#For reblogging some high quality content this morning

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

I know we have a "posts that have 10k to me" energy around here, but today I'm seeing lots of fantastic 100 - 5k notes posts and it's so much fun

I haven't read these before, I haven't heard these thoughts before, I haven't enjoyed this art before

Maybe they'll rocket to 100k stardom in hours, maybe they'll slowly grow into 10k posts over years, maybe they'll fall into obscurity at 118 notes, who knows?

Doesn't change how much i enjoyed it or if a phrase buried it's way into my brain, or if I will think of a piece of art the next time I see a cat

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 4

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Y/N comes to after being attacked and formerly meets the inner circle. Cassian and Y/N finally begin training, and he shows her around what he calls the heart of the Night Court.

Content Warning: Nightmares, flashbacks to under the mountain, Fluff

Word Count: 4.1

Chapter 3 Masterlist

A/N I want to take this moment to say thank you for all the love and support on this story! I am so grateful for you all! It honestly makes my day with every like and comment and reblog that I see! I hope you enjoy this chapter as we finally get some good Cassian X Reader quality time!

The Naga approached the sound of them slithering close causing me to whimper. One gripped my bound arms tightly from behind me, its dry tongue sliding up the column of my neck. The other gripped my breast tightly eliciting a shriek from the back of my throat. “A delicious treat, brother. Just for us.”

I begged for Rhysand to help, prayed he would make it in time. As the creature in front of me gripped my face puckering my lips as he pressed his to my own. I thrashed against them as hard as I could, but they were stronger than me.

Rhysand’s voice came clear as day but instead of sending help it was just my name.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

“Wake up, Y/N.” My eyes blinked open and violet eyes came into focus. Calloused hands grazed my damp cheeks, wiping away the tears. “It was just a Nightmare, Angel.” I sat up as he released my face and moved toward the edge of the bed. I looked behind him to find the chair Cassian was sitting in the night before empty and I tried to dampen my disappointment that he had left sometime after I had fallen asleep. Rhys looked to me, “Shields up, Y/N.” I jolted him and worked on building that wall around my mind as the High Lord continued, “I sent Cassian off this morning to run some errands for me. He put up a fight about before he left though.” He gave me a smile.

There was a comfort knowing that he stayed with me, but other thoughts whirled in my brain I sighed and rubbed my face, “Rhys, what happens now? Also where are we?”

“You’re in my townhome, this is where I reside normally. You were staying in what we call the House of Wind.” Rhys’ smile fades, “As for what happens next, there are two options we can take due to the fact you’re still human. The first, would be that we can send you back to the human lands and you would be able to be with your sisters.” I bit my lip as he prattled on, “Or option two, you become a member of the Night Court as my human emissary.” He grips my hand, “In my opinion, not that you asked for it, I would hope you would like to pick option 2. I would pay you well and you would be able to see Feyre every month. Not to mention, I like having you around.” I gave him a small smile and his eyes held unspoken emotion. “You remind me of someone I knew long ago, she would have loved you.” A tear slid down his perfect cheek.

I squeeze his hand, and with my free on wipe the tear from his cheek, “She must have been really special, if just mentioning her has this reaction. One day when you’re ready I would love to hear more about her.” I pause, “Especially all the reasonings as to why she would love me.” He laughed a boisterous laugh, and I was happy to take his sadness away.

When he stopped, he asked, “One day huh? Does that mean you would like to stay?”

“Yes, I would like to stay.” My stomach rumbled.

“We can discuss logistics and details on your position after we have gotten food in your stomach.” He rose. “There are clothes in the closet, Mor has already claimed you for the afternoon to go shopping.”

I quirked a brow, “So you knew I would say I wanted to stay?”

“No.” He opened the door and gave a playful smirked, “I was, however, hopeful that you would want to. Get dressed and come down to the stairs I’ll introduce you to everyone, formally.” With that he closed the door. I took a moment to look out at the window and gasped at the beauty of the city I am staring at. The sunrise coated the city in various shades of pink and orange the sun glimmering on the river as soft waves flowed down stream.

I got out of bed and discarded the nightgown I was gifted and put on the Teal sundress that had sheer sleeves and flowed down to my knees. I placed my hair up in a simple bun and walked down the stairs. Laughter erupted and I followed the sound I found a dining room that has almost every seat filled all for one that was in between Mor and Azriel. There was a short female with short black hair and mesmerizing silver eyes that rolled her eyes at the laughter and her eyes met mine. “Well, well, well, appears someone is awake.”

The laughter dies down, and all eyes turn on me and I rub the back of my neck, “Hi.” I whispered. Mor shot up and ran over to where I was and almost tackled as she wrapped me in a bone crushing hug.

“I’m so happy you’re staying with us.”  Mor squeezed causing a squeak to come out of me.

“Mor, let her go you’re going to crush her.” The low timbre of Cassian caused me to meet his gaze and he gave me a smile and a playful wink as Mor released me mumbling the word asshole under her breath. She led me to the seat next to her and I gave Azriel a smile, he simply nodded his head.

“Okay as promised, formal introductions. You know Mor, obviously,” He points to Azriel, “This is Azriel, the Night Court’s Spymaster and our very own shadowsinger,” I looked to Azriel whose shadows swirled around him as if a part of him and he puffed his chest slightly a sense of pride of his High Lord’s words. “The tiny angry looking one over there is my Second in command, Amren.” She doesn’t look phased by how she’s introduced and raises her goblet to me and takes a sip. “Last but certainly not least, the General of the Night Courts armies, Cassian. Though I believe you two have been acquainted.” My head snaps at Rhys’ who gave us both a shit eating grin.

“Sorry, Princess, I may have told them about that night we met.” My eyes met the General’s hazel ones his face had a flush on them as he smiled.

I grabbed a croissant from the platter in front of me and took a bite, and gave him a smile, “That’s alright, General.” I took another bite as two puzzle pieces clicked together and I ask, “Are you still willing to train me?” I avert my gaze and pick at the pastry.

“Any reason why I wouldn’t want to?” He asked, the table has fallen to an uncomfortable silence awaiting my answer.

Flashes of last night whirl through my head, of how I couldn’t even push the Naga away from me. Before I’m able to catch it, a tear falls then another, and sobs unleash until I can’t stop them. I cover my face and let it wrack out of my system. I feel Mor’s hand rubbing my back and can feel a talon on my mental shields of Rhys trying to get me to let him in. Then there is the scraping of the chair, sound of large boots. Mor’s touch vanishes as my chair is gently pulled back. Large hands grip my wrist and give them a light tug as the sobs continue, as I meet Cassian’s face, there was no judgement or pity, if anything there was an underlying rage there. He grips my hands tightly as if to remind me that I’m safe and that nothing would harm me. I look at the table and everyone gazes hold the same sentiment.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Cassian softly ordered, I face him once more and his thumb is rubbing soothing circles and my heartrate spikes. “I promise, I will make sure that you will never feel powerless again. You were ambushed last night; you were wounded and left out to fend for yourself, no one here thinks that you are weak because of it.” He wiped the tears from my face. “Would you like to start today?”

I nodded my head, and he gave me a beautiful grin, “Wonderful, we can get you some training gear and you can meet me outside after we eat. Okay?” I nod again, and he squeezes my hands before letting them go and instantly missed the warmth they provided.  As he stands pushes a free strand of hair from face and tucks it behind my ear, “You know what happened last night wasn’t your fault right?”

I bit my lip, “Maybe if I wasn’t so confrontational with Tamlin.”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Girl,” Amren spoke for the first time since I entered the room, and everyone stilled. I met her gaze it was as if her irises were swirling with silver liquid, “Tamlin, is a coward and fool. He feeds off feeling superior over the weak.” Her red lips formed a smirk, “You weren’t willing to bend to him and challenged him. He simply used the one thing he had on you. The simple fact that your human. Make no mistake that Tamlin is the worm here.”

I tilted my head at her, and let her words really sink in and I blurted out, “You’re Stunning.” Heat immediately racing up my cheeks. Amren’s eyes widened a fraction as the table filled with laughter at the immediate shift in mood.

Amren smiled and tipped her head to me, “Likewise, girl, I think you’ll fit right in.”

Breakfast went on, and Rhys shared what my duties at Emissary would be, and he provided me with some fighting leathers that hugged every curve of my body. I made my way outside to find that Cassian was stretching, in his usual leathers with those gems on across his body. With the mid-day sun, he looked like one of the old gods long forgotten. He was beautiful, and the way he moved as he practiced made him lethal. His wings twitched, and his spine went rigid. He turned in my direction, “Right on time.”

I walked toward him, feeling disoriented by the heavy boots Rhys had given me. “What are these gemstones? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He smiled and I decided that I would never get tired of him smiling, his whole face lit up when he did the gesture showing genuine happiness there. “They’re called siphons they harness my power to make it easier to control. They are earned during this thing called the Blood Rite, an Illyrian tradition but I won’t bore you with the details about why we do it, or their backwards beliefs of them. Not today anyway.”

“Well, another time, I’ve never heard about Illyrians before. They are not talked about much in the history of the fae we’re taught back in the human lands.” I walk past him to where he was practicing, “I’m also a sucker for a good story.”

“Well, when I can steal you for more than an hour. You can ask me all the questions you would like.”

I crossed my arms, “Why would you have to steal me?”

Cassian quirked a brow, “You have met Mor, correct? She has not shut up about wanting to spend time with you.”

“Hmm. Well, I will need someone to show me around. Where are we exactly? As I know this is Rhys’ town home, but I’ve never seen a city as beautiful as this. Well, I’ve never really ventured far from our small cottage anyway.”

Cassian made a few strides toward me, “We’re in Velaris, the city of Starlight. I personally think it’s the heart of the Night Court.”

“I can’t wait to explore.” I was acutely aware of how close Cassian had gotten, leather and sandalwood infiltrating my nose. “So will you show me around?”

“Sure. Though you’ll break Mor’s heart.” Cassian joked and caused me to smile, “Alright, Archeron,” I turned to him and gone was the playful face is gone. Replaced with the serious gaze of a General. “Let’s get started.”

Cassian had me show him what Rhys had been teaching me and showed me some more stretches before he asked me how I would punch someone. I clenched my fist and Cassian immediately shook his head. “No, Princess, you hit someone like that you’re going to hurt yourself more than your opponent.” He came up and grabbed my hand. He opened my hand he began folding my hand where the tip of my fingers was tightly placed in the base of my palm. He then places my thumb over my index finger. “There, this will protect your fingers and give you the best chance of hurting someone instead of yourself.” He walks behind me and raises both fists and nudges my legs with his own to get me in the perfect stance my heart was racing at the mere touch and proximity of him. “Tomorrow we’ll go over exactly the best stance to throw a punch and keep your balance but standing like this,” He whispered in my ear and chills ran down my warm body. He moves my arm in a punching motion, his other hand on my waist twisting to move with the punch. He does it a few more times and after the fifth time he releases his grip and has me do those movements on my own. I could feel his eyes on me as I kept repeating the motion until he held up his hand. “Very good. I think we’ll call it for the day.”

I nodded and he walked over to hand me some water. “Thanks.” I sipped the water, and he drank some from his own cup. He grabbed my cup and placed it down with his. He pointed to the floor, “On your back, Princess.”

My face heated and I’m sure my cheeks were pink, “Why?”

Cassian smirked, “I’m going to help you stretch, its important to stretch the muscles so you’re not sore tomorrow.” He crossed his arms, “What were you thinking about?”

I huffed and followed his order to lay on my back. “I was thinking about nothing, grow up.”

Cassian knelt his hand rubbing my calf with a smirk, “I’m quite grown up, thank you. I’m over 500 years old.” My eyes widened at the fact as he bent my knee and pushed my leg toward my chest, the muscles stretched, and I bit my lip to suppress a moan.

“That feels divine.” I whisper and I hear a low chuckle as the General moved to the other leg. He met my eyes as he pushed back my leg, and I could not hold the moan this time. I covered my mouth as he placed my leg down and massaged my calves. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian looked like he wasn’t breathing his eyes holding something like yearning there but shook his head and waved me off, “Don’t worry about it, Princess. It’s a natural reaction,” He pat my legs and rise to his feet. He holds his hand out to me, and I take it he lifts me up with ease and releases my hand. “Good job today, we’ll pick up tomorrow.”

Rhys walked outside and tucked his hands in his pockets, “Mor, sadly had to go do her job and has left for a few days. So, your shopping spree has been put on hold.” Rhys shrugged, “I could take you around, and give you a tour of the city if you would like.”

I looked to Cassian, “If you don’t mind Rhys, could your General take me?” Cassian smiled and draped an arm around my shoulders. “If you don’t mind, Cass.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassian looked at Rhys, “Do you mind if I steal her?”

Rhys smirked, “Not at all. Have fun you two.”

The two of us parted ways to bathe and change. A midnight blue top and matching pants were prepped for me as I came out of the bath, and I placed it the top on used to the slight mid drift. I placed my hair fall in its natural curls and placed it on moon pin in my hair and slipped on a pair of silver slip on shoes. I walked down to the front door to find Cassian, wearing a casual shirt with a leather jacket and pants. His wings were relaxed and tucked close behind him and his hair was in a half up bun.

He looked up as he heard my footsteps coming down the stairs, “Well you clean up nicely,” I teased elbowing him. He smiled and rolled his eyes at me.

 Cassian’s eyes lingered on my outfit and back up to my eyes. “I could say the same about you, Princess.” He opened the door, and the late afternoon breeze tickled my skin, “Ready to go?”

I nod, and he lays a hand on my back and guides me out of the front door. Once he shut the door behind me, we were off. Cassian and I walked the busy streets of Velaris. We went into various shops looking at clothes and different works of art. I stopped when we were at a vendor selling various paintings. My heart sank, Feyre had not painted in months, and I doubt after yesterday she’ll ever want to. I would do anything if it meant that she would want to paint again. If I ever see her. Calloused hands grazed my neck and brought me out of my thoughts, “Where’d you go?”

“I want Feyre to paint again,” I whispered, “She loved to paint after we came out of Under the mountain she just wouldn’t. Now with last night will I be the reason she never paints again?” I cross my arms and I walk past the paintings, “I don’t know if I could live with myself if that were the reason.”

Cassian gripped my elbow, “Y/N, Feyre has her own healing journey to take, her reasons, for doing or not doing something are her own, you don’t need to shoulder responsibility for someone else’s grief.”

I give him a small smile and give his hand a pat, “Thanks Cas, but my job was always to protect her, and I took pride in securing that small ounce of peace she would get when painting. I would sneak money just to make sure she had enough paint.” I kept walking Cassian meeting my stride his wing flared and wrapped slightly around me almost protectively. “I was like that for Nesta and Elain I always made sure anything they wanted books for Nesta or plants for Elaine, tensions were high a majority of the time, I just tried to keep the peace and made sure everyone was happy and safe.”

Cassian was quiet as we approached a bookstore, and I gripped his arm with an excited squeal, “Can we go in here?” Cassian nodded and opened the door for me, and the smell of books and a thin layer of dust fills my nose and i couldn't contain my smile. I walk up and down the aisle, looking at all the stories. Cassian was a silent yet steady presence behind me. There was a portion of the store that had various leather-bound notebooks.”  

“What about you?” I turned to Cassian my brows furrowed. “Feyre has painting, Nesta reading, and Elain had gardening. What did you like to do?”

I bit my lip and shrugged, “Protecting my sisters I guess.” I grazed the top on a journal, “I never really had the time to do anything, if I wasn’t chopping wood, or helping Feyre hunt, or trying to make money. I didn’t have time for hobbies.”

Cassian frowned and guilt washed over me for taking his smile away, “If you did have the time what would you have liked to do.”

I lifted a Journal and flipped through the blank pages, “Don’t laugh.” I looked at him, “I would have loved to write. Even if I didn’t know how to write, I would have loved to tell stories. The kind of heroes and villains and romance things that Nesta would read to me when I was small.” I placed the journal down and shrugged. “Just a silly little dream.” I give him a smile one to hide the lingering sadness. “Enough about that, I’m hungry.” Cassian’s frown deepened clearly seeing my deflection.

“I’ll be out in a minute. Rhys ironically enough wanted me to see if they had a book in stock. “ I nodded my head and walked out of the store. I looked out at the river and quickly walked over and leaned against the railing to stare out at the sea. The sun is beginning to set and enjoy the scenery around me. Soft waves crashed amongst the bridge, and the scent of the water spray filled the air. It was peaceful and serene.

I was entranced by its beauty that I didn’t even hear Cassian approach, his hand on back caused me to jump and turn. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.��  He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry for being a little jumpy. Did they have the book you needed?” I asked as he offered his arm for me to take, leading us to a little restaurant in an area he called earlier the rainbow.

Cassian shook his head, “No but I did find something else that piqued my interest.” He grabbed out of his pocket the leather-bound journal I was holding in the store and handed it to me, it felt as though the air had been sucked out of my lungs.

“Cassian-“

He interrupted me, “You may find that you have more free time here, you have worked hard to make sure your sisters were able to keep their hobbies. You should be able to explore something that interests you.” He gave you a smile “Plus I know there is one person for sure who would love to read whatever stories you come up with.”

I stopped, tears pooling in my eyes, “Cassian, I can’t repay you for this.”

Cassian also stopped, his hazel eyes warm and shining bright, “It’s a gift, Princess. Nothing to be repaid.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, “Thank you, Cass.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arm around me. “You’re welcome, now let’s go get something to eat.” He pulled away and looped my arm with his once more and led us to dinner. At dinner he shared some stories of how he and Rhys met and how they met Azriel how they have been friends for centuries and in turn I told him of all the trouble Feyre and I used to get in before we lost our fortune and when it was over we fell into comfortable silence on the walk home.

Music played on the bridge, and it caused me to pause in my tracks. I gripped Cassian’s arms as my mind went back to late nights under the mountain.

Feyre had fallen asleep after sobbing, and I was still in the corner tears stained my face. The feeling of hopelessness taking over. I wish I had told Nesta and Elain how much I loved them before we left. I tucked my head into my knees and sobbed. Beautiful melody flooded my eardrums, something that held hope and happiness. Images flashed against in my mind of a beautiful orchestra on a bridge over river. The night sky was breathtaking as if they were swirling and dancing to the melody of the music. My eyes grew heavy as the melody hit the crescendo. I laid my head back and let the music sweep me into a peaceful slumber.

My breathing was labored, “Hey, hey, hey,” Cassian’s hand cupped my cheek, “what is it?”

“Rhys...he played this music in my head to help me sleep Under the Mountain.” Tears were streaming down my face clutching the journal Cassian bought me, “He was letting me know I wasn’t alone when I was convinced Feyre, and I weren’t coming out alive. He was showing me this band a piece of his home.”

Cassian eyes gleamed silver as well, “He’s annoyingly a good friend like that.” He looked over at the band as I chuckled, “Would you like to stay and listen for a little bit?”

“Please.” I whispered and he lowered his hand from cheek, but I reached out and laced my fingers with his. He tucked his wing around me to block the wind as we stood and listened to the music that kept me from breaking under the mountain.

Chapter 5

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen

[xomakara]

Game On, Love

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | Yunho's a gamer and so are you. In fact, you're both so good at it, you reach top rankings in international competitions, and that's how you notice each other. But romance is more than a game—or is it?

PAIRING | Yunho x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | gamer!Yunho, gamerl!Reader, smut (with some plot), literally just pure unadulterated filthy smut, consensual sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), fingering, dirty talk, pet names (little one, etc), praise kink

RATING | Mature, Explicit, 18+, NSFW, MDNI

LENGTH | 4.642 words

TAGLIST |  --

NETWORKS |  @cromernet (reuploaded so only tagging nets that haven't reblogged it yet)

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Hi, hello~ 👋 thanks @yessa-vie and @yourlocaljonghoe for beta reading this (and loving it 💚). Love you much and I hope you all like it! Comment, like, reblog, anything would be greatly appreciated~

As the weekend sun streams through your window, you wake up with a sense of warmth and anticipation. Today marks the beginning of the international gaming competition you've been eagerly preparing for. Feeling a surge of adrenaline, you get out of bed and head to the kitchen to brew your morning coffee. The rich aroma of the brewing coffee fills the air, wrapping you in a sense of comfort and steadying your nerves as you take your first sip.

You've got your coffee in hand as you sit at your computer desk. The soft padding of your gaming chair provides comfort as you boot up your system. As you log into the tournament, you feel your heart rate quicken as the reality of the competition sinks in. Players from every corner of the globe gather in this virtual arena, all eager to showcase their talent and claim the top prize. But you're confident. You've dedicated yourself to this, honing your skills daily, and now it's time to let your talent shine.

The early rounds pass in a blur of concentration and precision. You move through them with ease, your strategies paying off as you adapt to the playstyle of each new opponent. As you progress, a name starts to stand out: Yunho. He's a fellow competitor from your region, and you can't help but notice his impressive performance. Curious, you decide to observe one of his matches.

Yunho, with his striking appearance and intense focus on the camera, effortlessly defeats his opponents with his skill. Although his confidence may come across as arrogant, it's this very quality that captivates you. His movements are smooth and captivating, drawing you in. Before you realize it, you find yourself seeking out his matches, eager to witness more of his undeniable talent.

As you advance in the tournament, the online community buzzes with speculation about a potential showdown and the rivalry between you and Yunho. Little do they know that your interest in Yunho goes beyond his gaming skills.

Intrigued, you decide to do some digging. You learn that Yunho is a force to be reckoned with. With his dark hair and piercing dark eyes, he exudes an air of mystery. Blessed with height and a toned build, he certainly stands out. There's an intensity to him, a fiery focus that translates into lightning-fast reflexes, and a strategic mind that predicts his opponents' every move. But it's the contrast between his confident gaming persona and his unknown real-life self that fascinates you the most.

Then, finally, your paths collide. It's the semi-final round, and the anticipation is palpable. You and Yunho are pitted against each other in a best-of-three series, and the winner will secure a spot in the grand finals.

In the first game, the tension is high as you both adapt to each other's strategies. Your persistence pays off as you ultimately clinch the first game, taking the lead. During the break before the second game, you feel a sense of respect for your opponent and look forward to continuing the competition.

"Great game," Yunho types in the chat, his avatar giving a casual nod. "Let's see if you can keep up that level of play."

There's a hint of teasing in his words, challenging you to rise to the occasion once more.

You stretch your arms over your head, fingers laced, feeling the satisfying pop of your spine as you reply, "Just enjoying the warm-up. I'm ready for more."

You emphasize the last word, knowing full well that this friendly rivalry is sparking something special.

"Good. Let's get back in the game," he says, his avatar nodding once more before returning to his seat.

The match resumes, and the two of you continue your battle for dominance. Yunho brings his A-game, demonstrating why he's earned his place among the tournament's elite. He evens the series, claiming the second game as his own and setting the stage for an epic conclusion. As the third game loads, you take a moment to gather yourself. This is it—the moment that could decide your fate in this tournament. You steel your resolve, determined to leave it all on the digital battlefield. The game becomes a fierce battle of wits and endurance, with both of you refusing to yield. The match stretches into overtime, each of you landing blows, but neither willing to concede defeat.

At some point, your motivation changes. It's no longer just about winning; it's about impressing this mysterious opponent who has gained your attention and respect. You want to show Yunho that you are a formidable presence both in and out of the game.

And impress him, you do. In a stunning upset, you manage to eke out the victory, claiming the third game and the series.

"Congratulations," Yunho types. "I guess I'll see you in the finals."

He's not bitter or angry, and the sincerity of his message warms your heart.

"Thanks, and yes, you will. See you there." You return his message with a smile.

Elation courses through you, but there's a hint of disappointment as your encounters with Yunho come to an end. Throughout the semifinals, you've become accustomed to the thrilling rivalry and the unspoken connection you shared.

As you advance to the final round, your thoughts drift back to Yunho. He was a formidable opponent, one who challenged and inspired you, and you can't help but feel the absence of his presence. Perhaps if you meet him again...

Your daydream about a possible encounter is interrupted by the buzz of your phone. Glancing at the screen, you see a notification from the tournament. It's an invitation from Yunho for a private voice call. You accept, feeling excited and curious about why he's reaching out. The call connects, and a deep voice comes through the speakers.

"Hello, stranger," his voice was smooth and playful. The sound sent a shiver down your spine. "Congratulations on making it to the finals."

"Thanks," you replied, hoping he couldn't hear the tremor in your voice. "I'm surprised you reached out. Aren't you afraid of the competition getting into your head?" You teased, unable to resist poking fun at him.

He chuckles with a deep, melodious sound that causes your heart to flutter. "I'm up for a little friendly competition," he says.

You pause for a moment, carefully weighing your next words. "Well, maybe we can spar off-camera then," you suggest, hoping he picks up on the hint of flirtation in your tone.

"I'd like that," he said sincerely. The promise of an intimate encounter sent a rush of heat through you. You made plans to meet up after the final match, feeling anticipation building at the prospect of getting to know him better.

As the conversation comes to a natural end and the call disconnects, you can't help but smile. Yunho has captured your attention, and you can't wait to see where things go.

The grand finals are a whirlwind of cutthroat competition and tactical maneuvers. Driven by your ambition to secure the top spot, you bring your absolute best to every match. It's a battle for the ages, and in the end, your determination pays off. You're crowned the champion, and the elation is almost enough to drown out the bittersweet realization that your encounter with Yunho has come to an end.

Almost.

But there's a silver lining: you and Yunho have decided to meet in person.

When the day comes, you're feeling very nervous. What will it be like to finally meet the person you've been chatting with? You've seen what they look like on camera. You try to stay calm as you wait, but the suspense is almost unbearable.

Finally, you see him approaching. He is tall and you knew he was handsome because you talked to him virtually. You can't help but notice his long fingers as he adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, the movement revealing a glimpse of his muscled forearms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you in person," he says, his voice as smooth and inviting as you remember. "I knew you were pretty on camera, but you're even more beautiful in person."

"You too." You're thankful for your steady voice, even as your heart races at his proximity.

"I'll be honest, I've thought about you a lot since the tournament," he admits. "I'm glad we finally have a chance to meet."

Your cheeks flush at his admission, and you can't help but reciprocate the sentiment. "Me too," you say, your gaze never leaving his.

The tension between you is electric, and as the conversation flows easily, it's clear there's something special between you.

"Can I take you to dinner?" he asks, his hand reaching for yours, and the touch is enough to send a jolt of desire through you.

"Yes," you say, knowing there's no turning back. You're already committed.

Dinner is a blur of delicious food, intriguing conversation, and a growing sense of intimacy. Yunho's charming, and you can't stop stealing glances at him as you eat. With each moment spent in his company, you feel closer to him, drawn to his magnetic personality and effortless confidence.

"So, tell me more about yourself," Yunho says, leaning forward, his eyes intense. "What do you like? What turns you on?"

"Hmmm..." You took a sip of your drink. "Why do you want to know?"

His lips curve into a sinful grin as he slides an arm along the back of your chair, his body angled toward you. "Call it...curiosity."

You take a sip of your drink, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through you, and heat pulses in your veins. You've never been so forward, but there's something about Yunho that makes you want to be honest.

"Well," you begin, your voice soft. "I like whispers, gentle touches. But I also enjoy a little roughness. It's a contrast, I guess. I like to feel desired."

A slow, sexy smile spreads across Yunho's face, and he leans closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I think I can help you with that. I love a woman who knows what she wants. And I have a feeling you and I are going to have a lot of fun together."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself getting wet. You take a bold step forward, reaching out to trace his strong jawline with your fingertips.

"What about you?" you ask, looking into his dark eyes. "What do you like?"

Yunho looks down at you, a teasing gleam in his gaze. "That's a dangerous question, little one."

You arch a brow, challenging him. "Don't tell me you're afraid."

His lips tilt up into a crooked smile, the dimples in his cheeks flashing. "Hardly," he murmurs, his voice a silky purr.

You feel a spark of delight at his words, and the confidence in his voice ignites a fresh surge of arousal through your body. The air between you crackles, and you let your gaze run down his body, admiring the lean muscles hidden beneath his tailored clothes. He's everything you imagined and more, and you want nothing more than to take him home and explore all his hidden talents.

"All right, little one, challenge accepted," he murmurs. A shiver of excitement races down your spine. "How about we have a game of our own, just the two of us?"

His gaze burns through you, and you can't seem to tear your eyes away from his. The atmosphere is tense with arousal and promise, and all you want is a chance to discover just how good you both might be at playing together.

"You're on," you reply with a sexy smirk. Your body's trembling in anticipation. The raw, sexual attraction is there. Now, it's a question of who's going to initiate it. You'll bet it's going to be him.

The dinner is done and so is the playful flirting. But the night's still young. You want to let the real you play. That is if he's able and willing to rise to the occasion. The arousal pumping through your veins gives you the boldness you need to slide your foot along the taut length of his thigh. And with a smoldering stare, you ask him, "Should we play at my place or yours?"

Yunho responds by laying his card on the table and signaling to the waiter. You're only too happy to pay as the two of you leave the restaurant to continue this little adventure elsewhere. The destination? Well, it doesn't matter. You only care about the journey. And if the sexual tension is this electrifying on the short ride home, then you're eager for what's to come.

The cab seems to take forever to reach Yunho's apartment, but finally, you're stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind you. You waste no time, turning to face him and pressing your body against his. You feel his desire for you, hard and insistent, and it fuels your own need.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and your lips find him in a hungry kiss. You taste the beer he was drinking earlier, and you moan into his mouth, wanting more. His tongue tangles with yours, and his hands move lower, cupping your ass and lifting you slightly so you can feel just how much he wants you.

You break the kiss, gasping for air. He takes the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he whispers, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Then don't hold back," you plead, arching your neck to give him better access. "Take what you want."

With a growl, he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you towards the bedroom. The slight roughness of his actions sends a thrill through you, and you tighten your legs around him, pulling him closer.

He kicks the bedroom door closed with his foot and lays you gently on the bed, his eyes burning with desire as he looks down at you. Slowly, he begins to undress you, kissing and caressing every bit of skin he reveals. He takes his time, teasing you with soft touches and gentle whispers, contrasting it with the rough hunger in his eyes.

You can't take it anymore; you need to feel him. You tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and running your hands over his toned chest. He leans down to capture your lips again. It sends a wave of desire coursing through you, and you pull him closer, needing to feel his weight on you.

His hands are in your hair, holding you still as he dominates the kiss. He leaves no part of your mouth unclaimed, exploring every inch with his lips and tongue. He pulls back slightly and meets your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "I want to make you come undone, make you lose yourself in pleasure," he whispers, and you whimper in response.

He leans down, his lips tracing a path across your collarbone to your shoulder. Your hands clench on his biceps, feeling the solid muscle under his skin. His fingers caressed your skin, finding all the secret places that make you gasp. "You're so perfect," he whispers.

Yunho looks down at you as his finger trails down to your navel. The suddenness of his movement causes a gasp. A subtle smirk forms across Yunho's gorgeous face, but then the next moment, you feel his fingers trailing lower and lower as they reach the juncture of your thighs.

"Please..." You let out a groan when his finger is almost hovering over your clit.

You want his mouth on yours; his hands, his body, his breath, his everything. You crave his attention—not only during the daytime but also during the night. But you don't know if he wants the same; if this is just a game for him like all the other tournaments or something more... You know he enjoys the challenges you bring, and you do too.

Your breath stutters. The sensation of his finger resting there is enough to send jolts of pleasure running through you, and yet he hasn't even made proper contact.

"Look how wet you are for me," he whispers, his voice sending another ripple of pleasure through you. "I love hearing the way I affect you, the way you gasp and moan for me."

His finger made contact with you, and your entire body shuddered from the contact.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, his thumb stroking slow, torturous circles around your clit. "Want my fingers inside you, making you come apart for me?" He slips one long digit inside you, and you arch your back at the sensation.

You bite your lip hard. It feels so good, so damn right, but the sensations aren't quite enough to push you over the edge.

"Not enough, am I?" He teases, pumping in and out of you with his finger, and you can't suppress the whimper that escapes.

"More," you plead.

"Beg for it," he says, his gaze never leaving yours.

You open your mouth to retort, and he quickly slips in another finger, plunging deeper inside you and forcing all coherent thoughts from your mind.

"Yes," you groan, shamelessly grinding against his fingers. "Fuck Yunho. Your fingers—god—you know exactly what I want, exactly what I need."

Your words spur him on, he adds a third finger and curls them perfectly, hitting the spot that makes you see stars. God, you knew his fingers were good. Knew that all the hours of playing games would mean he was damn near skilled at playing your body.

But you want more. So. Much. More.

"Please," you gasp, grabbing at his arms, and feeling the hard muscle beneath his smooth skin.

"Begging already? Such a good girl." He leans in close, his lips ghosting over yours as his fingers pump in and out of you with a relentless, steady rhythm that's sending sparks shooting down your spine.

"For someone who won the tournament...it looks like you're losing this game right now. Any last words before I claim my prize?" He taunts, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

Before the tournament, you didn't even know each other, but after many games against each other, and countless interactions after every victory, you learned some things about Yunho and he, too, became interested in you.

"If you want a prize, all you have to do is ask," you say. "I mean you did make it to the semi-finals."

He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through you, his fingers continuing their steady pace, not once relenting the intensity.

"A consolation prize, then," he murmurs, bringing his lips back to brush against the soft shell of your ear. His free hand moves to grasp your hip, holding you firmly in place while he increases the speed of his fingers, his thumb never missing a beat on your clit.

It's too much. You cry out, clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer, desperate to feel him, all of him, against your body.

"Come for me, little one," he commands, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Come all over my fingers and show me how much you like losing to me."

His words send you spiraling over the edge. You clench around his fingers, his thumb keeping up a maddening pressure on your clit. Pleasure flows through you, rolling over you in waves and drowning your senses until you're a panting, blissful mess.

Yunho removes his hand and slowly licks your juices off, one finger at a time. Fuck. He's a total show-off, but you can't help watching. After all, he's a gamer in a broad sense; that skill carries to the bedroom.

When he finishes cleaning off his fingers, he leans down and licks your dripping folds. You flinch a little, overly sensitive, but he grips your hips tight and doesn't let you move away.

"So fucking sweet," he says against your slick center, his gaze fixed on your face. You groan, heat rushing to your cheeks. The attention makes you feel vulnerable, and exposed, but also hot as hell.

Your toes dig into the mattress and your back arches. When he drags his tongue up to tease your clit, your hands instinctively reach out to bury your fingers in his hair. Your grip is tight, but he doesn't seem to mind. He presses harder against you, pushing his tongue inside, before swirling around your entrance.

You're a mess. You're close. Again. This man knows what he's doing. He keeps at it with that talented tongue, sucking and nibbling your flesh until you're trembling, right on the edge. "Fuck, Yunho! Please..."

His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, a sensation that echoes throughout your core. His hands trail down your sides, feather-light and teasing, until his palms finally rest on your outer thighs. The weight is comforting, the contact enough to ground you as your pleasure threatens to drag you away.

Yunho pulls back and rests his chin between your thighs. He looks so fucking gorgeous, you don't know whether to strangle him or beg him to stay between your legs forever. You meet his gaze, your lips swollen and red from the kisses and nips he gave you.

"Play with me, Y/N," he murmurs. The playful tone sends sparks flying through your nerves.

"Game start," you whisper, a grin stretching your lips.

"Last chance to walk away," he warns. He doesn't need to threaten. There was no chance you'd give this up. Not now, not after everything you went through.

"Shut up and fuck me, loser." You laugh.

That's all the incentive he needed. Yunho's lips pressed against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, the musky sweetness making your toes curl and heat pool low in your belly. You pulled away with a laugh, staring at him through glazed eyes.

"Can't say I'm not eager." His laughter was like music. "Now, spread those pretty thighs of yours. Let me see how ready you are for this gamer to win this game. Ain't no way I'm losing to you again."

His words heated your core as he began to grind against your entrance. You groaned at the friction. He felt so goddamn good against you, his hardness dragging against your clit and coating the length of him in your essence. It was getting harder and harder to think, especially with him looking at you with his lust-filled eyes, knowing the effect he was having on you.

"Fuck, you feel good." Yunho closed his eyes, sliding into your pussy without warning. You clenched around him, whimpering as he stretched you perfectly. He let out a sharp groan, rocking his hips slowly against yours. "Always knew we'd be good together like this."

"Didn't think…fuck…that we'd get here," you gasped out, pressing yourself against his thick length and enjoying the way his thrusts rubbed against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. "Fuck, you're so big, Yunho. Gonna fucking fill me with that fat cock and claim your prize."

"Going to fucking cream yourself all over me. And then I'm going to pin you down and do it all again." His words made you tighten around him, dragging another groan from his mouth as you squeezed his cock.

Yunho shifted his grip on your hips and moved to pin your hands above your head. "Gonna claim that tight little pussy. Every inch of me is going to be imprinted in your memory. So get ready, my little gamer."

You could barely form the words to retort as he pounded into you. The sounds of your lovemaking filled the room, the two of you working in sync to bring yourselves to the brink of orgasm. You were close, so close to release. Just a few more hard thrusts, and then—

His thrusts slowed down, and the change was nearly enough to drive you crazy. 

"Stop fucking teasing," you whined.

"Game's not done," he answered, nipping at your jaw. "How many rounds are we playing tonight, my little gamer?"

"A lot. Fuck, a lot." The pleasure coursing through you is unlike any gaming session you've had, and you can't get enough.

He fucks like a god, his hips snapping with precision and his mouth on every inch of you he can get his hands on. When he groans out a particularly loud moan, you know he's getting close.

"That's right," he gasps. "Keep on squeezing, little one. Can't wait to feel this perfect cunt wrapped around my cock as you scream my name, soaking the both of us."

"Don't... stop," you breathe. It's just too fucking good. You're writhing and shuddering beneath him, chasing your orgasm and determined to keep going until he's spent.

"Never gonna fucking stop." He grabs your ass and rocks you forward, the motion nudging his length to rub against your g-spot. The pleasure intensifies and it's all you can do not to scream at him to keep fucking you, hard and fast. You claw at his shoulders and clench around him, wanting to milk every last drop of cum out of that huge cock he's buried deep inside you.

It's all the incentive he needs. Yunho moans and kisses your neck, your cheek, your collarbone, and then finally, his mouth is on yours, capturing your tongue and teasing the soft flesh there. His thrusts are quick, forceful, and utterly breathtaking. You don't ever want him to stop.

"God, fuck, Yunho." You bury your face into the crook of his neck, teeth sinking in and scraping at his flesh. He lets out a shuddering groan, his hold on your ass tightening as he pins you to the mattress and continues his brutal assault on your body.

"C'mon, cum all over my cock. Let me feel you," he groans, his teeth pressing into the skin on your neck. "Can you do it, little one? Can you cream that pretty little pussy on my dick?"

You whimper and cling tighter to him. "Fuck... Yunho, I'm—"

He cuts you off before you can finish.

"That's it, Y/N..." he purrs, pressing a kiss to your neck and holding you tighter. "You're gonna be dripping for days after we're finished tonight... and that's only the start. We've got plenty more rounds planned, remember? Make sure to come nice and loud for me, okay?" 

With a loud gasp, you throw your head back and cry his name. "Yunho!"

Your fingers scrabble against his back as he buries his length deep, your entire body wracked with tremors. He moans into your neck and whispers his encouragements as you spasm around his throbbing cock, cum running down the insides of your thighs and soaking the sheets. He doesn't let up, grinding his dick against your cervix and sending aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as you continue your rapturous embrace. 

As you float down from your post-orgasm haze, you can only repeat one thing, "Yunho..."

He kisses you once more, smiling against your lips and panting slightly. "How does my little champion feel?"

"Like a fucking winner," you tell him. "Is this what first place feels like? 'Cuz shit... I could get used to this."

"Round two's starting soon," Yunho growls, pumping into you again, his cock hard once more. "Think you can take it, little one?"

You hold back a smirk as you pull him down for a long kiss. You don't mind giving in, just this once if you're going to get some mind-blowing rewards. Besides, the first-place spot is yours for the taking, and that includes this sexy gamer, Yunho.

Game on.

[leebrontide]

Secondhand Origin Stories, Chapter 2

Here is this week's FREE chapter of Secondhand Origin Stories! This post is scheduled to go up on my birthday! Reblogs count as birthday presents!

For those of you just joining us, I'm posting a chapter a week of my free near future scifi/low neon cyberpunk YA/NA novel, which has been described as

"-a character driven, compelling story full of family, queerness, corruption, brain altering nanites, secretly teen parenting AIs, and taking aspects of the superhero genre to their very human and rarely-explored natural conclusions."

For content warnings and more, check here:

You can follow along by following #SHOSweekly

Chapter 2

Issac recognized Solomon’s brother instantly. He wasn’t on news streams often, but he was vaguely connected to the family, so Issac had gone out of his way to know what he looked like. He surfaced now and then to address some altered-related event that had people’s undies in a bunch. He was age-stable, like Solomon and Dad, but managed to radiate a certain old-man paternalism despite his unfortunate baby-face. Issac was surprised to see that the guy was barely over two meters-- Solomon and Yael both dwarfed him.

Everybody cut off their ranting mid-sentence, conspicuously silent in front of the interloper. Bridgewater tilted his eyebrows just the tiniest bit to let them know he’d noticed it.

Secretary Nodiah Bridgewater was as physically powerful as anyone in this building, but he was dressed to show off his power in Mom’s world-- the world of money, investments, and political capital. He wore an old-fashioned blue three-piece linen suit, and shoes as high quality as any Issac's dad owned. They clicked deliberately as he stepped off the elevator. 

The semi-familiar stranger had chestnut brown hair and reddish brown eyes. It was as if the cultist wackos that had originally assembled the genes for the seven “Holy Kings” of the Heavenly Rule line had specifically not wanted any of them to look too matchy-matchy, and made them look as different as a bunch of burly over-two-meters-tall white people could look within the bounds of conventional aesthetics. 

Bridgewater made up for his youthful features with an army-straight back and a dour expression that suggested Issac's whole family were the damn kids that wouldn’t get off his lawn. The jackass was only 36, same as Solomon. 

He surveyed the room quickly, the way Issac had learned to expect from superheroes, sweeping through to identify relevant details. The hairs on the back of Issac's neck stood on end as Bridgewater's gaze lingered on him. 

Crap. 

Martin was never going to let him hear the end of this.

Mom sliced through the dense silence with clipped words. “Secretary Bridgewater. Pleased as ever to see you. May I ask why you felt it was appropriate to show up at our home with fifteen minutes’ warning on a Tuesday morning? I'm fairly sure you know I have a career outside financing the team."

Dad crossed his arms over his chest and loomed politely. Solomon didn’t move a hair, frozen, staring solemnly at Bridgewater. Behind them, Drew halfheartedly suppressed a cringe, but backed Dad up anyway.

Nodiah’s voice was a smooth baritone, with the casual sureness of somebody who’d gotten used to expecting obedience. "Well, then it's lucky I wasn't coming to discuss the team. I assumed that when the subject was your son, you would find the time." 

Fuck.

Dad cut in with his LodeStar: Leader of the Sentinels voice, “Is there a threat?" Oh, this was going to go badly. Issac felt his hands start to sweat and his face go red.

Nodiah seemed just as happy to focus on Dad. Which let Issac breathe a little. "Yes. A dire one. I've been getting reports all morning, from universities all over the country, regarding the development of nanotechnology that has the power to alter and reprogram human brain tissue in living subjects. Which, of course, would be considered altering technology. Being developed on US soil, without an ethics committee or bureau’s oversight.” 

Oh, what a load of barely accurate crap!

Drew stepped forward. “Issac’s a target?”

Nodiah's tone didn’t falter. “He’s the developer.”

All eyes were immediately glued to Issac, of course. Yael winced and bit xyr lip. Jamie flinched, but looked mostly exasperated. They both knew a little bit about his secret pet project. 

He braced for yelling. For reprimands. He readied his counter-arguments-- he had loads. He believed in what he was building. He wouldn’t have sent it out into the world, even partially completed, if he didn’t. And it’s not as if he was publishing blueprints!

All the arguments he might have given died in his throat as he actually registered the expressions on the adults around him. Nodiah was impassive, but he was the only one. 

The rest all held varying levels of sharp concern, and under that-- fear. Dad in particular had gone bone-white. Issac had maybe three other memories of him looking like that, and they all involved gunfire.

Drew looked like he was pretending not to be bothered by a punch in the gut. Mom had turned utterly unreadable, the way she did when she’d rather be caught hiding something than let out whatever was going on internally. Solomon, though, had one hand tight around Yael’s arm, and looked like he was preparing to take his brother down right here in their courtyard. 

Ice cold anxiety peaked in an instant, then plunged away, leaving him irate. Words were the only defense he personally had at his command. 

He opened his mouth, but Dad cut him off. “Look, Bridgewater. This is... it's not like he's been using human testing. Whatever he’s been designing, he’s just a kid.” He sounded…humble. Issac couldn’t remember ever hearing a tone like that before from his dad. Nobody had ever humbled LodeStar. 

"He's of the age of majority in eighteen days, according to my records.” Bridgewater looked at Issac again, and Issac had to forcefully remind himself that Nodiah was here as a government official. He wasn’t going to attack Issac.

He raised his chin and looked Nodiah Bridgewater right in those calculating eyes. “It’s a medical treatment I’ve been working on.” He sounded defensive, but he didn’t care. He forced himself to recalibrate, trying to borrow a little of the charm his parents had lost track of this morning. “They’re just prototypes--”

Drew raised his voice enough to talk over Issac. “Look, do you want to talk or do you want to stand in the courtyard?”

Issac turned to glare at Drew. Mom caught his eyes with hers, and shook her head, silently forbidding him from responding. Issac looked back at her questioningly, missing the chance to try and find some kind of expression on Bridgewater as he answered, “I think that would be for the best.”

Issac barely suppressed a frustrated growl, and ran his fingers through his still soggy hair, but he headed towards his front door. Dad’s hand landed on the center of his chest. “Not you. We’ll call for you if anyone wants to talk to you.”

Issac's reply burst out louder than he meant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “What?!” 

Mom backed him up immediately. “You heard him.”

Issac boiled over. “Oh come on! You are all completely over-reacting! This is progress.”

Mom’s jaw set in at an unforgiving angle. “Issac Tillman-Voss. Do not test me on this. You will stay out of sight unless you are called.”

Issac gestured at Bridgewater without looking at him. “I don’t see why some government blowhard should get in the way of--”

“Issac,”  Jamie hissed so quietly he almost missed it. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to be content with glaring as hard as he could at his parents. He couldn’t quite work up the nerve to glare at Bridgewater.

Mom’s voice smoothed out considerably, but was starched stiff with formality. “Right this way, Secretary.”

The rest followed. Drew passed him with a quick, commiserating little squeeze to Issac's arm. Yael made a step towards Bridgewater, but Solomon jerked xyr arm back. Xe stopped, looking hurt and confused. He gave xyr a warning look, then let xyr arm go and joined the others. Jamie watched them go with her shoulders curled inward and her arms wrapped tight around her midsection. Issac really hoped she wasn’t going to puke. That was all he needed to deal with today. Plus, if she did, he was pretty sure his stomach would follow suit.

The front door of his own home closed with a quiet but pointed click. Issac and Yael stared at it. Jamie sighed, and looked at Issac with a resigned sort of disappointment.  He grimaced at her, and turned on his heel, heading to Jenna’s supposedly empty apartment. 

Jamie hissed at him again. “Issac. Issac, you know that’s locked. It’s always--”

Martin let him in without a word.

* * *

Jamie slammed the door, letting it make the bang their parents were expecting, hoping nobody noticed it was coming from the wrong doorway. She turned to stare at her brother. She kept her voice low, even though Jenna’s apartment itself was a dead zone for the internal security systems. “You hacked the tower security? When?”

This would be a devastatingly bad piece of information for Yale’s uncle to find out. Jenna built the MARTIN system. It was supposed to be the best.

Issac glanced back at her, barely more than a rough shape against the windows of the east-facing apartment. “Don’t freak out.”

Jamie found a light switch, which she hadn’t had to do in years, and flicked it on. 

Jenna’s living room was frozen in time-- as if a museum was doing a retrospective piece on the private lives of the Sentinels, and doing an eerily good job. The air filtration systems took care of the dust, and everything was exactly where it’d been left-- down to the dishes sitting in the drying rack and the magazines shoved under the navy blue corduroy couch, pages peeking out at the edges. The coffee table was still broken in half, and half the tiles in the kitchen had been pried up off the floor and stacked in a neat pile. Just like the last time she’d seen this room, nearly three years ago. A shiver went up her spine. She’d given up on thinking about this apartment, and about Jenna being gone. It was over. There was nothing she or anyone could do. And it hurt.

There was one change-- a brand new micro-fabrication unit sitting on the dining table, along with old-fashioned paper schematics and a stack of petri dishes. It had scratched Jenna’s table.

“Don’t freak out,” she repeated dully. “You just admitted to building prototype altering technology, in secret, and then started talking like a cartoon mad scientist in front of the head of the Altered Persons Bureau, whose Chicago office we live on top of. And when he comes in here to collect your stuff, he might find out that you’ve hacked one of the world’s top security systems to have a secret lab inside one of the most protected buildings in the US. And you have prototypes? Since when?”

Yael flopped down on the couch, and Jamie squashed down the urge to shout at xyr not to. You weren’t supposed to sit on a museum display.  Yael was looking around the room with  uncertainty, not looking at either of them as xe spoke. “Seriously, Issac. You, of all people.”

Issac threw them both a quick sneer to signal incoming sarcasm. “Oh yeah. Supervillainy. That’s exactly like medical technology I built to help people recover from, oh, say, brain injuries or nerve damage. I’m so evil.”

Yael frowned at him. “Don’t be glib. Did you two see Papa’s reaction? Wanting to hide Issac I get. He was the one violating international laws, and he’s only got one shoe on. But why would Papa hide me from my own uncle?”

Issac sat abruptly at the dining table. “Right? I’m not the one being weird. They’re the ones being weird.”

Jamie stayed standing, uncomfortable to be walking through a 3-D memory the way her siblings were. “I wish I knew what they were saying.” She glared at the carpet. “They’re talking about us! We have actual confirmation of that. We should get to know what they’re saying.”

Issac flicked a balled-up scrap of paper at her, missing completely. “They’re talking about me and maybe Yael. Not you, pipsqueak.”

She huffed. “Well, it’s still got to do with me!” Didn’t solidarity mean anything to them? Stupid useless older siblings.

Issac made a vague, unconvinced sort of sound, looking at his tech. Not actually rounding it up or anything, just sulking at it. Jamie looked at Yael, who was looking at the opposite wall, engrossed in xyr own little world. 

Issac could build brain-altering nanites and could hack the MARTIN system. Yael was only a few months away from being a Sentinel. And their parents didn’t think they could sit in on a conversation. OK, yes, Issac had been making a mess of it, but maybe if they were actually allowed to speak for themselves sometimes--

Her reasoning caught up with her internal ranting. Issac could hack MARTIN. Jenna had destroyed all of the MARTIN scanners in her own apartment, but Jamie’s home was littered with them. She kept her voice low so the sensors in the hallway wouldn’t overhear her. “Just get us the feed on your phone! Then we’ll know what they’re saying! You can do that, right?”

Yael sat bolt upright. “Can you?”

He blinked vacantly at them, the way he did when he was caught completely off-guard by a question and had to reboot. “…No.” Jamie drooped in disappointment. “Not unless you have a sensor completely unconnected to MARTIN stashed in the living room.”

Jamie perked up again. “I left my guitar in the living room. It still has the recorder you made me in it. Would that work?” He’d made it for her himself, for her birthday two years ago, so she could record her practices to replay later and work on her picking.

“That old Z-wave thing? You still have that thing?” he asked condescendingly. She’d been caught with something obsolete. Their family wasn’t big on keeping things once they were obsolete. 

Yael’s condescension was even more overt. “You know damn well she does.” Xe stood, joining them. “And I know you already have a feed from it going into your account. Good thinking, Jamie.”

Jamie’s head snapped up at Issac. “You have a feed from my guitar to your account? You-- you bugged my room?” Why? Why would anyone bother? Jamie was so boring-- but she felt her face flush anyways.

Her mouth hung open in shock as he made a distracted noise of agreement, then frowned at his phone as he tapped away at it. “But MARTIN is jamming the damn feed. Tch. Typical. Always sides with them at the worst possible--”

“Issac!” She tried to get his attention, but he stayed oblivious. Did she have any allies at all?

He looked right over her head at Yael. “Bet I can get around it.”

Yael nodded. “Well, hurry up if you’re going to do it. God knows what we’re missing.”

“Yael!” Jamie tried, almost wincing at the high and dangerously close to whining note in her voice. Ugh, she hated her high-pitched voice. “You knew!”

Yael at least had the good grace to give a genuine apologetic smile. “I told him he should tell you! But it really does only send the music to his account. I made him show me, I promise. No voices or anything.” It might have been flattering if he’d actually asked her. 

“Ha!” Issac punched the air. “Sucks to be you, MARTIN! That’ll teach you to keep me in the dark.” He grinned triumphantly at them, as if he hadn't just admitted his third or fourth act of treason today. One of them against Jamie specifically. “I got the sensors off. We could walk up and sit right outside the door if we wanted.”

Yael raised an eyebrow. “Almost all of them would hear that.” Xe paused, then startled. “Wait-- you turned off all the sensors? On the whole building?”

There was Issac’s vacant look again. “…Yes.” 

OK, maybe she could understand them not wanting Issac to speak for himself, a little bit. “Well, we’re all grounded for the next decade.”

Yael put a massive hand on her shoulder. “Not you. You didn’t do anything. Issac is the one dumb enough to do something like this with my uncle here. And I’m the one who probably should have stopped him.”

Jamie brushed the hand off. “It was my idea. Issac can’t plan his way out of a paper bag.” She straightened up. “And I’ll tell them so. I mean, I’ll tell them it was my idea.” She’d tried to take a stand earlier and been ignored. Maybe this would get her point across.

Issac shrugged easily. “Like Bridgewater said, I’m eighteen in eighteen days. After that, they can’t legally hold me against my will. No more being grounded.”

Jamie looked at him dubiously. “You completely missed his point.”

“I did not. Look, he’s not going to arrest me. This is Nobel prize stuff, here!” 

Jamie rolled her eyes. 

“It is! This will revolutionize neurology, endocrinology--”

“I know, I know. And I get why you’re making it.” Especially in this eerie diorama of a reminder. How could he stand to work in here? “But it’s still kinda creepy for someone who doesn’t know you. Especially since, apparently, you have actual prototypes now.”

“We could invite Nodiah to stay for dinner, get to know him,” Yael suggested dryly. Then, a little more warmly. “A little family re--” Xe cut off, squinting out the window. “What’s that?”

Jamie turned, and squinted in the same direction, but didn’t see anything but a particular swath of skyline she hadn’t seen in years. Jenna had been the one with the clearest view of Lake Michigan.

Issac followed suit. “Huh?” He leaned, then walked over towards the window. 

Now Jamie saw it-- a black smudge, moving right at their height. Too low to be a commercial plane, too high to be much of anything else. Yael moved one arm in front of Jamie to block her from following Issac's example. “I think it’s unmarked.” 

The smudge was growing. Yael sounded nervous. “Issac, come back over there.”

He took a step back from the window, tension starting to build in his shoulders. “I’ll just…turn the sensors back on quick.”

“Now, please,” Jamie agreed.

But Issac pulled his phone out of his pocket right where he was standing, and started dinking around on it. The smudge was a lot closer now. Yael took another step away from the window, pushing Jamie further back.�� Even she could see now that it was a jet-- something old she didn’t recognize. Her voice was a little unsteady. “Hey. Issac. Come on.”

He registered her tone of voice and looked up at her.

The jet was close enough now to see the shape of a pilot through the glass. She wanted to run, get away, but Issac still wasn’t moving. 

Jamie ducked under Yael's arm, started to rush towards Issac-- wanting to pull him back. She didn’t even make it two steps before the image in the glass blurred suddenly, and the entire bank of windows shattered inward.

* * *

Opal heard the crying before she made it up the front steps of the house. She bolted the last few steps, letting the door slam against its hinges and almost running Shani over.

Her little sister froze up at the sudden rush, staring at Opal with huge frightened eyes and a wash of muted lavender light flickering from her hairline down, brighter than Opal’s because of her lighter skin. The fear only lasted a split second before recognition hit. Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Opi!” She put pudgy little hands on Opal’s ribs, steering her towards the stairs. “Fix it!”

Opal stopped, turning back so Shani could read her lips. “What happened?”

Opal had grown up with ASL as much as English. Her own hearing was annoyingly sharp, but Daddy’s implant had never been that good, and Mom had learned it as a kid for Auntie. But even though Opal was fluent, she couldn’t follow the furious, emphatic flurry of motions Shani ran through. Shani had no super-strength, but she was far faster than most people, and whatever had happened upset her enough to make her forget to sign slowly enough to be understood. 

Opal motioned her to slow down, but then Shani just stopped, chest heaving. She treated Opal to a slightly tearful glare, and pointed sharply up the stairs, where Opal could still hear the uneven, hitched breathing of either Mom or Aunt Tess. 

She nodded her agreement, and Shani nodded back, relieved again, before turning to trot out the door and down the front steps. Opal paused long enough to see Shani sit down on the broken concrete steps; away from whatever was happening, but easy to find if anyone needed to.

Opal made her way up the rest of the stairs. Nobody would be bleeding, anyway. Not if that was Shani’s reaction. 

Mom was sitting on their couch, still in her scrubs, her eyes reddened by more than the exhaustion of the shift she’d just be coming off from. Mom didn’t have superpowers, and where Opal was “built like a brick shit-house,” as Grandpa used to say, Mom was all soft curves. She had skin the color of a found penny, just light enough to be a little blotchy from crying. 

She was leaning against Aunt Tessa, whose eyes were a little pinked but whose even lighter complexion wasn’t puffed from any crying. She was frowning furiously, the hand not holding onto Mom’s hand in a tight fist on her thigh. They were both facing the TV, the sound off and closed captioning on.

On the screen were two serious-faced newscasters in front of an image of a jet hovering far too close to an exploding skyscraper. She could just make out the stationary caption behind the closed captioning. It read “Mystery Jet Attacks Sentinel Plaza: Chicago”. The closed captioning was flashing by-- rife with homonym errors from the cheap voice recognition software they used-- saying something about a mysterious “sonic weapon.” 

Opal crossed to the room in a daze and sat down on the couch. Mom put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, and Opal went, resting her head on Mom’s shoulder. 

They watched silently for a few minutes. Opal was sure her mom was thinking about what would have happened if Opal had left a week ago, when school let out.  She squeezed Opal tight when the news anchor said that LodeStar’s son had been in the explosion. The camera zoomed in on a small figure falling out of the shower of broken glass and debris.

Mom stood suddenly. “Mm-mm. Nope. That’s enough for me. That is enough of airplanes and skyscrapers.” She shook her head, looking away from the TV. “Opal, come help me with the dishes.”

Opal leaned to the side, looking around her mom. “It says LodeStar caught him. He’s in the hospital, but--“

“Opal,” Mom interrupted.

Opal didn’t sigh out loud. She just stood up. Aunt Tessa leaned the other way. “Well at least get out of the way so I can see, Emmy. Your butt’s blocking the captioning.”

Mom glared at Aunt Tessa, but took a step to the side. Aunt Tessa glanced at her. “You oughtta let her stay in here. This is superhero stuff.”

“She knows what she’s getting into,” Mom snapped in answer. “That doesn’t mean I need to look at it.”

Auntie sighed, settling back. “You better not tell her she can’t go.”

“Shut up, Tess,” Mom sniped before storming off to the kitchen. Opal followed, only letting herself drag her feet a little as Mom attacked the dishes. She wedged herself in by the sink before mom handed off the first pan to dry.

She let a few dishes pass in silence, thinking. Sentinel Plaza, attacked. 

She’d planned to buy Greyhound tickets to Chicago tonight.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Mom. Mom sniffled, glaring down at some ground beef sticking to the plate. “Mom--”

“How’s your daddy?”

“He’s fine.”

“He’ll be less fine once he hears about this.”

Opal hadn’t even been thinking about that. She chewed her lip a second, then put another plate away. “I feel bad for them. With LodeStar's kid being hurt.”

Mom shivered a little. “I can’t remember his name, but he’d be about your same age, I remember that. Just a little bit younger than you.”

Was he that old? The dot had seemed so small. Opal nodded. “And they only lost Bion, like, three years ago. And all those newscasters that’ve been saying Capricorn should retire.” The Sentinels weren’t on TV as much as a lot of the other teams. Maybe they just didn’t need to be. They were too well-respected and too reliable to need to suck up to the press. Plus, she always got the impression they didn’t like it. LodeStar and Capricorn had been on TV just last week, and she remembered thinking that as easily as LodeStar conversed, as enviably comfortable as he was with microphones in his face, there was something tight about his smile, something distant about his eyes. Still, he was funny and charming, and never got riled up, no matter how obnoxious people were to him. He’d been reporting about yet another victory for the Sentinels. 

Capricorn was usually with LodeStar in press meetings, but he didn’t tend to say much. Rumors suggested he had a crush on LodeStar or something. Not that Opal listened to rumors. But he did spend half of every interview watching his teammate. And since Helix was notoriously private, that meant LodeStar was the clear frontman of the team.

Was he going to have to do an interview about his son falling off a building?

Mom shook her head resolutely. “Do you have a point? Other than making me think about how underequipped they are, and how dangerous that is?”

“C’mon, Mom. You love the Sentinels. They’re your favorite. And I bet they really need some extra help about now, with LodeStar’s kid being hurt. Like how Auntie moved in when Shani got sick. Maybe they need me.”

Mom put a hand over her face, and was silent for a second. “You’re as crazy as your daddy.”

“No, he thinks I’m crazy, too.”

“He wants you to get better than what he did.”

“I know. I’m trying to.”

“I wish I could go with you.”

“Aunt Tess and Shani would have the house burned down by the time you came back.”

“Excuse me?” Aunt Tess appeared. “Did I just have a malfunction or did I really just hear that? I’m not the one who left the burner on last week, am I.”

Mom put a hand on her hip and glared. “I’d been up for twenty-six hours and still made you all dinner.”

Opal offered a peacekeeping smile. “Sorry, Auntie. I just mean you and Shani would have a lot of parties in here if mom wasn’t telling you no.”

Mom turned off the water, then tossed the soggy dish towel at Opal’s head. She caught it as Mom spoke. “Stop making me sound like such a wet blanket.” Mom looked at her sister. “She wants to go save the Sentinels.”

Auntie rested her elbows on the table and her head on her hands. “Of course she does. She wants to save everybody. That’s why she’s gonna be a superhero. Besides, she might as well deal with terrorists if she’s going to deal with Chicago cops. At least with the terrorists, she’s allowed to hit them.”

Opal raised an eyebrow. “Auntie.” Besides, not like Chicago cops were probably any worse than Detroit cops. The Detroit cops especially were used to dealing with altereds-- they carried high-voltage tasers that Opal and everybody like her were weak to, and had a ton of military-grade equipment. Opal was sort of hoping that since Chicago had way fewer altereds, the cops might be a little less militarized. After all, they had the Sentinels to deal with altereds, if they needed to.

“I’ll buy you some mace as a going-away present.”

Mom goggled at her. “Did you just tell my baby girl to mace a cop?”

“No I did not just tell our baby girl to mace a cop! But people don’t know her in Chicago like they do here. Some dumbass tries to mug her and she hits him, his whole body’ll just explode. Then what’s she gonna do? The CPD and the APB will have her before she even gets to the Sentinels.”

Opal took Mom’s place at the sink, getting the water back on but looking over her shoulder. “I’m not even gonna be alone. I’ll be with Aldis and his crew. And I think ‘explode’ is a little overboard.”

“How do you know? You never hit anybody.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got another present for you, too.”

Mom smiled now, tears in her eyes, just like when Opal smiled for her dad, but genuinely proud all the same. “A-hem.”

“We got another present for you.” Aunt Tessa amended. “Even Shani helped a little. Where is that girl?”

Mom looked at Opal. “Front step?” She nodded. Mom sighed. “I’ll get her.” She wiped her hands on the drying rag and headed back down the stairs. 

Aunt Tess smiled at her. “Well, do you feel ready?”

Opal shook her head, leaning against the sink. “No. But that won’t stop me.”

* * *

Yael could sit still. Xe was capable of sitting still. Even now. No matter how bad xe wanted to get up and pace all over the room. Even if xe wanted to throw all xyr anxiety, guilt and rage at the ridiculous, unfair comforts of the sub-basement panic room and tear everything apart-- xe would sit still. Xe measured xyr breaths and kept xyrself from denting the metal table xe was sitting at.

Jamie sat across from xyr, emergency inhaler on the table. She was breathing again, but shallowly. Her face had switched from the painful, magenta flush of suffocation to the translucent white of exhaustion and strain. Each of her breaths were as carefully measured as Yael's. If she started crying again, it would set off another asthma attack. 

The sub-basement panic room was a mishmash of old furniture-- a dust-scented space that was supposed to be familiar and comforting in times of danger. The only piece of furniture that wasn’t a leftover from a redecoration was the long, metal-topped table xe had never really thought about until xe’d seen it used as an emergency medical table, three years ago. When they’d watched Melissa try to put Jenna back together with blood everywhere and help already evacuated from the building. The room also had an old cabinet full of games and kids’ movies-- distractions, put here for scared kids younger than the ones here now. The stupid chess board on the long metal table gave Yael an anchor to stay by. 

Xe moved xyr rook, pretty much at random. Xe couldn’t focus, but wasn’t willing to give up on the distraction that was keeping xyr sister from breathing right.

Unsurprisingly, it was a bad move. Jamie’s watery pink eyes-- the most vivid color in her face-- slid upwards to look at Yael with a guarded expression. She took the rook with her bishop, positioning it to take Yael's last remaining knight in the process. Yael quashed an irrational urge to be angry at her. How could she focus? How could she keep her mind on chess when their brother might be a wet, shattered mess on the sidewalk three stories up?

Maybe LodeStar had caught him. Yael had to focus on that hope. Even though Neil had told them more than once about how hard it was to catch people without snapping their necks or dislocating their arms. Yael would be ecstatic if Issac walked away with only a dislocated arm or two. Xe glanced at the bank of elevator doors. They’d been down here for over an hour. The jet had to be rubble by now. Their attacker had to be dead. Why’d they been left down here to wait, with no calls or contact? 

Yael only had a hopeless chess game to buffer xyr from the blisteringly vivid memory of Issac’s face the moment he realized he was going to fall. That xe couldn’t get to him. Watching his hand claw at dust. Watching him mourn for a second what Yael might have to mourn forever. He hadn’t even been able to see that Yael had managed to grab Jamie and get both of them to the safety of the emergency elevators. Maybe he’d thought they’d died with him.

Melissa was painfully silent. She sat as still and focused as her daughter, over on the overly plush red couch that used to be Drew’s. Her back was to Yael and Jamie, head bent forward, waiting for a call. She had cleaned her tear-smudged makeup already at the sink, and might even have looked normal, if Yael had been able to make out her face. Yael didn’t understand how they could be so still. 

Nodiah was here, too. Standing far away, with his back to them all, focused on his phone. He’d stayed standing, and had barely said a word the whole hour. He’d kept his his eyes off them, as if their fear and mourning were obscene, and he was uncomfortable around their grief. Even though he was powerful-- so powerful the adults seemed afraid of him-- he’d hidden down here, rather than joining the team above. 

So had Yael.

Jamie's hoarse, breathless voice was almost swallowed up by the long, concrete room. “Yael.” 

Yael turned back to xyr sister, who gestured minutely at the game with a trembling hand. Yael ground xyr teeth and tried to glue xyr attention to xyr sister’s needs. Xe could do this. There was still one thing xe could do. Jamie was close-- close enough Yael could have reached out and grabbed her again if necessary, could hide her fragile body under Yael's bulk. If there was another attack, Yael could protect her.

The hiss of an elevator sent Yael rocketing to xyr feet. The bench xe’d been on crashed to the floor as xe turned to face the doors. Melissa and Jamie followed suit, silently. Nodiah Bridgewater only turned his head. 

The door opened to show an exhausted, dust-covered Capricorn. Not in uniform-- there hadn’t been time-- but still heroic. He was grim, but always was, after a fight. They-- everybody but Nodiah-- raced towards him. He didn’t make them wait. “Neil caught him. He’s at the ER and he’s stable.”

There was a collective exhale. Yael started as Melissa staggered on her tall shoes, and reached both hands to steady her on her feet. Jamie looked for a split second as if she might actually faint, and Yael panicked, trying to figure out how to catch them both at once, but Jamie only sagged, head bent forward and shoulders drooping. Melissa righted herself, touching her fingers gently to Yael's hand as she looked back to Drew. “I need my--”

His voice was gentle. “I’ve got a self-driving cab waiting for you on the east side of the building. I’ll--” he paused briefly, his voice almost catching. “I’ll stay here with the kids.”

She sagged again, lifting her cold hand off Yael and touching Capricorn’s arm instead. “Thank you.”

Jamie cut in, unexpectedly shrill and loud. “What?” She stepped forward. “I want to go to the hospital, too!”

Yael nodded emphatically. “We should be there with him.” Issac was alive. Xe’d failed him, but not fatally. Xe had to get to him.

Melissa shook her head, taking Capricorn’s place in the elevator. “Absolutely not.” She looked up, more sympathetically. “But I will let you know every single development as I hear about it. I promise. I’m not bringing a mob to the ER.”

“But--!” Jamie began, her voice on the verge of cracking. 

Drew reached out to Jamie, looping an arm around her shoulders and stepping in to hold her. “He’s stable. You don’t have to hurry. It’s--”

Jamie shoved off him, propelling herself away, coughing violently. He recoiled, suddenly realizing he was covered in dust and the rubble from Jenna’s home. “Shit, sorry...” 

Jamie waved him off, walking back to the table to sit down beside her inhaler.  She was breathing deeply as she could, so she couldn't talk, but she leveled a glare at the rest of them. Melissa looked from her daughter to Yael, meaningfully. Jamie would stay, and Yael would watch Jamie. 

Xe pressed xyr lips tight together and stayed quiet, miserably accepting the instruction.

The elevator door closed, and she left.

Drew sighed wearily, shoulders sagging. He glanced at Nodiah out of the corner of his eye, and straightened again. "Secretary. It's all clear upstairs."

"You killed him?" Yael prompted.

His eyes flicked to xyr for a second, then away. "We arrested him."

Yael's mouth dropped open, but Drew overrode xyr. "He surrendered. We don't kill someone who’s surrendered and subdued. You know that." His voice was steady, but he looked uncomfortable about it. He had to feel the same way Yael did. He had to. He loved Issac.

"But he--”

"That's the rules, Yael. You know that." 

Yael’s hands clenched into fists. 

Drew narrowed his eyes at xyr, glancing up and down. His voice was low, not quite a whisper, but this room made everything loud. "And cut that out."

His glance was xyr clue. Xe glanced down. Xyr skin was completely glossed over with a dark silver. Prepared for a fight, for danger. To pummel Issac’s attacker into dust. Way too late to be useful.

Nodiah was watching xyr with sharp, considering eyes. His voice was smooth as the flat of a knife, with just the faintest edge of sarcasm. "Well. Membraned thermal superconductive exoskeletal production. What a surprise." He looked meaningfully at Capricorn. "Aren't you surprised? This wasn't in her medical file, so I'm sure it must be the very first occurrence." He looked back at Yael, who was in no mood. Xe had mostly retracted the shielding when he spoke again, but it rushed back into place. "Wherever could you have inherited that, I wonder." 

Xe wouldn’t be able to make the shielding hide under xyr skin now. How dare he comment on that, after a lifetime of ignoring xyr? He had no right to break that silence in his first words to xyr.

Drew sounded as rock-steady as ever. "The driver will take you wherever you need to go, Secretary Bridgewater."

Yael's uncle gave Drew a cold, irritated look, and stepped towards the elevator. Then he paused, turning back to xyr. He looked a little less distant, a little more frank. "I have always wondered. Did Solomon ever actually confess it to you, or did he leave you to work it out on your own?"

Yael bristled. Xyr voice came out a low growl. "My father has nothing to confess."

These were the words he’d expected. "Well, then I see you've inherited something from him after all. How much simpler for you both." He cocked his head to the side. "But you understand, don't you. When the public sees you, they won’t play along. Anyone who was alive during the South Dakota uprising will recognize you, or at least your abilities. Solomon’s charade will have to end then. You need to prepare yourself."

A lifetime of not talking about it and a morning full of rage and terror left Yael with no ready response. 

He didn’t seem to expect xyr to have one. He looked to Capricorn, professional once again. "I hope you have your best marketing people on this. We can't save her from public opinion, and you know we won't qualify anyone who will make the public feel unsafe."

Drew didn’t speak. He only watched Nodiah with furious, unflinching eyes. Under layers of dust, Yael could see green lights flicker indistinctly. But his lights weren’t taboo like Yael's silver. 

Nodiah rolled his eyes slightly, stepping onto the elevator and holding his hand out to prevent its closing-- he wasn’t used to MARTIN. He started to speak, but Drew's phone rang and he answered it immediately. Nodiah dared to look insulted.

Yael had the same exceptional hearing as most altereds. But Neil’s voice, rough and uneven, wasn’t clearly audible from around Drew's ear. Xe watched for clues-- slight relief, then concern, then muted horror and anxious purple lights leading to creases like cracks around his eyes. Still, his voice was steady. "Melissa’s on her way to you now. She'll be there soon. Do they--” He was silent again. Jamie pushed away from the table, avidly tracking every glimmer of emotion on Drew's face, every flicker in his skin. Yael didn’t think xe had ever seen Drew look so lost before. He turned his face, keeping Jamie from seeing it. "I-- I don't." A pause. "Keep me informed. I'll make sure Solomon and I get you the device. Maybe we can--" He winced, as the voice on the other end grew loud for one explosive moment. His voice was quiet, chastened. "OK. OK. Just keep me in the loop. Do whatever you need to. Bye."

He hung up, and collected himself. "Secretary Bridgewater, please consider this the notice that the Sentinels are in possession of damaging altering technology in connection with this morning’s arrest, and that we and Dr. Tillman will further investigate this device and complete a full-length report."

Any frankness from before evaporated. Nodiah was all business. "Altering?"

"Yes, sir. The device--" He cut off, head tilting back towards Jamie, as if suddenly remembering she was there. "I'll file a full report. Right now, I think I need to talk to the kids."

Nodiah was resolute. “Capricorn, an attempt was very likely made on my life this morning in your home. Do you really expect me to go back out there without knowing what it was they were trying to do to me?"

Jamie’s little voice prompted, "Drew?” 

Drew dropped his eyes, but only for a moment, then he forced them back up to meet Yael’s. “Whatever that weapon was, it had varying types of attacks, for metal, or for stone. One of them seems to have been designed to cause neurological damage. They're doing an MRI3 on him now, but we won't know much more for a while.”

For a moment, everything was utterly silent. Jamie was the first to speak, her voice thin. "Is he going to be like Jenna was?"

Yael's heart shattered. "You can't send him away!"

Drew's voice rose in anger this time. "We didn't send her away." He moderated his tone. "You two know that. She moved out on her own. She made that call. And no, Issac will come home. We just don't know when yet. We'll take care of him." His eye caught Bridgewater, whose expression was unreadable, but held some kind of secret understanding. 

Drew straightened to his full height, leaning almost imperceptibly towards Yael's uncle. His voice was controlled, icy fury. "Do not. Do not say what you're thinking. Not now, and not in front of them. Or to Melissa, or Neil. I swear to God, Bridgewater. If you can't dredge up that much decency now--"

Nodiah returned a small gesture of distant, dignified acquiescence. "I will leave you to your loss. My prayers will be with you."

This mollified Drew some. He still glared at the closed elevator door, even after it was closed. By the time he turned back to them, Jamie was walking away, back towards one of the armchairs beside the couch. She sat down with her back to them, curling her legs up and her arms in, disappearing from view. Only her increasingly uneven breaths gave away her location. 

Drew watched her go, then looked at Yael. "We'll take care of him. Whatever comes up, we'll take care of him."

[shadeswift99]

I've been seeing a lot of new people around Hermitblr lately (and on this blog specifically), and it just occurred to me that some of you might not know just how many brilliant and talented Hermitcraft fans there are to follow! So, I've created this not-at-all-exhaustive list of blogs run by people who I respect and admire SO much for their creations and their good vibes. If you haven't already, go follow them! They are amazing, you won't regret it. (Also, feel free to reblog and add on to the list!)

@mleemwyvern - Fantastic AUs, fics, and art, especially centered around Team ZIT and special powers/weird game mechanics

@sleepyrinas - Creator of the False and Grian detective AU!! Amazing art and writing for that, go check it out you won't regret it

@betweenlands - Legendary. Co-author of the expansive and multiple-year-long 77-2 project, among other great fics and AUs. Occasional art, constant vaguely unsettling chaos! (In the BEST way possible)

@slimetek - Hermitcraft stimboards, all-around fun, and a writing production quality and sheer volume of words that will blow your mind. Check out any one of their fics, they are AMAZING.

@theres-an-impulstor-among-us - Perfectly selected clips, and more than enough expertly-crafted minifics to have you reading all the way into the morning

@impulstor - Amazing art for Hermitcraft and 3rd Life, and high-quality hilarious Hermit Among Us night liveblogging!

@hermette-historian - An absolute must-follow for any new Hermitcraft fan, especially ones who are interested in learning about the server's journey to the place where it is now. Witty and extremely dedicated commentary on Hermitcraft history, written so there's not a boring moment to be found!

@bat-connoisseur - Art that pops with colour in the best ways, and fics that do exactly the same!

@fluffy-papaya - A steady stream of expressive and fun sketches and comics, especially of Team ZIT!

@eexer-watches-hermitcraft - Really interesting and observant comments, quotes, and ideas about Hermitcraft in general, plus a good amount of Etho (no such thing as too much Etho!)

@12u3ie - The #1 place to experience the Joe Hills Difference is a Joe Hills stream. The #2 place to experience the Joe Hills Difference is Twelve's blog! Resident Joe expert, owner of some excellent and extensive OC lore, and overall certified nice person to be around.

@/joehills - Joe Hills

@netherite-sword - Hermitblr royalty as far as I'm concerned! The nicest tags and answers to asks this side of just about anywhere, and art and writing that are way way better than she'd ever admit. (Ooooo you want to follow Dawn Netheritesword so bad go go go -)

@plcklesontheseafloor - AMAZING Hermitcraft art, and also creates MC content of his own on YouTube! The style of both is just so soothing and amazing, you won't regret checking it out

@chaggle - THE ART. THE ART. I have no way of accurately describing just how good this Hermitcraft art is, you'll just have to go see for yourself, but I promise you it is GLORIOUS

@thatreallyminecraftsmygender - Zaph, another Hermitblr must-follow! Activity varies, but extremely cool analysis and general chill vibes can always been found here.

@stormjay0 - Very good and often hilarious Hermitcraft art, as well as a thriving MC YouTube channel! A very cool creator and person overall! (And also someone who still draws for season 6 and 7, if you're like me and not done thinking about that yet At All)

@redwinterrises - Amazing fic and regular (very good!!) text posts! A steady stream of 3rd Life and Hermitcraft content. I know almost everyone on this list is a must-follow in my books but...really, must-follow!

@ambered-glazed-sheep - Author of some of my favorite Hermitcraft fics, and owner of an art style I continue to be VERY jealous of. Plenty of Xisuma content! (Edit: HOW COULD I FORGET AMBER'S YOUTUBE she's an amazing Minecraft content creator too please go check her out!)

(I am certainly going to think of more that I've forgotten later, so I am 100% going to reblog at some point to add on to this!)

Yes, I just realized that almost all of these entries has at least one exclamation point...but hey, they really deserve it! Please go check them out, you won't regret it.

[maneskin-dimensione]

La tristezza non dura per sempre.

Summary: You're having a 'blue' day and Damiano's determined to help.

Word count: 4414.

Warnings: Google translate errors, me projecting (again), swearing, I guess? If there are any warnings or things you think need to be tagged then please let me know and I will edit it asap!

Author's note: I've been feeling a bit 'blue' myself lately so this was quite helpful to write.

Please enjoy: likes, comments and reblogs fuel me so please let me know if you liked it and if you’d like to be tagged in anything else I write! Also a massive shout out and big major thank you to @mywritingonlyfans who read this before anyone else and gave me such encouraging feedback, thank you!

Tag List: @mywritingonlyfans @selenophiliaxx @daddydamiano @cries-in-maneskin @superchrystaldrug @bidet-and-legolas @illicitfuck @pinklyrium @teenyweenynightghost

"Sometimes sadness is appropriate. Not something to run from, not something to numb...just Something to feel." ~ Marianne Williamson.

You didn't understand where it had come from.

Yesterday, you had felt fine, happy, content even. You and your roommate had ended up having a quiet night in together with your boyfriends, Damiano getting to know and spend time with the other people in your life was important to him and, luckily, they'd all got on like a house on fire, with your boyfriend agreeing to join your roommate's boyfriend in a game of basketball when they both had a free moment.

Afterwards, Damiano had said goodbye to your roommate and her boyfriend and brought you in for a kiss, promising to pick you up bright and early the next morning. You'd been so excited then and had gone to bed with butterflies in your stomach, looking forward to what the next day would bring.

But when you woke up...it was like you'd never felt that excitement, like it had never existed in the first place.

Instead, you were just so tired. You'd taken your first big breath of the day and the effort it had taken you to do that, alone, made you feel tired to the bone and all you'd wanted from that moment onwards was to just roll over and sleep the rest of the haze away.

The only emotion you could pick out with any certainty right now was disappointment: you'd had plans with the band to have a beach day today - it'd had been in the works for weeks and had been your idea: a short break in the recording process would be good for them, you'd reasoned. Unsurprisingly, Damiano had been the hardest to convince, but had eventually caved when you'd turned the puppy-dog eyes on him.

You'd been excited about this for days, practically counting down the hours until you'd be able to spend some quality time with your favourite people and then...and then this, this morning. This feeling that you hadn't felt for a long time hit you like a high speed train and now in your bed was the only place you wanted to be.

Your roommate had come to investigate after you didn't show up for breakfast; it had been a ritual, as long as you could remember really, for the two of you to have breakfast together, with her always serving up delicious, freshly baked treats. But even the idea of a warm, fresh-from-the-oven croissant wasn't enough to pull you from the sanctuary of your warm bed.

You ignored your roommate and her attempts to get you to respond, ignored her knocks on the door and her calls of your name. You didn't want to be bothered, you didn't want to bother with anyone. You loved her, you really did, but she was one to hover and  by her sixth time of trying to get your attention, you were beginning to get more than a little pissed off.

"I'm fine, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather!" you eventually called out, in an attempt to mollify her.

It was a downright lie, you weren't actually sure what you were feeling but what were you supposed to say without causing her to panic?

"I'll be alright if I could just get some peace and quiet!"

There was a pointed hint in your reply to her and finally, she gave up and you were stuck listening as she walked off, down the hallway, her heels clacking against the wooden floors and a sigh of relief left your lips when you could no longer hear her.

But you should have known that the silence wouldn't last for long.

...

You suppose you shouldn't have been surprised that your roommate had called him; it's what you would have done if the situation had been reversed.

You didn't turn around at the knock on the door or the sound of Damiano calling your name. You didn't flinch when the door opened or when you could hear footsteps approaching you.

You didn't even flinch when the bed sank beside you and a hand came up rest on your shoulder with a light squeeze.

"Amore."

You didn't reply, you just kept your gaze straight ahead, almost staring a hole through the patterned wallpaper that your eyes were fascinated with.

"Amore," Damiano repeated, his hand gently travelling from your shoulder up to your hair. "Per favore parlami, per favore dimmi cosa c'è che non va. Sono preoccupato."

It was unnerving to Damiano for you to be silent this long. There was never usually so much silence between the pair of you, one of you always found something to speak about - even if it was the stupidest thing in the world. It was also unnerving for you to go so long purposely not speaking to him.

"Amore, please."

With a grunt, you rolled over in the bed, your eyes finally meeting his; His heart sank at the dull look in your eyes and his hand searched to grasp yours, finding it amongst the sheets.

"What did she tell you?"

Damiano's thumb stroked over the back of your hand, mindless pattern after mindless pattern. You didn't know if he was trying to distract you or himself.

"She said you weren't coming out of your room," he murmured, "And you weren't answering her knocks or calls. She was worried, amore. Worried enough to call me."

You didn't reply, didn't look up at him, didn't move as he peered down at you, eyebrows knitted together in worry as his eyes searched your face. What had happened in the hours that he had left and gone home to sleep? You were fine when he'd left, happy and smiling and giggling along with your roommate at some lame joke her boyfriend had made.

"I don't know," you murmured in response. Damiano blushed slightly, not realizing he'd been verbalizing his thoughts. "I don't even know what happened. I don't know why. I just woke up and there it was...this weird sad, dull feeling in my chest, like it's been there the whole time and I've never realized until now."

"What can I do? What can I do to help?"

You considered for a moment. You glanced up at him; he was already dressed for the beach: tank top, shorts, trusty Dr Marten platforms, jewelry all painstakingly chosen to give off the relaxed vibe he wanted and yet all you wanted him to do was stay here with you.

But, despite how long it had taken them to get on board, Damiano was clearly looking forward to a relaxing day at the beach with his friends and you weren't about to take that from him.

"You can go to the beach." you eventually murmured. "Tell everyone I'm sorry, please? I don't want to spoil their day, or yours."

"The only place I'm going is to call them and say that we can't make it." he decided, sitting up and toeing off his shoes, flipping them off his feet and not caring where they landed in the room. "And then I'm going to get in that bed with you and hold you until you're sick of me."

You didn't reply to him, knowing that there was nothing that you could say that would get your boyfriend to change his mind; once Damiano had an idea in his head, it was hard to get him to abandon it. His footsteps echoed on the dull floor as he left the room, phone to his ear, his voice carrying through to the bedroom from the hall as he told someone - presumably Vic - of the change in plans.

You could hear the rustling of clothing, the soft drop of his shirt meeting the floorboards, the clink of his phone and keys on the bedside table and then the mattress dipping beneath you with his weight. His bare chest met your back, his arms slid around your waist as he pressed up against you, lips meeting your shoulder.

The silence stretched between you, tears pricking the back of your eyelids. You couldn't stop the sniffles or the way your shoulders shook slightly as you tried, but failed, to hold back the tears that had been threatening to escape for the past few hours. Damiano didn't speak but his grip on you tightened, kisses being pressed wherever he could reach.

"Sono davvero dispiaciuto." You whispered so low that Damiano had to strain to hear you. But he did hear you, he always did and you felt his nose brush against your neck.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, amore."

You shook your head. "I ruined beach day."

"You didn't ruin anything." he countered, "I'd much rather be here with you than at the beach with the others."

You sighed, "You're a terrible liar, Damia."

"I could never lie to you." He sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "Do you want to talk about whatever's bothering you?"

"I..." you trailed off and swallowed. "I don't even know what is bothering me.  Like I said, I just feel sad."

"Do you need anything?" he murmured after a moment. "Anything at all?"

"No," you said, but then you paused, considered. "I don't know what I need. Everything's just...off, right now."

"That's okay," Damiano nodded. When he next spoke, his words were shy, hesitant almost. "You know...” he swallowed. “You know I'm not going anywhere, right?"

"Even if I have more sad days?"

"Every day could be a sad day, dolcezza, and I still wouldn't go anywhere. You're stuck with me." his arms tightened around you and he scooted closer, as if to prove his point. "I'm a koala. Your koala."

Normally, a sentence like that would get him a giggle out of you or a smile, but not today. It was a testament to how low, how down you were feeling that you didn't react to something that usually gave you butterflies and earned him a flash of the smile you seemed to have just for him.

Damiano was silent for a moment, before he piped up again, this time his voice laced with cautious optimism. "What do you think about us going into the living room and watching a movie? We can watch anything you want. It just might do you good to get out of this room for a while."

You sighed. You didn't really want to move. You were warm, comfortable and safe from prying eyes. You liked this little bubble you were currently encased in: just you and Damiano and your bed, that's all you needed right now and if you could, you would have been content to stay like that for the rest of the day.

But your body decided to betray you, and with a sigh you nodded. You supposed that movies would help with filling the silence between you two.

"Sure," you mumbled. "Just got to go to the bathroom first."

Damiano nodded and you felt the bed shift as he climbed out, waiting until you were stood up and moving to plant a kiss against your forehead. It was so gentle and sweet that it caused you to flash him a ghost of your smile. It was thin, small, but it was there and it made Damiano's heart leap in his chest to see it.

"Take your time, amore. There's no rush."

When you'd finally emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly better after splashing your face and cleaning your teeth, you retreated to your bedroom to pick up the blanket that always laid at the bottom of your bed, opening it and draping it around yourself and approaching the living room, you stopped in your tracks at the doorway, your tired eyes widening at what you saw.

"What..." you managed to sputter out with more energy than you felt. "are you doing?"

All of the cushions were off the couch, the knitted blanket your grandmother had gifted you when you had secured your internship was draped over the body of the couch and then strung up, clothes pins holding it to other blankets and sheets that Damiano had managed to find, all attached to a rope that hung from the ceiling via your light fixture - a rope that you had no idea that you even had, and other ropes strung across the room. From your vantage point, you could see your favourite fluffy pillows and blankets inside the construction, piles of books, snacks and magazines you liked littered the "floor" of the fort.

Netflix was cued up on the TV screen, the lights were low and there were fairy lights and candles on every available surface and you could even smell the unmistakable aroma of Pasta Amatriciana - your favourite and Damiano's speciality - sneaking in from the kitchen.

Your boyfriend, the man in question, turned to face you. He wore a bright grin on his face, his eyes shining in triumph as he studied your face.

"Building a fort of course!" he said.

He approached you and took your hand, leading you around the room as if he was a realtor trying to make a sale.

"I've made the fort here, as you can see. It's loaded with your favourite snacks, books, magazines and those fluffy pillows that you like so much but always make me itch. I know you love candles and fairylights so I filled every surface I could find with them." he gestured to the inane amount of fairylights that he'd strung up: over photos and paintings that hung on the wall, on the windowsills around your plant pots and the vase of flowers that you'd bought a few days before. The fairylights were intertwined with the small tealights that your roommate always insisted on stocking up on whenever she passed them in a store.

"Netflix is queued up and waiting for you to have a scroll to find something to watch," he continued, turning around to face you, "And the Pasta Amatriciana is almost finished, made just the way you like it." he blushed slightly.

You blinked at him. How long were you in the bathroom?

He looked so pleased with himself and so proud at his attempt to cheer you up that you felt yourself begin to thaw slightly.

"You didn't have to do all of this."

He nodded, giving you hand a squeeze. "I know, I wanted to. I remember what you told me; how when you were younger and you felt sad or you'd had a bad day, your dad would build you a fort and you'd sit in it for the rest of the night. You called it the "happy fort" because only happy or good things were allowed inside."

"I can't believe you remember that."

He shrugged, a smile still on his face. "I remember more than you think, amore. Now, why don't you get inside and get comfortable while I check on the pasta? I called Leo and he's going to drop Bidet and Legolas off and also to bring dessert because we both know that while I can cook, I'm hopeless at desserts and I didn't want to disgrace the canoli."

He dropped a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving you to aquaint yourself with the fort he had built single-handedly. It certainly was impressive, a massive gain on the ones your father used to build you when you were a child. You climbed in, pleasantly surprised at how warm and cozy it was and you felt something pull at your heart.

You were so wrapped up in the warmth and the familiarity and overwhelmed by the fact that Damiano went to all this effort just to brighten your day a little that you almost leapt out of your skin when you glanced up from where you were stroking the feathers of your cushion to meet his gaze, bowls in hand.

"Comfortable, amore?" he asked, passing a bowl of your favourite Pasta Amatricana, and smiling as you inhaled the scent.

"Very." you sent him a small smile as he maneuvered himself into the fort; he'd had the foresight to build it with more than enough room for you pair and the cats. The two of you ate in companionable silence, eventually settling on watching Friends; you'd seen the show to the point where you could probably quote the episodes word for word but Damiano didn't object in the slightest.

Despite yourself, you managed to finish your pasta and even had a second helping, much to Damiano's relief.

Leo had knocked and delivered Bidet and Legolas, who both were eager to explore (and attempt to destroy) the new construction in their living room, meowing or glaring at you when you softly told them to stop trying to chew one of the cushions; he'd also brought chocolate cake from a bakery that the two of you frequented together often when buying secret treats for the band whenever they were working too hard to stop for something sensible to eat.

You were curled up now, Bidet in your lap, resting atop the soft blanket Damiano had covered you with, your head billowed on his shoulder as he sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders and the other making sure Legolas was comfortable on his lap.

"How are you feeling?"

Damiano's voice was soft, gentle and it washed over you like another warm blanket that you just wanted to snuggle up to. You turned to face him and smiled slightly.

"I'm getting there." you admitted, leaning into him. "This is helping."

"Are you up for a facetime?" he asked, "Vic's been bugging me all day. She wanted to come over earlier but I figured you weren't up for that so I turned her down. She, Ethan and Thomas are at her place right now, they're all worried about you."

"Didn't they go to the beach?" you asked. Your voice was small, as small as you felt. It was one thing, you supposed, for Damiano to skip out on a fun beach day because of you. It was another thing, entirely, for Ethan, Victoria and Thomas to miss out because of you too.

He shook his head, "They didn't want to go without us," and seeing the way your eyes filled, he hurried to reassure you. "But it's okay, amore, because we're going to make sure we go when you're feeling better. Please don't worry."

"I'm sorry," you sighed, "I didn't mean to ruin everyone's day."

"You didn't." his voice was firm, full of warmth, but firm. Pushing you to believe him. "Amore, you're having a bad day, a sad day. You need to know that that's okay and it's more than okay for you to need to take time for yourself."

You sighed and then glanced at his phone. "Can we facetime them? I want to apologise."

"You don't have anything to apologise for." he insisted, but quickly found Vic's contact and pressed call, angling the phone in front of the pair of you.

Usually, when you were facetiming Vic, Ethan or Thomas, you'd look a bit more presentable than you did. You swiped your arm under your eyes, using the cuff of your sleeve - one of Damiano's hoodies you'd later realize - to wipe the last remnants of your tears from your face.

Damiano simply pressed a kiss to your hair as Vic picked up, her face filling the screen with Ethan and Thomas behind her, all of them wearing warm smiles.

"There she is!" Vic cheered when she saw you, handing the phone to Thomas and leaning over to pick up Chili and show her to the camera, "We miss you!"

"We're sending you lots of hugs and kisses!" Thomas cut in, breaking off in a laugh when Chili turned to him and licked a wide stripe up his cheek. "Chili too!"

"How are you feeling?" Ethan asked and you managed a small smile.

"I'm getting there." you glanced over at Damiano and then back to the screen.

"I'm really sorry about the beach thing. I didn't mean to ruin things."

"You didn't ruin anything, cucciola," Thomas cut in, before anyone else could. "We wouldn't have had any fun if we had gone without you two. I need my racing buddy!"

The tiniest giggle left your lips and you could feel Damiano sigh deeply, in relief or in surprise you weren't sure; you were pretty sure he winked at Thomas.

“Please don't worry about today." Ethan spoke up, "We can go to the beach any time. Just name the way and we'll clear our schedules."

"Oh completely." Vic nodded, "I'll argue with whoever I have to clear whatever day you want. But, like Ethan said, please don't worry. Just focus on you for now, okay? The beach can wait, just put yourself first."

You smiled, tears once again pricking in your eyes, but this time, they were happy ones, relieved ones.

"I love you, guys." 

"We love you too!"

Thomas pushed Chili forward so the dog began to lick the screen of Vic's screen. "Chili too!"

"Now," the camera swung back to Vic again, "Get some rest, make Damiano watch Mamma Mia and relax, okay? We'll talk to you later."

Once they'd signed off, Damiano placed his phone down and turned to you, nudging your cheek with his nose. "Feeling better?"

"I'm glad they aren't mad at me." you mumbled, leaning into him with a sigh, the tension melting from your body.

A kiss was planted on your forehead. "I never thought they would be."

A yelp left your mouth as Damiano used the small distraction to pull the TV remote from your lap. "What are you doing?"

You watched as he scrolled through Netflix, before landing on a very specific and familiar movie. A small smile pulled at your lips, and just as it had previously, it made Damiano's heart leap in his chest.

"Finding your comfort movie."

The opening titles of Mamma Mia filled the screen and you turned to peer up at him. "This will only work if you sing along, you know."

Damiano rolled his eyes, but hunkered down to watch. "As long as you don't make me watch it three times in one night again."

"I don't know why you're complaining. You seemed to enjoy it last time."

"I was singing ABBA in my sleep, amore. There's loving ABBA a regular amount and then there's singing it in your sleep while on tour with your bandmates, and waking up to find out that Thomas has recorded you."

"Could have been worse."

Damiano rose an eyebrow at you, but there was a smile playing at his lips, amusement in his eyes. "How?"

"We could have watched the High School Musical trilogy instead."

"I've told you before, amore. I was Troy Bolton in a previous life."

"With better hair I trust."

"You know it."

....

Four days later, you found yourself on a quiet beach, lying on a beach towel with Chili running around the sand, barking at the ocean and Ethan and Thomas racing each other into the water and back. Damiano was lying against you, his head resting on your thigh while Vic was sitting beside you, filming them and cheering them on.

You smiled to yourself.

The five of you, six if you included Chili, had travelled to Sardinia for the weekend. When you called up Victoria and told her that you were feeling better and if you could reschedule the beach trip, you had no idea that you'd be making the leap to Sardinia of all places.

It had been Ethan's idea, you'd learned when you arrived, to come out to Cala Luna; he'd been to the beach before and thought you'd like it due to the seclusion, and you had to admit that the beach and it's surroundings were beautiful; as soon as you'd stepped onto the sand, you could feel the tension that had been present in your body ebbing away.

The beach was quiet enough and hidden enough that no-one would be able to guess your location or tip off the paparazzi, so the five of you were free to completely relax and let your hair down.

"Shit, Chili, no!" Vic yelled out, shattering the peace as she jumped up and ran towards her dog, where she was trying to grasp the inflatable beach ball that Thomas had insisted on bringing with them, determined to get them all to play a game of beach volleyball at least once.

You startled when you felt a poke at your shoulder, looking down and meeting Damiano's wide eyes, his cheeky smile as he gazed up at you. "You okay, amore?"

"Come on, you two!" Vic called out, "Smettila di sdraiarti e di essere così carina e adorabile. Come and play Volleyball!"

"Vic, there's five of us," Ethan pointed out, "How are we going to play volleyball with five people?"

"Someone's going to have more team members," Thomas complained, "That's not fair because we know it's you that will insist on the extra team mate."

"Well then, one of you will just have to referee." she huffed.

"But that's not fair," Thomas continued, "Volleyball was my idea. Why can't you referee? or why can't...."

As Vic, Ethan and Thomas bickered before you and Chili ran around their feet, tail wagging in excitement, you turned back to Damiano and smiled down at him.

"Yeah," you murmured with a peaceful smile. "I'm okay."

~ fin ~

T R A N S L A T I O N S:

Amore: Love

Per favore parlami, per favore dimmi cosa c'è che non va. Sono preoccupato: Please talk to me, please tell me what's wrong. I'm worried.

Sono davvero dispiaciuto: I'm really sorry.

Cucciola: Puppy

Smettila di sdraiarti e di essere così carina e adorabile: Stop lying down and being so cute and adorable.

Dolcezza: Sweetness

[nostalgiabones]

Simple Sunday Afternoons // CH

This is just a random thing I wrote one day after talking to @calumrose as always lmao. I didn’t intend to post it but I think it’s a just a nice soft Sunday so, I thought I would! I also just wanted to make the point that the little moodboards I’ve made aren’t representative of what any of the ‘characters’ look like — they just represent the concept of the blurb! Let me know what you think, and as always, reblogs and feedback is so appreciated! ❤️

Word count: 4.2k

“Good morning,”

A warm smile rises on Calum’s lips at the words as he flips a pancake in a pan, clad in only his grey joggers and a messy mop of curls upon his head, along with the glasses he’s taken to wearing more often recently. He doesn’t hear the giggles or yawns of your daughter, just some of her usual sounds in the morning, and assumes you’re entering the kitchen alone without her.

He doesn’t have a chance to turn around and check before you’re wrapping your arms around his waist — his warm skin soothing against your own. It’s not often you get little moments alone like this — not without a baby in between the two of you, either resting in his arms or your own. Not that it’s anything to complain about; the two of you love Mara more than life itself. You just miss getting to hold Calum for a little longer in the mornings.

“Yes, it is,” Calum replies, taking one of your hands in his own, lifting it to his face and brushing his lips over your knuckles. “Where’s the little one?”

You rest your cheek against him, just wanting to be close, wanting your skin on his. “I just put her down for an early nap, she was kinda fussy. I think her teeth are coming in.”

He nods, pouting at the thought of his sweet daughter being in pain.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on her,” He states, and you nod in agreement. “She’s probably going to be asleep a while, isn’t she? Do you want to go back to bed?”

You take a sip of coffee from the mug on the counter, not caring whether it was his or one he made for you. Everything he has is yours, and vice versa — even something as insignificant as coffee. He feels the same way about your heart.

“We finally have some time together, I don’t want to waste it sleeping,” You murmur, your palm sliding down his back, the gesture familiar and soothing to him. Goosebumps break out over his skin.

“Okay, well..” He turns down the heat on the stove, moving the hot pan to a cold ring in order not to burn himself when he gets distracted by you. He spins around, a hand landing on either side of your hip, his nose brushing yours as he leans in. “I could just stand here...” he interrupts himself by brushing his lips against yours. “And kiss you instead.”

You sigh against his lips and bask in the moment, one that is so rare nowadays. He notices you pout and he chuckles — his warm palms landing on the small of your back.

“What’s up with you, pouty?” He asks, keeping your face close, his eyes searching your face.

“I miss kissing you,” You whine, and he can’t help but kiss you again with the way you’re looking at him. You think back to Sunday’s before Mara — it feels like a different lifetime, but it wasn’t so long ago. Now days are filled with tears, smiles, happy baby giggles and messy meal times — but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if the only time you got to be close to Calum was at bedtime, once Mara had gone down.

“You can kiss me whenever you want, baby,” He replies, his pointer finger brushing up your cheek as he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“I know, but we don’t get time anymore,” You remind him, and he nods. You know you both need to make more of a conscious effort to spend quality time with each other — instead of trying to clean the whole house whilst Mara is napping. “It’s nice to be close to you like this.”

“Maybe Mara should grow some teeth more often.” He jokes, and you slap his chest playfully as he laughs.

“Don’t say that! She’s in pain,” You scold him, your hands pressed against his chest as he holds you close. “You won’t be saying that when she wakes up in a bad mood and won’t sleep tonight.”

He knows you’re right. As much as he jokes, there’s nothing he hates more than seeing his sweet girl in pain — whether it’s her teeth or anything else.

“Touché.” He smiles, kissing you once more. “Do you want to eat? I made pancakes.”

“But that means we have to stop kissing,” You sigh, and he can’t help but laugh at you once more. Calum brushes his lips against yours, his hands rubbing up and down the tops of your arms as you stand there. There’s something about seeing you in one of his t-shirts that goes straight to his heart every single time — even after being married for several years.

“Come on, pouty. Let’s have one meal uninterrupted before we have to deal with a grumpy Mara.”

***

“Cal, I need to get up,”

The sounds of Mara’s cries fill your ears as you gently push on Calum’s shoulders; trying to get him to move from where he’s fallen asleep on your lap so you can get up to get her. The two of you decided to watch a movie (or as much as you can get away with) whilst Mara slept, yet less than halfway through, Calum had fallen asleep with his face pressed against your chest.

“Mara is crying,” You murmur, brushing your fingers through his hair to rouse him a little more as he wakes up. “I need to go get her.”

He shifts in your lap and leans on one arm so you can get up, almost face planting the sofa once you stand up and he’s left there alone. He yawns and listens to the soothing words slipping from your lips as you approach Mara’s bedroom, already knowing you’ll be met with her sad eyes and messy hair. Her cries slow down but your voice gets louder as you head back to the lounge, and he sits up so he can take her.

“Look who it is,” You kiss Mara’s temple as you carry her through to where Calum is, her tired eyes lighting up as she spots her dad. Her skin is warm and flushed from sleep, much like Calum’s — the similarity between your husband and daughter when they’ve both woken up makes your heart melt.

“Hi, honey,” Calum greets her, reaching out for her from his spot on the sofa as he wakes up a little more. She yawns and her lips curl into a small smile as you set her down in his lap, a hand coming to hold either side of her as he gets her. You sit down next to them, unable to stop yourself from smiling at their matching puffy eyes and flushed cheeks. “How was your nap, hey? Are those naughty teeth still hurting you?”

He gets an answer through her gestures — as he speaks, she presses her lips to his shoulder, like she was trying to find some relief for her angry gums. “Oh, my poor girl. Shall we get you something that’ll help, hey? I think some yoghurt might work better than my shoulder, little one.”

Calum stands up from the sofa with a dramatic groan as he lifts her, kissing her forehead as she whines in his arms, rubbing at her heavy eyes with little fists. He opens the fridge as he hums under his breath, picking out her favourite apricot yoghurt and a spoon in the hopes of soothing her mouth.

“Why don’t we go for a walk to the park in a bit?” You ask, watching as Calum sets Mara down in her high chair. He pulls up a chair in front of her so he can feed her - knowing he’s about to get as messy as she usually does. “It’s a nice day out, and we can walk Duke at the same time.”

Calum nods, coaxing Mara to open her mouth as he feeds her. “That’s a good idea. Although I think we’re gonna need a bath after this.”

“We?”

“Do you see how much yoghurt is on her hands?” He laughs, leaning forward to kiss Mara’s forehead. In the process, she reaches out for him, the sticky, dairy snack landing on his own skin. “I think there’s more on her than in her mouth.”

He’s right, she’s messy, but looks significantly less uncomfortable than she did when waking up — so it’s worth it.

***

“Watch her eyes whilst I wash her hair, Cal,”

Calum steps out of the stream of the shower so you can rinse Mara’s hair, after lathering a sweet smelling shampoo through her curls. Breakfast had been a messy affair, and in an effort to save both time and water, you decided to have a family shower together.

He cups his hand over her forehead as you gently rinse the shampoo away, your fingertips smoothing over her scalp as content noises slip from her lips. The smile on her face tells you how happy she is to have your joint attention; loving nothing more than being inbetween the two of you.

“What does she find so funny about showering?” Calum asks, laughing himself as he holds Mara, lips brushing her wet cheeks as she giggles. He grabs the sponge to clean under her chin, making sure all of the yoghurt is gone, the familiar smell of her lavender body wash a comforting one. She tries to reach for the sponge as he does — her eyes fixated on the purple object.

“I don’t know, actually.” You reply, watching her eyes follow you as you move to wash Calum’s hair, too, noticing how much the blonde has grown out and his roots have come through. “We need to swap places again.”

“We should let Mara shower with us everyday if it means you washing my hair,” He suggests, met with a playful eye roll from you. Showering together was something he’d do everyday if he could — it’s one of his favourite intimate moments with you, a wonderful way to start his day. It’s more difficult to find time for it with Mara now though.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like I don’t do it even when your hands are free,” You reply and he laughs, knowing you’re right. Having his hair played with whether you’re washing it or just running your fingers through it is one of his favourite things, especially now it’s longer — a way to instantly make him relax. “You’re just using Mara as an excuse today, isn’t he, honey? He’s using you to make me wash his hair.”

She giggles and gives you a sweet wide mouthed smile, one that you wish you could freeze in time and see forever. One that soon will be accompanied by the teeth that are causing her so much pain.

“She doesn’t mind,” He pouts as he looks at her, lips brushing over her forehead as she smiles. She follows your lead and reaches up to put her own little hands into his hair, tiny fingers grabbing the curls in an attempt to help you. You laugh at her action, with a “are you trying to help mum, sweetheart?”

Calum grimaces but can’t help but laugh as he feels Mara tugging at his hair, knowing she’s trying to help, but isn’t quite as gentle as you are. “I think you need some lessons in hair washing, my love, it feels more like you’re trying to rip my hair out.”

It hurts, but her smile makes him ache in a completely different way.

***

“Is her pushchair in the garage?”

Calum grabs a teething ring from the fridge with his free hand as he nods, Mara occupying the other as she clings to his shoulder. It’s been a few hours since her morning nap and he knows she’s getting tired again; evident through her rubbing her eyes and her little whines. He knows she’ll fall asleep on the way to the park.

“Yeah, it’s near the back, behind the car.” He replies, kissing Mara’s forehead as she leans against his chest. She yawns and he rocks her in his arms, resting his cheek ontop of her head and holds her close. “Are you tired, little moon? That shower has made you sleepy, hey?”

His voice is a soft murmur as he talks to her; the tone one that is reserved for when he speaks to her. He’s so gentle and loving whenever he speaks to her and it makes your heart melt.

“Here we go,” You open the door and push her pram into the entrance to the house, unbuckling the straps so Calum can put her in. “Do you think she’s wrapped up enough? I don’t know if it’s as warm as it looks.”

Calum lifts her in his arms and pats her back, rocking her on the spot as he judges the weather. She’s comfy in a little t-shirt, hoodie and leggings, complete with baby old skool vans that Calum got her, to match his.

“How about a hat, too? Should we get you a beanie to match dad, baby?” He asks, knowing it’ll keep her ears warm if it gets a little chilly. You smile and head to her bedroom to get one of her little hats; her collecting growing with every one that Calum buys. “Come on, sweetheart, lets get you all cosy.”

He moves her away from his body to put her down and she cries, little hands trying to hold onto the neck of his own hoodie. Calum knows she’s being fussy because she’s getting tired and her mouth hurts, yet it makes him sad all the same. “You’re okay, honey, shh.”

Calum manages to set her down in the chair without too much of a fuss; making sure she’s sat down properly, and has her little elephant in reach as well as her pacifier. He leans down in front of her and kisses her nose, making a little ‘mwah’ noise as he does to try and soothe her and make her laugh. It doesn’t though — she still tries to hold onto him so he’ll pick her up again.

“What’s with the tears, angel? What’s the matter?” He soothes, staying close to her and gently wiping her tears away with his thumb. She sniffles and his heart aches at the sight. “You can go to sleep when we get walking, okay? You’re alright, my love.”

It’s moments like these where he’s happy that her pushchair is back facing, so she can see the two of you whilst you walk. You join them near the door, Mara’s beanie in your hands, a pout forming on your lips when you spot Mara in her pushchair.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” You ask, smoothing your fingers down her cheeks to soothe her. You tuck the hat over her head, making sure it covers her little ears to keep her warm. Calum hands you her soft blanket, and you tuck it around her knees so she’s snug — almost certain she’ll fall asleep as soon as you set off. “Your poor mouth is making you so sad, isn’t it? We don’t like having a sad girl.”

Calum grabs Duke’s lead and attaches it to his collar, handing it to you before he takes the handle of Mara’s pushchair. “Let’s go, my loves.”

You lock the door behind you before setting off; one hand holding Duke’s lead, and Calum takes the other — his calloused fingers slip between your own, warm and comforting. It’s such a small gesture yet it reminds you of the love between you both. Calum’s other hand pushes Mara’s pushchair at a steady pace. It’s a lovely spring afternoon — blue skies and birds singing in the trees, with just a slight breeze.

“It’s so nice to be out in the sun,” You comment, and Calum nods in agreement. His eyes land on Mara and he notices her squinting at the sun; stopping for a moment before he pulls the hood of her pushchair a little further up to shade her. “Is that better, honey? Can you see now?”

“It feels like we haven’t done this for a while.” Calum says, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the palm of your hand as you walk. He can’t help but feel a small amount of guilt nagging at his mind, knowing he’s spent a lot of time working recently. He’s always home for bedtime, but he’s always tired too — he knows you need to spend more quality time together. “It’s nice.”

“It is,” You reply, squeezing his hand in return. “When are you in the studio next week?”

Calum doesn’t answer for a moment as he thinks about the timing of you asking — like you also know that him being in the studio has meant less time together.

“I’m not going to go in,” He replies, and he knows it’s the right thing to do. “I miss you. I want to spend time with you and Mara this week, they can manage without me.”

It’s a small relief to hear the words. You never want to force Calum away from the studio, but he’s always in a different mindset when he writes. It’ll do him good to be away for a week — so you can spend more time wrapped in each other and with Mara.

You nod before speaking. “I’m so proud of you though, Cal. The songs are sounding great so far.”

A smile rises on his lips at the words, and he raises your joint hands to your lips so he can brush his lips against your knuckles.

“Thank you, honey. I know it’s a lot when we first start writing. I don’t mean to be distant, it’s just hard to get out of my head when I’ve been writing.” Calum explains, yet you don’t need him to; it’s a cycle you’ve witnessed several times throughout your relationship. You nod as he speaks.

“I know, Cal. It’s okay though.” You reassure him, leaning your head against his shoulder as you walk. “It’s all part of who you are, and I love you for you.”

Nothing else needs to be said.

It’s then that the two of you realise the gentle movement of the wheels of the pushchair against the pavement has sent Mara to sleep, and she’s tucked up under her blanket, fast asleep. Her cheeks are rosy red from the warmth and her sore gums, her little hands tucked up against her face. Calum smiles at the sight, reaching into the pram to push her curls away from her face.

“She’s so sweet.” He murmurs, his heart melting when she leans into his touch, even in her sleep.

“She’s all you,” You reply, watching as she wiggles in her sleep. From her wild curls to her full cheeks and pouty lips, every inch of her reminds you of Calum. He disagrees, though.

He shakes his head.

“No… she doesn’t get her temper and grumpy faces from me.”

Your mouth opens in shock and you playfully hit his arm as he laughs. “Hey! You know for a fact that her grumpy morning face is all from you, don’t try and put that on me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He replies, leaning to kiss you in a silent playful apology. “Whatever you say, my love.”

***

“Should we sit down here for a bit?”

Calum nods and puts the break on Mara’s pushchair, where she’s still sleeping soundly, in between the two of you as you sit down.

“She’s been asleep for a while, there’s no way she’s sleeping tonight.” Calum tells you, and you fear he might be right, even though she needs the sleep with her teeth coming in. “Do you think we should wake her up?”

You gently push her curls away from her face as she snoozes, your heart melting at her pouty lips all smushed up as she sleeps. You realise it has been over an hour since she went to sleep, and that she’ll feel even worse later on if she can’t sleep.

“Yeah, as much as I don’t want to,” You pout, feeling how warm her skin is under your touch. “It’ll do her good to have some fresh air and wake up a bit.”

Calum gently moves the blanket from her lap and pats her tummy, slowly trying to rouse her. Ever since she was born, Mara had been a heavy sleeper - never one to be easily woken up. Maybe she did get that from you. There’d be times where Calum would take her outside with him in the morning to watch the sun rise and she’d happily sleep in his arms, undisturbed by any movement.

“Mara…” Calum murmurs, undoing the buckles so he’d be able to pick her up once she wakes up. He didn’t want to startle her, and knows she’ll just go back to sleep if he rocks her. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

He notices Mara twitch and start sucking on her pacifier — a sign that she’s a little more awake than she was. He brushes his thumb over her cheek and she whines, screwing her eyes up when she realises that she’s outside. She stretches, reaching her arms out for a moment and closing her eyes once more when she relaxes.

“I love watching her wake up.” You comment, chuckling as she very slowly comes round. Calum decides she’s awake enough to move her — carefully slipping his hands underneath her and pulling her up to his chest. “Hi, baby.”

Calum groans dramatically as he gets her settled in his lap and a few cries slip from Mara’s lips at the disturbance; fists lifting to rub her eyes as she wakes up. She sniffles and sucks harder on her pacifier, burying her face against Calum’s chest as he holds her.

“Good afternoon, my love,” Calum murmurs, rubbing her back with his fingertips as he cradles her. “Are you back with us, hey? You’ve been asleep for a long time, honey.”

You know she has no idea what he’s saying, but she loves hearing his voice all the same. He gives her a moment to wake up, brushing his fingers through her hair and cuddling her against him.

“Look how red her cheeks are,” You mention, pouting at the sight — rosy red from how sore her gums are. “Our poor baby.”

He lifts her up so she’s basically standing on his legs, her face in front of his - her hands lifting to cover her eyes from the light. There’s a few families around, children playing and birds singing — a lot of different sights and noises for her to take in. It’s a peaceful day — a feeling of contentment overcoming both you and Calum.

“Hi, little moon,” Calum kisses her pouty lips and gets her settled in his arms, a hand underneath her to keep her sat up. She yawns and her eyes land on you, a smile on her lips as she realises you’re there. “Oh, there’s a smile! We haven’t seen one of those for a little while. Should we get you home soon and have some dinner? How does that sound?”

Calum decides to carry her on the way home for a little while, and your heart melts at the sight — the way he points out different trees and her curious eyes take in the new sights. There’s no one else you want to discover more of the world with.

***

When Calum said Mara wouldn’t sleep that night… he was right. After an hour of rocking her in her room to no avail, you decide to let her join your movie night; there was no point in stressing yourself and Mara out if she didn’t feel like sleeping.

“She gets her stubbornness from you too,” Calum announces, kissing Mara’s temple as he sits down on the sofa next to you with her in his arms. Duke is curled up on one side of you, a blanket thrown over your knees as you waited for Calum to bring Mara down to join you both. “She is not sleeping anytime soon.”

Her big brown eyes look at you from her spot on Calum’s lap — evident that no sleep is about to take place. You laugh at Calum’s words and roll your eyes, shaking your head as Mara reaches out for you.

“Yeah, come here, sweetheart,” You take her and settle her in your lap, brushing your fingers through her hair. “Dad is so mean, isn’t he?”

Calum joins you under your blanket and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you both close to him. His cheek rests against your head as he looks at Mara, seeing so much of both you and him in her. He finds the discarded teething ring and hands it to her, hoping it’ll settle her down if it soothes her a little.

“Hey, don’t tell her that,” He replies, his free hand stroking her cheek as she yawns. “You’re meant to be on my side, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, we’re ganging up on you on this occasion, babe.” You shrug your shoulders, rubbing your hand down Mara’s back as she settles in his lap.

Mara finally falls asleep a little later that night curled up in Calum’s arms on the sofa — a warm bottle of milk managing to help her drift off. At the same time, you’re fast asleep with your head in Calum’s lap, and he decides that Sunday’s are his favourite day.

And that with his little family... every day feels like Sunday.

***

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[pandoras-princess]

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to owner

A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸 Welcome to my first ever Peaky Blinders fic, I wrote it ages ago and have just edited it slightly so my apologies if the quality isn’t greaaat but the other parts will be better I promise! 😅 This is an AU fanfic where John never married Martha or had kids before he married Esme and there is no Grace for Tommy andddd the timeline is absolutely wack, I know it’s a lot so if you’re in the market for a traditional by the book Peaky Blinders fic this one is not for you I’m afraid 🤗 also if you’re finding it a bit slow I advise you to hang in there until after the time skip because that’s the better half of this part in my opinion, nevertheless I seriously enjoyed writing this so Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is forever welcome 😌

Summary:  Being the bestfriend of Jonathan Shelby meant that you’d grown up attached at the hip. And considering you were hopelessly in love with him, life was eventful to say the least. With John marrying Esme you decide it’s high time you got over him. And as they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else...

Pairing: (OOC) Thomas Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, smoking and drinking, mentions of addiction, mentions of sex but no smut I’m afraid

PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

Being John Shelby's best friend was definitely not an easy job.

You and John were the exact same age, born on the same day of the same month of the same year, precisely one hour and eleven minutes apart, and since your family only lived one house away from the Shelby's it was a given that you and John would grow up to be best friends.

You were as good as family to them, so when your father was killed in the war and your mother unable to cope turned to the drink and drugs, you were left officially orphaned at age 10 and Polly arranged for you to live with them, raising you as her own.

Growing up with the Shelby's came with it's challenges. They were all fiercely protective of you but no one more so than John. When you were kids he'd beat up anyone that dare made you cry, or sad or angry or anything other than happy really, and as you grew older and began to date he'd scare away anyone deemed not up to scratch, which seemed to be pretty much all of them, threatening violence known around Small Heath as common behaviour for the Peaky Blinders. This meant that you never really had a boyfriend, or many boys interested in you at all for that matter, and any who were rarely had the balls to act on it for fear of the Peaky Blinders wrath. However this didn't bother you much as there was only ever one boy you truly wanted interested in you, the one boy who never would be interested in you.

Of course being a teenage girl you'd had your silly crushes, Tommy being one of them. But they all paled in comparison to what you felt for John.

Being best friends meant that the two of you spent practically all of your time together, did everything together, went through and dealt with everything together. He had always been your shoulder to cry on, your ear to bend, your hugs and smiles and laughs, your safe place. It was inevitable that you'd fall for him. And fall for him you did, painfully obvious to everyone except John himself.

Shortly after your 16th birthday, you were reading a book by the fire, a woven blanket strewn across your legs and a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming your hands when John bursts into the house loud, drunk and jolly. He often snuck out to join his brothers in their shenanigans - whether it be business or pleasure - and you were all too happy to listen to his stories when he came home.

You watched John intently as he regaled to you his latest night out. You watched the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly as he spoke, a smug smile tracing his lips every so often. His eyes glistened from the whiskey and his lips were wet. A cigarette clasped lazily between his fingers, his eyes closed for a split second whenever he took a drag. Deep in admiration of the boy sitting in front of you, you didn't quite notice the change of events in the story.

"-and then she walked right up to me and kissed me!"

It was at that point that your attention snapped back, ears pricking up and heart racing as you go over what he'd just said. But too excited to wait, John didn't give you the chance to work out if you had misheard him.

"Well before I know it she's got me in the back alley dress hiked up going at me like a feral she was. Can ya believe it after all this time I'm finally a man aha!" John exclaims, a goofy, ear-splitting grin plastered on his face.

He spares any explicit details, knowing it was no way to talk with a lady no matter how close they are to you or how drunk you may happen to be. Nevertheless, upon hearing those final words coupled with the look of pure elation on his face, your heart shatters into millions of ice cold shards right before your eyes. The pain that was rapidly building in your chest and the image of John with some tart, skirt bunched around her waist fucking like dogs in the alley was too much for you to bear. A wave of nausea washes over you and you stand abruptly, dashing to the loo before the contents of your stomach emptied onto the carpet.

A few minutes later you hear faint knocks on the door.

“Ye alright in there love?” John asks, concern lacing his words.

“All good” you reply quickly, willing your voice to steady itself.

Wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead you collapse into a heap against the wall, and a sigh escapes your lips as you wrack your brain for the exact moment you had lost him. While John had never shown any signs of liking you, you were always able to draw hope from the relationship you two had, no matter how blind it may have been. Now though, he had dashed that hope, blind or otherwise, as he had given himself to someone else. He had openly chosen not to be with you.

Not to be yours.

Fobbing John off with some excuse about a dodgy dinner you quickly retreat to bed, going without giving him a hug, unable to bring yourself to touch him. And from that day onwards you lived with the knowledge that your love was unrequited. You lived with loving him, and him not loving you.

For the most part it was rather easy. John wasn't the kind for serious relationships - preferring causal sex to the committed kind - so you never really had to deal with any girlfriends or the lark, just the occasional tart interested in him on the rare nights out you tagged along. Even then, you soon learned not to go on any nights out without Ava or Polly present and so the issue of John and his women quickly became dormant. That was, however, until John agreed to marry Esme Lee.

Tommy came to you before asking John, asking for your help in convincing him. He knew John would come to you with it asking for advice before deciding. Tommy explained his plan, marry John off to the Lee girl forcing them to squash the war and join forces to overthrow Billy Kimber. It was simple enough and since you'd already accepted there was never to be a you and John, you agreed.

The time came and sure enough John came to you, confused and somewhat annoyed at Tommy's rough handed approach, and sure enough you stayed true to your word, telling him it was nothing new, people had arranged marriages all the time.

So on he went to marry her, your true feelings unknown to the man.

[2 years later]

"You shouldn't be working here you know. John certainly wouldn't like it" Tommy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you carefully wipe down the bar surface. He was referring to your new job as barmaid in the Garrison and having just finished your first shift you were cleaning up. Last orders had been and gone and every punter had now left the pub, drunk and merry on their ways.

After John married Esme you spent the next two years much to yourself. You embraced the spinster lifestyle and faded away into the passing days. However it was the turn of a new year and to everyone's joy you'd come to your senses, deciding it was high time you stopped wasting your life moping after John. He didn't love you - that much was clear - but somebody out there must and so it was time for you to move on, you thought. Reinvent yourself. This 'new you' started with marching into Tommy's office and demanding the new barmaid job. Surprisingly he offered no resistance, merely a quizzical look at your sudden determination before giving you the job. So here you were, your first shift done and nobody left in the place but you and your new boss.

"Well it might surprise you to know, Mr Shelby, but I don't abide my decisions by what John would or would not like me doing" you reply. Finishing up you leave the cloth on the bar and make your way over to the table, taking the chair adjacent to his.

"Is that so?" He asks, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours as he offers you a cigarette. You accept, bending down slightly to the offered flame and without breaking eye contact, you light the cigarette and take a drag, exhaling as you sit back up.

"Yes, Thomas, that is so" you reply, the use of his name making clear your exasperation with the questioning.

"Very well then, a toast-" he picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours some into each glass, placing one in front of you and taking one himself "-to your new job, and to your new found freedom" he says, locking eyes with you on his last words and clinking your glass before you both down it. If growing up with the Shelby's had taught you one thing it was how to hold your liquor.

Soon you and Tommy were halfway through the bottle and quite drunk, too caught up in the fun to notice. It was now something past 3 in the morning; you and Tommy had been talking, drinking and laughing for nigh on 3 hours now, going through old stories of your childhoods, stories from before you were born and from afterwards, stories of your parents and stories of his.

"So tell me, what is the meaning behind this sudden change in you then?" Tommy inquired, only too happy to see your old self back again.

Before you knew it the whiskey had gotten the better of you and you found yourself telling him the reason. You told him about John, about your love for him, about that night and about how you'd come to terms with it and decided to move on.

"Besides, it's not like he was the first boy I ever liked, so I'm quite sure he won't be the last" you state matter of factly, unaware of the storm you had just brewed.

See, unbeknown to you, Tommy was fully aware of everything you had just poured out to him. He knew about your love for John. He knew the deepest parts of your heart, your mind, your soul. Every crush and fling you'd ever experienced Tommy knew all about it, thanks to a little book you liked to keep hidden under your mattress. You had been detailing all matters of yourself in that little black journal for as long as you could write. Polly happily replacing it when you found your current one full, it was much easier than finding a shoulder to cry on every time you needed one. When Tommy came across it he had no idea what it was, merely out of curiosity did he open it and start reading.

"Oh, who was?" Tommy asked, lighting another cigarette. Following suit you decide to take a minute to weigh up your options, drinking in the smoke as you did.

"You” your voice remains deceptively steady, not wanting the man watching you so closely, so attentively, to become aware of the raging swarm of butterflies occupying your stomach.

"Is that so?" Tommy pulls on his own cigarette, the smoke rising from his lips as his eyes lock onto yours. "So what changed then?" His eyebrow arches perfectly, a smirk gracing his lips.

"You're 4 years older than me! There was no way you'd ever look at me as anything other than an annoying little sister!” You say in a chuckle, the fiery whiskey encompassing all of your thoughts in a humorous glow.

"And if I told you I do look at you as something other than an annoying little sister?" His eyes flick to your lips for a millisecond before returning to your own (E/C) orbs. If you’d have blinked you would’ve missed it, but your full attention being fixed on the man before you meant that you hadn’t.

"Well... that would certainly change things." The possibility of one of your fantasy's coming true ignited you to your very core.

Silently, Tom rises from his seat and offers his hand to you. You take it, and he leads you to his office with the worst of intentions in mind.

[musings-from-mars]

@nuts-and-dolts-week - Day 1 : Childhood Friends (or, acquaintances?)

((EDIT: I reblogged this with an AO3 link if you want to leave a comment!))

Ruby hadn’t really understood why her dad had been so nervous about this big trip to Atlas. A whole week in the most technologically advanced place in Remnant? How could this not be the coolest thing ever? Almost all of her Signal classmates were going on the week-long trip, too. Despite her dad’s “I don’t knows” and “maybes,” Ruby had managed to get him to sign the permission slip and pay the dues for her to go. Of course, his condition that he chaperone was annoying, but at least it was happening! Ruby couldn’t wait to see the cool tech and weapons at Atlas Academy.

Much to her dismay, however, Ruby realized this school trip was ending up being way more boring than she expected. As her dad had put it, this really was shaping up to be “an elaborate recruitment event dressed up like an educational trip.” High-ranking military types and grizzled old academy professors gave tour after lecture after presentation, but to Ruby, it all blurred together. Who cared about graduation rates, or quality of education? Ruby wanted to see the cool stuff!

Which is why, despite knowing it would probably get her in trouble, she sneaked away during a lecture on the history of the kingdom to try to look around for something more interesting. Her class had spent the whole day at this academy, so Ruby knew well enough that this place was huge. But she hoped what little she’d manage to see would feature something cool. Maybe a weapons workshop, or a tech lab of some sort. There had to be something around in these huge echo-y halls.

Just when she was about to give up her search and sneak back into the lecture hall, she heard something from a nearby room. She shuffled closer and listened, noticing the placard by the door, Project Workshop #307.

“Her software is coming along even better than planned,” a man’s voice from within spoke. “The specifics of her hardware is the more troublesome aspect. But as an individual, she is displaying a tremendous level of self-awareness and agency. Not to mention she is quite personable and friendly, if not a tad bit literal. I’m still working on her ability to detect hyperbole.”

“It’s very impressive,” another man spoke. He sounded familiar. “But I am certain you know that the hardware is the top priority at this time. I find you focus too much on this project’s more...sentimental aspects.”

“Yes, well, you did ask for her to be as believable as possible. And I feel she is well on the way to achieving that goal!”

“Indeed. But you do understand what I am telling you, correct?”

“Yes, general. Understood.”

General? General Ironwood, that guy who gave the big welcome speech that morning?

“Good. I am very satisfied with the progress you’ve made on this project. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, sir. Good day!”

Ruby heard the sturdy thumping of boots on the floor, and she panicked and petal burst away to hide under a nearby bench. She held her breath and watched as who must have been the general walk past, none the wiser. She sighed in relief, then began to crawl out from under the bench only to see someone else leaving the same room, and she yelped and hid once more.

The person walked by her hiding spot, or...a robot? Four robotic legs ambled down the hall, and Ruby thought for a second that a big mech had been released inside the school. She poked her head out to look, but instead saw a man in a chair. It was like a wheelchair, but...with legs. Still cool, but not a mech.

Once the man and his robo-chair had disappeared around a corner, Ruby turned her attention to the room he’d left. He’d shut the door and she feared it was locked, but was relieved when it opened when she tried the knob. She grinned and looked both ways down the hall one more time, then entered. Time to see what this project was.

The men had talked about software, and how realistic she was becoming. Was this an AI of some sorts? A completely artificial person, even? The concept blew Ruby’s mind, and she hoped that was the case. She entered the room and gently shut the door behind herself, then turned to see...a laptop. A laptop sitting on a table, surrounded by notebooks and papers. Ruby had been expecting something cooler to look at. Maybe an android, like the hardware the men had talked about. She gave the notebooks a closer look, and was at least intrigued by their content.

The P.E.N.N.Y. Project.

“Penny...” Ruby muttered in curiosity as she looked at the header of one of the notebooks.

The laptop screen turned on, a bright lime green. “Salutations!”

“Wah-!” Ruby yelped and almost fell over, instead managing to land her butt in a nearby desk chair. She looked at the laptop with wide eyes. The screen was completely lime green, save for a small power on/power off icon in the bottom right.

“‘Wah’?” The feminine voice asked. “What does that mean?”

Ruby held her breath as she slowly adjusted herself in her seat, then used her legs to roll her way closer to the monitor. “Hello?”

“Hello!” The voice answered with delight.

“Who are you?” Ruby asked.

“I am Project P.E.N.N.Y., but you may just call me Penny.”

Ruby’s jaw fell open, and she glanced at the notebook again. “You...you’re an artificial intelligence.”

The voice seemed to giggle. “In a way, I am. My intelligence is man-made, but my more proper categorization is ‘Synthetic Person.’”

“Woah...” Ruby murmured, staring at the screen.

“‘Woah?’“ Penny asked. “What does that mean?”

“It...” Ruby wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s just a thing you say when, like, you see something really cool.”

“‘Woah’ is an exclamation of wonder?”

“Yeah!” Ruby said with a laugh. “That makes more sense than what I said.”

“Thank you for teaching me!”

“Uh, sure.” Ruby was talking to a computer. Or, well, a synthetic person. This was so flipping awesome! This was exactly the kind of thing she had been hoping to find.

“Who are you?” Penny asked.

“I-I’m Ruby.”

“It is wonderful to meet you, Ruby!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. “And it’s awesome meeting you too!”

“You are the first person besides my fathers that I have gotten to talk to so freely.”

Her fathers? “You mean the general, and that man in the...spider chair?”

“Precisely!” Penny confirmed. “Pietro Polendina is the one who is designing me, and General Ironwood is overseeing my progress.”

“That’s really cool,” Ruby said with a laugh. “When do you think you’ll be finished?”

“That is uncertain at this time. My father is currently designing a physical body for me! But the problem with that is without an Aura of my own—”

The door suddenly opened, and Ruby spun around in her chair to face whoever it was. Except she spun herself a little too hard and continued rotating, having to turn her head to face the man in the robo-chair while scrambling to stop her spinning.

“P-pardon me,” the man said, eyes wide and glasses crooked on his face as he stared at Ruby.

“Sorry!” Ruby yelped, hopping to her feet and standing upright, rubbing the back of her head. “I, uh...” She then quickly fell to the floor and mimed searching around for something. “I dropped my...lucky bottle cap.” My what...?

The man adjusted his glasses and chuckled. “Child, shouldn’t you be with your classmates?”

Ruby’s cheeks warmed. “Yeah, uhm...I got lost?”

The man Ruby deduced to be the Pietro Polendina whom Penny had mentioned shook his head fondly. “I do not blame your curiosity, young one.” He glanced at the desk. “I see you have made an acquaintance, Penny.”

“Ruby and I are acquainted?” Penny asked, sounding excited. “I have never been acquainted to someone before!”

Pietro chuckled fondly, like Ruby’s dad would anytime she’d go on a ramble about weapons or types of Grimm. “And while I am all in favor of you meeting new people in time, I’m afraid all information to do with you is proprietary at the moment. You and Ruby will have to catch up some other time.”

“I understand,” Penny said. “My conversational software is very impressionable.”

Ruby stood back to her feet as straight as she could, feeling hot under her Signal uniform. “So, uhh, I should go, huh?”

“Do not forget about your lucky bottle cap!” Penny reminded her earnestly.

“Oh, uhh...” Ruby’s face burned.

Pietro let out a hearty laugh and shuffled his robo-chair to the side. “Run along, Ruby. You are certainly missing a riveting retelling of Atlas’ military history.” Humorous sarcasm tinged his words.

Ruby nodded and awkwardly marched to the door. “Y-yes, sir,” she said, then struggled with whether she should salute or not, then compromised with a wave. “Uhm...bye, Penny.”

“Farewell! I hope to talk to you again soon, acquaintance!“

[theolsuspendisbelief]

Ahhh! I feel the need to tell you you're one of my favorite fanfic writers out there! I love your writing style and your fics are some of my favorites to read and re-read

I saw you've reblogged some Umbrella Academy posts, how'd you like this season? I found it rather enjoyable, and I'm excited to see what they have in plan for next season (if they have one, which, fingers crossed). On a related note, might we be seeing any Umbrella Academy fics pop up from you, specifically Diego and Lila? I just adored them this season

First of all, omigosh Anon, how nice! Thank you! Saw this as I was getting ready this morning and didn't want to rush out a response, because that is all so sweet of you to say! Golly.

I loved this season of TUA. They really figured out what they were doing season 2 and, while I was a little worried I was getting way too hyped for the newest season, they definitely hit the same high quality in my estimation. I got the Diego/Lila content I craved, Viktor's transition was handled beautifully, I love a well done descent to moral bankruptcy so I actually found Allison to be just as compelling as she's always been, I cared so much more about the Luther/Sloane thing than I thought I would, KLAUS, FIVE, BEN...... so, yeah, pretty into it.

Will I write something Diego/Lila styles though? I don't know to be honest. I've definitely thought about because I adore them. Top tier ship, truly. But TUA just always tends to give me what I want in canon, they provide peak dysfunction. I do have a couple days off coming up though, so I'll put some thought into it! And this blog will be the first place to hear about it if I do.

Stay golden, internet stranger!

[keijikunn]

Yellow

pairing: bokuto koutarou x neutral!reader genre: overall fluffy, there’s this tiny bit of angst but nothing too hurtful  summary: the yellow things in love that reminds you of bokuto koutarou word count: ~2.5k author’s note: happy birthday to my favourite loud boy! i know i’m a bit late, but here it is my special fic to our owl

WARNINGS: mentions of car crash

If you enjoy it please leave a comment or a reblog!!

               a life with bokuto koutarou is painted with yellow. like the sunshine on your skin, a cold lemonade on a hot day, or a smile face on every text exchanged. a life him his was never dull, he just… brings color into it. in all honesty, you were nothing but blessed to have such a great man on your side through the ups and downs of life.

              waking up next to him – with his arms securely wrapped around your waist, his soft breathes hitting your neck and his head on your chest – always filled you utter joy and warmth. even when his lips let snores escape or how his hair would tickle your face, the peace on his features was enough to melt your heart. and when the rays of sunshine illuminated both of you? that was the moment koutarou looked absolutely like an angel – and perhaps he is.

              “good morning, love” his raspy voice has never failed to pull the strings of your heart, the same ones bokuto knew all too well – after all, years of relationship taught him enough about you.

              “good morning, kou” you replied with a quick peck on his forehead, letting a hand run through the locks of gray and black hair. the man let out a content hum as he pulled you even closer, that way he could kiss the soft skin of your neck just the way he knew you liked.

              as odd as it might be, mornings were the only moment bokuto would be the calmest he could. the aura around him would be a pastel yellow. soft, discreet, but lovely. the most tender and loving gestures are exchanged in a half-sleep conscience – but still the purest actions. your own world is filled with such color, your bedroom – despite the blue grey-ish shades on the walls – was a safe haven illuminated with it.

              koutarou, however, wasn’t a simple man. therefore, he hadn’t in himself only one variation.

              bokuto was also as yellow as your highlighters: bright, flashy, but helpful with sort of a guidance within it – just like the actual object. he reminded you of it because of the many sleepless nights both of you spent during your exam’s seasons in college, even though he was not much of a help and his schedule required him to wake up early.

              “I might not be a college student, but I need to hype my significant other” he commented on the first time he stayed up until 3 in the morning with you, sitting on the kitchen table scanning with his eyes through the many pages scattered around. “it’s hard, but I believe in you. and I can’t let you pull an all nighter, you’ll be absolutely shit on your afternoon classes”

              just like that, koutarou would make you company in silence. sometimes he’d fall asleep resting his head on his folded arms over the table, in others he’d try to help you organize what you’ve already been through. and on the top of all of that, bokuto koutarou would ground you whilst your mind you’d be drowning in anxiety and self-doubt.

              the same way you’d highlight important things on your books and notes, bokuto would highlight the best qualities of you. pointing your smartness, beautifulness, gentleness and loving personality. this man would not let you forget how far you’ve come, all hardships you’ve won against and how your future is going to be as bright the yellow pen that you constantly use.

              by himself, kou would be under the spotlight as the great athlete he is. you, however, couldn’t help but give him the focus he deserved. he was inspiring to you, always trying to do better, to be the best version of yourself. in your life, bokuto koutarou was a highlighter, but also something highlighted so you can – and will always – remember his importance and meaning to you.

              there are these certain shades of colors that just don’t look as pretty as others, but are as just important to compose the whole one. like any other people in the world, bokuto also had the slightest ugly tones of yellow.

              the sunset and sunrise can be both renewing and melancholic. the hue that transitions to orange has two different meaning when you’re talking about your boyfriend: can be both the argument and the reconciliation. the contraposition between these two is essential to understand why one color brings two types of feelings.

              “koutarou, you aren’t being reasonable” you argued certain night, it was after a msby game – which his team won. it was a hazy memory to you, everything passed by in a blur. at one time you remembered hugging bokuto as the two of you celebrated the end of the game, then all you could see and hear was him dragging you out of the commemoratory party.

              “how not, y/n?! that guy was fucking touching you” kou’s voice was loud, as he always is, but that volume wasn’t filled with love or excitement; no, all you could hear was angriness and jealousy. “and you weren’t doing a thing to stop him! you acted like your boyfriend wasn’t there”

              “it wasn’t like that, kou!” the scream match wasn’t going anywhere with both of you stressed, with a deep breathe, you held eye contact with him. “I tried to stop him! tetsu saw me pushing his hands from me, but he ignored whatever I did! he still touched me and all I could do is act as if nothing was wrong, or else I’d be the hysterical significant other”

              “c’mon, y/n, you’ve never really cared about what the media would say about you” bokuto mocked as he rolled his eyes, your heart clenched at those words. they weren’t true, how could you tell him about how you felt reading mean comments online? you treasured the bright smile he had, it was enough for you to keep going while receiving those kinds of insults.

              “you know what, koutarou? I’m going to my friend’s house tonight. we are not going anywhere right now” with that, you left your shared apartment with the jacket you were wearing and the cellphone on your pocket.

              leaving bokuto for the night was awfully painful. each day, before you fall asleep, the man’s embrace was like a sunset, a way to conclude your day. the explosion of orange, red and yellow as the sky grows darker was a signal that another milestone was completed with koutarou by your side.

              arguments between you two were exactly like watching, by yourself, the sun hiding under the horizon after having company for so long. it felt wrong, but sometimes it would unfortunately happen, because no couple was perfect. but, what made bokuto and you different from others was the way that always the sunrise would come with closure of whatever hurtful feelings were reminiscent.

              later on the next day, you’ve returned to your home. bokuto’s shoes were organized by the entrance of your apartment – contrary to the other night, when he just took them off and kicked aimlessly. the rice cooker was on, you could even smell the cleaning products you use around the house: an indication that kou did some of the chores you had to delay to attend his game.

              “I’m home” you announced rather quietly, eyes scanning around in order to find your boyfriend. he emerged from the kitchen, a basket full of clean clothes on his grip and a tired expression on his beautiful face. “what… are you doing?”

              “I know you use Friday evenings to do some chores, and since I’ve dragged you to my game you couldn’t do them, so I decided to be helpful at least once” he answered with a small smile. you could tell koutarou was tired – maybe feeling his muscles ache after such an intense game or just because he couldn’t sleep without you. “akaashi gave me the biggest lecture ever to knock some sense into my head, I wasn’t being fair with you”

              “neither was I” the aftermath of every argument between you two would be like this: silently, spoken in whispers and reluctant touches. “I should’ve told you how I truly felt about those online comments… we’re supposed to share our worries, right?”

              “yeah… and I should be more understanding about your fears and insecurities” koutarou placed the basket on the floor and stepped closer to you, a timid hand reaching out for you own, which you obliged quickly. “sorry, love. i had no right in yelling at you”

              “it’s okay, baby” a smile crept on your face, your other hand brushes aside the tip of his hair over his forehead (being at home with kou meant seeing him with his hair down, it was a beautiful sight). “I’m sorry too”

              as your lips touched once again, your own little world, where only you and bokuto were allowed to, was painted with the most beautiful sunrise. because that was what a relationship is: every disagreement ends with a reconciliation, a new day would begin from that. you two learned with a few painful sunsets that, after a fight, the way the sun would come up would be even prettier than the day before.

              the most unusual shade of yellow in bokuto koutarou would probably be the same one as from warning signs. this simple association emanates all worry and fear that lays on the deepest part of koutarou – and you thanked god you don’t usually see it. his emo modes back in high school managed to hide the feelings behind his lack of motivation after many failures in a row; now, he shone bright yellow warning signs every time his heart wasn’t at ease.

              despite of that, no emo mode would have prepared you to see the restless and worried features on bokuto’s face when you opened your eyes on a cold day. all your body hurt as your chest raised and fell from your breathing patter, the lights above you weren’t making the pounding headache of yours any better.

              “y/n, love, how are you feeling?” koutarou asked frantically, needy for answers so his brain could finally calm down.

              “where… am i?” you uttered, the words almost getting stuck on your dry throat.

              “you’re at the hospital, babe” with that information, numerous scenes rushed back to your mind. how you were on the bus on your way home, the way it drifted on the street covered with a thin layer of snow and the side you were sat colliding against a lamp post. “you were on a car crash, do you remember?”

              “yes, sort of…” still a bit confused, you turned your head to completely face your boyfriend. you could tell by the reddish skin around his eyes that he had cried and judging by his clothes – the msby track attire – that he was on a match before rushing to the hospital. “did you finish the game?”

              “are you insane, y/n?” bokuto whined shaking his head, the grip on your heads tightening a bit. “how could I play volleyball knowing that the love of my life was hurt and on their way to the hospital? my coach allowed to leave as soon as the first set was over. when- when he told me you were involved in a car crash, I was so worried that you’d leave me- and seeing you laying on this bed makes everything so much more intense that-”

              “hey, kou” you raised your hand to cup his wet cheeks, the tears once again started to stream from his eyes and that was one of the worst views you’ve had: his yellow eyes dull and watery. that sight would never match the ball of sunshine bokuto truly is. “I’m here, right? I woke up, see? I’m here, holding your face as we speak. the worst have already passed”

              “I was so afraid, y/n…” he confessed quietly, leaning into your touch to ground himself. “I love you lots, babe, I am so damn glad you’re alive”

              “I wouldn’t go anywhere without you, bo… you don’t have to worry”

              bokuto was shining a bright yellow, indicating his wariness and worry, for the rest of the time you spent at the hospital. the big warning sign on his mind was put aside as soon as all doctors assured him you were fine, completely healed after almost a month after the incident.

              even if that shade wasn’t a pretty one that bokuto has in himself, that makes him exactly the man you are head over heels with. he cares for you, he worries for you, he would do anything in a heartbeat just to make dure you were fine. koutarou gave all of him to you when you started dating, just the same way you did to him.

(the yellow warning signs would only appear years later when your first kid got sick for the first time)

              and last, but no least, the most beautiful, breathtaking hue of yellow was the exact one he always shows you: his eyes. the way they’d look at you with such adoration and fondness, like he was screaming with his sight “this person next to me is the love of my life”, “I love you”, “you’re everything to me”.

              this kind of shining yellow summarized koutarou perfectly: the excitement when he’s playing the sport he absolutely loves, the happiness whenever he is around his friends. but, on the top of everything else, the state of being completely – both mentally and sentimentally wise – filled with the purest emotions he could gather. that only happened with you by his side.

              through the ups and downs of adulthood, you and bokuto faced them together as a couple, as best friends, as growing people. as every single day passed by, both of you were completely sure that this situation – you and him against the world – needed to last forever. you two needed to wake up illuminated by rays of sunshine cracking through the curtains of your bedroom; have in each other’s embrace every sunset and sunrise, eve the ugly ones; put every single yellow sign up whenever the other was in danger.

              and the newest thing you added on your mental list like a masterpiece painted by your love was the way koutarou’s eyes shined so bright while kneeling on your knee. you saved in your heart the image of him holding out a black velvet box with the most beautiful ring inside, his hair down – the same way you love – and wearing his pajamas.

              “will you marry me?” that sentence came in a blow, your knees buckling as your arms found their way around his broad shoulders. the tears of joy stained his shirt as you exchanged words of ‘I love you’ and ‘yes’ between sobs and fits of laughter.

              your world was already full of color, but bokuto koutarou happened to make everything brighter and, at last, complete.

[silver-wield]

body language analysis: tifa and cloud train scene!! go!

Oh, Nonny, you made my morning with this!! I mean, it's not like I haven't touched on Cloud and Tifa's body language in gif reblogs, but an actual post dedicated to one of the best moments of the game? YAY!!

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven't played (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it's gonna be a long one so prepare to scroll.

Also, this is one person's interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that's cool and we'll agree to disagree.

You're also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I'm grabbing them from Youtube and it's frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Other analyses if anyone's interested.

Shinra HQ vision scene (Cloti/plot analysis) 

Chapter 3 (Cloti reblog) 

Tifa character analysis 

Aerith Resolution (plot analysis) 

Train graveyard (not really an analysis, but I got some sweet screenshots of Cloti) 

Now, strap in and enjoy the ride.

So, the corkscrew tunnel scene – or clotiscrew tunnel as I've seen it called – begins with Avalanche caught by the sensors on the train. After a timed fight – which, yes, it's possible to lose, but it's also clear this is a “bad ending” where you've made Cloud look like an incompetent dick who can't even handle a few drones – we see Barret mustering his courage and leaping from the train (he's so damn cute sometimes, I'm gonna have to do a post about his development with Cloud at some point).

The action then cuts to Tifa, frozen in front of the door, too afraid to jump (you can hear her whimpering). Cloud calls her name, deals with the last drone and comes over. Now, in the OG, obviously they all jump one after the other because polygons and popeye arms would've just looked like a total mess and Square admitted they neglected Cloti to highlight all the relationship development between Clerith since she dies later.

Cut to 2020 and we get this. Damn, Square, if I didn't already love you for pretty much my entire life already I'd have fallen for you all over again. In fact, I think I probably did.

Ok, I'm done gushing. Kinda.

I think the first thing I have to point out is that Cloud, at no point, needed to do this. He could have verbally encouraged Tifa to jump without the need for physical support at all. After all, the train's slowing down and she was fine in the OG, so who's to say she wouldn't be fine now, too? By calling her name and fixing her attention on him he's actually stalling her jump.

You'll notice that Tifa doesn't take her eyes off the tracks (before this screen obvs since I can see that’s her feet, work with me here), which is fitting since she's zeroed in on that fearful moment and actually can't move without help. Cloud's face in this is displaying typical tension you'd expect in a high energy scene. He's concerned for Tifa, but he's also focused on dealing with the mechs, which he does very quickly. Now, you could argue he did that to get on with the mission, or you could argue he did that because he saw Tifa needed him and his focus shifted to her. And watching the seconds following him turning to look at her, I'd say there's evidence towards the latter because he's actually lost focus on the last mech and it attacks him first causing him to block and parry.

This is the first instance of touching in this scene, and until this point, Tifa hadn't moved or acknowledged Cloud. He needed to physically draw her from her thoughts and you'll hear a surprised exhale from her as she turns to look at him, showing she was lost within herself until he drew her out. Cloud is obviously looking at the tracks, judging his next move. He's already planning what he has to do to keep both of them safe, which is clear from his decisive nod, along with a reassuring, but grim, smile, before pulling Tifa out the door. Remember, I said he could’ve verbally got her attention. He didn’t. He chose touch.

See what I mean about janky quality? Anyway, this is clear concern about Tifa's safety, but also, remember, Cloud is on the mission because Tifa said she felt trapped and he's related that back to their promise that she needs a hero. He's being her hero.

Okay, we're getting to the meat of things now.

First, fucking ouch, he definitely looks pained, meaning that whole manoeuvre wasn't as smooth as he pretended. As they slow down, he puts a bracing hand against the ground to prevent him rolling onto Tifa (because he's a gent and also toting a sword that weighs more than Barret lol).

What's interesting is where his left hand is in this. Make a note: middle of her back. Tifa's head is tucked into Cloud's neck – safety move, so nothing big there. I've seen some people note Tifa's leg is between Cloud's, but I'm gonna discount that as the way they've locked together during the roll. It's unintentional.

Oh, but this isn't! Cloud has absolutely no reason to put his hand back on Tifa. He could leave it lying flat on the ground. You could argue he needs both to help her get off him, but she's on top. She can do that herself. He has no further need past the initial save to have his hands on her, unless that's what he wants. Obviously we can't see his face in this because of Tifa's hair, but this, combined with the next screen tell a very definite story.

He moved his hand! That left hand, he didn't need to move it up in such a caressing gesture. Coupled with the very intense gaze he gives her, I was swooning like a maiden wearing a too tight corset lol

Now, you could argue he's just concerned, it's a high tension situation. Well, I argue that every single trope using this kind of scene results in sexual tension/flustered characters and/or a kiss. Remember, right at this second, he has no reason to still be lying with her like this. In fact, him moving his hand further up her back is a bracing gesture that would keep her close, not release her. Tifa's fists are balled against his chest, which signifies she's protecting her hands – she's a hand-to-hand fighter remember -- but her face is relaxed. She's not feeling awkward or eager to escape.

Eye contact!! Can I just leave it at that? No? Cloud isn't actually the type to keep prolonged eye contact. Oh, did you think I was about to say something else? Well, for literally anyone who hasn't paid attention to him, Cloud often looks away when he feels awkward, flustered, unsure, basically any negative emotion. The only time he looks anyone in the eye is when he's confronting them or at ease. Remember, even when Jessie teased him about smiling during chapter 4 he looked away, embarrassed. Cloud doesn't handle eye contact well. Which is why this is such a huge deal. He's keeping prolonged eye contact with Tifa. He doesn't look away from her eyes when he asks if she's ok. And that question – ah my heart! So soft and tender. You can hear the care and concern in his tone. It anchors the entire scene from start to finish. Everything he just did was because he cares about Tifa and wants to look after her. He wants to make sure she's ok, even if it means he suffers for it. Pretty sure some people will disagree with this, but the damn man wore a dress and went through a humiliating dance routine – humiliating for him, I fucking loved it – just to save her. His first words in Wall Market are he wants to save Tifa, but Aerith cuts him off before he can finish the sentence.

These are the moments that I have to go back over a million times to catch. Check the tiny eye narrowing and uplift at the corner of his mouth. She said she's ok and he's happy about it. He's her hero – in not so many words. Tifa's shaky reply and pale face confirm her shock and fear, but also you can see an easing of the tension in her. There's a subtle softening of her muscle definition and facial expression that displays the trust and belief she has in Cloud that he'd look after her. This is a very mutually appreciative moment between them. Definitely not one sided.

And then the moment is over, without any flustered blushing or stammering, and thank God there wasn't because that would be so ooc I just can't with it. Cloud, despite being an awkward af dork who doesn't know how to deal with women hitting on him, doesn't turn into a flustered 14 year old trying to tell his crush he's leaving Nibelheim whenever they have contact. We've already seen smooth!Cloud giving Tifa a flower and complimenting her like a cheeky bastard. He can handle being around her because he feels comfortable. He can compliment her because of that, too. He might be slightly separated from those childhood feelings, but they're in there and they're motivating him to be outgoing towards her. To show her the cool SOLDIER he became that's worthy of being beside her.

But, yeah, back to the point. The moment is over. Or is it? Because that is some very further prolonged eye contact between them when there doesn't have to be. Tifa moves back, Cloud moves forward, they're both getting up and yet, they're both looking at each other. I don't know about you, but I find it easier to look where I'm going when I've fallen on my ass and need to get up. I sure af don't stare longingly into someone's eyes like I can't bear not to.

And now it really is over because right after this the mechs arrive. But before that, some more prolonged eye contact. There literally is no need for them to do this at this point. Tifa looks pensive, but I think that's her default tbf. Yet, at the same time, there's an intensity in her gaze like she wants to say something – maybe it's just a thank you, that would turn into a flirty conversation of some sort “you didn't need to do that,” “I wanted to” kind of deal – so it makes sense they're interrupted because Square said they didn’t want to overdo the amount of Cloti content they added and this is already a very charged scene.

Meanwhile, Cloud is looking at her like she's his entire world and he's just waiting for her to realise it. There's an aura of expectation in his pose and face. They're both crouching in mirrored poses, which as some of you may know is what you do when you're trying to build rapport with someone. It's basic body language building blocks. Toddlers do this. They're both on one knee, slightly leaning forward. Now, if there was no rapport between them, if they wanted to end the moment, one of them would stand up, breaking the mirrored pose and cutting off eye contact. This would put one above the other and show an imbalance in their relationship. This doesn't happen. They both turn at the same time, rise at the same time and fight pose at the same time.

Conclusion:

Seriously? After all that you can't draw your own?

Ok, I'll be fair to the other side. Let's take away Cloud's history with Tifa – since that's the biggest argument for them: the childhood crush trope.

If Cloud and Tifa weren't friends, just colleagues on a mission, this scene would still be hella charged with sexual tension and implication that Cloud has a thing for her. Even if it's just basic sexual attraction, that's still attraction and a marker on the pathway to a relationship.

But, they are friends, so moving on.

Tifa is the more reserved one in this dynamic. She's naturally shy – it's canon – but even with that, she's affected by Cloud. She holds that eye contact. Her voice is equally soft as his. She mirrors his pose. She doesn't try to get away the second they stop moving. Cloud is the one to move things along, without awkwardness because he's comfortable with Tifa. He's not out of sorts having her lying on top of him – which you can argue means he's not interested, but I literally just pointed out all the ways in which he is into her. Being comfortable in someone's company doesn't mean a person isn't attracted to them. If I had to stick a pin in Cloud's sexuality I'd say he's on the demi scale, meaning he needs to have a deep emotional connection to whoever he's with before he falls in love with them. He's not a love at first sight kind of guy.

This fits with the childhood crush trope. Cloud's known Tifa for years and developed an attraction to her that still lingers, making a reconnection between them easier. He's not slobbering over her because he's Cloud and very stoic – I know people say his true self isn't like this, but it is only with more insecurity and desire to prove himself. He's still a very reserved guy with a dry sense of humour. He's prone to melancholy and self doubt, which is why his friends bolster his confidence so much.

Point is, everything in this scene showcases a deep and meaningful relationship between the two of them at its best, while at its most shallow it shows Cloud is sexually attracted to Tifa, which is something that could develop into a more meaningful relationship later. Either way, it's a marked moment in their interactions that Cloud's non-optional choices led to it. There's no either/or within this. It happened.

[twinkluffy]

fanfics for quarantine with α!katsuki x Ω!izuku.

Hiya, my fellows shippers. I know quarantine is being hard to everyone for different reasons but i hope you can stay safe at home. If you have to be outside for work or to work with/for people, thank you so much for your hard work and it is deeply appreciated. 

In this occasion it’s my pleasure to bring you all a fanfic recommendation list of Alpha/Omega KatsuDeku that i loved on AO3. So buckle up, gather everything you need for this wild ride because this gonna be a long post and this just the first part, sisters. Friendly reminder that every person writes their own rules for their omegaverse. It goes without saying that most of this post is+18 rated filth (and i did let out some nasty things that would make most of you don’t hold a face to face conversation with me without kinkshaming me) but even with that the sexual content is gonna have a bolded +18 beside the tittle; and as the old saying goes: read the damn tags on the fic, they are there for a reason.  

The links, rating, state and summary under the cut. Please, feel free to reblog and like or to come to my dms just to talk or ask for a type of fic in specific. I’ll post part 2 of this soon. 

drag me to the deeps of your heart (+18)  by halcyonwhispers [one shot, 5945 words // 1/2 from “The (im)proper way to an Alpha-Omega courtship” series ] 

Everyone presents on their 17th birthday, and while Katsuki has already (alpha, big fuckin’ shocker), he awaits his boyfriend’s presentation to finally get over the nonexistent (slight) curiosity over Izuku’s new rank. He can’t be an alpha, not crybaby, overthinking Deku. Anyways, both his parents are betas, and all that genetic and biology shit says Deku’s bound for that road. (he thinks)

Gravity (+18) by warschach [complete, 71477 words, 10 chapters]

Izuku is back in his hometown and plenty hasn't changed much from the 8 years he was gone. Except, Katsuki Bakugou, the alpha king of their small town. He's hotter- because that's fair, right, God? -, stronger, a now-famous pro fighter, and noticeably nicer this round. Not that he cares, pfft.

Ha, Izuku Midoriya caring about Katsuki Bakugou, thinking he's pretty cute and not half bad once you get past the asshole persona; though that gargantuan ego of his could take a dive off a very tall cliff. (Fine, he cares.)

what’s mine is mine (+18) by xenodickery [one shot, 5504 words // 1/3 from the “what’s mine is mine” series. Implied r*pe not related to the pair]

Bakugou watched, fists shaking in his lap, as someone pried open Midoriya's mouth and placed the pink tab on his tongue. An aphrodisiac. At least that's what they'd called it. A heat compellant.

Marshmallow by choimarie  [one shot, 3359 words // part of the 2k18 bakudeku week]

“Yo! Look at what we have here!” A voice said loudly and Izuku's heart stopped.

He turned around, his eyes widening. A group of six alphas was walking his way towards him.

What’s is this? The beginning of a porn0? (+18) by JijiHadidnt [2 chapters, 4625 words]

“Did somebody order a pizza?”

“What is this? The beginning of a porno?”

“Shut up Nerd just let me in.”

Izuku and Bakugou handle their argument over celebrity crushes in an interesting way.

A nest for the best by Camellia_Sinensis [one shot, 1007 words // Part of the “dorks in love” series] 

Deku’s been nesting and asking everyone in 1-A for pieces of clothing for his horde. Everyone, that is, except Katsuki. Cue the jealousy.

where i feel you the most (+18) by shousanki [one shot,3899 words]

In which Katsuki comes 1) to terms with Izuku's screwy biology almost as unpredictable as the person himself, and 2) down Izuku's warm and willing throat.

the last dragon-blood king (+18) by claimedbydaryl [complete, 13 chapters, 107.009 words]

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

Project: heat (+18) by ellslane  [one shot, 2914 words]

Katsuki can do this. He can control himself around Deku, who’s scent has spiked in sweetness and is dripping in pheromones. He can maintain his composure as they work together on a school project. He can keep himself in check as his stupid smell wafts through the air, and directly into his nose.

He can’t do this.

Dessert before dinner (+18) by Morpheel [one shot, 3473 words] 

Ground Zero has his work cut out for him as of late.

Between his increased Hero workload, and a pregnant mate at home, there's very little time to slow down and "smell the roses", as they say. He's too busy fighting the rampant crime rate going wild throughout the city without their Pillar of Justice on duty for 9 months. Yet leave it up to Izuku to find his own way in squirming some quality time in before Katsuki's shift.

Emergency contact (+18) by SurelyHeavenWaits [one shot, 3753 words]

There are some things in life that a person would like to know in advance:

weather forecasts, patrol schedules, patrol routes, being listed as an ERC for the person they've secretly loved for most of their life. Pro Hero Deku knew three of these things at the start of his shift.

Blonde haired bunnies (+18) by morpheel [one shot, 5194 words]

In an attempt to create a new genetic pattern in the Rabbit-Hybrid Gene, Izuku Midorya is paired with a very strange (and almost unorthodox) stud. The end goal is blonde haired, red eyed rabbits- though only one Alpha truly fits that bill.

Surely a wolf and a rabbit can't breed?

Late mornings (+18) by Oilux [one shot, words]

When Deku arrives, late for class, panting, red stained cheeks, every alpha in the class staring at him with open want, Bakugo only has one thought crossing his mind.

He’s mine.

Vitality in postpartum (+18) by ellslane [one shot,2989 words]

Katsuki can tell his husband has been dealing with his image after giving birth to their precious boy, and he's hellbent on making Izuku see the perfection he sees. Happy husband, happy life, after all.

Box (+18) by SurelyHeavenWaits [one shot, 3028 words]

On a stakeout for a villain with what's been reported as a lust-inducing Quirk, Pro Heroes Ground Zero and Deku find themselves boxed into a dire situation.

I’m so glad i found my mate today by kittiegirl1616 [oneshot, 2123 words]

Pro-Hero Ground Zero has captured a villain when he senses his mate is nearby.

whatever you’ve done, just bury (+18) it by ikvros [complete, 3 chapters, 18.593 words]

He knows how Katsuki thinks, talks, and fights. He knows how he sleeps, how he eats, how he loves, and how he leaves. And he knows what knows what it means for Katsuki to come back; has washed the evidence from the sheets countless times, scrubbed the scent of him off his skin in the morning until it’s as red and raw as his heart.

Their home (+18) by Veradiciy [one shot, 2694 words] 

There was nothing wrong with parking the car inside their garage. Nothing wrong with turning off the ignition and locking the car while still inside. Not even when the sensory light of the garage had went out a minute later to leave darkness at its wake. Having sex comes naturally between a mated couple like Bakugou and Midoriya in the late night during the start of Midoriya's heat.

Please scent me by fleurown [one shot, words]

In which Deku needs a quick favor at a party and Katsuki can't deny such a cute face.

eternity by PepeermintLeo [one shot, 9.724 words]

Izuku was Kacchan’s partner, in every sense of the word. He ruled right next to Kacchan’s side, an alpha and an omega, leading Kacchan’s tribe against all sorts of odds. As well as his romantic partner, steady and solid by his side but giving when emotions called for it.

Uncertainty by SuperiorDragonLord [one shot, 5129 words]  

Izuku was getting worried. After a particularly rough rescue mission, Katsuki had yet to even have a full conversation with him. Tensions are running high and Izuku is starting to get tired of walking around on eggshells. When he finally decides to confront Katsuki about it things take a direction he hadn't been prepared for.

Devil in me (+18) by glamour_weebs [oneshot, 1699 words]

Katsuki's usually the one getting into fights over Deku when they go to the club, but this time, his Omega's the one that starts a fight over him, but he doesn't stop there. Deku's determined to mark his territory.

if you can’t find the moning light, i’m here tonight by yabakuboi [oneshot, 3488 words]

Katsuki was never sure what happened to his childhood friend, quirkless Izuku who had presented as an omega and was whisked away to a traditional matchmaking house. Katsuki never saw him again after that, and tried to convince himself it was for the best. Many lonely years pass before he finds Izuku in the last place he ever wanted to, in the middle of a battlefield with a child clutching to his shirt.

Earned it (+18)by Morpheel [one shot, 6038 words]

Because within the illumination of lantern light stood a brothel’s worth of Omegas, all in various states of disarray, giggling and washing themselves without a care in the world to the army in their path.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Say it again by susurrxus [one shot, 7153 words // Part of the (incomplete) “Mina Ashido approve of this ship” series] 

Katsuki discoveres he doesnt quite oppose to being called Daddy... nor does he oppose to abusing his Omega until he's a sobbing whore on the teachers desk.

[mrcoltkaneko]

daybreak (rod)

a/n: i am very... meh about this one, but when i heard that RODAW was happening, i had to throw something up for my favorite boy. it’s written in the second person because... i just vibed with it???? LMAO idk. as always, your comments / likes / reblogs are very much appreciated. i apologize for any typos in advance, i think i wrote this in like 4-5 hours so it is a very raw draft. i might go back and edit it at some point, but for now, please enjoy! 

pairings: Colt x MC angst

summary: So much for wanting to die, for choking yourself with smoke and willpower and here he is, doing it all by himself, five-and-a-half feet away.

rating: PG-13

content warning: cancer, infidelity.

length: 2172 words

tags: i am constantly amazed at the amount of quality content that comes out related to ROD. i’ve fallen out of the choices fandom but ROD still holds a special place in my heart and i’m so excited that it’s the same for a lot of other people as well! @rodappreciationweek ! 

All great love stories begin with a once upon a time, but you think that yours must have begun with an and they lived happily ever after, because with him, you are always drowning in a sea of now, now, now that exists only in a dream.

You smoke cigarettes now. It’s something of a habit, picked up in college after drunken nights out in the dead of a winter, desperate for the quick pinch of sobriety and a flicker of warmth — even now, you remember how much the smoke and tar had made you cough. Now, the nicotine, it tastes sweet on your lips.

You wonder when you’d become so jaded.

Even jarring images of blackened lungs can’t scare you now, not when you'd seen with your soul the images of your own heart, bloodied and bruised to shit. Not when you've seen her father waste away in that bed, antiseptic stinging your nose, your eyes. A year after he’d retired. There’d been plans, big ones for him to buy a home up near Olympia, fix it up himself. He’d bought tickets to Italy. You’d always thought he’d go out in a bang, a furious firework in the sky commemorating his heroism. None of seeing him die in that damned hospital was heroic.

You bring the cigarette up to your lips and inhale, holding your breath. Her gaze focuses on the skyline ahead, gripping the rust-streaked railing in front, the Hudson reflecting ink black, save for the moon’s milky touch rippling ribbons of white on the water. Only when you feel your chest constrict and vision blur that you open your mouth and let the cancer flow out. Hunched over the barrier, you begins coughing and fuck, does it feel good. It’s like being eighteen again, taking that first puff of that cigarette, feeling the smoke’s heat sear your throat in a line of fire.

“You all right?”

You glance up. You already has a bitter retort locked and loaded, about how you’s fucking goddamn fine, that you doesn’t need his help, that there’s pepper spray in your purse that you wouldn’t hesitate using and —

( “Ellie?” )

And your breath stops.

So much for wanting to die, for choking yourself with smoke and willpower and here he is, doing it all by himself, five-and-a-half feet away. You drop the cigarette, three-quarters done, and it’s no wonder that you are breathless because you drowns in him once again, like something familiar creeping up your airways, a release .

“Colt.” You take a step forward, hesitant. You watch his face, in as much disbelief as yours. He’s wearing the same jacket from all those years ago, and you want to laugh, to straighten the lapels and plant a kiss on his cheek and then cry from the youer impossibility of seeing him again, but seven years is too much time. You scrape the toe of your boot against the cobblestone, never daring to look at his face. “How - how are you?”

“I’m good. Didn’t know you were in New York.”

“I am.” You pause, wondering if you should say any more. “I work - I work at a publishing company. I edit books.”

“That’s cool. Good for you, El.”

A pause enters the conversation. For a moment, all you can hear are the distant hum of cars, the white noise of city life. And all you want to do is cry, but not for the same reasons as before, but how stilted their conversations are, how much you do not say that you wanted to for the longest time. Like, I’m sorry, I wish I’d stayed, I wish I hadn’t thrown you out. Like, I’ve missed you, you complete me, I love you.

“Are you in New York too?”

“Nah. Just here to visit my girlfriend’s parents. They live up in Queens.”

Oh.

You want to ask. You want to know her name, her job, what she’s like. You want to know whether the girlfriend has met his mother, whether she knows about his father and Ximena and Toby and Logan, whether she knows about you. In bitterness, you’re reminded of your own boyfriend, the one you’d fought with earlier over a carton of milk — and then it dawns on you that there is a space of seven years that you have been gone, torn from Colt’s life that you don’t know about, and you swallow. The pause is no longer a pause, but a thick hesitation sitting in between you and him, and you struggle to breathe against his presence.

“Listen, Ellie —”

“No. It’s fine — it’s fine, I mean, it’s been seven years, right? You’re allowed to have a girlfriend and a life, and I have a life now, and we’re all fine, really —”

“Hey! Christ, slow down; I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go for a walk. My girlfriend, she’s out with some friends and I was just killing some time anyways.”

You know you shouldn’t. That the time away had been her time to heal, to process their goodbye from all those years ago, and yet — you’ve never been good at holding him at an arm’s distance, even when he’d been three thousand miles away.

So you say yes.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

You’re positive that this is all a fever dream, that there’s no way that Colt is beside you, that you’re laughing with him again, that it’s always when you least expect it that you’re thrown back into the waters again, unsure of where it’d started, and yet, not caring in the slightest.

The stars, you’ve never noticed them in the city. Not with all the light pollution circling high above the clouds, but with him, you’re positive that the stars shine for him, bouncing off the tips of his cheekbones, the tip of his nose. Two in the morning and you’ve never felt held more than this exact moment, not in so long. You don’t know if it’s the warmth of the alcohol or the orbit of his presence, but you're rosy-cheeked, desperate to find his physical touch next.

Leave it to him to jolt you out of your fantasy.

“How’s that boyfriend of yours, huh?”

You swallow. The 40s you’ve both bought in a dingy corner store like nineteen-year olds with fake IDs lie in the paper bags at their feet and the magnified haze of reality swings at your head. Drunk, and yet, too aware of your drunkenness, you squint at him, challenging him with a brashness only marked by the alcohol.

“What’s it to you, anyways?” Cross, you pick up the bottle, taking a swig of the drink.

Colt shrugs. “Curious. I’ve seen your pics with him.”

“You’ve been stalking me,” you reply, smirking.

Shaking his head, he chuckles. “And you can never answer the questions without being a smart-ass, can you?”

“It’s none of your business.” You pull your knees closer, hugging your legs to your chest. “Anyways, you haven’t said a word about your mystery girlfriend,” you challenge. It’s not like you want to hear about her, but the prospect of telling Colt all about your significant other brings a rock to your stomach.

You meet his eyes. Dark, stormy, you think you see a phantom of a frown, emotion betraying his usual aloof demeanor. But as soon as it crosses his face, it flies off into the distance, and he shrugs. “You always do this, Ellie — act like that I’m out to get you, comment on your life choices —”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I the one that couldn’t handle my fucking anger whenever things didn’t go right, because if I remember correctly, that was you.” You bolt up, an accusatory finger thrown his way, and he matches your movement, drenched in passion.

“You’re going to bring that up? Because if we’re going to rehash our goddamn relationship right here, I’d be happy to list all of the things you did that were fucking frustrating to deal with.”

“Oh my gosh, yes. Please do that, I’m begging you,” she snaps back, sarcastic. Hesitating, you turn back to him, fire burning in your eyes. “Actually. Let’s do it. Say it. I dare you. Because if I remember correctly, it was me that left. Not you.”

Silence blankets the two of you, and his face hardens back up, body returning to the slack swagger he’d always carried so easily in his chest. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he crouches back down, eyes aimed towards the water. “Whatever,” he snorts, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He’d always been so nonchalant. Still is, and it’s what you’ve loved about him, the way he could tell you so much more with his eyes than his words. You’d loved Logan too, but he’d always been brash, the brushstrokes of his love painted in broad, simple marks. And yet Colt — the intricacies of his emotions have always been a puzzle that you’d been adamant to unscramble. How the flicker in the corners of his eyelids could mean that he’s upset, or the twitch in the corner of his mouth, deepening a shred of a dimple gave away his happiness. Even now, the ghosts of those imprints remain etched onto his face, and you can tell he longs for something more, a what if still lingering on their tongues.

And like always, you fall into his lips.

It’s a mistake.

And yet — a glorious, beautiful, irrevocable mistake, even more when you feel his lips press against yours. He’s missed me too, you think, and you wonder why he is the only person that has only made you feel like the world is yours. You are drunk, sitting on concrete by the muddy river and yet you want to savor the moment forever, inscribe it into your skin as a tattoo.

When you part, your teeth taste like sin and your hands are drenched in the blood of your guilt, but you’d risk it all to do it again.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

One more joy ride on his Cavalieri Novanta, you understand why you loved ( love ) him. Freedom has always come at a price for you, perpetually out of your reach but with him? He makes it easy to be in freefall, and as your hands wrap around his waist, you’re not afraid to hit the ground.

Coney Island is a hellmouth, but at 4AM, the silence is cathartic. You’ve never been to the beach without the buzz of crowds closing in on you, and yet, there is something distinctly wistful about the abandoned park. Still, quiet, with only the creak of the boards underneath your feet, the ocean is there, and yet — you only see Colt. If the Pacific had been an expanse of hope and new horizons, you think that the Atlantic is a deluge of melancholy. There is no room for your sorrows when you’ve finally been let out of your self-inflicted cage. He finds a place in the sand, and you follow along, head on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me.” And yet, his lips are in your hair, whispering. You think you feel him trace an I still love you with his lips, but you can’t be sure.

“I was drunk.” You still are. You can’t think straight. When you’re with him, all you see is him.

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“Since when have you cared about whether something’s right or not?” It shocks you to the core, more than you expect. It’s not him. This is not the Colt you know.

“You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

“What - no. Of course I want you. I want you, Colt Kaneko.” You know you do. You’d leave everything behind, run far away with him until your feet bled. Frantic, you find his face, search for that shred of longing you’d become so familiarized with. You don’t find it. “Run away with me. You don’t - we can go back. We can go back.” Desperately, you think that if you say it enough, you could make it a truth.

“You know, Ellie.” Colt swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. For once, you cannot read the emotion in his face, and it terrifies you. Seven years is too much time lost, and you think about all of the things you’ve missed.

You do know. Leaving him once, you know. That your longing and love for him has always relied on being apart, that two burning hot fires only created a larger fire that threatened to ruin everything else in its path.

“We would’ve burned each other up, El.” He’s closer now, only a breath away. A finger on your cheek, your hand snakes up and holds his hand, memorizing his touch. His thumb swipes away a tear that you didn’t even know had fallen.

He leans in this time.

A first kiss against the Californian sunset, the last rolled into a New York sunrise, you wonder if you’ll ever look at daybreak the same way again.

[blaklthr]

Ten Things a faggot Needs From a Dominant [reblog]

An indirect reblog from

http://web.archive.org/web/20170823225415/http://transformationintoaslave63.tumblr.com/post/143693070893/ten-things-a-faggot-needs-from-a-dominant

Rules

Structure & Routine

Consequences

Honesty and Trust

Proper Nutrition & Rest

Humiliation & Degradation

Chores & Responsibilities

Goals and Special Projects

Hard Use and Abuse

Assurances (A Second Chance)

Thanks again to fistfuckgaygr for providing valuable insight into a few things a Dominant needs from His submissive creatures.  After reading fistfuckgaygr’s blog posting, this faggot thought it might be a good idea to compose a similar posting from a faggot’s perspective – this faggot’s perspective anyway.  And while BDSM activities are inherently grounded in a deep, dark sexual nature, this faggot also realizes there is much more to being a Man’s slave than simply serving Him sexually.  It is attempting to remember that important construct as it scribes this post.  Although parts of this writing do resemble sexual content, this posting was composed in a concerted effort and with the express intention to increase its quality of service to the Master.

1. Rules –

As a noun, RULES are “a set of explicit or understood regulations or principles governing conduct”. As a verb, the Master RULES His faggot when He “exercises ultimate power or authority” over that property.  Rules should be clear and understood by both parties. Rules not only define the expected actions of the sub, but they also serve to define the parameters of the relationship between a Dominant and His slave.  It is an important dynamic for the faggot to be given clear and distinct rules which it is then expected to abide by and those rules should always lend themselves to making the Master’s life better.  

Examples of rules may include:

Following proper protocol when addressing a Superior

Knowing when it may or may not speak freely

Responding immediately to orders and commands

Being home and completely available to Him (aside from work responsibilities)

Having to ask permission for anything/everything beyond its normal pre-defined routine

Without rules, faggots run amuck and gain ego, losing focus on what’s important to both parties.  And that is having the Master in charge – in total Control of the faggot.  This quite simply, is what they both want.  So, the Dominant should always feel comfortable and secure in making Rules for the faggot to follow.  And likewise, the faggot should accept each new rule with a sense of gratitude for a Man who is willing to provide firm control and structure to its life.  The more rules imposed upon the faggot, the better opportunity it has to improve the life of its Master.

2. Structure and Routine –

As rules provide the framework for expected behaviors, structure is what gives those rules meaning. Structure is the organizational foundation on which a rich and dynamic relationship is built.  And without structure, a faggot is likely to wander aimlessly throughout the relationship never quite addressing the Master’s needs in an efficient and effective manner that enhances the quality of His life. Routine is the use of structure to develop patterns of (in) behavior that further guide the faggot’s daily actions. Routine equips the faggot with the knowledge and skill set needed to accomplish tasks at various intervals with a consistent degree of quality.  It’s important for the faggot to know what is expected of it and what its daily responsibilities are – structure and routine help the faggot learn the Master’s expectations and the parameters of its responsibilities in the relationship.  Routine (and structure alike) both provide the faggot with ample opportunity to study and learn from the Master and to carefully discern His likes and dislikes and sub-sequently respond appropriately to His daily needs and desires.

Examples of structured routine might include:

Properly greeting the Master upon (either of T/them) entering a room

Maintaining a clean and orderly household for the Master – without being instructed

Preparing His morning coffee or other meals as He prefers them – without being instructed

Sitting in a particular spot when not directly serving the Master’s needs or desires

Waking up, addressing the Master’s day, going to work, returning home, addressing the Master’s evening, addressing the Master’s night, sleeping, wake up again…

3. Consequences –

For every action… there need not be an equal and opposite reaction.  However, there are (and will be) times when the faggot’s action(s) require some degree of corrective measure.  When the faggot fails to follow the rules set forth by the Master, or when the faggot lacks structure and routine, this could result in the faggot falling short of its true potential.  It would therefore necessitate the firm hand of the Master to set the faggot back on the right track.  It may be something as simple as the Master looking down at it and saying “Excuse ME…?” Or it may be something requiring a more sub-stantial reinforcement of the structure and agreed upon rules. Such as putting the faggot in a particular physical and mental state where it can ponder its actions and why those actions were not appropriate.  Or – it might even be something that requires a more strict and rigid punishment in order to curb in-sub-ordinate behavior.  “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”  

A lack of discipline contributes to laziness which in turn leads to a lesser quality of service provided to the Master.  Even good boys need spankings sometimes to help them remember (a) Who is in Charge and (b) what the faggot’s role and purpose truly is in this relationship. And while every act may not require correction, there should be a well thought out Program of Discipline that the Master imposes upon His property.  Perhaps a point system where each violation incurs a certain number of points and when the faggot “earns a certain number of points” it is disciplined appropriately. Other times – the faggot’s actions may require a more immediate response, based on a multi-tier level of punishment depending upon the severity of the infraction.

Examples:  Level 1, Level 2, and Level 3 Infractions may include (or exceed):

Level 1 – An attention commanding smack across the face…  

Level 2 – An unexpected and surprisingly powerful punch to the gut followed by some corner time for the faggot to reflect upon its indiscretion

Level 3 – Binding the faggot and subjecting it to a more intense, rigorous and long-term beating coupled with repeated affirmations of what it did wrong and why it was wrong and what it will do in the future to improve its quality of service to and for the Master

Whichever level of consequence the Master feels is best suited for the faggot at the time of infraction and that will bring about the best positive outcome – He will decide. And the faggot knows that He employs punishment and other consequences only to help it become a better faggot for Him and to help it make His life better.  The ultimate goal of both Master and slave.

4. Honesty and Trust –

Honesty and trust are the guiding principles that give the previous three constructs validity.  Much like fistfuckgaygr explained in the original post, trust is not earned overnight.  It requires complete and open communication, takes a long time to build and it is most definitely a two-way street.  When it was younger (like a teenager) and worried about getting into trouble, the faggot would sometimes conjure up some mistruths in the hopes it could avoid receiving a punishment.  It soon realized that telling one lie would lead to another and eventually it couldn’t remember any of its stories.  So many years ago, the faggot realized it was simply easier to always tell the truth – no matter what.  And it continues to practice that policy today.  As a faggot who, over the past several months, has been diligently “working to demonstrate its value and dedication and commitment to the Master in the hope that HE will decide to take ownership of it” the faggot has never shared a mistruth with the Master.  Ever.  Furthermore, if the Master is really in charge – He also has no need to lie.  About anything.  Ever.  

Trust is absolutely critical in a BDSM situation.  In another similar posting by fistfuckgaygr on what it means to be a slave, this faggot agrees that “Even a simple “white lie” can destroy the trust so necessary to really establish [and maintain] this type of relationship”.  This sense of complete and utter trust is even more critical when the Master wishes to subject His object to various forms of extreme acts of depravity.  Even after months or years of developing a strong sense of trust, one lie or mistruth can cause significant and unfortunate results.  Therefore, even “little white lies” are totally unacceptable.  

5. Proper Nutrition and Rest –

In order to fully serve the Master, the faggot should be fairly well nourished and should acquire a fair amount of sleep.  This is not for the comfort of the faggot as much as it is to ensure quality service is delivered to the Master.  You see, when a faggot gets overly hungry its blood sugar may drop.  And before it realizes it, the faggot has become somewhat of a cranky bitch.  Same principle applies for rest.  While everybody likes to sleep, especially on the weekends, a faggot (only) needs a fair amount of sleep in order to provide a level of high quality service to the Master. If the faggot is deprived of sleep (which by the way – is within the rights of the Master) then it again may become somewhat cranky and as a result, the quality of service and its usefulness is therefore diminished.  It’s really just about finding a balance between acceptable levels of deprivation and the quality of services required by the Master.

6. Humiliation & Degradation

When it comes to subjecting the faggot to humiliation, much of that is conjured up during sexual games. However, the Master should know that in addition to the Dominant fix He gets by humiliating a faggot, the faggot also internalizes much of that action beyond sexual means and accepts that type of treatment as part of the BDSM relationship.  In doing so, the faggot realizes, recognizes and accepts its position within this dynamic and it is because of the humiliating acts that the faggot learns to become submissive and to remain in a subservient position in relation to the Master.  There are many forms of effective humiliation including verbal, sexual, physical, psychological and emotional humiliation.  Any of these types of humiliation can be employed at any time the Master feels like He needs to put the faggot back down in its place.  Faggots realize they innately respond with Respect for the Master when this occurs.

The Master once asked, “I wonder what is the most depraved thing I can do to you…”  Like humiliation, degrading a faggot, whether during sexual acts or other times, helps to put it in its rightful place below the Master. In fact, humiliation and degradation oftentimes go hand-in-hand.  Forcing a faggot to engage in degrading acts (for the Master’s entertainment let’s say) can bring about a significant amount of humiliation upon the faggot.  These two constructs working together are highly effective in pushing the faggot to the depths of its own level of submission and free it to become a slave that follows orders and meets the Master’s expectations with increasing levels of quality.

7. Chores & Responsibilities –

Faggots need to be kept busy when not engaged in direct service of the Master.  This is important for a couple of reasons.  First, it keeps the faggot out of trouble by not giving it the opportunity to run amuck.  Also, and more importantly, it provides the Master with on-going indirect service that helps to make His life easier.  By taking care of errands, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, grocery shopping (with proper permission to leave the house) maintaining a clean house, tending to other animals in the dwelling, etc., the faggot performs services for the Master much as a maid or personal assistant might provide.  The key difference is that the Master doesn’t have to pay someone else to complete these services.  He owns the faggot and so He simply orders the faggot to take care of these tasks and the faggot does it.  The faggot views this kind of work as meaningful tasks that allow the Master to focus on other more important activities.  Activities which make Him happy.   And isn’t that what this is all about anyway?

8. Goals and Special Projects

In addition to routine chores and other responsibilities, faggots should constantly be working on a set of clearly defined goals as well as being assigned any special projects to work on during their spare time.  This sub-sequently provides the Master with additional pleasure or leisure time since He has passed the assigned task off to His property.  Goals might be physical or intellectual in nature. Things like making the faggot workout in order to tone its belly so it can therefore accept more direct and high impact abuse when the Master wishes to use it as His personal punching bag.  Goals might also include planning a trip for the Master (and slave) and being diligent in its work to ensure the journey will be both relaxing and enjoyable for Him.  Of course, finding new and exciting ways to honor and show Him respect is always a goal the faggot should be working on accomplishing.  Special projects might involve work around the house, preparing for a special event, conducting research on specialized equipment, tools and toys for the Master’s use and entertainment, taking care of any out-of-the-ordinary tasks to help make the Master’s life better and more enjoyable, etc. The length of time spent on special projects can vary depending upon the nature of the assignment as well as the depth to which the Master requires the slave’s services.

9. Hard Use and Abuse

It goes without saying that the faggot was born to serve a Man who captures it and to serve Him in all ways that suit His needs and desires.  And of course, that includes being the object of His desire – in other words – what that really means is the faggot is the subject of His abuse.  Whether engaged in a fun Saturday afternoon of sexual deviance or if the faggot simply opens its mouth one too many times when the Master is seeking some quiet solitude, He holds unmitigated Rights to treat the faggot as nicely or as sadistically as He enjoys at any given moment. While the faggot may beg and plead for mercy – and it may even cry out in pain (simply gag it), the faggot requires this significant level of abuse in order to frequently remind it of its true place in the hierarchy of nature.  It is there to serve.  Of course, on the flip side of things, the Master could also decide He wants the faggot around simply to provide Him with meaningful companionship – much like a pet – while allowing Him to continue His regular activities.

10. Assurances (A Second Chance)

Even with the best laid out Rules and forms of structure, all faggots fuck-up.  And as a result, all faggots require appropriate punishment and abuse when they do.  And as indicated above, that abuse should be MEANingful.  So, MEANingful that the faggot learns something from each lesson. And therefore it works harder and with more focus to please the Master and satisfy His needs and desires.  This is a very simple, but complex concept and after a good beating, the faggot should know in its heart that it was beaten because the Master cares for it and He wants it to be the very best faggot it can be.  Period. And while the faggot will always strive to do the best job it can, eventually something will occur that the faggot does (or does not do) that is considered a major infraction.  It may be so out of the norm for the faggot, that even the Master is surprised and has temporary fleeting thoughts of discarding the piece of property.  Please, please, please always give the faggot a second chance to demonstrate its adoration, commitment and dedication for the Master.  And if the faggot has been beaten down to a point where it appears mopey, etc., just give it a bit of time to rebound.  Having a temporary mopey attitude is not a sign that the faggot dislikes its place in the relationship.  It simply the faggot’s processing of (a) what it did wrong, (b) how disappointed it is in itself and © how it wants to do better for the Master. Every thought it has – be it good or bad, is always centered on the Master and what makes Him happy.

Opportunity to Worship Him and Honor Him on its own accord

Finally, the faggot is in this relationship because it absolutely adores this Man.  It looks up to Him naturally and with such a high degree of Respect and gratitude for what He has done and for what He will do in the future. It sometimes may feel the need (or innate faggot desire) to show homage to the Master –even before being ordered to Worship Him.  It is not the faggot’s sexual desire that is the driving motivation steering it to begin touching, rubbing, smelling, kissing or licking or sucking on the Master.  But rather, it is a method the faggot recognizes as a sign of admiration for the Master.  And it sometimes wishes to show that display of affection for Him without being told.  (Unless of course, it goes against the RULES , then see the CONSEQUENCES section of this posting.)  Obviously, the faggot is learning there are also many other ways in which it can show the Master honor, respect and worship.  And it is working on improving the quality of service in which it demonstrates those characteristics, attitudes, thoughts and feelings.  And while the faggot has attempted to write this blog posting from a place not centered in sexual activity, it realizes much of this narrative still emerges from sexually based underpinnings.  It recognizes, realizes, and accepts the fact that it still has a great deal to learn and it is so incredibly appreciative that it has someONE to train it properly.  And it looks forward to a life-long career of serving this Man.

[]

blaklthr

Both Dom and sub do need to know what the needs of the other are.  

[rookieforlife]

ultraiboothings was one of the hardest working content creators on this site and people took her for granted. she was posting high quality gifs of non american woso before the wc boost. while also making time to post gifs requests. it makes me mad how people think it’s okay to post gifs without credit and the balls some have to make accounts just for the gifs they stole from creators on tumblr. please support your content creators & credit them always. we are nothing without them.

Of course, I love her! I always thanked her for the work she put on the blog, I miss her contributions everyday, her passion, her knowledge. The way she cared about the spanish league before the boost. I remember when it was game day and this place was a desert early in the morning haha :’( and she was always there providing the best quality and the best moments. My fave always @ultraiboothings she made me a Nahikari fan and an Ewa Pajor fan. 💗 (I obviously hate people who steal gifs and photos or edits, I’m always talking about it, I also take time to reblog what I think it’s appropiate, making sure it gives the proper credit or a source)