Title: Lay Back Artist:@p1013 Rating: NC-17 Prompt: Self-prompt Medium: Digital watercolor and gold Warning(s)/Content: Explicit sexual content Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Summary: Seeing Ron like this, how was Draco to stop himself? Notes: Big thanks to the fest mods! You’ve been phenomenal to work with and SO patient. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your hard work. Additional thanks to my art betas. I couldn’t do it without you ♥
Title: revelations soft and bright Author:@brightluminae Rating: NC-17 Prompt: # 11 Word Count: 23k Warning(s)/Content: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, References to Depression, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending, Introspection, Escort Service, Down and Out Draco, Protective Ron, Confident Ron, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Summary: The war turned everything on its head, assigned new roles and made adults out of the impetuous youth. There is no right way to deal with that. Draco, though, Draco is doing it wrong. That’s okay—Ron is going to help him. They have all suffered enough. Notes: There were some moments when I seriously doubted this fic would ever come to anything. The fact that it did wrap up nicely instead of spiralling into a mess of loose thread and unfinished sentences is due to several people. Thank you Lou, and your willingness to sacrifice hockey to my ignorance. Looking back, I’m not sure how I would have written that scene without you. Thank you lumosatnight for the lightning-fast beta and feedback. And finally a huge thank you fangqueen, for organising the fest to begin with and for being very patient with me.
Title: Another Shot Author:@acnelli Rating: NC-17 Prompt: # 16 Ron is the rising star player for [team of your choice] and up next is a scantily clad charity photoshoot shot by none other than Draco Malfoy. It’s supposed to be simple, but nothing in Ron’s life ever is. See, the last time Ron saw Draco, it was at a wedding where they both got a bit tipsy and may have had a one-night stand. Word Count: 4.4k Warning(s)/Content: Explicit sexual content Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Summary: Ron Weasley plays for the Chudley Cannons and takes part in a scantily clad charity photo shoot. What Ron didn’t know though when he agreed to take part in the event: Draco Malfoy takes the shots. And that really wouldn’t be much of a problem if it isn’t for the unfortunate fact that Ron and Draco had a one-night-stand at a wedding just a few weeks prior. Notes: Thanks to fangqueen for organising this event!
Title: Strike a Pose Author: mercurial_cool Rating: NC-17 Prompt: Self-prompt Word Count: 8.5k Warning(s)/Content: Explicit sexual content, mentions of divorce, slight financial coercion if you squint (though all sexual activity involves enthusiastic consent) Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. Summary: Struggling financially in the midst of his costly divorce, Ron runs into a muggle woman at a pub who offers to pay him generously if he poses nude for her pornographic website. Ron accepts on the condition of anonymity, only to find out when he arrives for the shoot that the photographer is none other than Draco Malfoy, who has changed since his Hogwarts days in ways that Ron never could have expected.
Additional Tags: Sheith Secret Santa 2019, Sports AU, Modern AU, College AU, Reunions, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Locker Room, Locker room sex, Frottage
Fic Summary: Two years, it had been two years since Keith had blown up at Shiro and cut off contact with the man he considered his best friend and closest confidant. It wasn’t even a good reason, the logic behind the fight, but Keith had been… He had been jealous, jealous of the stories he kept hearing about Shiro’s new college boyfriend. It should have been him.
But here he stood, two feet from Keith’s face, freshly showered after the game, and… and oh god Keith’s heart was doing somersaults just seeing him.
Fuck.
This fic was written as a gift for @akemichan007 for the @sheithsecretsanta! Hey, Akemichan, sorry for the wait! I had a lot of fun writing this piece! I hope you enjoy this little piece of smutty locker room adventure!
Keith sighed, closing the locker door after grabbing his bag. The game against the Altea Lions had been long, hard, and frustrating. In the end, the Marmora Crows had managed to pull out an incredibly narrow lead.
He was amazed they had won. Altea had put up a good fight. But in the end, Marmora beat them out, and that was what mattered.
Every muscle and joint ached, and dragging himself out of the hot shower had been a test of his will, but Keith was already the last one in his team’s locker room as it was. So he forced himself to head out, ducking into the back hallway and bracing himself mentally for the chilled air on his still-wet hair.
“K-keith?” a voice to the side of him asked, stopping him in his tracks.
Keith turned to look at the source in time to see none other than Takashi Shirogane stepping out of the opposing team’s locker room, his Altea University sweatshirt somehow managing to be tight on him in all the right places.
“N-no way… Shiro?” Keith gawked, eyeing the man up.
Shiro looked… different than the last time Keith had seen him. His hair was all white, where before it had only been white at the front in a deliberate forelock, and he looked older, more worn-in by life than he should have gotten in the two years since they had last seen each other.
But fuck, he was still the most gorgeous man Keith had ever seen.
Two years, it had been two years since Keith had blown up at Shiro and cut off contact with the man he considered his best friend and closest confidant. It wasn’t even a good reason, the logic behind the fight, but Keith had been… He had been jealous, jealous of the stories he kept hearing about Shiro’s new college boyfriend. It should have been him.
Ever since Keith’s freshman year of high school when then-sophomore Shiro had been asked to show him around, Keith had been drawn in by Shiro’s inexplicable gravity. They became fast friends, bonding over their mutual love of space and old science fiction movies. Keith excelled quickly, motivated to try to keep his grades up by Shiro’s guidance, aiming for the same schools, the same programs.
When Shiro got into Altea University, Keith redoubled his efforts. He was a year behind his best friend, but Keith was determined that this wouldn’t separate them, that soon enough he would be following along in Shiro’s footsteps.
Except…
Altea University turned him down.
Keith’s world collapsed the night he came home to that letter. He wasn’t going to be going to school with Shiro. He wasn’t going to be…
It was only then that he had realized he’d developed feelings for his best friend, feelings that were… very much not of the platonic variety. How could he tell him now? He couldn’t. He just… couldn’t.
So Keith had suppressed the shit out of his feelings, constantly feeling hypervigilant that his gestures and closeness would be seen through and that somehow Shiro would know that Keith was in love with him, that he would push him away for it.
Then Shiro had gotten a boyfriend and things had only gotten worse from there. Keith’s jealousy had taken root, their busy schedules had been a convenient excuse to reduce their contact, and… then Keith finally stopped answering Shiro’s messages.
But here he stood, two feet from Keith’s face and… and oh god Keith’s heart was doing somersaults just seeing him.
Title: Dead Boy Walking Fandom:Voltron Pairing:Sheith Rating:Explicit Additional Tags: Sheith Big Bang, HS AU, Blasphemy, Consensual Undereage Sex, Religious Guilt, Unsafe Sex, Coming Out
Fic Summary:Objectively, Keith Kogane should have had exactly zero shot at someone like Takashi Shirogane. The guy was a complete overachiever, a twelfth grade honour student, star of the football team, and overall Good Catholic Boy right down to the purity ring adorning his finger. But Keith couldn’t get him out of his head. Ever since the guy had stuck up for Keith when he was being hassled for being gay by some kids on the basketball team, Keith had just found Shiro fascinating. And… Shiro seemed to like him, seemed to like talking to him, didn’t seem anything like the other guys and girls in that little pretentious chastity circle. So fuck it, right? You never know until you try, right? Well, Keith was damn sure going to try.
Oh boy this fic has been an adventure. So, once upon a time, a great many months ago, I was listening to Dead Girl Walking from the Heathers soundtrack and this idea popped into my head. One very short idea jamming session later, I shoved it into my google doc of ideas and forgot about it. Then the @sheithbigbang rolled around. And I decided to dig this concept out, dust it off, and turn it into this.
Special thanks to Bel for beta'ing this. Special thanks to my artists for blessing my eyeballs with their quality content and for their patience in working with my space case timeline.
There was no way Keith had a chance. Not with Takashi Shirogane. The dude was the poster child of best behaviour. He was the literal top of his class overachiever honor student purity ring-wearing Catholic boy. He went to youth group after church every Sunday for years and now he taught the thing. From what Keith had heard, the guy barely ever even kissed his cheerleader girlfriends. He probably couldn’t even masturbate without Catholic Guilt.
Objectively speaking, Keith should have had exactly zero shot at Takashi Shirogane. So why was he marching across the guy’s lawn and debating climbing his trellis at well past eleven at night?
Well, because sometimes you just have to go for it.
That, and the fact that there was a very good chance on Monday he was going to be expelled. There was a ‘disciplinary meeting’ scheduled for him and with how many times he’d gotten in trouble already, it would be a fucking miracle if they gave him another shot. But so what? So he would be sent to some kind of correctional school to try to turn him into a 'functional and successful’ member of society.
So maybe, just maybe, he wanted to prove just how fucked up 'functional and successful’ society was. And if he could screw his crush in the process, well that would just prove he didn’t need to prove himself to them because they were just as fucked up as he was.
He had a countdown clock on his head but that didn’t mean he was going down without a fight.
Thirty hours to live, how shall I spend them?
The lyric blasting through Keith’s earbuds fueled his motivation and his dedication to his cause.
It wasn’t like he didn’t know where Shiro lived. More than a few parties had happened at the Shirogane house. Sure, he’d never been the one to technically *throw* the parties as far as Keith had heard but his parents were frequently out of town and his girlfriends 'decided’ that Shiro was going to host.
Keith wondered if they only did it hoping to get him drunk and take his v-card. Idiots. They didn’t know a damn thing about Shiro if that’s what they thought.
Keith’s plan was far more simple than that. Takashi Shirogane was a good guy, a kind man, and Keith had suffered from holding a torch for the guy for well over a year since he was a fourteen year old freshman and Shiro had stepped in on his behalf to tell some jerks to back off of harassing him.
Now he was two years older, fresh on the other side of his sixteenth birthday, and determined to seduce the most unattainable guy in school, and a senior, at that, not to mention… straight. But hey, an ass was an ass, right? It wasn’t like he needed to date the guy—nice as that would be, Keith wasn’t totally delusional to think that Shiro would be into him like that. He was straight. And that was fine. But at least Keith could be his first.
Title: Photographic Evidence Fandom:Voltron Pairing:Pidge/Allura Rating:Explicit Trigger Warnings:None Additional Tags: Pidge Big Bang, Age Difference, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, College Student Pidge
Fic Summary:Pidge has been crushing on her brother’s friend Allura for a solid four years now. But she never expected that the older woman would find out, much less that she might reciprocate. If Pidge only has a month to convince her to stay… Well, she’s going to make herself irresistible. Or at least, that’s the plan.
Well, here it is, my piece for the @pidgebigbang Pidge Big Bang event! This piece is a long time coming and I’m really glad to finally be able to get it out there. For those of you who’ve read my shance piece Elbow Grease, this piece is set in that universe and you’ll be seeing ties to it happening along the Elbow Grease plotline. For those of you who haven’t read that, I’m sure this piece stands solidly on its own but if shance is your thing, go check that out too!
I’d also like to thank my artist @crafty-scrafty for your eternal patience.
“Lance, if you’re gonna be a smartass and text me, at least don’t do it right before you ring the—” Pidge gulped as she opened the door, blinking up at Allura herself standing in her doorway. “…doorbell,” she finished lamely.
Well fuck.
“U-uh… Allura… H-hey. What… what brings you here…?” Pidge asked, stumbling back in her scramble to let her in.
“Mm… I think we both know why I’m here, Pidge…” Allura said simply, tone disapproving and stern. “Why don’t we both have a seat.” It wasn’t a question.
Nodding mutely, Pidge headed for the kitchen table, the closest sitting space that wasn’t the intimacy of the absurdly plush couch Hunk had gotten from his mother.
They sat. Allura sat. And the silence stretched between them.
“So. I hear you’ve been inquiring about certain… pictures of me?” Allura’s question broke the silence of the room after what felt like hours and Pidge looked away with a flinch. She was just… getting right to it then.
This was it this was the part where Allura was going to tell Pidge off and dismiss any interest and it wasn’t like Pidge didn’t know Allura wasn’t interested, but knowing it and hearing it were two very different things and that was going to hurt. Pidge couldn’t help but fidget under Allura’s watchful gaze, not finding the words to respond. How did you even go about saying ‘hey yeah I asked my friend to get me pictures of you in a bikini so I could perv on them like a total creep’? There was no good way to say that.
“Pidge. Look at me,” Allura said, tone serious.
Pidge couldn’t help but comply, forcing a halting laugh. “I think looking at you is what got me into this mess…”
“Those photos… I’m guessing your reasons for asking for them weren't… especially platonic?” Oh, that was a… tactful way to put it, even if the answer was obvious. How could her interest be platonic? It wasn’t like you asked for the ability to to ogle someone platonically.
“…Not especially. …Not remotely. …No.” There was no point in beating around the bush. It wasn’t like Allura didn’t already know now.
“…Oh.” That was it? Just 'oh’? What did that mean? Was she trying to figure out how to best chew her out?
Title: A Drop Of Relaxation Fandom:Voltron Pairing:Shklance Rating:Explicit Words:4600 Additional Tags: Shiro Birthday Exchange 2018, Shiro (Voltron) is overworked, Stress Relief, Pampering, Hot Tub Sex, Massage, Explicit Sexual Content, Aromatherapy
Fic Summary: Calling Shiro overworked would have been the most drastic understatement ever uttered. His boyfriends decide it’s their mission to have Shiro start his birthday on a high note and bring in his year with a bit of much needed relaxation.
Hey there, @lulusensei I’m your gifter for the @vldexchange Shiro Birthday Exchange! So originally this was going to be a SFW piece with just the first chapter but then the NSFW portion of this popped into my head tonight and… I had to expand on it so this is a little late. You asked for Shiro getting pampered in kinky ways and lucky for him he’s got two adoring boyfriends ready to deliver. I hope you enjoy this! And here’s to S5 in a couple of days being as good as we all hope it will be!
It probably didn’t help Shiro’s mood that it had been a long day as well. No, that was an understatement and an insult to long days. Shiro felt like he’d been working non-stop for days rather than just since the Castle’s ‘day’ cycle had started, more or less at 0600 Earth Time.
Looking at attack plan after attack plan and strategy after strategy had the words blurring together on his tablet screen after a while. It was 2100 by the time he was finally able to head back to his room. While it was still early for his usual evening hours, he just wanted to collapse onto his bed and sleep.
Opening the door to his room, Shiro paused at the swim trunks sitting laid out on his bed with a carefully folded note on top of them. Stepping over to pick up the note, he recognized Lance’s scrawl across the paper immediately.
Title: Feeling Adventurous Pairing:Sam/Castiel Wordcount:1609 Rating:E Warnings: None (there are probably dubcon elements if you think about it critically but the spirit is very much one of gung-ho enthusiasm) Summary:“Partner?” Sam says. “Super! That’s swell!” Author’s note:I wrote this for the spn-j2-xmas exchange on Livejournal, to the prompt: “Justin Smith!Sam seduces a frazzled!Castiel.”
They’re in bed together that first night and it’s maybe two thirty in the morning. Max is asleep, mostly, dozing naked on top of the blankets, but the mattress shifts as Sam moves beside him and he cracks open an eyelid in anticipation of another round. He could definitely stand to go again.
“Hey,” says Sam quietly. They left the bedside lamp on when they fell asleep and the yellow light of it is illuminating his face, the high angle of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. The choppy hair around his face is hanging in his eyes, and if Max were even twenty percent less tired he’d reach up to brush it away. As it is, though, his limbs are still sex-sleepy, heavy and soft. He lets his eyes fall closed.
Sam moves again and the mattress dips and Max is gonna, he’s gonna open his eyes, but before he manages to get the signal to leave his brain, he feels Sam’s fingertips brushing careful down his side. They trace around the messy star of a scar gouged above his hipbone, legacy of a hodag that he hunted up near Marquette. Around, Sam’s fingers go, around and around, tracing the line where shiny scar tissue meets skin. Max floats behind the dark of his eyelids, appreciating the willing touch all the more for the fact that before today, Sam’s body language was so defensively self-contained. His sudden unfurling into somebody soft and affectionate feels like a privilege, a glimpse at a secret self.
Sam’s fingertips walk across Max’s abdomen, leaving a goosebump trail of footprints behind. They brush, now, over the winding ridge under his ribs where a vampire straight-up stabbed him in the guts. That was a nasty one (blood bubbling up into his mouth, Alicia screaming).
Max can anticipate where Sam’s hands will wander next: the patch of bleached, blistery skin across his shoulder that got hit with a dark witch’s curse that even his Mom couldn’t mend. The witch had died in the confrontation and that was it, Mom had told him, no living blood so no magic, no cure. It had been painful, the scar emerging through a slow burned corrosion that kept him sweating for three nights after, biting down on his pillow so as not to let on how it hurt. Sam’s touch when it comes is soft, and unexpected. Where Max was anticipating the dry skin of Sam’s open palm, he feels the warm damp imprint of his lips.
That does prompt him to open his eyes.
“You into the battle wounds?” he asks, and Sam lifts his head to look at him.
He smiles, embarrassed. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” He kisses the smaller scar on Max’s forearm where a shifter got too happy with a knife. “Into you, mostly.”
Max rolls his shoulders against the mattress, slides his feet to shimmy his hips. “Of course. I’m irresistible.” Sam has Max’s hand between his, now, thumbs running across the hundred tiny scars that disfigure it. Max closes his eyes again, the better to feel the sensation.
Eyes closed also feels like the right condition under which to throw out the question that’s been on his mind. He’s been wondering, after all, since this evening when Sam stripped off - wonders now, really, if he should say it, but fuck. They’re in bed and Sam feels open in a way that he hasn’t. “You, uh, you don’t have many yourself,” he says.
Given that he’s a hunter and that he likes to have sex, it’s maybe surprising how few other hunters Max has slept with. They’re not his type, mostly, too macho and brash, too dumb. (That’s where they’ll even admit being into men.) Sam’s different. He has substance. He also has the clearest skin Max has ever seen on a hunter: not clear like, he drinks cucumber water for breakfast, clear like he doesn’t carry a trace of the job. You don’t have to fuck a hunter to notice their missing fingertips, or the scars over their cheekbones, the raw skin around their wrists. Sam has none of that. And Max has heard the legends; it isn’t from staying indoors.
Sam clears his throat, a tight anxious sound. “I,” he says. “I, uh.”
Max turns his hand to catch Sam’s fingers, rubs his own thumb over the mound of Sam’s. He keeps his eyes closed. He’s making space. “You don’t need to tell me,” he says.
“Nice,” says Max carefully, dragging out the sound. “Good as new, every time.” He cracks his eyelids to let in the light but he’s careful not to look at Sam.
“Yeah. I don’t know,” says Sam. His hand is still in Max’s but it’s tense, unmoving, and Max wonders if he’s fucked up, ruined the mood. After a long few minutes, Sam draws his hand away. Max is just cursing himself for an idiot when he feels Sam’s touch at his hip again, his fingertips circling the hodag scar. “This is you. It’s your life. It’s good to be able to touch that.”
Max lets himself look. Sam is gazing serious down at Max’s stomach, his profile outlined dark against the glow from the room behind. Sam’s nose is possibly the best nose Max has ever seen. Just the pointed tip of it is better than the whole of any other guy Max has banged in the last two years. Every bit of Sam’s body is attractive. It’s sad that he doesn’t seem to like it much.
Sam turns, then, catching his eye, and Max wonders what to say. He doesn’t want to intrude. Sam has boundaries, and he can respect that. But.
In the event, Sam solves the problem, shrugging off his serious mood. He flashes his dimples instead. “Could touch something else, if you like.”
“Go on, then,” Max says. “If you insist. Be nice and I might even let you hold it.”
(He thinks, one day we’re going to talk about this.)
It’s not until Dean rolls up the stairs and out of the front door in a drift of cologne that Sam notices the date.
“Don’t wait up!” Dean yells. The door clangs shut.
Sam rolls his eyes and looks back down at the book in front of him. But his concentration’s broken. Valentine’s Day. It’s dumb, but he usually treats himself to something like the opposite of Dean’s night out; a bath, maybe a glass of whisky. A book that isn’t about lore.
Last year, he spent the evening having phone sex with Max. It had been the culmination of a lot of flirty texting that kicked off when they met in the November, and it had, Sam thought at the time, been an unexpectedly satisfying solution to the fuckton of issues that have kept him mostly celibate for the last five years. They’d followed it up with some more heavy flirting but then, two weeks later, had come that last disastrous meeting that had left Max with no mom, no sister and (quite justifiably) no wish to see Sam ever again, it seems. Sam messaged him a couple of times in the months right after, but wasn’t surprised by Max’s decision not to reply. Now, though, remembering how different things were twelve months ago, he feels a little twist of guilty responsibility. Sam knows how shit can get when you lose somebody you care about. Max is only a kid, really. Sam hopes that he’s doing okay.
He reaches for his phone, flips it a couple of times in his hand. Hey, man. Long time no text. I was just thinking about last year. How are things? If you ever want to talk, I’m here.
He almost doesn’t send the message, worried about intruding; worried about stirring a nasty nest of memories that Max, more than likely, has been working hard to forget. But after the whisky (and the whisky, and the whisky) it starts to feel like a better idea, and once he’s sent it there’s no going back.
Later that night, he’s startled out of a fuzzy, headachy doze by his phone buzzing loud over the wood of his bedside table. His first thought is that Dean’s managed to lock himself out, but it’s a message from Max. Four messages, actually. Sam must have slept through the rest.
They’re pictures; shirtless pictures, which is nothing new. Max’s skin is pale blue-green, flash-illuminated. There are people in the background, a club. In the first picture Max is gazing fiercely into the camera, shoulders jostling at the edge of the frame. By the fourth, he’s full on making-out with a curly-haired Latino guy, and there’s somebody else’s arm around his waist.
Sam’s stomach tightens, uncomfortable. He doesn’t go in for this kind of shit. He doesn’t find it sexy, or fun. He puts the phone back down on the table, tugs the blanket tight around his shoulders and tries to go back to sleep. It’s difficult.
After a while, maybe twenty minutes, the phone starts to ring. Max looks up at him from the screen. It’s eight minutes past three.
When Sam doesn’t answer, Max just rings back. Eventually, “Hey,” says Sam, sleep-hoarse.
There’s music, loud. Max is saying something, but Sam can’t hear him.
“What?” he says, “What?” and finally there’s a bang and the music muffles down to a beat in the background, oomf oomf oomf.
“Got your message,” Max says, slurred.
“Got yours. You’re having fun.” That’s not fair. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m. No. Not really. I.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
There’s a long pause.
“I fucked up, Sam, I think I fucked up.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” Sam knows about that, about fucking up when you feel fucked-up. “We can—“
“Sam, no. I didn’t. I fucked up real bad.”
Okay. “Where are you? Do you want–”
The music sounds loud again, a door swung open.
“Hey,” says another voice, laughing. “Hey, Max’s friend.” Then Max again. “I gotta go. Don’t, uh. I’ll call you back.”
He hangs up.
Sam lies awake for the rest of the night. Dean gets in at 10 the next morning, dishevelled and happy, ribbing Sam about the wild night he spent alone with his own right hand.
Sam calls Max every day for the next week. Then he stops calling. He can take a hint.
(A coincidence, then, that three weeks later Dean walks into the library to find Sam gazing at his laptop, pale. Gas station security footage flickers onscreen. A black Jeep, fuelling up. And in the driver’s seat…
break the lock if it don’t fit (sastiel, 5k words, nc-17) “This is what they do together, Sam and Cas: they probe along the boundaries of what Sam’s body can take.”
Title:Still Life Author:@themegalosaurus Artist:amberdreams Wordcount:20,200 Rating:M Pairing:Sam/Jess, kind of Warnings:unreliable narrator, psychological horror, body horror, reference to past torture, implied/referenced noncon
Summary: “On any other day, in any other year, maybe, he’d doubt what he was seeing. But over the past couple months Sam’s supped with God and the devil, had a hug from his long-dead mom, seen his brother restored to life. So yeah, maybe he’s never quite sure that this isn’t an hallucination; not sure that he isn’t in the basement with the British, in the cage with Lucifer, in another of the Wednesdays that just won’t end. But in this reality, whatever its authenticity, what he’s seeing now outside the bunker isn’t alien enough to shock.”
Jessica Moore comes back to life. It’s not what Sam expects.
GUYS MY SWBB IS HERE it was conceived as a mini but came into the world a large and ungainly big. And was midwifed gently and with considerable kindness by @withthedemonblood who cheered me through a very unsteady process, ahahaha. Truly, a hero for our times.
