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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 7 months ago

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Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 1: Linked Here!

AO3: Linked Here :)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Scenes from the afternoon hookup replay in your mind over and over as you sit in the library at a battered old desk in the history section. All you can think about is Shoto’s mouth. And his hands. And his abs!! And his sweet face.

You twiddle your pen in your hand as you try to draft out an essay for class. Unfortunately, every time you try to jot down a few thoughts your mind goes blissfully blank and you remember the tender way he spoke to you.

"How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?"

“You’re so beautiful. Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.”

“Find me later so we can discuss this.”

You look down at your watch excitedly – 7:55 PM. You eagerly wait for Shoto to appear so the two of you can talk and – with any luck – canoodle amongst the history textbooks. You sit patiently as the time ticks by.

Soon it’s 8:30 PM. You’re not worried, though. Shoto probably assumed you’d want to get some work done first.

9:15 PM rolls around and you start to get worried. You try to distract yourself with school work as doubt creeps into your mind.

10 PM – Shoto still hasn’t showed.

“Shit shit shit.” You check your phone again and again as you wade through the endless wave of homework your teachers have assigned. You keep losing yourself in a math problem or in a passage of your History textbook, only to remember with a jolt that you were expecting to see Shoto and the bastard hasn’t showed.

At 10:30 PM you realize with a sinking feeling that it’s almost past curfew. You pack up your things and prepare to head back to the dorms. There’s a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake.

You slide your books into your bag as a anxious thoughts dance through your mind like annoying fruit flies: Does Shoto regret your mid-afternoon hookup? Is he going to pretend it never happened? Did you push him too far? Does he think you’re a slut for stripping off your shirt and basically pressing his face into your naked breasts!? The synapses of your brain jump through dozens of equally horrid and embarrassing scenarios as you march back to your dorm room, blushing furiously with humiliation.

You run through the afternoon’s events in your head for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to find a clue as to why Shoto would have left you waiting alone in the library. Your cheeks burn hotter as you recall the gentle way Shoto had kissed your neck before leaning in to capture your lips in one of his first kisses. "How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?" You shiver as you think back to how gentle he was, how each caress felt so loving and intimate.

You shake your head to clear it. Shoto must have a valid excuse for not meeting you in the library as he had promised – no boy could kiss someone that intimately and then instantly cast her aside, right?

Before long, you’re walking through the doors of Class 1A’s dorm building. You shiver with discomfort as you recall how earlier that day you essentially scaled the side of a building for a boy. Does Shoto think you’re an absolute fool with the extremes you went to for a quick make out session? You hope not.

You walk up the stairs and past the common area. You see most of Class 1A studying quietly. Sero, Izuku, Kirishima and Ida sit around one of the kitchen tables reviewing their math homework while some of the girls compare English notes on the couch. To your relief, Shoto isn’t there. Mina waves to you enthusiastically, beckoning you to join her and YaMomo as they review the finer points of Hamlet. You politely decline and make a beeline for your room. You turn the key in the lock and it clicks – within moments, you are blessedly alone.

You toss your heavy book bag to the ground and prepare to wallow in self-pity. It’s 10:56pm and Shoto still hasn’t reached out to you. Your phone is vacant of text messages and your brain is absolutely fried from schoolwork.

You dim your room lights and switch on the favorite fairy lights for some peaceful ambiance. Time for some self-care, bitch! You think resolutely as you swap your uniform for your favorite pair of pajamas. You toss your phone to the floor with abandon and climb into your comfy bed. You breathe in deeply, allowing yourself to revel in the coziness of the dorm room.

You take out your five-minute bullet journal and write a quick list of things you're grateful for: 1. The opportunity to study at UA 2. Your lovely and encouraging friends and classmates 3. Your cozy room and the roof over your head 4. Shoto’s mouth 5. Shoto’s abs 6. Shoto’s goddamn hard AF dick

Um. No.

You snap the journal shut before you get too derailed.

You pull your comforter over your head and sit in silence for a moment. You’ve never been the kind of person to go completely boy-crazy. You always used to make fun of those girls who would go gaga over pretty boys and their texts and their kisses. But as you recall the searing way that Shoto kissed your lips earlier that day, you suddenly understand what all the boy-crazed girly hype was all about. Oh my god. You have a crush. A big sloppy embarrassing crush.

In the silence of your room, you suddenly here a buzzing noise coming from the general direction of your book bag. You struggle to disentangle yourself from your sheets and your journal goes flying. You ignore its crash landing as you slip from your bed and collect your phone from where it lays abandoned on the carpeted floor.

It’s Shoto.

Your heart skips.

Todoroki: Y/N. Are you awake?

You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. Did Shoto just send you his version of “U up?”

Y/N: Yes, I’m still up.

Todoroki: I know it’s late, but can I stop by?

You tense. Oh God – he’s going to come by to tell you that he’s not interested. He’s going to thank you for your time making out and say that you probably should avoid hooking up in the future because it’s a huge distraction. You’re sure that whatever he has to say is going to be negative and leave you feeling embarrassed. Why else would he have skipped out on your rendezvous in the library?

You take a deep breath. You have always been fairly practical with a mind for strategy, two qualities that had really set you apart when you had taken the UA entrance exams. You know that the best course of action here is to rip off the Band-Aid sooner rather than later. Better to know how he feels about your hookup now

Your heart sinks as you type out:

Y/N: Sure, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come in. Try not to be seen by anyone.

Todoroki: Of course. See you shortly.

Your heart beats double time as you look down at yourself. Your pajama set consists of a silky blue top with matching shorts that don’t leave much to the imagination. You chew on your thumb nervously – should you change into something more appropriate? No – Shoto has seen your boobs. A little bit of leg is not going to kill the half hot half cold hero in training.

You quickly remake your bed and kick your book bag beneath your desk so that the floor is clear. You plop down on your smooth comforter and wait, knotting your hands together as you anticipate Shoto’s arrival.

A few anxious minutes pass, and then you hear gentle footsteps pad down the hallway outside your door. The knob turns quietly, and in a moment Shoto Todoroki steps across your threshold, quietly closing the door behind him. He reaches down to turn the lock with a gentle snap of his wrist.

You take him in – he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a soft white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him dressed so casually before and you assume that these are what he wears as pajamas in the privacy of his own dorm room. His hair is tousled and damp from a recent shower, and the burned side of his face shines where he’s clearly applied some kind of scar cream or moisturizer. His outfit projects a comfy air, but his expression is dark and stormy. Your heartbeat quickens in fear – what could possibly have caused him to be in such a tempestuous mood? Was this about your kissing?

You bite at your lip with worry. But when your eyes lock, his expression softens. In two quick strides, he’s at the bed. He leans in close so that your noses almost touch.

“Hi.” He says softly, before dipping his mouth to meet yours. You blink in surprise as your mouths melt together. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks into the kiss. Pleasure radiates up and down your spine as you kiss him back. He places both his palms on your hips and pulls you closer, letting out a small moan of satisfaction as he slides his tongue into your mouth. How silly you feel for thinking he didn’t want you like this!

After a few moments, you break apart.

“Hey there.” You whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his beautiful jaw. He leans in to kiss you again and you hold him in place. He stops and looks down at you inquisitively.

“I waited for you in the library, you didn’t show.” You say slowly, softly.

“My father decided to take me through some drills in one of the school’s gyms. I only finished a half hour ago.” His expression becomes dull as he speaks. “I’m sorry to leave you waiting. I wanted to see you - but I’m not allowed on my phone during training.”

Relief must have flooded your features, because he tilts his head to the side questioningly. You hold back a giggle – the way his head is tilted makes him look like a sweet dog asking its owner for a treat.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh and pull yourself further onto the bed, patting the spot next to you as an invitation. Shoto climbs up next to you, sinking into the deliciously soft fabric. His eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“This is so comfortable.” He says, pressing his palm into the plush fabric beneath him. You recall his sparse traditional bedroom and realize that he’s never laid on a proper puffy mattress before.

“Hold on – it gets better.” You say pushing him off the bed so you can pull down the covers. You slip beneath the comforter and gesture for him to rejoin you. He climbs in clumsily, unsure how to position himself within the sheets. You prop a pillow beneath his shoulders as he lays down on his side. You toss the comforter over the two of you and lay across from him, feet almost touching beneath the warm layers of bedding.

“Cozy?” You ask as Shoto settles into the bed.

“Yeah.” He says in quiet voice, propping himself up on an elbow. “I always thought beds like this were excessive but…maybe there’s some merit to this.” He eyes a blue Squirtle plush that sits next to you in the bed. “Can I…hold that?”

You grin, biting back a laugh as you reach over to grab the Pokémon plush. “This is Squirtle – he’s one of my favorite plushies.” You hold up the stuffed animal and wiggle it in front of Shoto’s eyes as if it’s dancing. “Squirtle, Squirtle” you say in a low tone, trying to emulate the television character’s voice the best you can.

Shoto gives you a weird look. “I don’t get it. Why are you just repeating its name in a strange voice?”

“Shoto…have you…have never seen Pokémon!?” You almost screech in disbelief, before throwing a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. You quickly remember that you are in the dorms and the walls aren’t super thick.

“No, I wasn’t allowed to watch television unless it was about Pro hero work.” Shoto says, a tinge of sadness flowing along with his words. “But it looks cute and round and I really just want to hold it and squish it?”

“Yeah, that’s the general reaction to plushies. Dude, we need to get you that whale pillow you liked on Pinterest. You need more cuteness in your life.”

“Well I have you, don’t I?” Shoto smiles softly. “You bring more than enough cute into my life.” He reaches out and grabs the plush from your hands and squishes it a bit. “But this is pretty nice, too.”

Your face grows hot at the compliment. Shoto tucks the Squirtle under his arm and shifts around in the sheets until he finds a comfortable position. He looks adorable and soft as he cradles the bright plush in his strong, muscular hands.

When he finally settles in, he looks up at you enquiringly. “What’s wrong?” He repeats, looping you both back to the conversation form earlier.

“So…” You sigh with embarrassment. “When you didn’t show up and I didn’t hear from you…” You pause and Shoto gives Squirtle a squeeze. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again. Or at least that you didn’t want to make out with me again.”

“Oh.” Shoto wasn’t expecting this. “I thought I made it very clear how…enthusiastically…I enjoyed our time together this afternoon. I didn’t realize I had left any room for you to question my attraction to you.”

“That’s nice to hear…but when you didn’t show at the library or send a text, I assumed the worst. My mind kind of went into full-blown panic mode. I thought maybe once you had time to reflect on our hookup, that you realized you didn’t like it or that you didn’t really like me. To be perfectly honest, I’ve never felt that way before. Usually something like this wouldn’t bother me.” You take a deep, steadying breath. “But I think I really like you and want to be close to you, and the thought that you might not feel the same was tearing me apart for the last couple of hours.”

The words come tumbling from your mouth before you can stop and think them through. Why are you saying all of this!? Why does being around Shoto make you feel so comfortable and open to sharing? It’s so weird – and you’re absolutely sure he’s going to think you’re some kind of over sharing freak for telling him all of this.

Shoto looks at you thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking. “Something I have always admired about you is your ability to be straightforward about what you’re thinking and feeling. Most people aren’t like that, and I have a hard time navigating more subtle situations. Thank you for telling me exactly what you’re thinking – I value it so much.” He runs a hand through his slightly damp hair, moving the bangs out of his bright eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I had abandoned you. I wanted to come to the library so badly. I want to kiss you so badly – it’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight.” His voice is so earnest that you believe him.

“Let me match your honesty with some of my own - my father is extremely strict. Ever since I was born, he’s pushed me to be better. To be stronger. He wants me to surpass him. He wants me to take All Might’s place as the number one hero.”

You gasp at this. Of course you knew that Todoroki was ambitious, but this…

“I don’t have any intentions of becoming harsh and cruel like my father. I’m not even sure if I want to go for the top spot on the hero charts.” He admits, almost bitterly. “That’s the path that my father has laid out for me. He’s obsessed with my training. With my ‘potential.’ But he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about how I feel. Excuse my language.” Shoto looks so sad, so despairing. He hugs the plush close, his chin tucked into his chest as he continues.

“I just want to help people and make them smile – just like All Might. But my old man just doesn’t seem to get that. Today, when he noticed how distracted I was… he didn’t ask if something was wrong. He just pushed me even harder.” Shoto avoids your gaze. “I think he purposefully pushed me to train into the night to keep me from meeting up with you. In his eyes…you’re a huge distraction for his prized creation.”

Suddenly you notice how exhausted Shoto looks – there are pale bags beneath his eyes. You scan his body and see light bruises beginning to form on the exposed skin of his arms. You wonder - just what kind of training has Endeavor been subjecting him to?

You had never guessed that behind Shoto’s calm and collected exterior, there is just a normal teenage boy trying desperately to please his father, while simultaneously trying to defy him. The whole relationship seems complicated and messy and you’re sure what Shoto is telling you is only the tip of a chaotic Todoroki family dynamic iceberg.

“Oh, Shoto.” You say softly. You scoot forward and wrap your arms around him. He freezes, unsure of what to do but nevertheless comforted by the sudden closeness. You reach behind him and card your fingers through his hair. You see goose bumps emerge across his skin, and realize that he likely hasn’t been touched this way before.

“Is it okay to touch you like this?” You whisper.

He breathes out a shaky “yes” as he moves to toss the Squirtle plush to the floor. Once his arms are free, he works to wrap them around you. He rests one strong hand on your back and slings the other around your delicate waist. He draws you close to him and holds you tightly as you continue to run your fingers softly through his two-toned hair.

He’s silent as he buries his head into your shoulder. There’s an emotion that’s radiating off of his body that you can’t quite place – sadness? Frustration? Maybe even relief? After a few moments of running your fingers through his hair and gently up and down his back, he finally starts to relax. The tense muscles in his shoulders loosen, and he seems to come back to himself.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He whispers, muffled as he turns his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m not great at expressing my emotions. I can try to put it into words…I’m feeling so weighed down right now.”

“Because of your father’s expectations?” You prompt, running a light fingertip down his spine. He shivers a bit in response, but not in an unpleasant way.

“Sometimes I wonder if he sees me as a real person, as a son. Or am I just his big project?” Shoto wonders aloud, his voice a bit strained. You feel his eyelashes flutter against the sensitive skin beneath your jawline.

“Shoto...that sounds like a lot to carry. You’re just a high school student – your father shouldn’t be putting that kind of pressure on you. It’s not normal.” You tuck a lock of red hair behind his porcelain ear. “This situation sounds so complicated. It’s no wonder you feel so conflicted. I’m here any time you need a friendly ear to listen as you work through it.” You continue to caress him softly over his clothes. He begins to lean into your touch hungrily. “But right now – at this moment – you’re safe. In this room, in my arms, you don’t need to hold other people’s expectations of you in your heart. When you’re with me, I want you to feel that you can just be Shoto.”

You still your fingers as you let your words sink in. Shoto is radiating a deep sort of sadness that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice breaking a tiny bit as he processes your words. After a few beats Shoto exhales deeply, his breath ruffles your hair. “I’m not used to talking about these things. Actually, I’m not really used to talking much at all. Or being touched.” You can feel the blush on his delicate cheeks warm the skin of your neck.

“I can tell.” You say before you can stop yourself. To your surprise, he chuckles.

“I don’t know why it’s so easy to do these things with you – talking, touching…kissing.” He lifts his head off of your shoulder to look you square in the face. “There’s something about you…”

Suddenly, the room feels as if it’s charged with Denki’s electrification quirk as his bright mismatched eyes meet your own.

“I think I’d like to continue exploring this with you.” He says matter-of-factly, moving his legs to intertwine with yours.

“W-what does that mean?” Your breath catches in your throat as he dips forward to kiss down your neck.

“It means…I want to keep doing this. Kissing. Talking. I suppose I want to keep getting to know you like this? Intimately.” He places a soft kiss in the hollow behind your earlobe. “Would you like that as well?”

“Yes.” You breathe, with zero hesitation. He smiles into your neck before running the edges of his teeth lightly across your smooth skin. You let out a soft moan in response.

“Good. Then we’ll figure this out together.” He moves to kiss your cheek soundly before releasing you from his embrace. “But right now it’s well past midnight, and we both need our sleep if we’re going to continue to be top of our class alongside YaMomo and Ida. If we both let our grades slip, it might tip people off.” He moves to get off the bed.

“Hey – wait!” You grab his arm and pull him back under the covers. “I have no problem with you staying here for the night.”

“But wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” Shoto’s face reddens, but he lets himself be drawn back into your gentle embrace.

“Would it be anymore inappropriate than you making out with my tits?” Shoto’s face burns an even brighter red at this question, but he also looks quite pleased with himself (you assume he’s recalling the way he kissed down your breasts earlier that day as he smirks). “Sharing a bed should be perfectly responsible as long as we keep all of our clothes on. You said you want to explore? Well get over here and let’s figure out if you make a good big spoon.”

This earns one of those rare full smiles from Shoto – he practically glows. “Alright.”

He pulls himself close to you. You reach above your head and switch off the string lights that wind their way around your room, and the tiny dorm fills with darkness.

You turn to face the wall and scoot your body back until you feel Shoto’s solid warmth. He reaches around to pull you close until bodies are touching, flush together. You tuck yourself into Shoto’s warm, muscular body and sigh with contentment.

“So do I make a good big spoon?” He questions, tentatively nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply. “Mmm, your hair smells like lavender.”

“We’ll need plenty of practice to truly ascertain the full range of your spooning abilities.” You say in a faux-academic voice, causing him to snort out a laugh. “But so far you’re doing great.”

You interlock your legs and pull his strong arms around you. You wiggle a bit as you try to find the comfiest spot in the mattress. You unintentionally grind a bit against Shoto and jolt when you feel something hard pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Sorry.” He mutters softly, embarrassed.

“Maybe I’ll take care of that for you tomorrow.” You yawn as you close your eyes and settle in for a good night’s rest. You grin into the darkness as you feel Shoto’s dick get even harder as he mulls over your response, wondering at what you could possibly mean by “take care of that.”

You didn’t realize you were so tired. You’re dimly aware of Shoto’s breathing growing slow as he drifts off into a comfortable sleep. You smile softly to yourself as you slide further into his embrace. This poor, touch-starved boy has been through so many terrible things and your heart aches for him.

Even in sleep he’s tense, his jawline stiff and his muscles almost locked around you. But he’s warm and soft and smells like jasmine and mint tea. You hope that for the next few hours you can provide him with a safe harbor to rest and escape his troubles. You let your eyes flutter close and breathe in deeply, dreaming of Shoto’s sweet face as you fall gently into sleep’s embrace.

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Part 3

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 days ago

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Conspiratorialism as a material phenomenon

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I think it behooves us to be a little skeptical of stories about AI driving people to believe wrong things and commit ugly actions. Not that I like the AI slop that is filling up our social media, but when we look at the ways that AI is harming us, slop is pretty low on the list.

The real AI harms come from the actual things that AI companies sell AI to do. There's the AI gun-detector gadgets that the credulous Mayor Eric Adams put in NYC subways, which led to 2,749 invasive searches and turned up zero guns:

https://www.cbsnews.com/newyork/news/nycs-subway-weapons-detector-pilot-program-ends/

Any time AI is used to predict crime – predictive policing, bail determinations, Child Protective Services red flags – they magnify the biases already present in these systems, and, even worse, they give this bias the veneer of scientific neutrality. This process is called "empiricism-washing," and you know you're experiencing it when you hear some variation on "it's just math, math can't be racist":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/23/cryptocidal-maniacs/#phrenology

When AI is used to replace customer service representatives, it systematically defrauds customers, while providing an "accountability sink" that allows the company to disclaim responsibility for the thefts:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

When AI is used to perform high-velocity "decision support" that is supposed to inform a "human in the loop," it quickly overwhelms its human overseer, who takes on the role of "moral crumple zone," pressing the "OK" button as fast as they can. This is bad enough when the sacrificial victim is a human overseeing, say, proctoring software that accuses remote students of cheating on their tests:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

But it's potentially lethal when the AI is a transcription engine that doctors have to use to feed notes to a data-hungry electronic health record system that is optimized to commit health insurance fraud by seeking out pretenses to "upcode" a patient's treatment. Those AIs are prone to inventing things the doctor never said, inserting them into the record that the doctor is supposed to review, but remember, the only reason the AI is there at all is that the doctor is being asked to do so much paperwork that they don't have time to treat their patients:

https://apnews.com/article/ai-artificial-intelligence-health-business-90020cdf5fa16c79ca2e5b6c4c9bbb14

My point is that "worrying about AI" is a zero-sum game. When we train our fire on the stuff that isn't important to the AI stock swindlers' business-plans (like creating AI slop), we should remember that the AI companies could halt all of that activity and not lose a dime in revenue. By contrast, when we focus on AI applications that do the most direct harm – policing, health, security, customer service – we also focus on the AI applications that make the most money and drive the most investment.

AI hasn't attracted hundreds of billions in investment capital because investors love AI slop. All the money pouring into the system – from investors, from customers, from easily gulled big-city mayors – is chasing things that AI is objectively very bad at and those things also cause much more harm than AI slop. If you want to be a good AI critic, you should devote the majority of your focus to these applications. Sure, they're not as visually arresting, but discrediting them is financially arresting, and that's what really matters.

All that said: AI slop is real, there is a lot of it, and just because it doesn't warrant priority over the stuff AI companies actually sell, it still has cultural significance and is worth considering.

AI slop has turned Facebook into an anaerobic lagoon of botshit, just the laziest, grossest engagement bait, much of it the product of rise-and-grind spammers who avidly consume get rich quick "courses" and then churn out a torrent of "shrimp Jesus" and fake chainsaw sculptures:

https://www.404media.co/email/1cdf7620-2e2f-4450-9cd9-e041f4f0c27f/

For poor engagement farmers in the global south chasing the fractional pennies that Facebook shells out for successful clickbait, the actual content of the slop is beside the point. These spammers aren't necessarily tuned into the psyche of the wealthy-world Facebook users who represent Meta's top monetization subjects. They're just trying everything and doubling down on anything that moves the needle, A/B splitting their way into weird, hyper-optimized, grotesque crap:

https://www.404media.co/facebook-is-being-overrun-with-stolen-ai-generated-images-that-people-think-are-real/

In other words, Facebook's AI spammers are laying out a banquet of arbitrary possibilities, like the letters on a Ouija board, and the Facebook users' clicks and engagement are a collective ideomotor response, moving the algorithm's planchette to the options that tug hardest at our collective delights (or, more often, disgusts).

So, rather than thinking of AI spammers as creating the ideological and aesthetic trends that drive millions of confused Facebook users into condemning, praising, and arguing about surreal botshit, it's more true to say that spammers are discovering these trends within their subjects' collective yearnings and terrors, and then refining them by exploring endlessly ramified variations in search of unsuspected niches.

(If you know anything about AI, this may remind you of something: a Generative Adversarial Network, in which one bot creates variations on a theme, and another bot ranks how closely the variations approach some ideal. In this case, the spammers are the generators and the Facebook users they evince reactions from are the discriminators)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generative_adversarial_network

I got to thinking about this today while reading User Mag, Taylor Lorenz's superb newsletter, and her reporting on a new AI slop trend, "My neighbor’s ridiculous reason for egging my car":

https://www.usermag.co/p/my-neighbors-ridiculous-reason-for

The "egging my car" slop consists of endless variations on a story in which the poster (generally a figure of sympathy, canonically a single mother of newborn twins) complains that her awful neighbor threw dozens of eggs at her car to punish her for parking in a way that blocked his elaborate Hallowe'en display. The text is accompanied by an AI-generated image showing a modest family car that has been absolutely plastered with broken eggs, dozens upon dozens of them.

According to Lorenz, variations on this slop are topping very large Facebook discussion forums totalling millions of users, like "Movie Character…,USA Story, Volleyball Women, Top Trends, Love Style, and God Bless." These posts link to SEO sites laden with programmatic advertising.

The funnel goes:

i. Create outrage and hence broad reach;

ii, A small percentage of those who see the post will click through to the SEO site;

iii. A small fraction of those users will click a low-quality ad;

iv. The ad will pay homeopathic sub-pennies to the spammer.

The revenue per user on this kind of scam is next to nothing, so it only works if it can get very broad reach, which is why the spam is so designed for engagement maximization. The more discussion a post generates, the more users Facebook recommends it to.

These are very effective engagement bait. Almost all AI slop gets some free engagement in the form of arguments between users who don't know they're commenting an AI scam and people hectoring them for falling for the scam. This is like the free square in the middle of a bingo card.

Beyond that, there's multivalent outrage: some users are furious about food wastage; others about the poor, victimized "mother" (some users are furious about both). Not only do users get to voice their fury at both of these imaginary sins, they can also argue with one another about whether, say, food wastage even matters when compared to the petty-minded aggression of the "perpetrator." These discussions also offer lots of opportunity for violent fantasies about the bad guy getting a comeuppance, offers to travel to the imaginary AI-generated suburb to dole out a beating, etc. All in all, the spammers behind this tedious fiction have really figured out how to rope in all kinds of users' attention.

Of course, the spammers don't get much from this. There isn't such a thing as an "attention economy." You can't use attention as a unit of account, a medium of exchange or a store of value. Attention – like everything else that you can't build an economy upon, such as cryptocurrency – must be converted to money before it has economic significance. Hence that tooth-achingly trite high-tech neologism, "monetization."

The monetization of attention is very poor, but AI is heavily subsidized or even free (for now), so the largest venture capital and private equity funds in the world are spending billions in public pension money and rich peoples' savings into CO2 plumes, GPUs, and botshit so that a bunch of hustle-culture weirdos in the Pacific Rim can make a few dollars by tricking people into clicking through engagement bait slop – twice.

The slop isn't the point of this, but the slop does have the useful function of making the collective ideomotor response visible and thus providing a peek into our hopes and fears. What does the "egging my car" slop say about the things that we're thinking about?

Lorenz cites Jamie Cohen, a media scholar at CUNY Queens, who points out that subtext of this slop is "fear and distrust in people about their neighbors." Cohen predicts that "the next trend, is going to be stranger and more violent.”

This feels right to me. The corollary of mistrusting your neighbors, of course, is trusting only yourself and your family. Or, as Margaret Thatcher liked to say, "There is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women and there are families."

We are living in the tail end of a 40 year experiment in structuring our world as though "there is no such thing as society." We've gutted our welfare net, shut down or privatized public services, all but abolished solidaristic institutions like unions.

This isn't mere aesthetics: an atomized society is far more hospitable to extreme wealth inequality than one in which we are all in it together. When your power comes from being a "wise consumer" who "votes with your wallet," then all you can do about the climate emergency is buy a different kind of car – you can't build the public transit system that will make cars obsolete.

When you "vote with your wallet" all you can do about animal cruelty and habitat loss is eat less meat. When you "vote with your wallet" all you can do about high drug prices is "shop around for a bargain." When you vote with your wallet, all you can do when your bank forecloses on your home is "choose your next lender more carefully."

Most importantly, when you vote with your wallet, you cast a ballot in an election that the people with the thickest wallets always win. No wonder those people have spent so long teaching us that we can't trust our neighbors, that there is no such thing as society, that we can't have nice things. That there is no alternative.

The commercial surveillance industry really wants you to believe that they're good at convincing people of things, because that's a good way to sell advertising. But claims of mind-control are pretty goddamned improbable – everyone who ever claimed to have managed the trick was lying, from Rasputin to MK-ULTRA:

https://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

Rather than seeing these platforms as convincing people of things, we should understand them as discovering and reinforcing the ideology that people have been driven to by material conditions. Platforms like Facebook show us to one another, let us form groups that can imperfectly fill in for the solidarity we're desperate for after 40 years of "no such thing as society."

The most interesting thing about "egging my car" slop is that it reveals that so many of us are convinced of two contradictory things: first, that everyone else is a monster who will turn on you for the pettiest of reasons; and second, that we're all the kind of people who would stick up for the victims of those monsters.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/29/hobbesian-slop/#cui-bono

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #taylor lorenz #conspiratorialism #conspiracy fantasy #mind control #a paradise built in hell #solnit #ai slop #ai #disinformation #materialism #doppelganger #naomi klein

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imaginespazzi · 4 months ago

Text

Part 3: Miss Me, Miss Me Not

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

And it hits me when the lights go on (shit, maybe I miss you)

(In which a lazy writer somehow still manages to make her deadlines, much to her own shock)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining and a teensy bit of Fluff

Words: 5.8K

TW: Swearing (once again I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I'm not gonna lie til about an hour ago, I very much did not think I was gonna give y'all a Monday update but here we are! A couple of housekeeping things, I went back and added months to the years so hopefully that's more helpful. I lowkey dislike this part but I felt like the fic needed it and I'm excited to write the next part. Ngl, the editing on this is pretty nonexistent because trying to read this back lowkey killed me so please feel free to point out mistakes so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, and disliked and anything you wanna see going forward. I really appreciate all of y'alls feedback and the long reviews make my day! Have a good rest of your week lovies <3

September 2017

Azzi: just got home :)

It’s a simple text and it should be easy for Paige to conjure up an equally simple reply. Instead she finds herself typing and deleting, over and over, because nothing sounds quite right. There’s this hollow feeling thrumming in her chest, that has only gotten stronger every passing minute since she’d said goodbye to Azzi at the airport. If she tries hard enough, she can still feel the remnants of their last hug lingering against every inch of her skin. She wants to memorize that feeling and create a blanket out of its threads to numb the ice cold shiver that’s been repeatedly running through her veins from the second Azzi had gotten on that plane. But even that might not be enough. Not when she’s learnt just how warm Azzi’s presence can be and how everything else pales in comparison.

Paige lies to herself that it’s an accidental slip of her fingers, that she’d meant to press send not call, that she had every intention of hanging up the facetime on the first ring itself.

But then Azzi picks up on the second one.

And really it would be rude to hang up.

“Hey what’s up?” Azzi’s face fills the screen, tired eyes staring intently at Paige through the screen.

“Oh um-” Paige fumbles for words, awkwardly shuffling her feet that are dangling off the side of her bed, “I just wanted to ask how your flight was?”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “you couldn’t have texted me that?”

“Too tired to text,” Paige lies and the words i just wanted to hear your voice stay stuck, burning hot, in her throat, “gotta save these money-making fingers for more important things.”

“Yeah I’m hanging up-”

“NO-” it comes out far more forceful than it should and if possible, Azzi’s eyebrow shoots up even farther, as Paige clears her throat, “I mean- uh- you didn’t tell me how your flight was.”

Paige is too busy cringing at herself to notice the light blush that tinges Azzi’s cheeks. She’s too busy wondering why this girl brings out this nervous bumbling side of hers to notice the fond smile that almost cracks through Azzi’s lips.

“The flight was okay. I actually got to sleep this time,” Azzi says pointedly and Paige laughs.

“So what you’re saying is it was boring as hell.”

“I’m saying it was really peaceful not having someone yapping in my ear while I was trying to sleep.”

“So you didn’t miss me?” Paige presses, trying to keep her voice teasing despite how desperately she wants the admission.

Azzi hesitates, as if she’s debating with herself, before, “I didn’t say that.”

It’s a little ridiculous how large Paige’s grin is but it’s okay, because Azzi’s smiling back, soft and shy. They’d look foolish to anyone else, the way they’re so intently gazing at each other through a screen as if there’s no barrier between them at all.

“It’s gonna be weird going to the gym without you tomorrow morning,” Paige confesses after a second, moving to lay down on her stomach.

“I bet. You’re gonna get absolutely nothing done without me,” Azzi teases dramatically before her eyes soften, “it’s weird that I’m not gonna see you at all tomorrow.”

There’s something gut-wrenching about that admission and yet, there’s something in it that heals a part of Paige’s heart that she hadn’t even known needed to be fixed. It means something to her that Azzi must feel it too. Because if she’s honest with herself, Paige had been just a little afraid that maybe the connection was just in her head, that maybe Azzi was simply tolerating her presence out of kindness.

“You should just move to Minnesota,” Paige replies finally, “much nicer than Virgina or whatever.”

“Have you ever even been to Virginia?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she flips herself to lie on her back, holding her phone above her in a way that lets Paige see entirely too much and yet not nearly enough.

“No but it sounds boring as fuck.”

“Not with me,” Azzi says, biting her bottom lip sheepishly as soon as the words are out.

Paige smirks, suddenly filled with a brand new confidence, “yeah? You’d make Virgina interesting for me Fudd? What would we do?”

Azzi licks her lips and Paige feels her mouth go dry.

“We’d be together,” the younger girl says finally, averting her gaze as the depth of her words begin to make Paige feel like she’s being flooded by an ocean of emotions she’s not quite ready to feel yet, “anything can be interesting if we’re together.”

It would be so easy to come up with a sarcastic quip or tease Azzi for being a sap and yet there’s a certain sincerity in this moment that feels too fragile for Paige to feign nonchalance.

“Is Virginia nice in the winter?” she asks finally, hands fidgeting with the hair ties secured around her wrist, “Minny’s a little too cold sometimes.”

Azzi’s eyes shine and Paige wants to try and read them, find the little clues hidden in her irises and solve the mystery lingering behind the crimson flush of her cheeks. But the truth is that Paige is a little scared of what she’d find, a little scared that discovering Azzi might mean discovering herself too.

“You should come find out some time,” the brunette says, casual tone filled with intricacies of something far deeper. It’s the closest they’ve gotten to saying anything of actual substance and they tip-toe around saying what they both want, daring the other to ask first.

“I dunno,” Paige says, determined to win the game, “I’m not in the habit of showing up to places without a proper invite.”

Azzi scoffs, “a proper invite? Are you expecting someone to send you a carrier pigeon with a gold letter addressed to her royal highness or something?”

“That would be nice,” Paige surmises and Azzi rolls her eyes.

“Does your back ever hurt from carrying that ego?”

“Only hurts from carrying my team.”

“Oh my god you’re so full of it.”

“Full of talent? Yessirrrr.”

Azzi huffs, “Paige.”

“Azzi,” Paige hums.

“Do you wanna come visit me in Virginia during winter break?” Azzi says finally, a small smile playing on her lips like she’s okay with losing this game as long as it’s to Paige.

“If I must,” Paige says dramatically, shrugging her shoulders and everything as Azzi lets out an offended squeak. But inside, her heart flutters at the offer, at the idea of seeing Azzi again, even if it feels like a lifetime away. Because as long as it’s Azzi on the other side, Paige and her impatient self can wait however long it takes.

“Actually you know what nevermind, you don’t gotta come,” Azzi concedes bitterly, scrunching her face (and Paige would never tell her this but she thinks Azzi looks just a little too cute when she’s mad and so maybe she riles her up on purpose)

“No takesies backsies Az,” Paige sing-songs before her lips uptick from a smirk into something more sincere, “hey Az,” she whispers, giggling to herself when Azzi pretends to ignore her, “I’d really like to come see you in Virginia during winter break.”

And as a brilliant grin dazzles across Azzi’s face, Paige realizes that her favorite thing about Azzi’s smile isn’t when her dimples show or when her eyes twinkle, it’s when it’s there because of Paige, when it’s there just for Paige.

“Good,” Azzi whispers as they fall into a comfortable silence.

There’s this serene sense of calm that laces itself around Paige’s nerves. Her normally fidgeting body is content to be perfectly still, an anomaly to her usual demeanor. The truth is that Paige isn’t the kind of person who’s okay with just existing; she likes to spend every second in motion, living out the high. There’s a part of her that’s scared of missing moments, scared that the people around her will leave her behind if she doesn’t chase them. But it’s different with Azzi. The younger girl makes Paige feel like it’s okay if she takes a moment to just breathe. Because Azzi will wait. Because Azzi won’t leave Paige behind.

“Wait,” it’s a little while before Azzi pipes up, shaking Paige out of her thoughts, “what time is it?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to the time on her phone, confused by the line of questioning, “it’s almost 9 why?”

“Don’t you have a team party or something to go to tonight?” Azzi asks, face scrunching, “I swear you told me you had something tonight.”

“Oh-yeah- Amaya’s back to school thing,” Paige sheepishly scratches her neck, suddenly feeling itchy in her flannel shirt. She’d forgotten she was wearing that instead of her daily clothes. Hell, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be going somewhere in the first place, too occupied with other thoughts.

“Bro get up,” Azzi orders, “you’re already late.”

“Nah it’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna go,” Paige says and she thinks she should probably feel a little more guilty about it.

“What do you mean you’re not gonna go?” Azzi asks in disbelief, “dude you’re the star of the team. You have to go.”

“Amaya will understand besides-” Paige drags in a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as the next words fall out in a quiet whisper, “I don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“Paige c’mon we can talk tomorrow,” Azzi tries to protest but it’s half-hearted at best.

“I wanna talk right now,” Paige argues, “you don’t wanna talk to me?”

For a second Paige thinks Azzi might just say no, might just chip away a little bit of heart with a well-intentioned rejection, but she doesn’t, “always wanna talk to you P.”

“Then don’t hang up. Talk to me.”

And Azzi does. All night.

Two weeks laters there’s a letter, in an envelope with a picture of a carrier pigeon, that arrives in the Bueckers’ mail box.

To her royal highness,

Unfortunately I couldn’t find an actual carrier pigeon (I swear I tried) so this envelope and the mailman will have to do.

~ You are formally invited this winter break to the Fudd family residence in Virginia. ~

(And you better show up Bueckers)

Yours,

Azzi

February 2033

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Ice whines petulantly as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across from where Paige is getting her makeup done, “this is parental neglect.”

Paige laughs, eyes closed, her makeup artist does her mascara, “you’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that” Ice argues, plucking a grape from the fruit basket before segueing into a rant about how boring Arlington, Texas is.

Paige is grateful for the distraction her younger friend is providing. Her nerves had been on edge since the moment she’d woken up this morning, anxious to get the impending farewell press conference over with. She’d already started accepting that the Wings weren’t the right place for her but that feeling had only been heightened by her trip to the Valkyries. And ever since she’s come back, Paige feels a little bit like she’s sleepwalking through her final moments in Dallas. If she’s honest, she’s probably rushing things a little bit. There’s still plenty of time before she really has to move to Oakland but it had been her choice to move there as soon as possible. Paige had always been good at conjuring excuses and she had plenty as to why she needed to be in California so soon. But at the end of the day it isn’t about training or team bonding or any of the other hundred justifications she’s given anyone who’s asked. It’s about a little girl who’s eyes had been brimming with tears when saying goodbye, a little girl who had made Paige pinky swear that she’d be back as soon as possible.

Really, Paige thinks she should be applauded for her restraint, because truth be told, the second Stephie’s lower lip had trembled, Paige had been prepared to ask Ice to just ship her stuff to Oakland so that she’d never have to let go of the little girl’s hand.

And here’s the thing, Paige is willing to admit she wants to go back to the Bay Area for Stephie. It’s that pesky little part of her that’s desperate to go back for Stephie’s mother, to go back for one more hesitant yet lingering touch, that she won’t ever share with anyone else.

“I never thought I’d live to see you and Azzi willingly playing together again,” Ice says as soon as Paige’s makeup artist leaves the room, “KK and I didn’t even try betting on it, we were that sure it wouldn’t happen. Shit I should have. I totally would have won.”

“Don’t y’all get tired of betting on my life?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the first part of what Ice said.

“Betting on your life has made me hundreds of dollars bro,” Ice says, before a more earnest look crosses her face, “but genuinely P, are you sure about this? There’s a lot of history there.”

Paige sighs, “it’s not about our history. It’s a basketball decision. And we’re both mature adults who know that. I’m just tryna win. Nothing else.”

“It’s never nothing when it comes to you two.”

“It is this time,” Paige argues adamantly and Ice raises her hands in surrender.

“I just don’t want another set of teammates to have to deal with y’alls bullshit,” the younger girl teases, but it’s laced with a hint of seriousness that sends a flare of guilt shooting through Paige’s body.

“Ice-” she begins.

But Ice is quick to change to a lighter subject, “can’t believe Jana’s the one that gets mom and dad back together. I always knew she was the favorite.”

“We didn’t have favorites,” Paige plays along, thankful for Ice and her ability to always keep the tension to a bare minimum.

“Oh don’t lie. We all know you did,” Ice scoffs and then lets out a chuckle, “and now Azzi’s actually a mom. That’s kinda insane. And you met the kid right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did,” Paige says and she can’t help the way her entire face breaks into a gleaming smile as her thoughts turn into memories of Stephie. She doesn’t even realize she’s gotten lost in a different world until Ice coughs, an amused grin playing on her lips.

“You’re so royally fucked Paige,” Ice shakes her head, “the only person I’ve seen you smile that big for before is Azzi.”

“She’s a cute, smart, adorable kid, that’s why I’m smiling,” Paige tries to defend herself.

“She’s Azzi’s cute, smart, adorable kid,” Ice counters.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Paige protests again but it rings hollow to her own ears.

“Oh my god I needa call KK and get this bet started. It’s only a matter of time for real,” Ice says, more to herself than to Paige, as she whips out her phone, probably texting KK.

“A matter of time till what?”

“You’ll find out Paigey,” Ice says gravely with a mocking smile, patting Paige’s head, “all in due time.”

***

The Dallas Wings media room is buzzing, reporters desperate to ask Paige questions and the blonde tries to maintain a smile despite the fact that her heart is lurching in her throat right now. Her opening speech had been short and sweet, parroting basically the same thing that had gone out on her social media the night before; she’d been desperate to just get it out. Generally, Paige is pretty good with the media, having been immersed in the spotlight since basically forever. The attention and how to maneuver it has always come naturally to her so she’s not sure why she feels so unnerved by it all today. From the back of the media room, Ice sends her a thumbs up and a reassuring grin and Paige lets out a breath, glad to have at least that comforting presence with her.

“Aidrian Ginsburger with Bleacher Report, Paige, you’ve obviously spent all of your career so far with the Wings, can you tell us a little bit about the impact this organization has had on you?”

Paige smiles at the question, letting her brain skim through pages and pages of fond memories she has of time spent with this team. It might be time to move on but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have plenty of cherished moments.

“Yeah um- this place has really shaped who I am as a person. Since day one, the front office, obviously it’s a different one to the one I came in with, they did a lot to make sure that I was comfortable. My teammates through the years have been incredible and I wouldn’t be the player I am today without them. And of course the fans you know, they always showed out for the team, for me. Always supported me in anyways and I hope that I was able to give back the love to them that they always gave to me,” she says, suddenly nostalgic for the team that had started it all.

The next questions are similar in nature and Paige’s answer varies only in words but not substance. She feels herself start to settle into it, now fielding the expected questions about the Wings and Valkyries with an air of confidence. There are a couple questions about Azzi that make her heart thump, but that was to be expected. It’s a pretty brilliant story in the making, two MVPs who used to play on the same college team coming together. Talia had warned Paige in advance that there was no avoiding it. But for the most part the questions have an easy answer about how Azzi’s a brilliant player and she’s excited to play with her old friend again. That is until a familiar hand shoots up and all the tension that had previously dissipated, comes roaring back with a vengeance.

“Olivia Reynolds with the Dallas Morning News, Paige, as others have said today, you and Azzi Fudd played together at UConn and you were best friends.” Olivia’s eyes glint viciously, “I mean it’s pretty well documented how hard you tried to recruit her to UConn. But despite being best friends, the two of you have been never seen hanging out, outside of games and formal events, unlike your other teammates that is-”

“Is there a point to this?” Paige asks, hands fisting in her lap as she tries to keep herself calm.

Olivia smiles, sugary sweet, “I was just wondering if maybe there was some tension and how that would affect your on-court chemistry at the Valkyries?”

“There’s no tension,” Paige lies through gritted teeth, “we didn’t hang out because we live far apart. There isn’t much else to it. And even if there was, Azzi and I are professionals. We wouldn’t let anything off the court affect our goal to win.”

“You lived far apart before UConn too, but that didn’t seem to stop you guys. What changed?” Olivia presses.

“Time did. Our lives did. There’s nothing sensational here. It’s just a case of two people drifting apart,” Paige says and the fabrication feels heavy on her tongue. If only it really had been that simple.

“But clearly not that much,” Olivia says, and Paige glances at the moderator, desperate for an intervention, “there were plenty of fan pictures of the two of you out getting ice cream with Azzi’s daughter. It seems like you’re already fitting into that Bay Area life-”

“I’m not hearing a question at the end of your sentence,” Paige hisses and she can practically already hear the scolding she’s going to get from Talia once her agent gets wind of how this press conference had gone. The entire media cohort is watching the exchange with wide eyes, no doubt questioning whether they were embarrassed or impressed by their colleague. Ice is mouthing something to Paige, probably something along the lines of please keep your shit together, but Paige is steaming. Really, she should have expected this.

“Well if you’d let me finish,” Olivia snarls, the façade of innocence dropping, “even if the two of you have drifted, as you put it, clearly there’s still a relationship there. How big of a role did Azzi Fudd play in your choice to move to the Valkyries?”

Paige sucks in a deep breath, nails digging into her palm at the question, “Azzi is the best shooting guard in the country. That was her role in my decision to move to the Valkyries. I don’t know what else you’re trying to imply, but I want to play with her because we play well together. That’s it,” she stands up and there’s pin drop silence, “thank you all for coming but we’re done with this press conference.

***

Paige is seething as she exits the media room, Ice hot on her heels trying to calm her down. The sane part of her knows she should head back to the makeup room or even to her car, instead she finds her feet carrying her in the direction of where she knows Olivia Reynolds will be, reviewing her press conference notes by the coffee machine like she always is.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Paige spits as she comes to a halt in front of the reporter.

“I know you think playing basketball is the only job in the world Paige, but that was a reporter doing her job,” Olivia says, her calm and composed voice only furthering Paige’s irritation.

“Bull-fucking-shit.” Paige sneers, “that wasn’t a reporter out there, that was my ex-wife grilling me like we were back in fucking divorce court.”

Olivia cocks her head, “oh so you do remember who I am to you then?”

“Oliv-”

“Because if you did remember, I’d like to think you’d have the courtesy to at least personally tell me that you were moving to your,” she drops her voice, “ex-girlfriend’s team instead of letting me find out with the rest of the world. You don’t think you owed me that?”

“That’s what this is about?” Paige sighs, “Olivia we’ve been divorced for almost three years now, I don’t owe you-”

“You didn’t owe Azzi anything either,” Olivia whisper-yells, the calm in her voice replaced by the same anger that had tainted the last year of their marriage, “but when we first started dating, you kept us a secret for months. You wouldn’t even tell your fucking teammates cause you were so scared she’d find out,” her eyes drift towards Ice who looks like she wishes she’d made a different decision rather than following Paige out here, “you said she deserved to hear it from you but apparently I don’t-’

“I didn’t mean it like that Olivia. Look, I meant what I said up there. There’s nothing between- ”

“Spare me,” Olivia says, as she stuffs her notepad into her bag, “you can lie to all those other reporters out there about how all of this is a basketball decision. You can even lie to yourself if you want. But you can’t lie to me, not when I spent four years fighting to keep our relationship from getting crushed under whatever it is that Azzi is to you.”

***

It doesn’t matter how far Paige burrows her head into her pillows, she can’t seem to stop herself from hearing Olivia’s words reverberating through her ears. The two of them had done well at co-existing in their social circles after the divorce had been finalized. While no one could quite call them friends, they’d done a good job at being friendly, being able to converse and share an occasional drink when in their combined friend group. And if Paige is honest, she knows she’s fucked up, knows she probably did owe Olivia a call. But calling Olivia would have meant calling someone who would inevitably make Paige face the truth, just like she had today. The truth that, even with the deal Talia had concocted with the Liberty hanging in the background like a dark presence, the move to the Valkyries was about a lot more than just basketball for Paige.

She’s so entrenched in her thought that she doesn’t bother checking who it is when the facetime rings, irritation seeping into her voice as she answers it, face still buried in her pillows, “WHAT?”

“Miss Buecks?” a tiny voice comes through the phone and for a second, Paige thinks she must be dreaming, until she finally lifts her head to look at her phone, and Stephie’s small face lights up the whole screen. And it’s like she can feel little hands on her shoulders, slowly unknotting her tightened muscles.

“Stephie,” she breathes out, a sudden sense of serene calm washing over her previously tense body.

“Hi Miss Buecks,” Stephie says happily before she squints at the screen, “you sleep weird.”

Paige laughs, “and why’s that?”

“You’re not wearing pajamas and it’s only seven. ‘Dults don’t sleep at seven,” Stephie says matter-of-factly.

“It’s actually nine here,” Paige says, a little surprised by the time; she hadn’t realized she'd been moping in her bed for that long. Ice had forced her to get lunch together, not wanting to leave Paige alone after the encounter with Olivia. Once she’d finally gotten back to her apartment, Paige had flopped on her bed, taking out her frustrations on her poor pillow.

“That’s not poss-ble,” Stephie scrunches her face, “Mama’s phone says it’s seven.”

“It’s seven in California, it’s nine in Texas,” Paige tries to explain though by the way Stephie’s looking at her, she thinks she’s probably just confusing the girl more, “how’d you figure out how to call me babe?”

Stephie gives her an exasperated look, “Miss Buecks I’m five. I know how to use facetime.”

“And does your Mama know you're facetiming me?” Paige asks, eyebrows raised.

“She’s in the shower,” Stephie whispers, grinning sheepishly.

As if on cue, Azzi appears on the corner of the screen and Paige feels her mouth run dry. The darker skinned woman is clad in a light pink fluffy bathrobe that ends right above her knees, giving Paige the perfect view of her long, toned legs that seem to shimmer despite the shitty quality of the facetime. Rivulets of water cling to her neck, delicately cascading down the valley of her breasts before disappearing from sight. And Paige must be dehydrated because never has she wanted to taste a drop of liquid more than she does right now.

“Stephie,” Azzi groans, as she walks towards the phone and Paige gulps, heart beating faster with every step the other woman takes, everything about her becoming clearer and clearer, “what did I say about using my phone.”

“Only in em-a-gencies,” Stephie recites, “but Mama I had an em-a-gency.”

Azzi tilts her head, eyebrows raised as she gives her daughter a knowing look, “and what was your emergency?”

“I really, really, really, this much” Stephie stretches out her hands as far as they’ll go, really, really, really, miss Miss Buecks.”

Paige feels her heart flutter. Stephie’s words feel like a hand carefully pulling her out from under the pile of stress she’d been buried under the whole day. It’s like the little girl is pushing away the rubble pressing against her lungs, turning the rocks into dust with a light touch and Paige feels like she can finally breathe.

“Sounds like a pretty big emergency to me,” she says, relishing the way Stephie’s face lights up at the admission, “cause I really, really, really miss you too Steph.”

“See Mama,” Stephie says, placing the phone against a wall so can place her hands on her hips and look up at Azzi with a pleased smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes before glaring at Paige, “you’re a bad influence on her.”

“I’m the best influence on her,” Paige argues, sending Stephie a conspiratorial wink, “just you wait Az, I’mma teach her all the good things.”

Something unreadable flashes across Azzi’s face before she’s back to looking at Paige with an unimpressed arched eyebrow, “I am not letting you corrupt my daughter Paige Bueckers.”

“We’ll see,” Paige says slowly and Azzi shakes her head before turning to Stephie.

“Alright Stephie bean time to go brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime babes,” she says with a stern look

“But Mama-”

“No arguing, you have school tomorrow missy,” Azzi reminds the little girl and Paige can’t help but marvel at the mother that Azzi’s become. And it makes her heart ache for the fantasies she’d dreamed of when she was in her early twenties. She’d always known Azzi would be a great mother; Paige had just naively thought she’d be there alongside her too.

“Can Miss Buecks stay on the phone till I fall asleep?” Stephie asks, peering up at Azzi with big doe eyes, “please Mama pleeeease.”

“I’m sure Miss Buecks has other things-”

“I don’t,” Paige cuts in far too enthusiastically, clearing her throat to get back some semblance of restraint as both mother and daughter turn to look at each other, “I don’t have anything to do tonight so I can stay till you fall asleep Stephie.”

“YAYY,” Stephie cheers enthusiastically while Azzi studies her with a weary look, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and then you can read me, my story Mama.”

With that, the little girl runs in the direction of what Paige can only assume is the bathroom, skipping with childlike joy as she sing-songs about something Paige can’t quite make out.

“You know you don’t have to say yes to everything she asks right?” Azzi says slowly as she grabs her phone and sits on the couch.

Paige shrugs, “I have time to stay.”

“Do you?” Azzi asks skeptically, “because from what I heard the Wings are having a little farewell party tonight, for you.”

Paige narrows her eyes, “and how exactly did you hear that?”

“I have connections.”

“You talked to Ice.”

“I talked to Ice,” Azzi concedes, “and I’m pretty sure you’re already an hour or so late for it.”

“Exactly. I’m already an hour late so why bother,” Paige says, sitting up so she can rest head against her headboard, “why were you talking to Ice?”

“I can’t talk to my friend?” Azzi asks slowly.

“Of course you can but why specifically today?” Paige presses

Azzi bites her lip, “I um- I watched your press conference today. You uh-” she averts her gaze, “you seemed really stressed at the end and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A soft grin upturns Paige’s lips before she can stop it, “were you worried for me Fudd?”

“That’s not-” Azzi groans, “shut up.”

Paige smirks, “you were worried for me.”

“I was concerned for my future teammate," Azzi huffs, “besides,” her face hardens, “she was way out of line.”

Paige sighs at the implied mention of Olivia, “maybe but maybe I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi protests and that oh so familiar protective tone in her voice carves itself into every crevice of Paige’s heart, “no one deserves to be put on the spot like that. She was being unethical trying to dig into your personal life like that.”

“This is nice,” Paige says softly, unable to help herself.

“What is?”

“Seeing you get all defensive over me. It's nice to see you still care. I didn’t know if you still did.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks at Paige, “I’ve always cared Paige. And-” she hesitates as the tightrope beneath them wavers, “I’m always gonna care.”

There’s years worth of unsaid words lingering in the silence between them as they breach some unspoken rule they’d both inadvertently agreed to. And they both know that they shouldn’t be saying things like this to each other, that they’re teetering on the edge of falling into an abyss that has nothing but destruction at the bottom. But Azzi’s words feel like sunshine, like heat waves across her skin and Paige is so tired of feeling cold.

Before either of them can say another word, Stephie comes back into the room, crawling into Azzi’s lap.

“I’m back,” she beams, completely unaware of the way the two adults are scrambling to act normal around her.

“Here baby,” Azzi hands the phone to Stephie, “take Miss Buecks to your room. Mama’s gonna go change and then she’ll come read to you okay?”

“‘Kay Mama,” Stephie complies, pressing a soft kiss to Azzi’s cheek before running towards her room. For a second Paige’s screen is blurred in motion until Stephie fixes her again and Paige catches a glimpse of Stephie’s room, specifically the walls that are painted the perfect shade of Valkyrie purple.

“I love your walls Stephie,” she compliments.

“They’re pu-ple,” Stephie exclaims, “that’s my favorite color.”

“First the ice-cream, now the color, you’re stealing all of my favorites kid,” Paige teases but she’s secretly pleased by this revelation. It’s dangerous how fast Stephie’s starting to whittle down Paige’s walls and build herself a permanent shelf in Paige’s cabinet of my people.

“Can I tell you a secret Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, bringing her lips closer to the phone.

Paige smiles, “of course you can.”

“I think Mama misses you too,” Stephie says softly and Paige feels her heart catch in her throat, “I heard her tell Nanna on the phone.”

“Can I tell you a secret Stephie?” Paige lowers her voice, leaning into her phone.

“‘Course you can Miss Buecks.”

Paige swallows as the admission falls from her lips, “I really miss your Mama too.”

I miss her always and I think I’ll miss her forever.

“What are you the two of you whispering about,” Azzi’s voice cuts in as she tucks herself next to Stephie, a children’s book in her hand.

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says immediately, winking at Paige through the phone.

“Yeah,” Paige echoes, ignoring her erratic heartbeat, “nothing Azzi.”

Azzi looks between the both of them, clearly aware she’s being left out of something, but doesn’t push further. Instead she flips open the book, pulls Stephie closer into her arms and starts reading. If anyone were to ask Paige later, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea about a single word in that damn book. Because as Azzi’s soothing voice begins to lull Stephie to sleep, and the younger girl, despite her yawns, holds the phone up so the blonde can be included in every second of it, Paige feels herself being pulled into a dream she has no right to dream. She dreams of being in Stephie’s purple bedroom. She dreams of her and Azzi lying against Stephie’s lilac bedspread, their hands entwined in the middle over Stephie’s little body. She dreams of a forever that she’d long forsaken.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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thistoowillpasss · 5 months ago

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Reviewing the Prayerbooks

Assassin

tastes bitter, like licking a well-traveled road that was dipped in earwax. Do not leave food on the surface.

Text requires concentration to read due to inattentiveness making words vanish or move on the page.

Can't find it half the time because it casts darkness on itself when unobserved. Have to keep it in a fucking box.

Smells weirdly good? Not even in a book smell it's like a sun-warmed cat. good page flipping feel, almost like cardstock. Unexplained and mysterious.

6/10 the mystery outweighs the irritation, but not by much.

Principia

Tastes pretty good. Corners of pages tend to be missing because scholars tear them off to use as a sort of stand-in for bay leaves. However this is a sin, and must not be continued.

very small text, but the pages have sketches and art to supplement concepts.

Heavy and warm. The buckles make a good snap and click noise when interfaced with. pages have a texture from engraved portions but are soft otherwise. Smells faintly of linen and cedar.

Strange sensation in fingers after reading.

9/10 easy to fall asleep while reading it

Godskin

Tastes extremely good. Never lick it, as nothing else will ever taste as good. This is the only warning you will receive.

Text is sparse and often only a few words per page, repeated multiple times. Theory appears to be less crucial than execution.

A faint pulse can be heard when pressing the spine to one's ear. Squeezing the book increases the pace of the pulse. Concerning.

Sulfur smell. Unpleasant combined with the odd dampness that the pages sometimes have, which are already uncomfortably limp to the touch. the bookmark tail will move on its own accord when untied.

5/10 unless eaten, which in that case 10/10

Ancient Dragons

Unexplained cinnamon taste. Licking discouraged due to the book disliking it.

Construction of the tome uses beastman clergy techniques, making the book larger and used differently than traditional prayerbooks. Text is not read, but listened to--clasps must be locked when not being used, as the book's voice is loud and it will roar when left alone.

The book holds a charge at all times, grasping it will cause a shock. This is considered necessary according to the author's note in the beginning pages.

Smells like rain when opened. There is an oddly pliable nature to the extremely heavy pages, due to being made of gravel stone.

8/10 fascinating but also electrocuting

Giant

Tastes like salty, overcooked meat.

Text is overly elaborate for incantations that are brutally simplistic in execution. The prelates were scholars, one has to grant. Rough sketches in charcoal accompany the text on opposite pages.

Sheds hair fucking, everywhere. Wear red while handling if you don't want to clean shedding off.

Front cover's sigil is hot to the touch, can keep a cup of tea warm for over an hour.

Pages are thick and smell like a forest fire. In spite of the shedding and heat, a pleasant book to handle and read. Wear gloves.

7/10 have to sweep the floor where it was read

#elden ring #there's like 3 other prayerbooks and the scrolls but I'll leave it at this length

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felassan · 10 days ago

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A list of review scores for Dragon Age: The Veilguard [source].

Text in image reads:

"Dragon Age: Veilguard | Reviews 5/5 - CGM 5/5 - Eurogamer 10 - XboxEra 10 - Press Start 10 - Game Rant 10 - ButWhyTho 9.5 - TechRaptor 9 - IGN 9 - GamesRadar 9 - COGConnected 8.5 - Dualshockers 8 - PushSquare 4/5 - Dexerto 4/5 - TheGamer 3/5 - VGC 3/5 - VG247 MC: 84 OC: 85"

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost

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tin-wufborf · 4 months ago

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Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 1)

Okay, so listen. A few months back, I mentioned the possibility of me doing a rec list of all the Sterek fics I like to re-read (basically my comfort library), right? Well, it turns out that what I thought was going to be a list of, like, 50 fics max is now, far, far, far, FAR longer than that to the point that I don't actually even have a number to provide due to the fact that I still finding more and more to add to the list. I really hate the idea putting them all in a single post--as someone who primarily engages with this site via it's mobile app, I personally find super long lists harder to navigate, especially when you lose your place and have to start from the top--soooo, I have decided to instead release my recommendations in a series of posts containing 15-20 fics/series each instead of dumping the whole library on you at once. This post marks the first of (almost certainly) many, so I hope you all enjoy!

List and links to next parts below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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The Boy Who Loved Wolves by orphan_account (NR | 1/1 | 1,522)

Stiles always loved the tamed wolves his tribe used for hunting. When he finds himself face-to-face with an actual wolf, an alpha no less, how will it change him? And how will his tribe react to his change? Based on Paul Goble's The Girl Who Loved Wild Horses.

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Will of the Weakness by Cheshyr (G | 1/1 | 2,248)

Whenever Derek threw Stiles into walls, he always assumed that the teenager didn't fight because he couldn't. Not once did he consider the possibility that Stiles was holding back.

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Making a Memory by beenwandering (M | 1/1 | 2,702)

Stiles was prepared for what would come after the bite. He knew what to expect and, despite his worries, he was ready for his new life. Apparently very ready. Or, “that one where Stiles can’t be anything other than Stiles, even when he’s a wolf."

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A Cottage in the Woods by FaeryQueen07 (G | 1/1 | 2,960)

“There’s a cottage,” Stiles’ mother says, and then she presses a kiss to his forehead before turning off the light.

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Tell Me, Are My Words Worth Less? by Cheshyr (G | 1/1 | 3,830)

Stiles is proud of his words. He loves to talk and tell and share and speak. And he absolutely, deep in his soul, hates his stutter.

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Little Lion Man by lyllytas (T | 1/1 | 5,029)

Sheriff Stilinski has just been fired from his job and is at a loss for his son's recent behavior. All he wants is the truth, so when Stiles comes to him with another crazy story, he's had enough of the jokes and lies. Unfortunately for him, this time Stiles was telling the truth. And Derek Hale is very protective of his pack.

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Love in the Groves series by Sheepnamedpig (3 works | T-E | 5,706)

1. The Oak Tree (E | 1/1 | 1,533) A forest spirit decides to take up residence in Derek's forest. 2. The Cherry Tree (E | 1/4 | 2,170) Derek and Stiles get married. And then they get married again. 3. The Ash Grove (T | 1/1 | 2,003) Stiles gets sick. Derek watches him carve the infection out.

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Knotting Expectations by chase_acow (E | 1/1 | 5,722)

Stiles gets an eyeful and suddenly getting up close and personal to a werewolf is all he can think about.

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go home, or make a home by lady_ragnell (T | 1/1 | 7,437)

In a world where Derek lets Scott kill the Alpha and get the cure, he has to figure out how to rebuild his life, with help from Stiles.

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Communication (And the Lack Thereof) by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (M | 1/1 | 7,687)

Sheriff Stilinski has been waiting for this day for a long time. As he watches his visitor walking up the path, he thinks about everything that's happened in the past year and his fingers twitch for his gun. But he can't do that; he can't shoot this man, as much as he might like to sometimes. Maybe he can go one worse, though.

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Integral to Survival by placeholdr (M | 1/1 | 8,529)

Derek is in the cell for about ten minutes before the lone door opens and a new body is tossed in. The person hits the floor with a grunt, rolls, and stands as the door is clanging shut.

“That’s really not the way to treat a guest!”

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Ten Weeks by scarletsptember (T | 1/1 | 10,024)

They say no news is good news at a doctor's office. The news Stiles gets changes everything.

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adore to see your eyes fly by 1001cranes (E | 1/1 | 11,309)

stiles is a pyromanic, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

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Blood and Bonds by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (NR | 1/1 | 20,595)

Stiles wants to lose his virginity, so Derek sets him up with a nice female werewolf at a pack mixer. Nine months later, the pack gets a rather stark reminder, and with it comes realizations, feeeeelings, and danger.

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Heat of the Moment by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (T | 1/1 | 21,320)

I'm the alpha now.

Derek never wanted the alpha power. But now he could feel the alpha power thrumming through his veins, calling to him and the those it considered pack.

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The Wolfvengers (Are Not A '90s Boyband) series by someonelsesheart (2 works | T | 23,152)

1. Angry Birds Is Not Meant To Be Taken Literally (T | 3/3 | 12,917) Derek gets that he and Stiles are kind of on a Need To Know basis, he really does, he just thinks that Stiles' godfather being in the freaking Avengers counts as pretty Need To Know. 2. The Captain America Law (T | 3/3 | 10,235) For the record, Derek is not very fond of talking about feelings, up to and including discussing his personal life, anything that has to do with Stiles, That Time With The High Heels, and games that include having to convey feelings. On a completely unrelated note, who knew that Tony Stark owned a sexy nurse's costume?

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An Exercise in Trust by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying (M | 1/1 | 25,529)

Derek Hale hasn't been able to hold a steady job for quite some time, thanks to his past. When an ad is posted for a babysitting job, Derek(thanks to his experience with his large extended family) jumps at the chance to maybe start rebuilding his life.

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hyper heart alone by hito (E | 1/1 | 34,570)

When Stiles returns home to help his father recover from an injury, he discovers that things have changed somewhat in his absence: Derek is working closely with Stiles' father, around the house and underfoot, generally annoying and disconcerting Stiles with his presence.

Well, Stiles isn't sure you could call all the sex they end up having annoying, but he isn't really willing to call it anything else, either.

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By and By series by 1001cranes (3 works | T-E | 35,611)

1. hear his alibis (T | 1/1 | 6,628) creepy never looked so cute - or, how Sheriff Stiles accidentally adopted a juvenile offender. (another) pyromaniac au. 2. multiplied by seven (E | 9/9 | 26,340) Derek isn't exactly like other people. Stiles doesn't say that because he's in love with him, or whatever. He's not like Scott, who thinks Allison hung the freaking moon, or was the first girl to ever let a guy under her bra. Derek isn't like other people. Sometimes he's not exactly sane. psychopaths in love - the story from Derek & Stiles's side. companion fic to 'hear his alibis' 3. up to the highest high (E | 1/1 | 2,643) Kate takes a day to think it over, to plan her attack. She's good on her feet, but a little preplanning never hurt anyone. And if she's going to make Derek bleed, well - she needs just the right weapon. The right words. A thousand little pinpricks and cuts, because Derek isn't the type you can cut off at the knees so easily. You have to look for that dark, hidden place to plant a seed of doubt, and Kate? Kate's good at that. "He wants to be with a girl," she says. Like poisoned honey. "Or he doesn't not want it, am I right?" You think that curiosity won't get the better of him one day?" She's got her hands on him when she says it. She feels the beating of his heart, the firmness of his pectoral muscles, because, hey, this is precisely the way she swings. And Derek might keep it pretty well tucked up under his cap, but he doesn't exactly hate the female persuasion himself. Or at least he's attracted to them. Same difference in the end. "Better the devil you know," she says, and from the way Derek's gaze narrows she's got a feeling she's won.

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Blood in the Water, Fire in the Sky: A Love Story series by ahab2692 (7 works | E | 69,750)

1. God, How Things Change (E | 1/1 | 9,056) After killing Peter Hale, Derek and Stiles have to deal with the aftermath: Scott doesn't want to forgive Derek for taking away his chance for the cure, Jackson struggles with adjusting to his newfound powers, and Lydia remains in a coma. Derek has his own demons to wrestle, and the more time he spends with Stiles, the less sure he is that he'll be able to control himself.

2. The World Spins, Regardless (E | 1/1 | 11,006) Stiles helps Derek expand his pack, and the two of them take steps forward in their newfound relationship. Meanwhile, new enemies arrive in the form of a dangerous pack of werewolves from a nearby town, as well as a pair of mysterious hunters with an unknown agenda. (Sequel to "God, How Things Change.") 3. Cracks in the Foundations (E | 1/1 | 10,107) Preparing for the oncoming war with an aggressive werewolf clan, Derek and Stiles make efforts to secure their friends' safety. Derek put the pack through a rigorous training regimen, and Stiles convinces him to form a temporary alliance with the Argents. However, no one is able to foresee a shocking loss that has a devastating effect on the pack's stability. (Sequel to "The World Spins, Regardless.") 4. The Wicker Throne and the Werewolf King (E | 1/1 | 11,241) Stiles and Lydia travel to a distant mining outpost in the woods to try and kill the Alpha of the rival pack. Meanwhile, Derek and Chris Argent struggle to ensure the safety of the pack in the aftermath of Stiles' recent loss. (Sequel to "Cracks in the Foundations.") 5. Conversation (and Carnage) (E | 1/1 | 9,096) Stiles attempts to negotiate with the Alpha. Derek attempts to negotiate with Meredith Wakefield. Hidden agendas lie beneath the surface. Everything is not as it seems. (Sequel to "The Wicker Throne and the Werewolf King.") 6. ...And Hell Followed With Him (E | 1/1 | 10,080) Stiles emerges victorious as the new Alpha. Derek and Chris Argent launch their attack on Meredith Wakefield. Stiles and Lydia return home. (Sequel to "Conversation (and Carnage).") 7. God, How Things Change (Redux) (E | 1/1 | 9,164) Stiles and Derek pay a visit to their last remaining enemy. The pack recovers in the aftermath. Everything ends. Everything begins. (Sequel to "...And Hell Followed With Him".)

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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vintagelasvegas · 2 days ago

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Club Bingo became the Sahara. Photos c. 1948 and 1952.

Timeline of Club Bingo and Sahara Hotel & Casino

Club Bingo, predecessor of Sahara

‘46: M.D. Close builds a restaurant on this site; sold a year later to Prewin Inc (Milton Prell, Al Winter).

‘47: Club Bingo opens 7/24/47. Prell, Winter & partners, owners. Wurdeman & Becket, architects. Signs by YESCO.

‘48: Bonanza Room opens in May, signs added.

‘49: New sign by YESCO and Aloysius McDonald.

‘52: Club Bingo closed in May. Club Bingo’s main building incorporated into the Sahara as the coffee shop. Casino items sold to the public in June.

Sahara Hotel & Casino

‘52: Sahara opened 10/7/52. 200 rooms. Prell, Winter & partners, owners. Max Meltzman, architect. Built by Del Webb Corp.

‘55: 200-room, low-rise expansion on the south side of the resort.

‘60: 14-story, 200-room Tunis Tower addition opened in May. (600 rm total.) M. Stern Jr, architect. Built by Del Webb Corp. Tunis tower said to be Nevada’s tallest building. 127-ft sign by YESCO added in Fall.

‘61: Sahara, The Mint, and Lucky Strike Club sold to Del Webb Corp, under new subsidiary, Sahara-Nevada Corp. First public company to own casinos.

‘62: New main lobby, casino expansion, House of Lords steakhouse addition.

‘63: 24-floor Alexandria Tower addition. M. Stern Jr, architect. Don the Beachcomber addition.

‘68: Convention Center addition.

‘78: 26-floor Tangiers Tower addition. M. Stern Jr, architect.

‘80: Second sign, by YESCO

‘82: Sahara sold to Paul Lowden.

‘88: Parking garage, “T” extension of Tangiers Tower.

‘95: Sold to Gordon Gaming.

‘96: Beginning of a renovation and rebuild project that lasted through 2000. Last of the ‘50s-era low rise rooms demolished in 3/96, replaced with new porte-cochere and parking garage; New sign with two camels with matching signage on the Paradise Rd entrance all by Jack M. Larsen Jr. & Mikhon Lighting and sign (‘97); Speedworld addition (‘97); Speed-The Ride roller coaster addition (2000).

2007: Sold to SBE Ent & Stockbridge.

2011: Sahara closed.

2014: Reopened as SLS Hotel. Tunis, Alexandria, and Tangiers towers renamed Sam, Society, and Citizen. Society tower becomes W Hotel 2017-2018.

2018: Sold to Meruelo Group.

2019: renamed Sahara.

Photos of Club Bingo / Photos of Sahara

Club Bingo & Sahara photos both likely by Las Vegas News Bureau. li ‘41 and ‘51 Cadillac. First Sahara photo from the Manis Collection, UNLV Special Collections. Photo below is a scan from a commercial 35mm slide, Vintage Las Vegas collection.

Sources include: Becket Architectural Drawings and Photographs, Getty Research Institute; Close Property on Highway 91 Sold for Club. Review-Journal, 5/2/47 p3; Strip Values. Review-Journal, 8/9/55 p3; Modern Room Design. Review-Journal, 5/26/60; Skybound at Sahara. Review-Journal, 9/15/60; Associated Press. Sahara’s Merger Plan Gains Okay. Review-Journal, 7/19/61; Jude Wanniski. Yanks Boss Vetoes Vegas Named Tie-In. Review-Journal, 7/21/61.

#1952 #Club Bingo #Sahara #1948

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aryas-faces · 3 months ago

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House of the Dragon Review

The Good:

- Aegon and Tom Glynn Carney. Aegon is the one compelling character this season, and his arc is great. He tries to be a good King but can’t protect his son. He tries to get Alicent’s love, but can’t no matter what. He tries to save his people but he gets destroyed in the process. He trusts his brother who betrays him. And Tom acts with his whole heart and soul. They’re truly the only good this season and the only reason I’ll keep watching

- Larys, Matthew Needham, and his relationship with Aegon. Just *chef’s kiss* The best relationship on the show. So much manipulation but genuine growing fondness too. Can’t wait to see Tom and Matthew inevitably do press for season 3 together and talk about the relationship in depth

- Ramin’s score. He is the only thing that’s consistent through GOT and HotD

The Meh:

- Rhys Ifans is a great Otto, but they criminally underutilized them

- Rook’s Rest was an amazing episode but they still had Rhaenyra be the hero by giving her a “divine” reason to go to war

- Episode 1 also was meh because Blood and Cheese being botched ruined what would otherwise be a great episode

- Ep 2 is similar to Ep 1. LOVED the Green scenes and the Twin scene, but they had Rhaenyra feel bad about what happened which is SO out of character. I also don’t like the propaganda angle they took with Blood and Cheese with Otto

- Aemond becoming his book self was great, but it was done rushed and sloppily. They underutilized both Aemond and Ewan

- Phia and Helaena are also great but again, criminally underutilized

- Olivia is a fantastic actress, despite what they did to Alicent

- The Dragon seeds being burnt by Vermithor would be in the Good if they didn’t try to brush it off and still claim Rhaenyra’s innocent

- Daenon and Alys scenes were either incredible or a total snooze fest. No inbetween. They were repetitive and not all the Daemon haunted scenes were necessary. Matt and Gayle are great though

- Criston and Fabien are underutilized, especially post Rook’s Rest

The Bad:

- What they did to Alicent. It is unforgivable. They threw her character away in favor of Rhaenyra. They can’t stand the thought that a woman doesn’t worship Rhaenyra

- Everything with Team Black. This is not hyperbole. The scenes were dull, designed to sanitize them so they are the Good guys and destroy them in the process. The actors, I’m sorry to say, are not on the level of the Green actors. Even the better Black actors (Emma and Steve) have stiff moments through the season

- Sexual humiliation and degradation of the Greens. This isn’t the place to get into it, but people have talked about it elsewhere

- Sanitizing Rhaenyra still, even after episode 7 and trying to make her a hero

- Sanitizing Viserys. The man raped Alicent and abused his children that weren’t Rhaenyra. Why are the Greens holding him in high regard?

Overall, I’d say a 5/10. All it took was the show having Black centered episodes to descend into GOT season 8 levels, since the Green episodes are SIGNIFICANTLY better

#house of the dragon #team green #aegon ii targaryen #anti team black #alicent hightower #a song of ice and fire #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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liaarxse · 1 year ago

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Eye-catching

Headcanons

How would TR boys react to their s/o being a teen model?

Characters: Takashi Mitsuya, Keisuke Baji, Nahoya (Smiley) Kawata

Warnings: None, fluff

A/n: Inspired by a chat I had with a Character.Ai bot 😍

Takashi Mitsuya

He found out before you even thought about telling him.

Wasn't even surprised tbh.

"You're beautiful, love. It's not even a surprise to me :)"

Love him sm.

He's literally so supportive.

If you have fashion shows, he'll attend every single one of them. Will make Toman members go, too, and cheer for you.

When he saw your diet plan, he saw red.

"What is this? You're not eating like that! Come, I'll cook for you."

He doesn't agree with the rules they gave you.

When he notices you drastically lose weight, he's dragging you to your favorite eating place and buying you the whole menu.

He understands you have to follow them to keep your job, but it's too much in his eyes.

The first time he saw you walking down the stage in a purple and gold dress, his mouth slightly dropped.

Hakkai was next to your boyfriend, cheering (so he doesn't get beaten up)

Mikey was on Draken's shoulders waving his hands.

"HEY Y/N, Y/N, HERE WE'RE HERE!"

Your smile widens as soon as your eyes land on your boyfriend's shocked look.

When you finish, he comes up to you, asking for an autograph before kissing your cheek.

"I'm literally your girlfriend."

"I know."

Just give him the autograph.

If a guy texts you, trying to get to know you, he'll send him a photo of you sleeping on his chest, his arm around your waist, kissing your head while mischievously looking at the camera, smirking.

Overall 100/10 angel.

Baji Keisuke

"What, bae? You're a mole?"

Wasn't even listening.

When he realized what you said, his face lit up.

"Damn, that's awesome!"

He is about to brag to every single human being that crosses his path.

"Yo! You see this girl? This is my girlfriend!

"Ok?"

Protective.

Always with an arm around your shoulders, sending death glares to anyone who looks at you.

God bless the poor soul who comes up to you for a picture or autograph.

His arm doesn't leave your shoulders. You have to pry him off of you to take the picture.

He doesn't stop glaring at the person, and when they leave, his arm is back around your shoulders, pressing a kiss on your temple.

When he sees you walking down the stage, he's shouting with his whole being.

"THAT'S MY BABY WHOOOO–"

Someone shut him up please.

A guy once came up to you asking for your number while you were with Baji.

Stupid? No, idiotic.

The moment he said that, Baji placed a kiss on your lips and turned you to the other side.

"Sorry, she's taken."

Barely kept himself from jumping on him.

Overall 8/10

Nahoya Kawata

Sweet cherry and honey pie

Didn't find out until someone came up to you asking for a picture.

He was like "the fuck?"

Then you explained to him that you were a model for quite a popular company.

His signature smile returned immediately, placing a hand on the small of your back and pressing his cheek to yours.

"That's my babe!"

Literally a whole menace

The first time he saw you on television or walking down the stage, he almost opened his eyes.

Literally climbed on the runway and kissed you.

"If any of you cheeky motherfuckers dare touch my girl, I'll kill ya without hesitation!"

They kicked him out.

Nobody dares come up to you after that whole event.

Started calling you 'sweet cheeks' after your 'Summer Started' fashion review.

"Nice ass, peaches."

"Shut up, Nahoya."

"Nope 😁"

Annoying.

But he loves you sm give him points for that.

Overall 7/10 for cuteness.

#x reader #tokyo revengers #nahoya kawata x reader #tokrev nahoya #nahoya kawata #smiley #smiley x reader #baji keisuke #tokyo revengers baji #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers keisuke #tokyo revengers takashi mitsuya #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya takashi x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya fluff #baji fluff

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cattimeswithjellie · 5 months ago

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An Excerpt from Tango's 6/10 Livestream Recap

In case anyone is wondering why I think it's a good idea to recap livestreams, the following excerpt from the one I'm doing right now should explain it. This needs to be preserved for posterity.

2:15:10 Tango asks if Scar wants to do something dangerous. Scar immediately says yes. “Like really dangerous?” Tango presses. Scar nods. Tango tells Scar to follow him. He leads Scar over to the hole. Scar asks if this is where Decked Out 3 is. Tango confirms it totally is Decked Out 3. Scar looks down the hole and asks where it goes. Tango encourages him to drop down and Scar does, using his elytra for a soft fall down the two-wide hole. Tango follows, expecting Scar to have fallen into the void, but find him two blocks away in a two-deep hole in the bedrock. Tango tells him he missed. Scar gets himself out of the hole and immediately falls into another one. He climbs out, says “Jeez, there’s holes everywhere!” and instantly falls into the void hole. Tango cackles madly.

2:16:10 Tango freecams into the void and finds Scar rocketing around under the bedrock, calling for him and looking for the hole. Tango encourages him to “follow the sheep!” Scar makes several passes by the hole before managing to find it and shoot through it. Tango cheers and pops back into his body just in time for Scar to die of experiencing kinetic energy. Tango tries to figure out where Scar’s bits went. He uses freecam to search up to farm level, where he finds Skizzleman wandering around the edge of the hole. Chat informs him that Skizz (who is also streaming) has collected Scar’s things.

2:18:20 Tango flies up the shaft and finds some of Scar’s things at the top of the hole. He also finds Scar, who bounds over yelling “THIS IS A HELL-HOLE MURDER CHAMBER!” Tango compliments Scar on doing a great job getting out of the void. Apparently falling into the void resurrected all sorts of traumatic Season 8 memories of being thrown down the Boatem Hole. Skizz is nowhere to be seen at this point. Scar asks where the rest of his stuff is. Tango says he doesn’t know, but that he suspects there is someone else around here. Scar threatens to shove an askalottle in their face. He jumps back down to the hole and asks if he flew all the way up here, even as Skizz makes an appearance. He is wearing Scar’s hat and giggling.

2:19:10 Scar greets Skizz as “Skizzie-lizzie!” then asked Tango if he really flew all the way up that hole. Skizz thanks Scar, telling him that he has been streaming for seven seconds and he already has what might be the best blooper reel moment ever. He explains that he was sneaking up on Tango and happened to turn around just in time to see Scar for a tenth of a second before he exploded. Skizz returns Scar’s things to him, telling him that he made himself into a chest to collect Scar’s stuff for him. Scar, who is digging in his ender chest, suddenly realizes that he has found “The Flatulenster” who was making the fart noise earlier. Tango laughs. Scar confronts Skizz, who tells Scar to put his ender chest back on the ground and open it, then look for the “thank you” he owes Skizz. Tango points out that Skizz was not online when the fart occurred.

2:20:30 Scar thanks Skizz for saving his things and apologizes for fart-accusing him. Skizz doesn’t even know what Scar is talking about. Scar proceeds to tell Skizz the tragic tale of his visit to Tango where he just wanted to compliment some asskalottles and was accused of a fart he did not commit. Skizz commiserates, saying that the same thing happened the last time he streamed with Tango, and that he suspects it is Tango’s fault and/or imagination. Tango insists that his chat heard the fart too. ((The fart noise is audible on VOD review.)) Scar says they need Mrs. T to confirm that Tango is a fart-denyer.

2:21:50 Skizz is still wondering why Scar exploded. Tango explains it’s because he jumped down the hole. Scar leads Skizz over to the hole and encourages him to jump down, saying it’s fun. He tells Skizz that it is cool, and the reason that he died was because he came up too fast and had an accident. Skizz leans over the edge for a better look and Scar, in the least surprising act of Betrayal-By-Scar since The Lion King, kicks him down the hole. Skizz yells and begins attempting to rocket out of the hole with limited success. Scar insists he needs to go _down_ the hole, it’s super fun! Skizz manages to escape the hole and says no, because he doesn’t want to die. Tango and Scar assure him he won’t die (if he’s competent, Tango adds parenthetically.)

2:22:40 Resigned, Skizz asks if there’s a side he needs to jump down, then flings himself into the hole. He does a perfect full-send fall, right into the void, and falls out of the world. Tango shrieks in horrified delight. Scar calls down the hole that he feels bad now. In chat, False says “oof.” Tango demands to know why Skizz didn’t deploy his wings. “He would never have survived Boatem,” Scar observes dolefully.

#hermitcraft #stream recap #tangotek #skizzleman #goodtimeswithscar #third grade humor

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just-aake · 11 months ago

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Boundless Devotion - Part X

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Warnings: slight angst, violence/abuse

Words: 6296

The once warm and bright morning sun has since disappeared behind looming gray clouds as a gentle breeze drifted through your open window, bringing a subtle coldness to your room.

Despite the gloomy skies and the promise of rain, you can imagine yourself enjoying this kind of ambiance, sitting in your window seat with a good book, accompanied by the soothing sounds of rainfall as you read.

That would have been a nice way to spend the remainder of the day — if it had been your choice.

At this point, you’ve gotten used to your father’s strict and outrageous behavior. Forcing you to stay in your room is arguably not the worst thing he’s done to you, so there's not much point in getting angry.

Besides, you have a certain someone who is already upset enough on your behalf.

“That insufferable tyrant of a man! He doesn't care about anyone but himself, always stalking around with that condescending attitude of his...”

Sitting at your desk, you glance up from your book to look at Wanda, who paces around angrily as she continues her rants of frustration about your father.

Seeing the familiar red mist emerging around her hands as she gets more heated, you decide to call out to her.

“Wanda, your powers are reacting to your emotions,” you remind her.

Thanks to Carol’s gift of the sorcery books, you and Wanda have learned more about her powers, such as how they work and the things she can do.

With enough time and practice, Wanda can eventually gain control of her powerful abilities without it causing too much of a strain on her.

In the meantime, however, as her powers grow stronger, they have recently been appearing more frequently and unexpectedly, especially during emotional moments like these.

Wanda looks down at her hands in confusion before sighing and dissipating the red mist with a wave of her hand. The red glow in her eyes also fades back to its original green color — a new effect of her powers that you both recently discovered.

Your expression twists down slightly in concern at the sight.

Hiding Wanda’s abilities from others, especially your father, will be more difficult if this continues, and your original plan to quickly find a partner so that you can take yourself and the twins away from him is not progressing as well as you hoped.

Then again, at the beginning of your search for a partner, you never expected to find yourself in a fake relationship with Natasha — the same relationship the princess had pointed out this morning as nearing its end, and you know she was right.

With Rumlow hopefully having given up on pursuing you after the way you treated him as well as Natasha’s encouragement for you to be with someone else, it reminded you to refocus on your original goal of finding a decent partner for yourself.

However, now this time, you have to deal with getting over your feelings for the red-haired princess as you continue your search.

You internally sigh at the difficulty of your situation.

Why did your feelings for Natasha have to be brought to the forefront of your heart after all this time?

It was simpler when the two of you just remained as friends, without all of the pretending complicating your relationship.

Unfortunately, you don’t have time to deal with your confusing feelings right now.

There is a more pressing matter.

Your eyes glance to Wanda in contemplation.

Maybe you should consider asking Kate about taking in Wanda for a bit to give yourself some time to review your plans.

Though, you already know Wanda would reject the idea since it would mean she has to leave your side.

You wipe away your worried expression when Wanda turns to you.

Placing her hands on her hips, she questions your calm attitude.

“I don’t understand how you’re not upset about this. He’s basically restricting your freedom.”

“Well, I still have you and Pietro,” you point out before shrugging. “Plus I was going to continue my research anyway, so it’s not like I’m going anywhere else today.”

Wanda huffs at your response, crossing her arms and looking away from you exasperatedly to glare at the wall.

With Wanda somewhat calmer, you return your attention to the book on your desk that you were previously reading.

Despite what you said earlier, instead of continuing your research, you were actually reading accounts detailing the previous war between the Romanov and Stark kingdoms again, specifically focusing on any sections about Captain James Barnes.

His backstory was compelling.

Despite a tragic accident resulting in the loss of his arm, Barnes still rose in rank to become the Captain of the Stark Kingdom where he served with loyalty for many years and was even a formidable force during the war.

Everything was going well for him — prestige, honor, strength. He was well-liked by all in the kingdom.

Then that one tragic event took everything away.

All the books depict the same conclusion after the war. Captain Barnes killed the Stark king, queen, and their newborn daughter in cold blood on their way home.

No further details are provided other than that.

Furrowing your brows, an uncomfortable feeling nags at you about the strangeness of the situation.

Why would anyone with his kind of reputation do something like that?

Your suspicion from your previous conversation with Queen Melina about the Black Widow operations emerges again concerning the captain.

Despite your father’s denial of any involvement in that tragedy, this connection could be a possible explanation for the animosity between the two of them earlier.

However, it doesn’t explain the mystery behind why this so-called stranger seems to recognize you or be so concerned about your life here.

A commotion outside your room interrupts your thoughts, and Pietro’s voice echoes from behind your door.

“Move! She’s not going to run out the moment you open the door!”

You laugh lightly at his words, turning to see the other twin slipping inside with an annoyed huff.

“Man, I hate these new guards,” Pietro comments as he shuts the door behind him.

His hair is slightly disheveled, probably from all the running, and tucked under his arm, he holds an elegantly wrapped box.

You make your way to him and reach up to fix his hair gently as you ask.

“Did you find out anything?”

Ducking away from your fussing, Pietro nods and replies, “I overheard some of the guards were taking him to the prison.”

Wanda comes up next to you, folding her arms as she joins the conversation.

“Are you two talking about that criminal?”

She turns to you in concern.

“Y/n, you shouldn’t go near him. He’s dangerous.”

You unconsciously rub your wrist at the memory of Barnes attempting to take you away while saying those confusing comments about you.

At Wanda's expectant expression, you shrug and try to explain to her.

“I know, it’s just…something that he said keeps bothering me.”

But now there’s no way for you to question him since he’s already taken away from the manor.

Your shoulders slump with a resigned sigh, “I just wanted to see if I could get a chance to know what he meant.”

The twins exchange a surprised glance at your words — it was rare that you expressed wanting to do something for yourself.

The two of them silently signal each other with their eyes to do something to distract your mind and cheer you up.

Pietro snaps his fingers as he remembers another piece of information.

“Oh! Princess Natasha and Yelena also came by the manor just now.”

Despite your attempt to push your feelings away for Natasha, you still can’t help but perk up at the mention of her name.

“So where are they now?” Wanda asks.

Pietro winces at the question before replying sadly.

“They were turned away by Lord Dreykov.”

Wanda huffs and throws her hands up in frustration.

“That man ruins everything!”

Your mouth turns down slightly in disappointment at the news, but you decide that this was probably for the best anyway. You haven’t had enough time to sort out your feelings for the princess yet.

If you were to see her again so soon, you’re not sure whether your heart would skip or break at the sight of her.

Noticing your still sullen expression, Wanda decides to try another approach, nudging your shoulder in a teasing manner.

“You know, with everything going on, you never told me how your 'date' with the princess went this morning,” she probes gently.

Startled at the sudden topic change, you huff lightly and give her an exasperated look.

“I told you it wasn’t a date. It was just a chance for Natasha to relax for a bit. This is a very stressful time for her.”’

Wanda rolls her eyes at your denial, turning to her brother for some backup before noticing the box at his side.

“What’s that?” she points.

Pietro smirks proudly as he offers the box to you.

“I snuck it away from some of the guards. Apparently, this was another gift from Princess Carol that they didn’t give to you,” he reveals.

Smiling in surprise at the information, you take the box, your fingers lightly running over the cursive letters of your name written in the familiar handwriting of the other princess.

Wanda raises an eyebrow at your reaction curiously before her eyes narrow suspiciously in a teasing manner.

“Wait, you spent a lot of time with her at the festival. Is there something happening between you and Princess Carol?”

Wanda gasps dramatically, her hand landing on your arm and shaking it lightly.

“Is that why nothing is happening with Princess Natasha? Your heart is torn between the two royals vying for your affection!”

Rolling your eyes at her teasing and pulling away from her excited grip, you move to place the box on your desk while replying over your shoulder in an attempt to clear all the misunderstandings.

“Nothing is happening with either of them,” you state firmly.

“Carol is just a friend, and Natasha…” you trail off sadly as you remember your earlier conversation with her.

With a soft sigh, you continue sadly, “Natasha doesn’t—”

Two gasps of surprise interrupt you, prompting you to turn around quickly toward the twins.

Both of them have expressions of shock and amazement on their faces, their gazes fixated on something across your room.

Confused, you turn to the cause of their reaction, only for your eyes to also widen in surprise at the sight.

Natasha is outside your opened window, her arms casually resting on your window sill, holding her up.

“Hey,” Natasha greets you normally with a tiny wave and a small grunt of exertion as she adjusts her grip on your window sill.

“Can I come in?” she asks casually.

“Ohmy—Natasha?!”

Hurrying over, you help in pulling her through the window, the both of you stumbling and falling to the ground.

With Natasha on top, she quickly braces one hand on the floor to catch herself, while her other hand covers your head protectively.

After ensuring that the two of you landed safely, Natasha leans her head down in exhaustion against your shoulder, chuckling softly.

“That was harder than I remember," she remarks jokingly.

At her words, you pull back from her embrace and begin to check on her with a small frown.

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do that anymore,” you chastise her as your hands brush carefully across her face, examining her.

There were times in your childhood when Madam B wouldn’t let you go out to play until you finished the vast amount of studies that she assigned to you.

During those times, Natasha would sneak in through your window to spend time with you without anyone knowing.

That is, until one day she had gotten a small cut on her hand from the climb, and you had told her not to attempt it again.

“Well, Lord Dreykov wouldn’t let me in…,” Natasha catches your hand against her cheek, leaning gently into your touch.

Her eyes soften fondly as she looks at you before continuing, “…and I really needed to see you.”

You swallow nervously under her gaze — it is more intense than anything you’ve seen from her before.

You’re not sure of how to respond, her warm presence already dispelling the previous coldness in your room, distracting your mind.

An awkward cough from Pietro catches your attention, snapping you from your thoughts and reminding you of the others in the room.

Pulling your hand away slowly from under Natasha’s, you clear your throat slightly as you stand and compose yourself.

Wanda wears a sly smile as she raises her eyebrows at you, but you give her a firm look, silently signaling her to refrain from any teasing remarks before she has a chance.

Natasha stands up next to you and dusts herself before giving you a smirk.

“I thought I was the princess, so why are you the one who is locked away?” she teases gently.

You hold back your amused smile as you try to maintain your reprimanding expression, shaking your head at her.

“Natasha, you shouldn’t be here. If my father finds out…,” you begin.

Natasha frowns at the mention of him.

“Yeah, about that, why isn’t he letting you out?”

Wanda steps forward before you can reply.

“Because he’s a terrible person and he treats Y/n horri—”

“Wanda, that’s enough,” you cut her off with a meaningful stare.

Wanda presses her lips together in a pout but she listens to your words and doesn’t continue.

Natasha raises a brow and tilts her head questionably at you, her eyes glancing between you and Wanda in suspicion.

You let out a sigh and shake your head as you explain.

“He’s being temperamental and unreasonable right now…which is why I think it’s best if we get you out without him knowing,” you say while glancing at the door in thought about how to sneak the princess out.

Seeing your worried expression, Natasha takes your hand gently to get your attention, turning you back to face her.

“Hey, I don’t want to get you in trouble. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.”

Her thumb caresses the back of your hand gently as she searches your eyes before asking seriously.

“Are you okay?”

You open your mouth, hesitating as you consider how to respond.

You know that Natasha isn’t supposed to be here, with Queen Melina having already told you the details about Natasha’s busy schedule for the next couple of days.

The last thing she needs is to be worried about something as trivial as you being confined to your room.

With a deep exhale, you reassure her with a small smile.

“I’m fine, Natasha.”

Natasha examines you closely for a moment, a doubtful look in her eyes. She eventually relents reluctantly when you give her a resolute nod.

Turning towards your window with a sigh, she offers, “I can sneak back down if you want me to go.”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion, and you grab her arm to pull her back to face you before she can move, giving her an incredulous look.

“You can't be serious,” you exclaim in disbelief.

When Natasha just blinks innocently at you in confusion, you give her a deadpan expression as you state firmly.

“You are not climbing down, Natasha.”

Before she can argue, the sound of your door handle turning causes you all to snap your attention to it in panic.

Pietro swiftly blocks the door, slamming it closed with his body.

“Open up!” the guard’s voice calls out from outside.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Pietro shouts back before shrugging his shoulders and gesturing his hands at Natasha frantically.

Ignoring her small exclamation of surprise, you quickly usher Natasha into your closet, closing the door just in time as the guard shoves his way into your room.

He inspects the room critically before looking at you, standing with your back pressed against the closet door.

“I heard another voice,” he asserts, moving towards you in suspicion.

With his focus on you, Wanda silently steps up from behind him, her hands already enveloped in a red mist as she raises it next to the guard’s head.

She moves her fingers sharply, and the mist shoots towards his head, causing his eyes to glow red for a second.

The guard stops suddenly and shakes his head in confusion before looking around again.

“Never mind,” he says slowly. “It must have been from somewhere else.”

With that, he leaves the room and begins to walk away to investigate elsewhere.

Once he’s gone, Wanda falls to the ground with an exhausted exhale, and you and Pietro rush to her side quickly.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” you ask while checking her condition.

Wanda nods and raises her hand in a stopping gesture at your fussing before replying weakly.

“I’m fine. Just feeling a little tired.”

“That was amazing!” Pietro exclaims. “What did you do to him?”

“Yeah, what did you do?” Natasha comments as she steps out and looks at the three of you curiously.

The twins turn to you with wide eyes, expecting you to respond.

At Natasha’s questioning gaze, you wave your hand vaguely in the air, trying to come up with an explanation.

“Um…Wanda just has a special way with people,” you say with a slight wince at your pathetic answer.

Natasha squints at you suspiciously with a knowing expression, already aware that you’re hiding something, but she doesn’t press any further.

Wanda glances at her briefly before turning to you.

“You should take this chance to get the princess out before they come back.”

Seeing your conflicted expression as you try to examine Wanda again, Pietro rests his hand on your shoulder, stopping you, and gestures to the door with his head.

“Go, I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Pietro reassures you.

You hesitate, looking at Wanda once again, and she, in turn, gives you a reassuring nod.

With a resigned sigh, you stand and grab Natasha’s hand, pulling her along as the two of you move quietly through the manor.

After a moment of sneaking through the hallways, Natasha breaks the silence.

“About what Wanda said earlier, with your father—” Natasha starts.

“It’s nothing that you need to worry about,” you interrupt with a small reassuring smile over your shoulder before turning back around, not noticing Natasha’s frown at your words.

Deciding to change the subject before she can press further as you check around the corner, you decide to ask her something else you were curious about from the moment you saw her at your window.

“So what was the reason for this visit? I know you have that meeting today.”

Natasha rubs her neck nervously as she remembers her original purpose for coming to you.

“Um…this morning, after you left, I realized something.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, both at her words and at the sight of guards coming from around the corner toward your position.

Turning around, you quickly push Natasha into the nearby supply closet before she can continue and close the door, enclosing the two of you inside.

You hold your breath as you listen carefully until the sound of the footsteps passes by and eventually fades away before relaxing.

“I think they’re gone. We should be able to go now,” you exhale gently.

When Natasha doesn’t move or respond, you finally focus your eyes on her.

That’s when you realize the closeness between the two of you, standing in the small closet.

Moving your head slightly, your nose lightly brushes against hers as you examine your positions.

Natasha’s arm is propped next to your head, her hand pressing against the wall behind you, which is the only reason there is some distance between your bodies.

The small light coming in through the cracks lets you make out her face faintly in the dark.

Her eyes appear lost in thought and unfocused as she stares at your face, giving you that same intense look from earlier that made you lose your breath.

You feel a small exhale from her against your lips, making your heart speed up slightly.

“Natasha?” you whisper nervously against her when you feel her face begin to lean in closer.

Your voice seems to bring her out of her thoughts as she reels back in surprise.

Natasha clears her throat in response, looking away to the door.

“Y–yeah, let’s go.”

After leaving the storage closet, you and Natasha stand awkwardly in the hallway, with you trying to understand what just happened and her trying to compose herself.

With a determined breath, Natasha places her hand on your arm to turn you to her.

"Y/n, about this morning—"

Before she can finish, a figure comes rushing around the corner.

“Pietro?” you tilt your head curiously at his appearance.

He has a sheepish look on his face as he looks between the two of you awkwardly.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” He gestures back towards his previous direction. “Wanda is resting already, and she said to go help you.”

You subtly take a tiny step from Natasha at his comment, not noticing her small pout at the action as you shake your head at him in response.

“No, it’s fine. We were hiding from some guards.”

Pietro nods in understanding.

“Yeah, they’re swarming the manor.”

Natasha sighs at the interruption, crossing her arms as she asks calmly.

“Is there a way to reach an exit without running into any more patrols?”

Pietro thinks for a minute before snapping his finger with a thought.

“There’s the old staff tunnels in the library that leads out to the gardens.”

At your agreement, the three of you make your way to the library where Pietro reveals a hidden door behind a banner in the far back, concealed by the cover of bookshelves.

Right as Pietro pries the door open, the sound of the library door bursts open, and your father’s voice booms in the space.

“Whoever’s in here, don’t bother hiding. You can’t escape.”

Pushing Natasha to Pietro, you whisper to him hurriedly.

“Take Natasha and go.”

“But—” he argues.

You give him a firm look that leaves no room for arguing.

Pietro frowns, but he relents and grabs Natasha’s arm.

She promptly brushes him off and takes your hand before you can leave, pulling you back to her.

“I’m not leaving you. This was my choice. I can take the responsibility,” Natasha insists.

Gently covering her hand with your own, you give her a small squeeze in appreciation and a bittersweet smile before slowly pulling your hand from her grip.

Your other hand moves up discreetly to her shoulder, and with a hard shove, you push her into the tunnels as Pietro closes the door behind them.

“Hey—” Natasha whispers harshly in surprise at your action.

“Pietro, please get her out safely,” you tell him through the small opening on the door.

He has a displeased look on his face, but he still nods determinedly at your request.

Footsteps come closer to your position as you re-cover the door with the banner.

“Come out now, or I’ll have you dragged out,” your father’s voice threatens.

With a deep breath, you step forward from the shadows.

Dreykov rolls his eyes at the sight of you and gestures for his guards to stand down.

As if returning to his original task, he hands one guard an envelope and dismisses him with a wave and order.

“Make sure this is delivered to the handler in the Stark kingdom. Quickly.”

The guard takes the envelope with a bow and turns to leave the room.

Furrowing your brows at his words, you eye the envelope suspiciously, the object giving you a bad feeling.

However, your attention is diverted when your father turns to face you again. His hands cross behind his back as he slowly steps closer menacingly.

“I believe I told you to stay in your room,” he says, his tone low in a displeased manner.

“I just came to get some books,” you lie smoothly.

Dreykov scoffs and gestures with his hand dismissively.

“Does that servant boy of yours no longer run to fetch you things anymore?”

You frown, and your hand clenches in anger at his words. That protective instinct over the twins washes over you, and you can’t help but correct him.

“His name is Pietro, and he’s not a servant.”

Dreykov eyes you critically in annoyance before shaking his head in disapproval.

“That is why you will always be weak, viewing those orphans as anything other than what they truly are — disposable tools.”

You know you shouldn’t push your luck, but his words cause you to remember your earlier suspicion about him and the old captain, and your accusation comes out before you can stop yourself.

“Was Captain Barnes also a tool for you?”

The room grows cold immediately at the silence that follows, and in response, you wrap your arms around yourself defensively, already missing the warmth of Natasha’s protective presence.

Dreykov's eyes narrow at you, as if trying to gauge your implication.

After a tense moment, he finally speaks up in an indifferent tone, issuing a command to his guard.

“Hold her.”

Your arms are restrained as he calmly steps closer to you.

You press your lips in a thin line in preparation, already knowing what comes next after such disrespectful behavior.

His hand hits you hard enough to knock your head harshly to the side, and you feel a small amount of blood drip from the corner of your lips.

Shaking the pain away, you return to your original position defiantly — his reaction already giving you the answer to your question.

At your expression, Dreykov sneers at you before hitting you again.

This time the impact was strong enough to knock you to the ground. Without giving you time to recover, he roughly grabs your hair to pull your head back to look up at him.

You press your mouth shut to prevent yourself from crying out in pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

He presses his finger against your head in a mocking gesture.

“You would think your simple mind would learn already that I do not tolerate such disrespect in my presence.”

Letting go of your head with a dismissive throw, Dreykov turns around sharply and heads towards the door while gesturing to the guard.

“Take her back to her room and make sure she stays there this time.”

The door shuts behind Dreykov as the guard pulls you to your feet and tightens his grip on your arm.

Despite the throbbing pain on your cheeks from the impacts, you feel more relieved that Pietro was able to get Natasha away.

The guard moves to shove you back in the opposite direction towards the other exit.

However, his grip on you is suddenly removed, and you turn in surprise to see him now unconscious on the floor.

Natasha stands beside the unconscious body, breathing heavily at the figure in anger before looking up at you, a mixture of fury and concern in her eyes.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Soon after you disappear from view behind the hidden door, Pietro swiftly pulls Natasha further into the tunnels while she is still distracted in shock by your action.

Not too far along in their path, Natasha realizes what is happening and breaks away from his grip, turning around swiftly to return to your side.

However, Pietro is faster, rushing past her to block her path.

Natasha shoots him an intimidating look.

“Move, Pietro,” her voice is calm with an underlying warning tone.

“I can’t do that. Y/n told me to take you away,” Pietro responds determinedly.

“You would leave her behind like that?” Natasha exclaims.

Pietro’s expression twists down with a painful and regretful look at her words before returning her stare with a defiant expression.

“I don’t like it either, but this is what she asked me to do,” he argues.

“Even if it means you’re abandoning her,” Natasha accuses.

“I’m not abandoning her!” Pietro replies angrily. “You have no idea what Y/n has done for me and Wanda. I am doing what I can to not cause her any more trouble.”

Natasha opens her mouth to argue against letting you sacrifice yourself to take the blame for her actions when a loud echo of what distinctively sounds like a slap travels in the space, causing Natasha’s eyes to widen as she snaps her attention towards your direction, realizing what the sound implies.

Her body moves instantly towards you, but Pietro blocks her path again.

“Get out of my way,” Natasha warns dangerously, her patience thinning by the second. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she will force her way through if she has to.

“Don’t go,” Pietro pleads, fear appearing in his eyes, though it was not caused by her.

He holds her back, pressing his hands against her shoulder before releasing a shaky breath and shaking his head as he reveals the truth.

“He’ll do worse if you help her.”

Natasha freezes as she snaps her attention to him.

“What did you just say?”

Pietro’s head falls to his chest in shame.

The memory of the first time Dreykov had hurt you after his return to the manor flashes in his mind, and how his attempt at helping you and doing what he thought was the right thing only ended up causing you more harm.

It took three days for you to recover from your injuries after that.

You never blame him, of course.

You never blame anyone.

Since then, he has never been able to get the courage to help you during those times, not that you ever let him. He could only stand back and watch helplessly.

Pietro flinches at the sound of the second hit, and his hands fall back to his side in defeat as he lets the princess rush past him back into the library.

At least, with this, he can let someone with more strength than him save you.

Natasha returns to the library and sees the guard pull you up from the ground roughly, and red instantly fills her vision.

In the next moment, the guard is swiftly subdued, unconscious on the floor.

Looking back up to you, Natasha sees your surprised expression, but she is more focused on the sight of the harsh redness on your cheek and the blood at the corner of your lips.

She instantly makes her way to you and cradles your face gently, inspecting you carefully with a concerned expression.

You wince away from her touch, grabbing her hand and pulling it away slightly.

“I’m fine, Natasha,” you murmur under your breath with a small sigh.

Natasha's eyes widen in disbelief and she shakes her head vehemently.

“No, you are not fine! He hit you!”

Her eyes instantly snap angrily to the door that your father just left out of.

Recognizing her expression, you quickly pull her into a tight embrace before she can charge after him.

She’s practically shaking with anger, but she doesn’t push you away.

You tighten your hold on her, pressing your head comfortingly into her neck, trying to calm her down.

“Don’t, Natasha,” you tell her firmly against her skin.

With her coronation so close, this is not the time for her to cause a scandal by attacking a noble like Dreykov.

Rubbing her back slowly in a soothing pattern, you whisper into her ear gently.

“I’m okay.”

Eventually, Natasha lets out a deep shaky breath against your shoulder before whispering to you in defeat.

“How long?”

When you don’t answer her, Natasha closes her eyes fiercely in realization and tightens her grip around you, as if trying to wrap you protectively in her arms.

Meanwhile, your eyes glance up at a movement behind Natasha, and you spot Pietro standing a small distance away, his gaze staring at the floor sadly and his body curled into himself in guilt.

You let out a knowing sigh at the familiar sight, already figuring out what is bothering the twin.

With a resigned breath, you extract yourself from Natasha’s embrace slowly before gripping her hand and pulling her back towards the staff tunnels.

“Come on, we can all talk after we get outside,” you remark softly.

As you pass Pietro, your other hand reaches out to grab his hand, and you give him a reassuring squeeze as you pull them both along.

The three of you make your way through the staff tunnels in silence and exit out of the manor and through the garden without any more incidents.

You make your way toward the side gates of the manor near the stables.

The entire time Natasha follows you without saying anything as she tries to process and piece together the new revelations.

It’s been a year since Dreykov has returned and remained in the kingdom.

During the year, you had avoided her enough that she did not see you as often to be able to notice anything unusual.

Her eyes glance at your hands clasped in hers, and it drifts up to your wrist as she remembers something from before.

Right as you reach the edge of the stables, Natasha stops moving altogether, causing you to stop and turn to her in question.

Her gaze remains fixed on your wrist for a moment before looking up into your eyes with a sad expression.

“The injury on your wrist from before, that wasn’t from an accident in the kitchen, was it?” Natasha asks in realization.

You don’t respond, but Natasha can already tell the answer from the look on your face.

With a resigned sigh, you turn to Pietro and ask him gently.

“Can you get a horse prepared to go?”

Pietro nods wordlessly in understanding and leaves the two of you alone for some privacy.

With a deep breath, you rub a comforting pattern on the back of her hand.

“Natasha, you don’t have to worr—“

“Stop saying that I don’t have to worry about you!”

Natasha closes her eyes briefly in frustration before looking at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was happening to you?”

You withdraw your hands from hers and wrap them around yourself defensively.

“I’m handling it, Natasha,” you tell her stubbornly. “You have more important matters to deal with in the kingdom than me. Not to mention your coronation is literally in a couple of days.”

With a huff of disbelief, Natasha holds your shoulders, shaking it slightly to make you understand.

“You are the most important thing that I care about right now.”

Natasha’s face shifts into an expression of pain.

“What kind of ruler can I be if I couldn’t even protect the person that I love?”

Your eyes widen slightly at the word, but you quickly brush away the feeling, remembering how emotional Natasha must be feeling at the moment.

Her instinctive protectiveness of her friends must have made that word slip out as meaning the friendly kind of love.

You place your hand atop hers and squeeze it comfortingly.

“You don’t need to do anything. I do have a plan to get away from him. It’s just taking some time,” you explain.

“Then come stay at the castle for the time being,” Natasha reasons. "He can't hurt you there."

“Natasha, I don’t think—”

“Please," Natasha brings your hands to her chest, giving you a pleading look as she rests her forehead against yours.

"Let me at least offer you that.”

You hesitate, but before you can respond, Pietro returns with two saddled horses in tow, causing you to give him a confused look.

“What's this?” you ask him, gesturing to the second horse.

Pietro gives you a small smile as he hands you the reins.

“You said you wanted a chance to get some answers. I think this is a good opportunity for you to go get it.”

You realize he is referring to earlier when you expressed your desire to get more answers from Captain Barnes.

"This is not really a good time," you remark.

Pietro nods in a gesture to Natasha.

“I’m sure the princess can get you access,” he states confidently.

"I'll go with you," Natasha agrees, not ready to leave you yet and determined to continue the previous conversation with you.

You glance at Natasha briefly, already guessing the reason for her quick agreement despite not knowing the complete situation, before giving Pietro an unsure look, but he rests his hand on your shoulder comfortingly.

“Wanda and I can cover for you until you return,” he insists.

Seeing his resolute resolve, you pull him into a hug, remembering how he was like in the library moments ago with that guilty expression that you recognize from before.

“You did good, Pietro. You always have,” you remind him.

He tightens the hug appreciatively in a silent response.

When you finally pull away, you ruffle his hair playfully, causing him to fix it back with a pout as you laugh lightly.

“I'll be back soon. Check on Wanda and keep each other safe until then, okay?”

He gives you his usual playful smirk as his finger taps the tip of your nose teasingly.

“Always.”

After he secures you onto your horse, he points to Natasha with a serious expression.

“You better take care of her,” he tells her in warning.

“Pietro!” you chastise his blunt tone with the princess.

Still, Natasha nods firmly in understanding before glancing at you.

“I will,” she promises.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you for reading! This was a hard chapter to condense, but I think this was the best that I could do.

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin, @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless, @mrsrushman, @fxckmiup, @natty-taffy, @2silverchain, @traveler-at-heart, @autorasexy, @natsxwife

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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snapthistiger · 21 days ago

Text

exercise 10172024

bike ride to the gym

8 x 10 incline sit ups

3 x 10 pec machine

3 x 10 lat raise

3 x 10 low row

45 minute spin class

3 x 10 cable row

3 x 10 cable press

bike ride home

the gym workers received Hershey kisses

stayed at my Mom's last night. my Mom slept all night.

top = work gave me a lifeguard hoodie for being there 6 months. i'm enjoying the work and my bosses are pleased with my work so everything seems good.

bottom = great group for spin class. we exercised with weights as well as the bike

i'm meeting with a financial advisor tomorrow morning. they were supposed to send a plan for review on Tuesday of this week and i received the plan today, Thursday. i reviewed their proposed plan and i'm not comfortable following the suggestions or letting them have that much say in my investments so will probably continue on my own.

hope you have a peaceful afternoon and evening..

#exercise #fitblr #rfm

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vibratingskull · 2 months ago

Text

Your name spells l.o.v.e.

Part1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34

Tags : Reader is disabled, fluff, self-doubts, ptsd, cuddling, hurt-comfort, ice-skating, heavy make out session

Your day started rather well but derails quickly. But Thrawn is never too far away to help

FemaleReader x Thrawn

You let the water roll on your body, eyes closed, appreciating the warmth wrapping around your body. Fortunately, your legs are waterproof, it would be such a pain either way. The vapors rise in the glass cabin, blurring your vision. You sigh in delight, letting your stress melt under the water. You’re mentally reviewing what you will cook for this morning.

What would Thrawn like? You really should take note of his favorite dishes to cook them regularly, “Cooking is a good way to keep your man happy” your mom told you before when you helped her in the kitchen.

You don’t know enough recipes, you should buy a new cookbook and practice. You shouldn't start worrying about acquiring new skills when you have a baby in your arms.". Also, you should be able to cook at the level of the dish served to him on the Chimaera! What would it say about you if you cannot even do that?

You purse your lips, you also have the dishes and the laundry to take care of…

Once your shower is done you wrap yourself in Thrawn’s robe, inhaling his scent deep inside your lungs. What a pleasure. You brush your face in the fluffy fabric with another sigh. You open the basket to find it empty.

Where are all the clothes?

You enter the kitchen where you discover Thrawn savoring a cup of caff while reading his datapad. He raises his head at your approach.

“Cha’cah.” He greets you with a thin smile.

You stop, getting submerged by the obscene memories of yesterday morning again and your heart starts sprinting immediately. You feel your cheeks flush, remembering how you served him and how he touched you sent you into a flustered panic.

He tilts his head, amused.

“Are you not going to greet me properly, my love?”

He extends his hand to you, and you take it after an hesitation, pulling you into a hug and he captures your lips immediately. He came back to his usual self, showering you with affection, kissing your face, hugging you… But this time he doesn’t shy away from kissing your lips properly, licking them with his tongue and embracing them.

It makes you melt and you feel like a teen experiencing her first relationship, all shy and giddy. You're glad his affection returned as before, he hugs and nudges you as he used to. These two days giving you the cold shoulder was killing you, and you are so relieved to be in his arms once again.

He invites you to open your mouth and dances with your tongue delicately and you moan against his lips,earning a faint purr. He squeezes you against his large form, making you feel small, but protected.

He then parts from you to let you breathe, looking unbothered but satisfied of his effect on you.

“Did you sleep well, Cheo vir?”

No.

No you didn’t.

Satlove’s head and voice is omnipresent in each of your dreams, haunting you. Sometimes you feel him behind your back when you’re awake, ready to jump on you and finish the job for good this time. You woke up at night, nerves on fire, goosebump all over your skin, refraining a scream to not wake up Thrawn and the neighbors. You hug the cover, nails digged into the fabric, out of breath with a headache. Your nights are either sleepless or full of nightmares since that fateful day.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Agitated but well.” You respond, circling his neck with your arms.

You press your foreheads together and he cradles you gently. You look at his close face, with his eyes closed, his purr resonating at your ears.

He is so handsome and regal…And so nice to you… So tender…

Sometimes you look at him and want to burst into tears in joy, to have this man be your partner is a blessing of the Maker, even if you don’t believe in it.

“Do you know where all the dirty clothes are? The basket was empty.” You ask, squirming closer in his arms.

“I took care of it.”

What?

You lean your head over his shoulder and see the dishes are also done.

“Oh… Thank you.” You say, a bit lost.

It's the first time one of your partners has participated in the chores.

That’s not... normal?

“Fill yourself a cup and join me on the sofa.” Thrawn says gently, kissing your cheek.

You take your favorite cup, a silly green ceramic mug with a produting tooka’s snoot and ears with the handle mimicking the tail and pour yourself a generous amount of caff before coming to sit on the couch. Thrawn circles your shoulders and presses your body against his.

“Speak to me, Cha’cah.” He just says.

“About what?” You ask, chuckling, “What do you want to know?”

“About your nightmares.”

Your sip takes the wrong way and you cough. Thrawn observes you, serious as always but you can see compassion in his shining rubies.

“What?!” You ask with a white voice.

“I know your dreams are plagued.” He squeezes your shoulders, “I spent all of our nights together cradling you while you cry in your sleep. I know you suffer terribly, as it is natural in your situation, and I want you to share your pain with me.”

He…

Oh great, you who thought you could push it under the rug.

“It’s nothing, really.” You try to cut the conversation short.

“I daresay it is not. Your trauma is important, and the sequelae are dire. You lost weight and your sleep, and I cannot simply stand by and watch you destroy yourself without you at least sharing the load.”

You bite your lips, trapped.

You didn’t tell him about your weight loss and took care not to dress before him, so when…?

You suddenly want to slap yourself. When you took off your shirt when he had his rut crisis… What an idiot! You were so distressed by Thrawn state you forgot he could see in the barely lighted bedroom.

Maker, what a dumbass you are!

And now he has you stuck between his arms!

Your mind spins at 100 miles per hour, trying to find an escape.

“Speak to me, my love.” He insists.

“I…”

You gulp, suddenly feeling an immense pressure on your body. Your eyes avert his and you feel yourself starting to tremble, so much you have to put down your cup.

“I…” You try to start, but your voice immediately crashes down.

You fidget your fingers, digging your nails in the fabric of the robe. You open your mouth only for a strangled yelp to come out. You feel your stomach turning acidic and your breath escapes you.

You hear Satlove's laugh resonating in your brain…

“I…” You choke.

You feel your ribcage retracting on itself, strangling your heart ready to explode.

“It is alright, Cha’cah.” Thrawn takes your hand to kiss your knuckles, “Do not force yourself.”

You look at him without understanding.

“But you…”

“It is evidently a wound too fresh for you. I should not have pressured you into talking. I am sorry, Cha’cah.”

He kisses your forehead again in a soothing manner.

“I simply wished for you to know you could confide in me anything, even your pain. It was distasteful of me and I did not expect it to send you into a panic.”

“It is… still hard for me.” You concede with a little voice.

Your heart is still speeding inside of your chest and you wipe your sweaty palm on the robe, but you’re relieved you will not have to talk today.

You avoid that subject like the plague.

“As long as you work with your psychiatrist, I am relieved.” He continues, caressing the back of your neck.

“I don’t have one.”

He parts with you suddenly, with a mixture of shock, surprise and indignation on his haughty face. It disappears in a split second returning to a deadly serious expression.

“You do not see a psychiatrist right now?”

“No?” You stutter, “I saw one for three sessions back at the hospital but that’s it. I don’t have time for that.”

“Are you aware we have specialists aboard the ISDs?” He asks incredibly gravely.

“We do?” You’re flabbergasted.

You didn’t know that!

He immediately takes his comlink, standing up from the sofa.

“I am booking you an appointment.” He declares.

“No Thrawn, it’s good. I assure you, it’s fine” You temper, trying to calm his ardour.

He gives you a side glance, clearly unconvinced.

“Permit me to doubt it. Your reaction was truly revealing.”

You greet your teeth. You don’t want to speak about it!

Ever!

It is too painful.

“Thrawn, please…”

“Therapy is an efficient way to heal, Cha’cah. They are specialized in war traumas, they can help you.” He gently insists.

“THRAWN, NO!”

He turns to you, silent and eyes sharp and inquisitive. You realize you were the one who shouted.

“I…”

He tilts his head, awaiting your explanation of your sudden outburst. You hug yourself, still trembling, mouth open, trying to push words out of your mouth.

You suddenly turn away and run to the bedroom.

Thrawn calmly follows to find you curled over the toilet seat in your bathroom, vomiting your entrails. You feel his large and warm hand on your back, caressing it gently and soothingly. You try to ask him to get out, but another wave of sickness silences you, shaking your whole body.

“Please…” You beg.

“Breath, Cha’cah.” He advises softly.

With one knee on the ground, he places himself at your side, delicately taking your hair out of your face as you keep puking.

You gag over the toilet seat, but the sickness subsides slowly. You finally fall on your ankles, panting, flushing the toilet.

Thrawn applies a wet washcloth on your forehead, his arm circling your shoulders.

“Relax, Ch’acah. Breath through your nose.”

“I am sorry…”

“What for?” He tilts his head.

“For shouting at you, and… that charming sight and smell…”

“I have witnessed worse. I can stomach a sickness.” He comforts you.

You gulp, laying your head on his shoulder, your strength slowly coming back through your limbs.

“May I ask why you refuse to see a therapist?” He murmurs.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and sigh.

“I do not want to confront those memories…”

“Why?”

“Because… They are so painful. I want to bury them, forget them…”

“You will never forget those memories.” He responds, “But you can advance past them, grow and heal.” He pushes a strand of hair out of your face, “But you will need to confront them.”

You shake your head, yelping.

“You can try to push them down and forget them, but those memories will only devour you alive, poison your personality and reshape you in their image. They will make you suffer everyday, deeper and deeper until irrevocably and drastically changing you as a person, for the worse.”

“I… I can’t…” Your voice breaks.

“I know it is hard, Cha’cah.” He presses you tighter, sitting with you in your little bathroom on the cold floor, “Facing yourself and your traumas is uncomfortable and terrifying. But you have to face your deepest fears to mend.”

His hand comes caressing your hair as you shake.

“Please, promise me you will think about it.” He asks seriously.

Is it… Worry that you hear underlying his assured voice?

“Aren't there any other ways?” You plead.

“There is not, I am afraid. This is our fate as warriors.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck and let silent tears roll on your cheeks. He hugs you tight in response, caressing your hair and back. He remained still for as long as you needed him, for as long as you cried.

You finally calm down and unfasten your arms around his neck to wipe out the last tear off.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes, I think…”

“Good. Brush your teeth, I will cook you something.” He says.

You part with him with a shocked and worried expression.

“You will… cook?”

“Is there a problem?”

This is your domain, your duty. You permitted him to try and play with it for a bit, but it is time order comes back in this household.

“Thrawn, we both know your strengths aren’t in the kitchen.”

“You are in no state to manipulate knives, let me help.”

“Thrawn, with all due respect: No.”

He purses his lips for a split second.

“How can I help?”

You giggle in his arms, touched by his pouty face and will to help.

“Thank you, love.” You nudge against his large, tall and warm body, like a tooka in its basket.

“You still need to eat, will you help and advise me in this case?”

“Alright…” You accept with a tired sigh, “Either way you will poison me.”

“I humbly admit, cooking is not part of my skills.”

“Of course, it is my job to take care of that.” You assure.

He frowns for a split second but doesn’t respond.

He helps you stand up on your wobbly legs and exit the bathroom while you brush your teeth.

When you go back to the living room, Thrawn is sharpening the blades adroitly, his tall stature turned back from you. You approach silently and circle his hips with your arms.

“I am sorry I shouted…” you insist.

“There is no problem, cheo Cha’cah, I should not have cornered you.”

Your cheek pressed against his back, you let his warmth spread in your own skin. You sigh again, feeling more at peace with his presence.

“... Did you go to therapy?” you finally ask.

“No.”

“Oh…” you let out.

“But I had someone precious to me to listen to my doubts and uncertainties.” He continues in a softer tone.

“Your brother?”

He doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t have to.

“I am sorry, Thrawn…” You press him tighter.

One of his hands comes caressing your arm in front of him.

“There is no problem.” He repeats, ever so slightly tenser, “What recipe do you want?”

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

“I never did that!” You scream, unbalanced, threatening to fall face first.

“Stop agitating yourself. Focus on grounding your feet.” Thrawn slides closer to take your hands and help you.

“Do not let me go!” You order, panicked.

“It is simple. Trust your balance.”

“In case you didn’t notice already, I have no balance on these!”

You never ice skated, ever. You tremble on your thin blade on the ice, ready to fall at any moment. Thrawn is confident and graceful, assured on his feet he skates with ease and facility.

Contrary to you.

You are absolutely pitiful.

Thrawn pulls you with him, slowly, as you dig your nails in the sleeves of his coat, desperate to not escape his grasp.

“How do you do that!?”

“I have skated since I was very young.” He explains, slightly amused by your stressful predicament, “It is second nature.”

“Well not for me, so do.not.let.me.go!” You insist.

“It is like me learning to cook,” He smiles thinly. “You need a mentor willing to let you go.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

But he lets go of one of your arms, letting you agitate it in every direction to keep your balance.

“Aaaaah…. No, no, no… Why did you let go?” You squeal.

“For you to gain assurance.”

As you pathetically try to not fall on your butt and actually skate on the ice, you see all the families all around you, old and young, skating with more or less experience. Some kids were so much more comfortable than you, some even spinning and jumping in the air to land with practiced ease on the ice.

You cower against Thrawn, holding on to him. He receives you in his arms with a soft chuckle.

“How do you intend to progress if you do not let go?” He inquires.

“Do I really need to be able to let go for my first try? We could always come back!” You say panicked.

“Indeed we could. But gliding with confidence on the ice is such a delightful sensation, I want you to experience it.” He pushes you forward, letting you go completely.

“No! How dare you! THRAWN!” You scream horrified as you glide on the ice all by yourself.

You can hear the experienced children laugh at you behind their hands, but you do not care. Your only worry is TO NOT FALL.

By sheer desperation you push on your feet, skating farther and farther all by yourself. You keep going with the low wall as a finish line in your eyes.

You crash against it, cutting your breath.

Finally!Some support!

You spin on yourself, holding the rail, ready to scream at Thrawn, absolutely scandalized.

He arrives at your side smoothly, clearly amused behind his stern and respectful expression.

“How was it?” He inquires, relaxed.

He clearly appears more at home on the ice than anywhere else you saw him. It’s true his homeworld is frozen, it must remind him of the past.

“Terrible! It was terrible! How do you do that?!”

“I learned when I was two.” He explains like it is obvious.

“How?!”

“Temperatures used to drop so low that the only way for pedestrians to travel anywhere was ice skating. As soon as I could stand on my feet my parents put ice skates on them, I learned with…”

The gleam of amusement dies down, and his expression hardens subtly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“With?” You ask, encouraging him.

“It is not important. I mastered this skill early with my family. And now I can teach you.” The tone is just a tad colder and distant.

You look at his face, gauging him as he awaits your response.

“You were clearly speaking about someone precisely.” You try, “Who was it?”

“It is nothing important.”

“Is it? You have the same face you had when you told me about your brother, back in that cavern.”

He tenses up ever so slightly.

Oh…

“Thrawn, I did not meant-”

“I know you did not.” He cuts you short, “Maybe you wish to learn by yourself. I will give you some space for you to evolve on your own terms.”

“Thrawn!” You try to hold him back.

But he skates away from you with ease and elegance. You look at him going away, helpless.

Blast! You just needed to keep your mouth shut, and now look at you…

You sigh.

‘Congratulations, you idiot!’

You look at him, slaloming between people swiftly. Away from you…

You grumble and, very hesitantly, resume your skating, holding on to the rail for dear life. You laboriously manage to go forward, with the occasional loss of balance from time to time. You greet your teeth and keep going forward, really slowly, but that is still a win for you.

You’re never going to reach him back at that speed. He will easily complete several laps while you pathetically look down on your feet to not fall.

When you raise back your head to assert his position on the ice, you see him kneeling on the ice next to a kid.

The child seems to be crying.

Did they fall? Are they hurt? You accelerate the best you can to reach them.

You see Thrawn helping the little ones back on their feet, they’re visibly shaken and terrified.

You take a deep breath and push on the wall to propulse you in their direction.

You reach them with more or less gracefulness, but join them nonetheless.

“What-WOAH!” You yelp, slamming into Thrawn that catches you before you run over the poor kid, “What happened?”

“She fell in front of me.” He simply explains, holding the little alien girl by her hand.

The little girl is crying, cheek soiled with tears, holding on to his larger hand.

“Oh no, poor little one.” You admit, “Are you wounded?”

“No… I-I don’t think so…” She sobs. “But it hurted when I fell.”

“Where?” Thrawn asks

“On my knee.” She sniffs.

He kneels in front of her and gently manipulates her articulation.

“Does it hurt when I bend it?”

“A little…”

“You have not been scratched, I do not see any blood on your pants. It is a simple bruise, you will be fine.” He raises his gaze to hers with a soft voice.

“I don’t know how to skate.” She explains.

“You’re not the only one. I am a beginner too.” you say.

She looks at you with round eyes.

“But you’re an adult.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. It is my first time skating and I am bad at it too.”

“Judging from both of your performances, my fiance is worse than you.” Thrawn reveals.

“Hey!” You protest, slapping his shoulder.

“You’re engaged?” She asks with stars in her eyes, the pain of the fall already forgotten.

Thrawn looks up to you, meeting your gaze. You do not know how to respond.

It’s the second time Thrawn called you his fiance, and you both imagined your life together, but…

“No, we are not.” Thrawn cuts your doubt, “But we are together.”

“Like a couple?” She insists.

“Indeed.”

She gasps, eyes full of stars but suddenly, her expression darkens.

“Mom and dad aren’t a couple anymore. They got a… a…” She searches

“A divorce?” You propose.

She nods, sadly.

“I am sorry.” You sympathize.

“Where is the parent looking over you?” Thrawn asks.

“Not here. Dad left me here cause he has a meeting.” She grumbles.

Thrawn looks back at you and you shrug.

“Do you wish for me to teach you how to ice-skate?” Thrawn proposes gently, swapping the subject matter to something less painful for the kid.

“You would?”

“Yes.” He stands back on his blades, “(Y/n), take her other hand.”

“Are you sure? I am still unsure of my own balance.” you argue.

“Everything is going to be fine. You only need practice.”

You clumsily walk to her side and take her little hand.

And off you go.

You advance hand in hand, at a low speed among the rest of the skaters. It is easier for you to skate while holding someone else, even if you still have some mishaps.

“See? Even adults can have difficulties, what matters is working to better oneself.” Thrawn stoically points your errors to the little girl.

She burst out laughing.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! No mocking!” You bite back, “At least I didn’t fall on my butt, miss.”

She grins, amused, getting more and more confident on her skates.

You keep making laps slowly, cradled by the sliding sensation over the ice.

Thrawn was right! It is pleasant!

Soon enough, she lets you go, gaining speed, skating away. Thrawn closes the gap between you, a hand coming against your lower back to ground you.

“There she goes.” He says mysteriously.

You risk a glance to his face. He is observing her sliding away with a stern expression, but his gaze is incredibly soft.

You smile.

“Thanks to you.”

He shakes his head.

“She simply discovered it for herself.”

Is he always blind to the impact he has on others lives, you wonder? Does he not see the good he releases on the world by simply being… himself?

You seize his hand and squeeze it.

“No, it is thanks to you, Thrawn.”

You keep skating hand in hand again, this time he doesn’t let you go. He holds you firmly, but also gently.

“Byyyyyyyyyyyye!” You hear a shout.

You both turn your head to the little girl, smiling and holding her father’s hand, waving at you.

You smile and wave back at the two.

You flow on the ice with Thrawn’s aid, less terrified now.

“You are progressing.” Thrawn praises you sternly.

But the soft pride in his voice is unmistakable.

“That is not a reason to let go!” You immediately add.

And he doesn’t. Instead he holds you close to him, skating side by side until you are trembling, frozen.

“Let’s go home.” Thrawn invites.

You go back to your little apartment, hand in hand. His hand is large and warm compared to yours, just like the rest of his gigantic body.

Not to your distaste.

You bury your nose in your scarf and silently observe people's reactions to Thrawn. Men look envious of his stature and charisma, raising their heads to see him towering over them. And women giggle like young girls on his path, turning back to see him walk away.

At your arm.

Hidden behind your scarf you smile blissfully, measuring your chance to be with him. As a power move over all of them you stop him and raise on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He looks at you a bit puzzled by your sudden affection but does not reject you.

This beautiful gentleman is yours only!

He gently seizes your chin to incline your head and capture your lips in the middle of the street. You hear a gasp in the crowd as your lips meet immodestly at the view of everyone.

You puff in the kiss, taken by surprise by his response.

He leaves you breathless and panting while looking perfectly undisturbed, making you flush profusely. His thumb caresses your lower lips tenderly as he straightens his back.

“Did you lose your words?” He asks with his typical dry humor.

You feel your cheeks heating up so much at his carmine gaze devouring you like that.

“I did not expect you to kiss me in the middle of the street in front of everyone…” You explain, flustered.

“Why not?” He tilts his head, “You appeared to be craving some affection.”

“I just thought you would be more secretive in front of others.” You confuse yourself in your reasoning, melting under his burning gaze.

He lightly chuckles.

��Why would I? I am not ashamed to be at your arm and even less to show you are mine. I thought you would appreciate me kissing you?”

You hide your face in your scarf to hide from such inquisitive eyes, your legs feeling like absolute jello. The glowing heat signals of your face are all the confirmation he needs.

“Come, Ch’acah.” He invites, squeezing your hand and guiding you to your apartment.

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

You sigh of relief inside your cocoon, home sweet home. You stretch to make your spine ‘pop’ with great satisfaction.

“I love being home!” You sigh.

“It is quite pleasant indeed.” Thrawn approves while taking off his long trench coat.

“My feet are all sturdy frozen!” You chuckle, “I should have wear thicker socks.” You point at your ridiculous pink flowery socks with a big smile.

You kept the habit of putting on socks and shoes to not see your mechanical legs.

To hide them from your sight and forget, at least for a moment...

“Is it uncomfortable?” Thrawn ask.

“The articulations are frozen, it’s just hard to keep my balance and walk properly.”

“Sit down on the sofa.” He orders gently, heading to the kitchen part of the room.

You let yourself fall on your sofa with a laughing ‘oof’, sprawling on the comfy furniture like a starfish. You observe your red ceiling, hypnotized by the burgundy color.

“The white ceiling was truly ugly.” You declare, “We did well to paint it all.”

“You painted it all by yourself.” Thrawn retorts from the kitchen as you hear him rummaging through stuff.

“You did the whole bedroom.”

Thrawn reappears in his signature black tank top, a clothe and a basin of hot water and kneels before you. You look at him, tilting your head as he seizes your feet to take off your socks and gently lays them in the fuming water, letting the frost disolve. He gently 'massages’ the metal of your feet, bending your toes gently to test the damage of the frost.

“No need to take care of it, I can do it myself.” You chuckle uncomfortable, not used to be served like that.

“Shhhhh. Let me help.” He shuts you down.

You fix his kneeling form, working on your articulations like he did it all his life.

“Do you need a massage in return?” You ask.

“I do not freeze as easily as humans.”Thrawn shakes his head as he looks up to you. “My organism is tailor made for cold climates.”

You nod. You try to settle down the uneasy feeling in your guts, trying to just enjoy the moment but you can feel your mother's disdain darting on you.

Why is Thrawn serving you right now and not you?

You sigh. In some way it was easier to be with Nather, with his army of droids you only had to be a pretty candy in his arms and play the trophy girlfriend, you have a harder time guessing what Thrawn wants in his life.

As that thought cross your mind you feel a wave of sickness rising in your throat, threatening to submerge you. You press your hand on your mouth to prevent the bile from passing your lips.

How can you even think that?!

“Is everything alright?” Thrawn asks, always careful of your health signals and mood swings.

You nod with a pitiful smile, putting your hand away, trembling slightly with a cold sweat.

Careful not to repeat this morning error, Thrawn doesn’t insist but you can feel his gaze on you at all time, monitoring your weakness at every moment of the day.

He keeps rolling your articulations in hot water to test your legs flexibility. You let your gaze travel your cozy little living room, you locate Benedict with her red leaf, going strong and growing with shiny new baby leaves and little white flowers, the numerous art pieces projected holograms all around the room for Thrawn, the old TV screen, and the little coffee table with the poufs.

“We should buy real paintings.” You say to yourself.

“Where would we put them?” Thrawn asks, focused on the massage.

“I don’t know. We can buy little rectangular ones, they slip anywhere! It would be better than holograms.”

He silently nods.

“Would it please you? To have some real art in the apartment?”

“Why not your own pictures?” He demands raising back his gaze to meet yours, “You snap some really good pictures with your imagers.”

“This old thing? No, not really. They’re just silly images I took in the heat of the action...” You giggle a little embarassed to be complimented on your hobby.

“They are some really good ones, we could frame them.” He insists.

You wince, pursing your lips and squirming on the couch.

“We’ll see about that.”

He takes your feet out the water to rub some grease on them and dry the metal with the clothe before putting back your socks on.

“Here. It should feel better.”

You bend your ankle and toes, testing their flexibility and indeed they now flex properly. Thrawn clears the basin water as you stretch again, fighting a yawn. Getting cared for like that made you sleepy.

An idea crosses your mind.

“What do you think of a holo night?” You ask across the entire apartment.

“As you wish.” He responds, “We should eat first.”

You tut.

“Taratata, you silly man! When it is holodrama night you snack in front of the TV!” You correct him with glee.

His nostril flares.

“Snack?” He inquires

“I’ll make you healthy snacks.” You temper.

“I’ll help you.” He goes to open the drawer with cutlery but you seize his shoulder and push him out the kitchen.

“No, no, no! You did the service on my legs, I cook!” You order him. “Shoo, mister!”

Once you’re alone in the kitchen space, you take out the cutting board and your kitchen knife.

You open the fridge and takes out vegtables like tomatoes, Balka greens, green onions, carots and Kebroot. You slice them down or cut them in dice, placing them in little bowls to make an entire platter.

Thrawn leans against the wall, looking at you cooking with his arms crossed on his chest. You turn your head to him and smile, simply happy by that simple life and domesticity.

He gently smiles back.

“If you only wanted to cut vegetables you could have let me help.” He argues.

His cutting game is immaculate but he is a real terror in the kitchen, so you’ll keep him away as much as possible.

You open the cupboards an take the mustard and olive oil. You mix in some thyme and add June-lime juice and a dash of pepper and salt with garlic powder, you pour drops of vinegar and add the grean onion and red pearls of Borfa and mix it well and thorougly.

You wipe your hands on your apron and breath deep, preparing yourself for what is to come.

Under Thrawn curious gaze you walk up to another cupboard and push all the tins and jars to take a box in the back. You brought it to the counter, feeling your hands starting to tremble.

You brace yourself and open the lid to reveal a piece of meat you hide from him.

“Where does that come from?” Thrawn immediately asks, “We stopped buying meat.”

You turn to him with a smile you hope is reassuring.

“A little surprise for you.” You say casually, hiding your tremors “It’s a family recipe I wanted you to try!”

You take out the meat to put it on the bowl full of marinade and the simple contact with the flesh sends shivers down your spine.

Let’s not even talk about the odor.

You gulp and smear the sauce over the whole chunk, feeling sickness boiling in your stomach.

You remember your torturer’s fingers gripping your soft flesh, manhandling your body...

“Ch’acah?” Thrawn calls.

But you start humming a nice tune, as much to shut him out and push down every sick feelings arising. Once the meat is well coated you take it off the bowl and on the cupboard.

You wipe your knife clean and get a hold of the meat with your hand, placing your blade over it ready to cut.

That’s when you see how your hands are trembling, you see the knife shaking terribly in your grip. You take a deep breath to calm down, to no avail.

A blue hand comes caressing your arm to gently seize your hand holding the knife as you feel Thrawn’s body pressed against your back.

“Enough Ch’acah.” He says, his gentle voice inviting no rebellion, “You are hurting yourself.” His fingers slide into yours to delicately take the knife out of your hand.

And you feel your body falling, like the thread holding you in one piece just snapped.

Thrawn catches and embraces your shaking body, pressing you tight against him, kissing the top of your head.

“It is alright. No need to force yourself (Y/n).”

“But I want you to try it...” You whisper out of breath, “That is my jo...”

You gasp repeatedly, trying to breathe the best you could.

“Do not inflict that on yourself, my love. There is no need. You are too sensitive yet.”

“It’s a fa-family recipe...” You pathetically repeat like it would explain everything, “I want you to tas-”

“Shhhhhhhh.” He craddles you, the knife laying on the counter where it cannot wound anyone.

“I am pathetic...” You let out, disgusted by your own weakness.

“No, you are not. You are suffering.” His thumb comes caressing your cheekbone as you slowly calm down. “You are home, safe. With me.”

You sniff unelegantly, burying your head in the crook of his neck to ground yourself in reality with his warm presence and scent. He squeezes you tight, pulling you away from the meat.

You hug him back, squeezing him tight. You feel the spasms of your body against his solid and still one.

“I will throw it.” He decides.

“No!” You burst into panic before calming down “No... It cost me a little fortune. I really want you to try that recipe, it comes from my homeworld...”

He looks at you suspicious.

“You cannot finish that dish.”

“Let’s wait a bit, I’ll get used to it...” You try.

“You are not touching that meat again.” He asserts, “If you really want me to taste it I will finish it.”

Argh! Everything goes downhill here!

You go to protest but his glare lets you know that your only options are him finishing that dish or him throwing away the meat alltogether.

You sigh, defeated.

“Alright...”

You pour some essential oil on a tissue and press it against your nose to cover the meat scent, sitting at the kitchen table as Thrawn cuts the meat in long cuts, dripping some honey and putting it in a pan to braise.

You inhale the essential oil, the trembling subsiding, overseeing Thrawn’s cooking. Everything goes rather well for once, he manages to cook both sides of each pieces pretty well all thing considered.

Until he lets one side burn.

“I am sorry.” He present you his excuses.

“It’s me.” You sigh, “I should had kept an eye on you, it was going pretty well and I let my guard down...”

“It is still edible.” He tells, “Nothing cutting cannot save.”

He cuts the burned size to expose the inner flesh and dive them back in the marinade and finish by cutting the meat in little dices.

You brought the plateau of vegetables with some cheese to the coffee table while he takes he meat, hidden under a clothe for your comfort.

“What do you want to watch?”

“I have no opinion.” He shrugs, “Anything you desire.”

You shoot him a mischevious smirk.

“Even a sappy, melodramatic romantic comedy?”

“If you wish to watch one.”

“Because I have an entire collection of those! If you don’t stop me I’ll force you to watch them all with me!” You threaten sadistically.

He remains unbothered.

“I am open to anything. Cinema is an art I am not well accostumed to.”

“Your call!” You snicker maniacally.

You roam around your collection of romantic dramas until you find your Graal.

The ultimate romantic comedy among romantic comedies!

The red roses of bridge Nine!

You throw yourself on the couch and Thrawn’s embrace as you lauch the drama.

Nyark nyark! That’s going to be fun!

This is the sappiest, most sugary dripping, tooth cavity giving drama you have, you cannot wait to see Thrawn exasprerated face at that disaster of a movie!

You snuggle agaisnt him with a deviant smile.

The movie is as tooth roting as you remembered, with cheezy acting and dubious quality sets and costumes. The perfect recipe for a good laugh if you watch it ironically or get on your nerves if you take it at faith value.

Thrawn remains stern, undisturbed by all the nonsense thrown at him.

Crap! Is anything able to reach this Chiss?

Laying arms in arms, his gaze travels from the screen to you.

“You seem disapointed. I thought you enjoyed this drama?”

You pout.

“My plan failed...” You complain.

One small loopsided grin spreads on his lips.

The incident in the kitchen is long gone in your mind as you laugh your ass off at the holo, snuggling in Thrawn’s hug.

He tries one piece of the meat under your watch, anxious to know if it would be to his taste.

“It is savory and sweet.” He sentences.

“Do you like it?”

“Indeed. It as a really pleasant taste and texture.”

You smile satisfied, resting your head on his arm.

The holo continues until you reach a scene you completely forgot about.

It’s when you feel Thrawn tensing up against your body that you realize subjecting a man in a rut to a sex scene, as vanilla it might be, is borderline torture!

“I am sorry Thrawn!” You launch yourself on the remote to cut the drama but Thrawn arms holds you tighter against himself.

“It is well. No need to panic.”

But you feel his powerful muscles rolling under his warm blue skin, contracting at the action on screen. His breath deepening like he was trying to contain himself.

You wince, feeling guilty.

You suddenly feel his lips grazing your neck and shoulder like delicate butterfly wings, peppering sweet kisses on your thin skin. His arms snakes their way around your form to prevent you from moving away.

From escaping him...

He buries his head in the crook of our neck to deeply inhale your musk. You feel him shuddering in agaisnt your back, one of his hand sliding under your shirt to caress your tummy.

He makes you roll suddenly to get on top of you, trapping you under his weight and captures your lips. You gasp, tacken by surprise.

This kiss is so demanding! So pressing!

You have difficulties meeting his eagerness as he licks and bites your lips and tongue, pushing his own down your mouth to hug and dance tenderly. You cannot help but moan in the kiss, circling his neck with your arms and his waist with your mechanical legs. He waves his entire body agaisnt yours, seemingly desesperate for any frictions.

You let one of your hand travel south, caressing its way along his perfect body to take him and relieve him with some caress but one of his own hand immobilize it on the couch, clasping them and entertwining your fingers together.

He kisses you urgently, groaning his desire in unison with the fake moans coming from the TV. You can feel his body temperature skyrocketing, getting sweatier as the rut takes the reins of his reason. Trapped under him you cannot do anything but take it.

Like you wanted anything else more than that!

You mewl and welcome him, more in tune with his craving now, spreading your legs open to welcome him. As you desesperatly try to breath in the kiss you hear his growl rising in the little room, getting steamier and steamier by the seconds...

His other hand caress your back under your shirt, letting his warm skin discovering yours. His hand stops over the back of your bra and gently tugs on it, not to open it but rather to evaluate the true strenght he would need to tear it apart if need be...

He presses down his clothed groin against yours and brushes them together. You mewl again for Thrawn, feeling the fire spreading through your veins and your core demanding attention.

When you thought it will finally happen he suddenly pulls away with a painful groan, leaving you pantless on the couch, disoriented and clothes in a mess...

You raise on your elbows, completely disheveled and flustered with swollen lips, observing him looking straight ahead, his hand clasped around his mouth like he couldn’t believe he just caved in his baseless tendencies.

“Thrawn?” You call for him gently.

He shudders slightly and passes his hand in his luscious black blue hair, sighing.

“I am sorry, Ch’acah.” He finally lets out, “I lost control. It will not happen again.”

He doesn’t look at you.

“No, Thrawn... It’s alright...” Your hand goes to caress his shoulder but he evades you.

He feels really on edge. Your hands fall on your knees, powerless in front of your Chiss’ pain.

“I need a shower.” And he jumps on his feet to disappear in the bedroom.

You’re left alone in the hot room, excited and frustrated. You cut the movie, not interested in it anymore. You dress back correctly and clear the table as you hear the water running.

His shower must be icy cold to calm him down.

You’re focused on the dishes when you feel strong arms circling your waist once again.

“You’re back.” You note, a tad painfully.

You hear him smell your undone hair.

“I should not leave you alone after edging you like that.” He recognizes, “But I needed to clear my mind urgently.”

You purse your lips, finishing the dishes.

“Are you mad?” He asks, almost affraid of your response, almost... But you know him.

“No.” You let him know, “You were clear nothing would happen during your rut cycle.” You turn to him, laying against the counter.

“I see in your body language you are displeased.” He pulls you back towards him. “I am sorry.”

“It’s nothing.”

You’ll take care of it yourself later, you’re used to that.

A glint of pain flashes on his face, very well aware of his mistake. He presses your bodies in a warm embrace he hopes is soothing to you.

“Can I do something for you?”

You purse your lips.

“I just want a hug from my man...”

He hugs you tight and eagerly, letting your face rest on his broad chest, still fresh from the cold shower and despite the shirt.

“Let’s fisnish that movie.”

You look at him in surprise and suspicious.

“Are you sure?”

“I was invested in the drama, we will simply pass the risqué scenes.” He smiles with his signature tight grin, pulling you to the couch again.

@Bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @telltale-vixen @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @exoplorationn @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @empresskrennic

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x y/n #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

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