two quickly began dating and soon fell in love with one another (even if Iris was often frustrated by Barry's constant tardiness). When the Flash arrived on the scene, Iris dutifully reported on his activities, not knowing that her slow and lazy fiancé was also the Fastest Man Alive. W

When Rudy sent a ten-year-old Wally to live with Iris for the summer, Iris introduced him to Barry, who in turn "introduced" Wally to the Flash. Wally would become Kid Flash on that same vacation, but, sworn to secrecy by Barry, he didn't tell Iris.

Iris learned that Barry was the Flash on their wedding night (since Barry talked in his sleep), and she took the news surprisingly well, all things considered. Once she was in the know, she became a very capable confidant, and aided Barry in his career as the Flash.

Iris is fiery, passionate, and full of energy. She is driven and determined to achieve her goals, and she's almost totally fearless, but she can also be very loving, supportive, and caring to the people she's close with. Iris is very good with children, and she is a wonderful and supportive aunt to Wally, Wallace, and Inez (who's only had one appearance but is included for completion's sake). Iris is also much more of an extrovert than Barry is, and she spends a considerable amount of time dragging him out of his own head.

In addition to being an excellent journalist, Iris is also a talented cook and personally sponsors a number of charities throughout Central City (which benefit greatly from her Flash-y husband's fundraising abilities).

In spite of not having any superpowers, Iris is nevertheless surprisingly competent and daring in a fight, and has helped her husband take down criminals more than once in the past.

Unfortunately for Iris, she also has an obsessive stalker in the form of Eobard Thawne (Professor Zoom the Reverse-Flash), who attempted to force her into marriage with him multiple times, and ultimately killed her by vibrating his hand into her brain after she rejected his latest proposal of marriage. Her life was ultimately saved thanks to her 30th-century adoptive parents, who managed to transfer her soul into a cloned body right before she died, but it would be years before she and Barry were reunited...only for Barry to die again not long afterwards.

Iris spent a few decades in the future, raising her children, Don and Dawn Allen, but ultimately returned to the present with her grandson Bart Allen to save him from the hyper-accelerated aging his super-speed had induced. In the present, she reunited with Wally, met his wife Linda, and eventually reunited with a resurrected Barry.

Aaaaand then Flashpoint happened and erased their marriage, and they basically had to go through their entire relationship again in the New 52 and Rebirth era. Boo! Boo I say! (Note that Daniel and Wallace West did not exist before Flashpoint. However, it's not too hard to fit them into the pre-Flashpoint timeline if you squint, and that's basically what I do in my headcanon.)

Wallace Rudolph "Wally" West (Flash #3): Wally West was born to Rudolph and Mary West in the very small town of Blue Valley, Nebraska. Unfortunately, neither of his parents were loving or supportive of him, and his father was outright physically abusive to young Wally (although he was unfortunately just clever enough to not leave any obvious bruises). Wally was therefore a rather lonely child, with his Aunt Iris and his Grandpa Ira serving as his main sources of love and support. He also befriended a young girl named Frances Kane, who also lived in Blue Valley and whose mother was about as much fun to be around as Wally's father.

When the Flash (Barry Allen) came onto the scene, Wally became the Flash's biggest fan. He was the president (and only member) of the Blue Valley Flash Fan Club, and, as such, he was ecstatic when, during his tenth summer, his parents sent him to live with his Aunt Iris for awhile in Central City. He loved his Aunt Iris, and he loved the idea of getting to meet the Flash almost as much.

Iris promptly introduced her nephew to her boyfriend Barry Allen. Wally was not impressed by the dorky police scientist at first...but then Barry Allen told him he knew the Flash, and that he could introduce Wally to him, which he promptly did.

Wally inundated the Flash with questions, but before the Flash could answer any of them, lightning crashed through the window, striking both Wally and a shelf full of chemicals that Barry Allen kept in his apartment and spilling some of the chemicals onto Wally. (It was the Silver Age. Don't ask.) Wally immediately gained the same super-speed as the Flash, and the Flash promptly offered to make Wally his sidekick, Kid Flash. Wally eagerly agreed.

Wally worked alongside the Flash on big cases, but he also worked on his own as Kid Flash in Blue Valley quite often, keeping in touch with his mentor via mail. Barry, now confident that he had chosen the right sidekick, revealed his secret identity to Wally, and from that moment on, Barry became the father figure Wally had always wanted but never really had. Wally loved and idolized Barry, and the two of them became very close--especially after Barry married Iris and became Wally's uncle (and his parents went through a messy divorce).

As Kid Flash, Wally would eventually join up with Aqualad, Robin (Dick Grayson), Wonder Girl (Donna Troy), and Speedy (Roy Harper) to form the Teen Titans, a group of young heroes whose roster would expand considerably over time and eventually come to include Frances Kane, who started demonstrating innate magnetic-controlling abilities in her teens. As part of the Teen Titans, Wally would gain many close friends and a considerable amount of superhero experience. He and Dick Grayson became especially close to one another, and Dick would ultimately be the best man at Wally's wedding.

When Wally turned 18, he enrolled in college, and planned to eventually retire from the superhero life altogether (due in part to the fact that his powers had started to go into flux and were threatening his health). However, events soon conspired to prevent him from graduating college or starting a "normal" life. When his Uncle Barry died saving the universe (and Wally's speed problems were conveniently cured), Wally felt that he had to step up to become the Flash in order to honor his uncle's legacy.

Unfortunately, Barry's death had left some huge shoes to fill, and with Iris off in the far future, Wally had no one to support him as he tried to live up to Barry's legacy. Suffering from depression and impostor syndrome, Wally psychosomatically limited his own speed to the speed of sound to ensure that he would never surpass Barry, dropped out of college, and, after breaking up with Frances Kane (who he had been dating), started a series of disastrous romantic relationships. Wally felt that he was unworthy to be the Flash, and in his desperation to prove himself, he came across as cocky and brash, even arrogant---and his low self-image was not helped by the fact that almost everyone around him kept reminding him of how he was disgracing his uncle's legacy. Nor was it helped by the fact that, when he won the lottery (just go with it), his mother moved in to mooch off of him, recklessly burn through all of his money, and criticize all of his choices. (Also, it turned out that his father was secretly part of an intergalactic cult, and that he had only had Wally because the cult had told him he was going to have a super-powerful son. Don't you just love comics?)

Things got even worse when an alien invasion (a different one from the one started by the cult Wally's dad was a part of) stole all of Wally's remaining finances and he briefly became homeless...but luckily, he ran into the Pied Piper, who helped him out and began what would become a very deep and long-lasting friendship. Wally's relationships with old and experienced jack-of-all-trades Mason Tollbridge, the human black hole named Chunk (whom Wally had saved from a life of crime), scientists Tina and Jerry McGee, Joan Garrick, the Elongated Man, and even Captain Cold, Heat Wave, and the Golden Glider eventually helped pull him out of the hole he had fallen into after his uncle's death, and he gradually became a more competent hero and a happier, more well-adjusted man.

Of course, no one was more important in facilitating Wally's growth from a cocky skirt-chaser with impostor syndrome to a truly confident, loyal husband was Linda Park. When Wally met her, she was a TV reporter in Keystone City, and the two of them butted heads at first, but, over time, they came to enjoy one another's company, started dating, fell in love, saved each other from countless disasters, and then got married. Linda helped Wally to grow up and overcome his insecurities, and Wally helped Linda to relax and have fun. The two of them work together very well and are utterly devoted to one another.

The two of them also have three children: twins Irey and Jai (who are somewhere between 8 and 10 years old due to some initial advanced speedster aging), and the newly-arrived infant Wade West. Wally is a devoted father and delights in being an embarrassingly goofy dad. He's also very close to his younger cousin Wallace West.

Wally is passionate, brave, loyal, and devoted to his friends and loved ones. He is generally friendly and good-natured, and is just as devoted to helping people as the other Flashes are. He's the best user of the Speed Force and is the Fastest Man Alive. He has an intuitive understanding of his speed and uses it to greater effect than basically any other speedster. However, he cannot vibrate through walls like Barry and Jay can (because the excess energy that he produces when he does so causes them to explode!)

Wally has a snarky, dry sense of humor and is very witty (being particularly prone to making sarcastic comments about supervillains). He's very impatient and can be prone to reckless actions, particularly when he gets angry. Wally also has a notable temper, though it seems to have gotten better as he's gotten older.

Although the comics have never outright said it, Wally seems to have ADHD, and is in fact a surprisingly accurate portrayal of the condition (in much the same way as his cousin Bart). That being said, I'm not sure Wally himself realizes he has ADHD, as he seems to blame most of the behavioral manifestations of ADHD on his super speed (and it's also a fair bet that his parents never had him tested for it as a child.)

In spite of his super speed, Wally is not a sports fan, and he especially hates watching baseball on TV. Conversely, he loves to eat. While he doesn't really need to eat to maintain his super speed in the way that he once did, he still has a super-speedy metabolism, and he uses it to eat lots and lots of hot dogs (apparently, they're weenie-licious), hamburgers, and sugared cereals.

Wally has had a number of jobs, including working as a car mechanic for the CCPD, but he is currently employed by Terrifitech as an engineer/mechanic, working for fellow superhero Mr. Terrific.

Linda Park-West: Linda Park is the daughter of John and Lisa Park. She is of Korean descent, and both she and Wally are very fond of Korean barbeque. Linda began her career as a TV reporter before switching to the press, and she has also published a few novels. She has also expressed an interest in pediatric medicine and has taken a few college courses for it.

At the start of her career, Linda was a serious, no-nonsense reporter. She was very good at her job, but she had few friends outside of her work, and she could be a bit uptight. When she first met Wally, they had a mutually adversarial relationship, but over time, they softened towards one another and developed a friendship that then became a romance. She helped Wally mature and grow up a bit, and he helped her loosen up and have fun. The two of them are great for one another, and, in spite of some rough patches, have a very healthy relationship.

Linda is a very intelligent woman and has no shortage of bravery; she's helped Wally face down many criminal threats and is a formidable opponent in her own right. Her skills as an investigative journalist also frequently aid Wally in his battle against crime.

Linda is a loving and devoted mother to her three children, and she will do anything to keep them safe. Woe betide anyone who is foolish enough to mess with her children. While she is the more serious and responsible parent, she is obviously very fond of her children and enjoys spending time with them and her goof of a husband. She's also handles most of the family's finances (since Wally lacks the patience for that sort of thing). She's also very close to her parents, who visit the family regularly. Much like Wally, she is friends with the Pied Piper.

Linda is also a huge sports fan. She loves baseball and is just as big a fan of Keystone City's hockey team, the Combines, as Captain Cold.

Iris "Irey" and Jai West: Wally's twins, both of whom have super speed. Jai can use his super speed to temporarily give himself super strength, while Irey is particularly adept at phasing through walls. Both of them are sweet kids who love their parents and each other, but still they bicker and fight with one another. They are siblings, after all. Jai is more introverted than his sister and seems to prefer playing video games and writing in his journal to socializing. Irey is more outgoing and mischievous, and she has become close friends with Maxine Baker, the daughter of Animal Man (Buddy Baker), who goes to her school. Both children are eager to help their father fight bad guys, but for the most part, Wally and Linda try to keep their kids away from too much combat. The twins are also very fond of their Uncle Piper, their Grandpa Jay, their Grandma Joan, and their Uncle Barry.

Pied Piper (Hartley Rathaway): Hartley Rathaway was born to multi-millionaire publishing magnates Osgood and Rachel Rathaway. He was born deaf, and it took his neglectful parents nearly two years before they realized something was wrong. Once they finally caught on to their son's deafness, and determined to "fix" their heir, they spent millions of dollars to get Dr. William Magnus to implant Hartley with super-advanced hearing aids. The operation was a success, and Hartley was left with not only the ability to hear, but super-human hearing. Upon being able to hear, Hartley quickly became enamored with music, which became something of a solace for the lonely child.

Hartley's parents, though extremely wealthy and able to give him the best of everything money could buy, were also cold, controlling, and neglectful, and Hartley never felt accepted by them or their high-society friends. He seemed to have no friends, and every aspect of his life was controlled by his parents...except his hobby of tinkering with musical instruments.

When Hartley turned 18, his parents selected a prestigious university for him, enrolled him in courses, and, when Hartley, uninterested in the courses they had chosen for him, didn't perform to their expectations, bribed the college to give him high grades. Hartley, for his part, had invented a flute that could hypnotize anyone who listened to it, and began using it to try to take some control of his life.

After several months (maybe even a few years) of conflict with his parents, everything came to a head when Hartley told his parents that he was gay. This kicked off an enormous argument that ended up with Hartley being all but disowned by his family. No longer welcome at home, and having dropped out of college, Hartley decided to use his magical flute to become the Pied Piper. By becoming a costumed criminal and openly stealing from the rich, he would have his revenge on the parents he had never been good enough for...and he would finally have control over his own life.

Hartley's parents were, predictably enough, infuriated by his activity as the Pied Piper, and promptly bribed everyone from the Chief of the CCPD to the FBI to keep Hartley's identity a secret. He was even given a new name, Henry Darrow, to make sure nobody connected the polka-dot-wearing thief with the Rathaways.

The Pied Piper was one of the youngest of the costumed criminals to battle the Flash (Barry Allen), and perhaps it was because he needed a substitute family that he joined up with the Rogues (after briefly dating a wannabe supervillain named Earl Povich/Fury, who would, years later, come after a reformed Hartley). With his upper-class accent and education, he stood out from the rest of the group, and many of them weren't quite sure where to have him---especially once he told them he was gay. However, he did become close friends with another of the younger Rogues, the Trickster (James Jesse), and he always got along well with Heat Wave (Mick Rory), who was gentle and easy-going.

During his career as a criminal, Hartley kept very little of the money he stole. He gave some of the money to his parents, to pay them back for the money they had spent trying to mold him into something he could never be (and to remind them that he still existed and remembered them), and donated much of the rest to various charities (he fancied himself as a bit of a Robin Hood figure, and viewed it as a way to help make reparations for the wealth horded by his family)...but he could still be a very dangerous opponent for the Flash, especially when angered or cornered.

Shortly before Barry Allen's death, Hartley had a nervous breakdown. This, combined with his old foe's sacrifice to save the universe, prompted Hartley to realize that he was wasting his life as a criminal. He reformed and became an advocate for a variety of social causes, including providing aid to the homeless. He became friends with the new Flash, Wally West, and he even reconciled with his parents. Since then, he has helped the Flash save the Twin Cities many times, and also helps to keep the Flash informed as to what's going on the criminal underworld. He's also stayed friends with James Jesse, the Trickster, who himself decided to join the side of the angels (mostly) and who never fails to keep Hartley's life interesting.

Hartley Rathaway is the sort of person people reflexively underestimate. Slight of build and rather quiet of voice (you would be too if whispers sounded like shouting sometimes), he doesn't seem threatening---but if you threaten him or the people he cares about, he can be every bit as dangerous as the Flash (or the Rogues). His weaponized musical instruments allow him to not only hypnotize people but to weaponize sound in a variety of ways, and he is very skilled in using them in combat. He's also a very skilled inventor and is constantly updating his arsenal of pipes, and he knows a lot about sound. (He also sometimes serves as Wally's tech support.)

In addition to being very intelligent, Hartley is a loyal friend and a devoted champion of the poor and underprivileged. He is extremely passionate about his causes and works tirelessly to help others, sometimes to the point where he exhausts himself or forgets to eat. He wants to create a better world for everyone, and he is very compassionate, especially to children, such as his little sister, Geraldine Rathaway. He is also a beloved "uncle" to Jai and Irey West.

Hartley feels a fair deal of guilt about his criminal past, and for that reason works hard to make amends by aiding Wally in his role as the Flash. He spends a good deal of time and effort in helping other ex-convicts reintegrate into society, and also passionately helps Linda expose corruption in high places.

Hartley loves all kinds of music, more or less indiscriminately and equally. He sometimes plays in the Central City orchestra, and he is rarely found without his headphones on and his flute in hand. In addition to his love of music, Hartley is also a baseball fan, and enjoys watching games with fellow fan Linda.

Hartley loves rats and has several pet rats, including one named Moon.

Hartley has had a number of partners over the years. Aside from the aforementioned Earl Povich, he has dated Mike, a chef (probably) and James, who worked as an architect (not to be confused with James Jesse, the Trickster, whose real name is actually Giovanni Giuseppi). His most recent partner is, as you noted, David Singh, who works as a police officer. I don't really know a lot about David other than his occupation, since his relationship with Hartley was introduced in the New 52, and Hartley has had shockingly little panel time since then. Nor do I know how they met (I don't think the comics have ever really explained this, and inquiring minds would like to know, given one of them is a police officer and the other one used to be a supervillain). That being said, Singh does seem to serve as a moral compass for Hartley when he's tempted to revert back to his criminal ways.

Paul Gambi: Paul Gambi is a tailor of Italian descent, and he makes costumes for the Rogues as a sideline to his main business (since the Rogues pay very well for their costumes). He seems to be somewhere between 40 and 60 years old in most of his appearances, and I assume he's older than all of the Rogues.

Gambi has at least two brothers. One of them, whose name we don't know, is in prison, and he left behind a son, Tony, who Paul took in and raised. The other brother, Peter Gambi, is also a tailor, but he makes costumes for superheroes (notably, he made Black Lightning's costume).

Gambi is an expert tailor, and he designed all of the Rogues' outfits so that they would withstand the forces of the Rogues' weapons (e.g., Heat Wave's costume can resist ridiculous amounts of heat, Weather Wizard's costume can withstand high winds and rain, etc.) Although he has gone to prison for brief periods, for the most part he manages to stay under the radar and continue making costumes (it helps that he has a legitimate business as well).

Gambi is very fond of the Rogues, and they are equally fond of him, viewing him as a friend and an ally. Messing with Gambi is a great way to get all the Rogues to come after you. Gambi also seems to be a good uncle to his nephew Tony (whom the Rogues are also extremely fond of), and both uncle and nephew are as good as part of the group.

Fun Fact: Paul Gambi was named after a real-life Flash fan named Paul Gambaccini.

It's late now and I'm tired, so I will finish up the rest of the characters tomorrow.

[oldfashionedbooklove]

tell me about your favorite lm montgomery novel please <3

Okay this is SO hard because her books are amazing but I just have to admit Rilla of Ingleside is my favourite, which is saying a lot because I LOVE HER BOOKS, okay! I adore the Story Girl duology and I absolutely love the Anne series and Jane of Lantern Hill.

But Rilla. This book is a heartbreaker. And it’s so beautiful.

I don’t know if I can fully express how much is to be found in this book. I have been reading it yearly for many years, and always come away with new thoughts. As I grow older, and see more of the world, I relate and understand more, and another level of the book is discovered.

The setting—a small P.E.I. town carrying on through WWI. I’m pretty tough when it comes to war books, but I have to take breaks from this one because it is so raw and real. The agony is intense. I cannot even cry over it—my heart hurts too much for tears. This shows exactly what the Great War was for people. You sway back and forth, feeling the dread and terror. You know how it ends but you are broken anyhow. And when the end comes, you too can only rejoice softly. You feel as if you have paid part of the price yourself.

“‘We’re in a new world,’ Jem says, ‘and we’ve got to make it a better one than the old. That isn’t done yet, though some folks seem to think it ought to be. The job isn’t finished—it isn’t really begun. The old world is destroyed and we must build up the new one. It will be the task of years. I’ve seen enough of war to realize that we’ve got to make a world where wars can’t happen. We’ve given Prussianism its mortal wound but it isn’t dead yet and it isn’t confined to Germany either. It isn’t enough to drive out the old spirit—we’ve got to bring in the new.’”

The characters in this book—they are alive. Splendid Jem, brave and merry and true; Jerry, steady and dutiful; Walter, sensitive and courageous; Carl, cheerful and fearless; Shirley, honest and reliable; Nan and Di and Anne, all heart-wrung and smiling; Gertrude, tragic and grasping for hope; the Doctor, determined and self-sacrificing; Susan, simple and true—and Rilla, who starts out a silly, frivolous girl and ends a strong, mature woman. Then there are all the minor and side characters—the Merediths, Cousin Sophia, Jimsy, Ken, Irene, Whiskers-on-the-Moon & his family, Mary and the Elliotts, Norman + Ellen, and everyone else. They’re all so alive, so real, so funny and terrible and beautiful—I swear Glen St. Mary exists and all the inhabitants thereof.

The story follows the Great War, from the first days in August 1914 to the bitter Summer of 1919, where peace has come but normal will never return. As a child, this story was simply World War One—a faraway, long-ago grief and horror and agony. Now, in 2022, as a woman, I have experienced a slight taste of what the people of 1914 felt, and it has humanized the story of the War. This, more than any other book I have read, brings the War and the world of 1914-1918 to life, showing how they were people just like us. The heart is wrung by their suffering, and there is no escape, for the war must drag on for long bitter years. And the price! Walter has become the face of unknown, forgotten heroes, and Jem has become that of the scarred heroes who returned. Every November we grieve the young men who never came home, and for the ones who came home missing a part of themselves, physical or otherwise. I have wept thinking of the children of Rilla, Ken, Faith, Jem, and the others—children who fought in WWII and whose parents were forced to relive the horrible conflict of mankind.

“It has been such a dreadful week,” she wrote, “and even though it is over and we know that it was all a mistake that does not seem to do away with the bruises left by it. And yet it has in some ways been a very wonderful week and I have had some glimpses of things I never realized before—of how fine and brave people can be even in the midst of horrible suffering.”

And yet the book overflows with humour—real laugh-out-loud scenes and witty, clever banter on princes and politics. It is another aspect of the humanity—the part that cannot fully let go of laughing despite the drain. Another angle is the shrewd commentary on principalities and powers, nations and cultures, is thought-provoking, as is the remarks that show us how the war truly changed the world.

“There was a time,” she said sorrowfully, “when I did not care what happened outside of P.E. Island, and now a king cannot have a toothache in Russia or China but it worries me. It may be broadening to the mind, as the doctor said, but it is very painful to the feelings.”

But the biggest things to me is the SPIRIT of this book. The spirit of perseverance, endurance, courage, and love. Of course, man is man, and there is suspicion, contempt, and a feeling of superiority—but this is not exclusive only to Anglo-Saxons. As someone who isn’t Anglo-Saxon myself, and actually of mixed cultures, I can attest every nation is guilty of such. World War One was a battle of good vs. evil—not of man vs. man, but Idea against Idea—the idea of civilization against militarism. Perhaps not on the part of the leaders—but when one studies the writings, letters, poems, and speeches of the everyday folks caught up in the war, one sees this distinction plainly. It was not a war of European against European, Anglo-Saxon against German—it was a war between an old, terrible Idea of Prussianism (Frederick the Great, anyone?) and the Idea of Respect and Peace.

“And you will tell your children of the Idea we fought and died for—teach them it must be lived for as well as died for, else the price paid for it will have been given for nought.”

May we never forget.

A REMARK: I discovered that Rilla of Ingleside was abridged by about 4,300 words (~14 pages), so I searched for an unabridged copy. I definitely encourage you to take the extra trouble to find an *unabridged* copy. It is SO worth it! I’ve read both versions and the unabridged is so much fuller, with a great deal more humour and fun.

I just have to pick out my favourite quotes, too…

“We all come back to God in these days of soul-sifting,” said Gertrude to John Meredith. “There have been many days in the past when I didn't believe in God—not as God—only as the impersonal Great First Cause of the scientists. I believe in Him now—I have to—there's nothing else to fall back on but God—humbly, starkly, unconditionally.”

“‘Our help in ages past’—‘the same yesterday, to-day and for ever,’ said the minister gently. ‘When we forget God—He remembers us.’”

Below her [window] was a big apple-tree, a great swelling cone of rosy blossom.... Beyond Rainbow Valley there was a cloudy shore of morning with little ripples of sunrise breaking over it. The far, cold beauty of a lingering star shone above it. Why, in this world of springtime loveliness, must hearts break?

And I can’t leave without some humour:

“‘The Germans have recaptured Premysl,’ said Susan despairingly… ‘and now I suppose we will have to begin calling it by that uncivilized name again. Cousin Sophia was in when the mail came and when she heard the news she hove a sigh up from the depths of her stomach, Mrs. Dr. dear, and said, ‘Ah yes, and they will get Petrograd next I have no doubt.’ I said to her, ‘My knowledge of geography is not so profound as I wish it was but I have an idea that it is quite a walk from Premysl to Petrograd.’ Cousin Sophia sighed again and said, ‘The Grand Duke Nicholas is not the man I took him to be.’ ‘Do not let him know that,’ said I. ‘It might hurt his feelings and he has likely enough to worry him as it is.’ But you cannot cheer Cousin Sophia up, no matter how sarcastic you are, Mrs. Dr. dear. She sighed for the third time and groaned out, ‘But the Russians are retreating fast,’ and I said, ‘Well, what of it? They have plenty of room for retreating, have they not?’ But all the same, Mrs. Dr. dear, though I would never admit it to Cousin Sophia, I do not like the situation on the eastern front. [But] Grand Duke Nicholas, though he may have been a disappointment to us in some respects, knows how to run away decently and in order, and that is a very useful knowledge when Germans are chasing you. Norman Douglas declares he is just luring them on and killing ten of them to one he loses. But I am of the opinion he cannot help himself and is just doing the best he can under the circumstances, the same as the rest of us.’”

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Truth or dare - Joe Toye x F!Reader

Summary: Could taking Toye's cigarette from his mouth on a dare be the push Reader and him need to cut the recent tension in their friendship?

Warnings: Cursing, heavy make-up, suggestive ending. 1st person POV (female, no use of y/n).

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt 2: This is the second fic I've posted today and I'm really hoping it's good. The ending leaves room for a possible smut part 2 if anyone is interesting. Comments, likes, reblogs mean everything to me. Thank you & enjoy!

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"What's so funny?" I ask as I sit down at the nurses table in the mess hall. I got there just in time to grab the last bits of lunch options before my shift starts.

"We are playing 'truth or dare' and Emily just had to answer who she'd rather kiss: Tab or Luz." Betty told me between giggles.

"Well? Who'd you pick?" I shoot Emily a smirk, already knowing her answer as we've been the only ones in our group that came from Toccoa and therefore the closest.

"Tab." Her face gets redder, as if that was possible, then she gets a mischievous look in her eye. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Dare." I know she knows too much dirt on me to let her ask a question. But judging by the smile spreading on her face, I'm not sure I chose correctly.

"Go get that cigarette Toye is smoking." Her smile widens as the girls within earshot say 'oh' and some whistle.

Joe Toye is not someone that most of the nurses like dealing with. Not that he's rude or inappropriate, he just intimidates them. Not as bad as Spiers, but they put him right up there. From an outsiders point of view I can understand, he's not overly friendly like most of the guys in Easy you have to work a little to weasel past the hard exterior.

For myself, all I had to do was shoot Tab down for the billionth time back in Georgia as I was wrapping up his ankle that he twisted on yet another Currahee run. Don't get me wrong, I like Tab but not in that way and the quicker I could make him understand that the sooner we could just enjoy being friends.

Right when I was finishing up with his wrap, he started to say another pick-up line and being at my wits end I snapped a little. Grabbing his ankle I put enough pressure on it that made him stop talking and sit up straighter.

"Tab, if you come onto me one more time I will break your ankle. Do you understand me?" I kept my voice low and hard, maintaining direct eye contact so he knew I wasn't playing. With a small gulp, he nodded his head and I put on my most charming smile. "Wonderful, now take it easy with that ankle. If Sobel gives you a hard time about it, let me know and I'll put in a word with my supervisor to find a reason to annoy him."

With a final nod, I got him off the bed and started to help him to the door when a hand pushed me to the side and took my spot next to Tab. My protest died on my lips as I came face to face with Toye.

"I can take him from here, ma'am, thanks." He threw Tab's arm over his shoulder and started moving to the door. Two steps later he looked over his shoulder back at me with a small smirk on his face and said, "Remind me to not piss you off when you're fixing me up." Without waiting for a reply, he turned back around and kept himself and Tab moving.

From that day forward a friendship of sorts grew and since landing in Europe and dealing with the horrors of the war in our faces everyday, we'd grown even closer. The past few weeks things are taken a turn to being more flirty with beginning stages of intimacy. Jokes whispered in each others ears just so we can be closer than normal, fingers touching when handing each other items, lingering hugs, forehead and cheek kisses. It was all adding up and creating a tension neither of us seemed ready yet to break but didn't want to dispel either.

Emily's foot nudging mine under the table breaks me from my memories and makes me send her a glare. She's fully aware of the gray area Toye and I are in at the moment and seems to be all too happy to add fuel to that fire. I give a loud sigh and look around till I find him sitting a few rows to our left, sitting with Guarnere and Buck. Inwardly I groan, those two are never going to let me live this down.

With a final glare in her direction, I stand up and make my way over towards the guys. I can feel all of the girls eyes on my back which does nothing in helping me stay calm.

All three of them see me at the same time and smile in greeting.

"Hey doll, how's it going?" Buck asks as I sit across from him, next to Toye.

"About to go on shift, thought I'd say a quick hi and get a smoke." I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Here ya go." Bill tosses his pack my way from next to Buck.

"Thanks, but uh, I think I'll take this one." Before I can over think it, I pluck the cigarette resting between Toye's lips and take a long drag. I blow the smoke right in his face, hoping it'll hide how red my face is and stand up quickly. "Always a pleasure."

I practically jog to the nurses table, ignoring the laughs and 'good jobs' as I grab Emily by the arm and force her to leave the mess hall with me. I don't let go of her until we are nearly at the medic station. With a final puff I toss my stolen cigarette into the road and turn to face my friend that hasn't stopped beaming at me since I grabbed her.

"What?!" I sound almost frantic.

"Oh calm down, it's not the end of the world. It was just a cigarette."

"How do I even begin to explain what that was?" I put my hands on my hips.

Emily shrugs and flicks some invisible dust off her shoulder, "Just tell him that it was dare. But honestly, I don't think he really cares why you did it. The way he was looking at you as we left was more than mild interest. You're welcome." She pats my cheek and goes into the medic station, leaving me with no choice but to groan and follow her.

It doesn't take long for me to push the earlier experience from my mind and become overwhelmed with current and new patients in need of varying medical attention. Most are stable and just need an easy wrapping or cleaning up. There's a few that have been with us for a little while that still need monitoring but they're in relatively good spirits so it helps make the shift not too depression.

It's fully dark outside when I finally am able to step away and take a breather. With a signal to Emily letting her know I'll be around back, I slip out quietly and lean against the backwall of the building. I can't be alone more than a few minutes when I hear footsteps heading my way. I just want to be alone. But my annoyance goes away when I see who it is.

Neither of us speaks as he stops right in front of me and tucks a lose piece of hair behind my ear.

"You okay?" His words are soft and light, barely above a whisper as if he's afraid anything louder would break the small bit of peace we've managed to get in this hidden area. All I do is nod, not wanting to elaborate on the different faces and wounds I've been dealing with the past hours. His response is to pull me in his arms and spin us around so that his back is against the wall and I'm leaning against him.

We stay like that for a bit, listening to the noises on the street and each other breathing. It's nearly enough to make me fall asleep when I feel his chest rumble and the question I've been dreading is asked.

"So what was that at lunch?" I groan into his chest before pushing back far enough to look at his face. Fuck Joe Toye for being beautiful and sexy at the same time when he allows himself to give a full smile, not just a smirk.

"The girls were playing truth or dare and that was my dare. Sorry." I shoot him a small smile and pray he just drops it. He gives a small hum as he takes in my words.

"Well then, truth or dare?" He leans more against the wall, waiting for my answer. I gape at him.

"You can't be serious." The intimidating Joe Toye is trying to play 'truth or dare' with me? What the fuck.

"I'm always seriously," Joe winks, "so, truth or dare?" The glint in his eyes tells me there is no safe choice.

"Dare." I'd rather do something stupid than be asked something I'd rather not answer right now.

The silence stretches between us almost to an unbearable point, making me start to fidget in his arms.

"Close your eyes." His words make me freeze and my face scrunches up in confusion.

"That's my dare?" I'm trying to figure out what the catch is, but I can't find one.

"Close. Your. Eyes." His voice leaves no room for argument and since it's not anything crazy all I can do is comply.

With my eyes closed I try to use my others senses to figure out what his next step is. At first all he does is stand up straighter, move one hand up my back and gently cups my cheek. Joe pulls me a little closer to him and then I can feel his breathe on my lips.

"I'm going to do something now and I only want you to respond if it's something you really want. If you don't, just push me away." I barely finish processing his words when his lips brush against mine softly, teasingly.

When I don't make a move to push him away, he gently pecks my lips still in a teasing manner. The next time his lips touch mine I grab onto his jacket to hold him there and kiss him back. At the feel of his tongue tracing my lips I open my mouth and let him have complete control.

We lose track of time staying wrapped up in each others arms, making out like teenagers. We break apart at the same time when we finally need air. I'm not sure what comes over me but I kiss along his cheek, making my way to his neck and begin nipping at his exposed flesh. The hand that had been on my check moves to my the back of my head, fisting my hair but not moving me away. His breathing is becoming more ragged and when a groan escapes his lips from a particular bite I leave I feel like I've died and gone to heaven. As my tongue works to sooth the sting, the hand that was on my back drops down and grabs my ass, pushing my hips against his, letting me feel his erection.

"Joe." His name comes out as a whimper mixed with a moan and that makes him grind against me again.

Just as we are about to kiss again, someone clears their throat and we freeze.

"Very sorry to interrupt, and believe me I am sorry, but I need help checking wounds and restocking the stations." Emily's voice is both amused and apologetic.

"Yeah, I'll be right there, Em." My voice comes out much too ragged but it's not like she doesn't know the reason at this point. I wait till her footsteps grow faint, before beginning to pull away from Joe. He's slow to let me go and only manages to move his hands back to my waist.

"I should be off in a few more hours...can I come find you after?"

"No need, I'll be waiting outside for you. I believe we have some things to finish." He pulls me flush against him, making his point perfectly clear. Before I can think of a cheeky response, he gives me a final, firm kiss and spins me around towards to way back inside the building.

I walk a few steps, then turn around and shoot him an innocent smile, "No touching before you find me, Toye. I have a few ideas on how to spice up 'truth or dare'." I laugh lightly to myself when all I can hear as I round the corner to the building entrance is Joe cursing.

[latibvles]

friends.

more OCs? more OCs. anyways hi there, plucking from the HBO WWII Rewatch Prompt list — I figured it’d be fun to use it to throw more OCs at the wall and gesture like a crazy woman introduce characters who have been hiding in my docs! Yay lady-pilots and women in the military. Anyways here’s Viv, here’s Willie, and here’s me capitalizing on one of the 100th’s Training Stories that is deeply amusing to ME. if you remember reading this little number — it's the same crew! :) hope you like it

—

“Heard some of them ended up in Vegas.”

“Vegas? No shit.”

“Mhm, word up the ladder is it’s not looking too good for the Colonel.”

There’s a vacancy in the Officer’s Club tonight that was hard not to notice. Not many had made it to their destination — save for the three all-women ones, talking in their hushed whispers, as though recognizing the obvious would get the wings snatched from their uniforms. There wasn’t much time to celebrate a practice exercise well-flown, even if they’d earned it. Even if they were expected to fail and yet were the only demographic of the 100th to pass with flying colors. 

It was a bad look. Most of the 100th was at present spread across the Western U.S, over half of them entirely missing the airfield meant to be their target. Which, if you asked Vivian, was just telling of how many of the men were able to get comfortable quickly — a luxury that she and her crew didn’t have.

Ah, but no one’s asking you much of anything these days, are they, Viv?

Her gaze lifts up towards the approaching figure, fingers curled around two bear bottles. Willie’s expression gives about as much away as it typically does; which is to say, it gives away nothing at all, lips pressed into their neutral state of a tight line, brows furrowed as she sets one bottle on the table and slides it towards her.

“Here I thought you were standing me up,” Viv offers, which gets Willie to crack — just enough that she’s exhaling sharply through the nose and rolling her eyes with subtle affection.

“Right, cause you’ve been stood up,” Willie fires back as Vivian takes the beer bottle from her. “Fat chance, Savorre.”

“I do love when you sweet talk me,” Vivian coos, to which Willie rolls her eyes once more as she surveys the space, taking a seat on the opposing side of the table.

If you’d asked Vivian a long while ago, she’d swear up and down that Wilhelmina Neumann did not like her — for some inexplicable reason. To which the other women in their bunkhouse would attest to something similar. Her black-haired companion always had that very slight frown to her lips, that furrowed brow that suggested she was either disapproving of something or deep in thought. That, and she didn’t talk much. Nowadays, Vivian was more than proud to boast about her multiple successes in making Willie laugh. Willie, not Wilhelmina, because according to the woman herself, it was just “too many syllables.”

She, like the rest of their crew, knew that when Willie had something to say, it’d be in their benefit to listen.

“Any word on Alkire?” Vivian asks, curiously. Willie shakes her head.

“Heard he ended up in Vegas.” Vivian snorts, then fixes Willie with a look, trying to discern if this was one of Willie’s deadpan remarks as opposed to a serious observation.

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. I think another plane ended up in Tennessee,” Willie looks towards the door, her brows furrowed. “How many of them are losing their wings, do you think?” Irritation creeps into her tone and Vivian doesn’t blame her. Thirty women, three crews, all sitting uncomfortably as their CO says in so many words what it meant for them, specifically, to fail. There was already the doubt in the air that they’d actually see combat, that they’d be doing much of anything besides practice flights over the states. If they weren’t already aware of the uncertainty of their situation — their CO had a specific fascination with reminding them that at any moment this could all get shut down and they’d be sent packing.

“It’s not gonna be us, that’s all I care about,” Vivian shrugs, candid. “Put us in the lead and I bet everyone and their mother would’ve made it to California.”

“Would’ve made it all the way to Hitler’s house.”

“Careful Willie, you’re turning optimistic on me,” At that, Willie smiles, hidden behind the neck of her beer bottle, shoulders shaking in a small laugh as she shakes her head. Rarely did they ever talk like this, rarely were they ever allotted the space to do so. It had to be confined to the walls of their fort — girls whispering secret praises for doing things that the boys did. God forbid they were anything but gracious for the opportunity given to them.

They could embrace these few hours of smugness before reality would sink back in and sour it. Although, after this, Vivian wasn’t sure if she planned on being quiet and humble immediately thereafter. Let them be embarrassed. No sweat off my back. Willie just barely knocks Vivian’s ankle with her foot, then shrugs.

“Is it really optimism? How’re they gonna find England if they can’t find California?” The question hangs heavy in the air, but something about Willie’s face, the way she avoids Vivian’s gaze, has Vivian’s mouth curling into a grin. She’s leaning over the table slightly.

“You know something.” Willie’s brows furrow.

“I do not.”

“Yeah you do. It’s all over your face. Oughta wash it sometime soon.”

“You’re not funny,” Willie narrows her eyes and Vivian’s grin becomes wider. They hold each other’s stare for a few long, silent, seconds, and then Willie looks away once more, sighing in a quiet, bewildered surrender. “Eckley says that Crosby gets pretty bad motion sickness so I’m just thinking about… things like that. Little things. How many crews actually messed up ‘cause of small things or stuff they can’t help,” she shrugs, looking down at the table. “It just…it could’ve been us, y’know? In Vegas.”

“Think we could sort it out before it becomes a problem in the air,” Vivian assures, “if not me or you, then one of the eight other people with us. You better not be getting cold feet on me now,” Trying to weave her reassurance neatly with the joke seems to work, if only a little bit. Willie scoffs and knocks Vivian’s ankle with her foot once again.

“Takes two to fly to Hitler’s house.”

“Exactly,” Vivian affirms with a nod, tilting the neck of the beer bottle towards Willie, who looks at it questioningly. “Call me a bad teammate but I’m gonna enjoy this tonight. Let them figure out what they’re gonna do with their guys who can’t find California. ‘Cause it’s not gonna be our crew and it’s not gonna be us.” Willie nods, clinking the neck of her beer with Vivian’s and then taking a drink.

“Now who’s turning optimistic?”

“Well I’m always optimistic. You’re the one switching things up.” Willie opens her mouth to fire back, but the door opens and her gaze falls on whoever just walked in.

“Why is it so quiet? Someone put on a record — you guys got Goodman?” Willie looks back at Vivian with a wholly bewildered expression — and mouths one phrase as the Officer’s Club seems to fall back into the bustling behavior it was so accustomed to: Guess Egan made it.