#I've already forgotten where I wanted to go with this... did I want to complain? Throw a cry for help into the void?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Bike II

Chelsea Women x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You're good at bike riding

"I'm so tired," Erin complains, fanning herself," God, it's hot today."

"I need a nap," Millie agrees.

"A nap and to do nothing for the rest of the day," Niamh says as she passes by, stripping off her sweaty training shirt," I'm just going to go home and melt."

"Home and an ice cream," Zećira continues, nodding and completely satisfied with her plan," I can't wait to get home."

"You'll all have to wait," Magda says decisively from the day. She'd come in earlier than everyone else, taking you into the building for a toilet and hydration break.

Most of the team had actually been quite worried about you.

This heat is sweltering and you're still tiny and excitable with energy that makes you run all over the field. It's like an accident waiting to happen.

Pernille had you stop and take long drinks from your water bottle all through practice until it ran out and she sent you off with Magda to fill it up.

You and Magda never came back though so everyone just presumed you'd already been bundled up in the car where there's air conditioning to use while you wait for Pernille to finish up and change.

"There's a surprise out the front."

"Is it an ice cream van?" Guro asks," Because that's the only thing that will make me happy right now."

"It's not an ice cream van."

"Then I'm out."

"No you're not," Magda says sternly," You're all going out the front with a smile and you're going to celebrate and clap and give compliments. Got it?"

"It's hot," Sam complains," Can't we rearrange this surprise?"

"No, Sam. We're doing it now."

"Give them a second to change, Magda," Pernille says," We're all hot. We're all irritable. Give them a sec."

Magda huffs. "Fine. I'll be out the front." She points a finger at everyone in turn. "I expect you all out there in ten minutes."

Pernille manages to shepherd everyone out in five.

"Right," Millie says, adjusting her cap so it properly shades her from the beating sun," What's-Oh."

"Look!" You say," I'm riding my bike!"

You peddle quickly around the car park, little legs pumping as you turn your handlebars so you're going around in circles.

You're doing impressively well on your bike, a very slow for an adult but fast for a little kid. It's even more impressive when the team note that you've not got any stabilisers.

A little basket that wasn't originally there when Sam bought it sits on the front and in it sits your swan and moose toy as well as a little bouquet of flowers that Pernille bought you at the market this morning.

Most of the team is speechless until Jessie starts clapping.

"Well done!" She calls out," You're doing so well!"

You beam at the praise, puffing out your chest in pride and pump your legs even faster.

Magda also puffs out her chest and Pernille has to smother her laughter.

"I taught her to ride," Magda brags," We took her stabilisers off last week. Isn't she so good?"

"The best!" Jessie agrees warmly, still clapping.

"Best ever!" Sam yells out," Look at you go!"

The team seem to have forgotten their exhaustion as you skid to a stop nearly half an hour later, everyone crowding around you as you pant from your cycling.

"Look at this!" Zećira exclaims," It's such a cool colour!"

"It's red," You tell her," Like Arsenal and Sweden's goalkeeper shirt! I love red!"

"It is!" Zećira says, nodding along," And you've got a little basket!"

"For my toys," You tell her," And my water bottle. And I've got a bell!"

You demonstrate by flicking it, letting the noise rings out through the car park.

"That's so cool!"

You grin at Zećira before looking at Jessie, suddenly shy.

"Did I do good, Jessie?"

She grins at you, ruffling your hair. "So good. I'm very impressed. I didn't know you could ride a bike!"

"Morsa taught me," You explain," And Momma did too. At the park. They say if I keep practicing and getting better and better we can all do a ride together! Do you want to go on a bike ride with me, Jessie?"

Jessie grins. "I'd love to."

[girlgenius1111]

you don't have to pretend with me

ona x reader -sickfic ish

from a request- the req was for r with chronic pain but i've never experienced that and i didn't want to write it incorrectly, so i changed it to something i have some history with :)

You hadn't had a real period in years, having been on birth control since you were a teenager. It really limited the effects of your horrible symptoms. It was simple- a shot in your ass every three months was something you could handle. However, you'd completely forgotten to get it this time. Normally you planned your next visit at the end of your appointments, but the secretary had been out, so you were supposed to call to schedule the next appointment. It had completely slipped your mind, and by the time your realized your mistake, it was too late, and they told you that you had to wait 3 months from when you were supposed to get it, in order to not mess up the cycle.

It didn't really make much sense to you, but you didn't have a choice. All you could hope was that it wouldn't be as bad as you remembered it. The first month wasn't bad, barely more than what you usually dealt with on the shot. The second month was worse, but still, manageable, especially considering it came during an off week. You were quickly approaching the third month, and you knew it wouldn't be as easy this time.

2 days before you were supposed to get it, you found yourself in a heinous mood. You'd been short with everyone, all day, even Ona. Ona, your girlfriend, who had literally no idea what was going on. It felt ridiculous to you, to complain about what was going on when every other woman dealt with it to. You'd never heard Ona complain about her period, and you didn't want her to think you were weak.

More than that, you weren't sure she'd believe you. In your last relationship, anytime you were sick or in pain, your girlfriend didn't believe you, or told you that you were being dramatic. You didn't really realize how this affected your relationship with Ona, but as you hadn't told her this, she didn't know you'd been hiding almost any sign of weakness from her.

So, you just mumbled something about having an off day when she asked why you were so grumpy. She pretty much left you alone the rest of the day, giving you the space she assumed you wanted. The only time she spoke to you was to come into the living room where you were curled up on the couch, and wish you a goodnight, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

-----

You woke up in the middle of the night to the sensation that someone was standing on your abdomen. It had been so long since you'd actually had cramps, you were almost alarmed, until you realized what was going on. You didn't want to get any blood on the bed, nor did you want to wake Ona up for something so trivial, so you quietly padded into the bathroom, changed your pajama shorts, and then headed out into the kitchen in search of some painkillers.

Every step was agony, and you were walking hunched over, as what you could only describe as lightning strikes of pain rippled through from your belly button down to your core whenever you tried to straighten up. You didn't make it to the cabinet you kept the medicine in, instead collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table. As soon as you sat, the zaps of pain were replaced by a continuous ache across your stomach, and around to your back.

You couldn't help the groan you let out, as you twisted uncomfortably in your seat to try to relieve the pain. It didn't work. You knew what would work, but you were absolutely sure you couldn't stand up again and make it to the medicine cabinet. Instead, you put your head in your hands, feeling tears slowly leak out of your eyes. That only made you more frustrated, which in turn made you cry harder, until you were trying to stifle sobs with your hands at the kitchen table, in the dark, at 1am.

-----

Meanwhile, Ona woke to an empty bed. She remembered you climbing in with her after she'd already gone to sleep, waking up just enough to roll into you and smush herself as close as she could. This time, though, your side of the bed was empty and cold, and Ona was disgruntled. Sleepy Ona was a grumpy Ona, something you knew very well, and she squinted her eyes open, looking over at the bathroom door, seeing if you'd just gotten up briefly. The light was off in there, though, and your side of the bed wasn't warm, indicating that you'd been up for at least a couple minutes. Sighing heavily, Ona sat up, intending to wait for you, arms crossed, to return to bed. When she saw no lights were on in the rest of the house, though, she decided to get up and find you.

The only thing she could think was that you'd gone to sleep on the couch, which didn't make any sense. You'd been grumpy yesterday, sure, but you'd gone to bed with her, and allowed her to snuggle up to you, which you wouldn't have done if you were angry. Walking down the hall, heading for the living room, she heard an odd noise in the kitchen.

She changed directions, turning right instead of left, and discovered you, slouched over at the table, crying softly into your hands. Ona was immediately distraught at the idea of you getting up in the middle of the night and leaving your bed to cry by yourself, no matter what the reason, and not waking her.

"Cariño, qué pasó?" she asked, voice raspy with sleep. At her words, your head snapped up, looking at Ona with pain etched clearly across your face. "Amor," she says sympathetically, moving forward to stand by your side.

"Oni, go back to bed," you try, attempting to sound firmer than you felt.

"Not until you tell me what is wrong." Ona replies, actually succeeding in being firm. She brushes a loose strand of hair off your face, then combs her fingers through you hair. You melt at her touch despite yourself, before you hunch over again, another wave of pain shooting through your abdomen; you'd straightened up to much. You whimper quietly, and Ona's hand pulls off of you, worried she'd done something to hurt you. That gets you talking, never wanting Ona to think she's the cause of your pain.

"It's just cramps, Ona, I'm fine," you insist, even as your face scrunches uncomfortably, and you grit your teeth through another jolt. Though confused, seeing as though she'd never known you to have bad cramps, Ona wraps her arms around you without another thought, lifting you easily to carry you back to bed. She may be short, but she prides herself on being strong enough to carry you easily, despite your many objections. "Oni," you whine, yet still, you clutch onto her tightly, resting your head on her shoulder.

"Shh, let's get you back to bed."

Once Ona gently places you back on your side of the bed, she stands back, looking at you with a determined expression. It's almost funny really, the girl standing in front of you, wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts, wavy hair wild around her head, trying to look stern. Ona couldn't look stern, she wasn't capable. She could only ever look adorable, at least to you.

"What will help you feel better?" She asks.

You bite your lip for a moment, before the pain wins out over your independence. "Paracetamol, please," you murmur.

She nods once. "Anything else?"

You're sure there's something you're forgetting, but it's been so long since you've had cramps like this, and it hurts too bad for you to think straight. "I don't know," you whisper finally, tears spilling over again.

"Okay amor, relax, I will take care of you," the brunette says gently, leaving you with a peck on your forehead. She's only gone for a few minutes, but when she returns, you've curled yourself into a little ball on the edge of the bed, as far from her side as you could get, obviously trying not to bother her. Ridiculous, considering she wasn't going back to sleep until after you did.

She gives you the medicine, handing you a new cold water which you accept gratefully. Then, before you can tell Ona to get back in bed, she leaves the room again. She returns fast this time, holding something in her hands you don't recognize.

The defender doesn't explain, either, even though she notices the questioning look on your face. Instead, she climbs onto the bed behind you, and nudges you out of your ball to lay in between her legs, head resting back on her chest. Still silent, she rolls your shirt up, massaging the skin of your abdomen lightly. Her warm hands feel so good, you let out a sound of relief. Smiling to herself, Ona places the heating pad she brought with her across your abdomen, clicking it on. You soften completely against her, letting out a long sigh.

"Thanks, Oni," you mumble, and she kisses the top of your head in response. She isn't done with you though, patting your arm lightly when your eyes flutter close.

"Do you normally have cramps this bad?" she asks, because the thought of you hiding this from her, like you'd been doing tonight, once a month for the entirety of the time you've been dating, makes her nauseous.

"No," you tell her sleepily, briefly explaining the situation you'd found yourself in. Ona is quiet for a few moments.

"Why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you wake me up tonight?" she wonders, not able to fully hide the hurt in her voice. You're fully awake now, almost reading her mind as you realize what she's worried about; that you don't trust her.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," you say quickly. "And I didn't want to bother you with it, with something that every woman deals with," you justify.

"Amor, you hurting will always be a big deal to me." Ona insists. "You should have woken me up. Do you... do you not trust me? Did I do something to make you thing I would not take your pain seriously?" the brunette asks, and you wince at the question. This was your problem, not Ona's. Could she not see that?

"No, Oni, of course I trust you. It's... it's not about you." You pause. "I didn't want you to think I was being dramatic or weak."

"Why would I think that? Why would I not believe you when you say you are hurting?"

All she gets is a shrug in response, and she feels you shutting down again. Unwilling to let that happen, she presses you further.

"No, amor, tell me. Did someone make you feel that way? Like you could not be honest about how you were feeling?"

You don't respond for so long that Ona thinks you've fallen asleep, or just aren't going to answer.

"My ex. She used to tell me I was being dramatic when I was sick. She was right though, I was," you rush to justify.

Ona's arms tighten around you slightly, and it reassures you. When she responds, you recognize an angry tone in her voice, but also a protective one.

"That is not what a good girlfriend does. I will never do that. You are allowed to be in pain, and be sick. You are not being dramatic for feeling things. It does not make me think any less of you, and it certainly does not make me think that you are weak." Ona declares.

"Are you sure? I'd understand if you thought I was exaggerating." you say quietly. At this, Ona tilts your chin up and to the side, so she can look into your eyes.

"I found you crying at the kitchen table, you were in so much pain. That is not dramatic, not to me. I am sure." Ona promises, and she feels you relax against her, if only slightly.

"I love you," you say quietly, voice cracking on the last word.

"Te amo mucho, cariño. Mucho mucho." Ona pairs her words with several gentle kisses pressed into the side of your head.

"Ona?"

"Sí?"

"Can I go to sleep or will this light on fire if I don't turn it off," you ask seriously, referring to the heating pad laying across your abdomen. You've never used one before, and you aren't sure what the safety requirements are. Apparently, this is a dumb question, because Ona bursts out laughing, disturbing the quiet murmur of voices you both had been keeping to.

"Sí amor, you can go to sleep. I'll put you out if you light on fire, te prometo," she tells you, still laughing. You roll your eyes slightly before allowing them to flutter shut, even though you know Ona can't see the gesture.

"Wake me up if it starts to hurt again?" she asks, seriousness returning.

"Te prometo," you say, echoing her words for just a second ago. A grin tugs at Ona's lips at your spanish use.

"Bueno. Goodnight my pretty girl," Ona whispers into your hair, her use of an english term of endearment making you blush.

With that, both of you allow yourselves to drift off. You're sure, now, that Ona will not care if you wake her up. Ona is sure that you will wake her up. Or, that she'll wake up if you do, seeing as though you're sprawled on top of her. She doesn't expect perfection, or for you to start coming to her with all your problems right away. She finds that she doesn't mind having to demonstrate her love to you, though. If there's anything she loves to do, it's remind you, everyday, that she loves you unconditionally.

-----

[forever-rogue]

Hi! so i've kinda had the worst past couple of days in a long time and I have a joel request of him just trying to cheer you up in his own grumpy old man way where its not really working but he's trying his best + maybe some Ellie enjoying how shit he is at it. Thank you :)

AN | Joel being soft for reader and only reader 🥰 

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Mention of Injury (mild, nondescript but mentions blood)

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel Miller was a hard man. The years and circumstances had done that to him. Every year, with every little thing that had happened he'd retreated further into himself and became a shadow of himself. 

But then had slowly he'd come more out of his shell, more alive again. He'd never again be the same man from before the Outbreak, but he could be happy again. It was something he'd thought was impossible but he was gradually beginning to believe was obtainable. It had all started with Ellie; he might have been her savior but he was every bit her savior as well. 

And there was you. You had caused him to feel a hundred thousand emotions he thought he'd long buried and forgotten. He just wasn't quite sure how to approach that just yet. But he did what he could and tried to show his affection in his very own Joel way.

Ellie might have teased him about it, but he did his best. Even if you didn't notice, that was okay. He just wanted to make sure you were happy and to put a smile on your face.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But right now there was no smile on your face. You'd gotten to the cafeteria and were on the hunt for some cookies. You were definitely in the midst of some pms and the cravings had hit. All you wanted now was something sweet. Your tummy had decided that it was chocolate chip cookies you were after. 

Unfortunately, there weren't any to be found. You had been positive that Vickie had baked some but they were either nonexistent or already all gone. You snooped around the counter and eventually found an empty tray that had suspiciously cookie-like crumbs on it.

"Animals," you sighed softly. People always descended on sweets first. You should have gone in the morning rather than waiting for the afternoon, "not a single cookie left."

You felt prickling at the back of your eyes, which you knew, realistically, was a dramatic reaction. But hey - hormones were weird and cravings happened.

Joel happened to walk in and noticed you staring dismally at the empty counter. A deep frown was tugging on your features, setting your mouth in a pretty little pout. He loathed seeing you upset. He was at your side in an instant.

"Everything alright?"

"No - yes," you shrugged as you turned to look at him. He still managed to make you weak in the knees despite how often you'd seen him. He was handsome in a roguish way and he'd always been kind to you, "its nothing."

"Don't look like nothin'," of course he wasn't going to let it go. You knew him better than that by now, "you look upset."

"It's noth - it's silly and you're going to laugh at me," your face burned under his intense gaze; you felt so vulnerable.

"Never," and that was a promise.

"I just really wanted some chocolate chip cookies," you confessed, so quietly that he almost wasn't sure he'd heard you. Then you noticed the way the corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile, "I know it's stupid! It's just that I've got pms and it's making me want something sweet. I was looking forward to some cookies."

"Oh," you didn't have your cookies and were upset. By proxy, Joel was now upset. His brows furrowed as a heavy sigh escaped your lips, "I'm sorry they didn't have your cookies. And that you're dealing with your…monthly stuff."

"Yeah," you sighed softly, "me too. But I'll just find something else. Thanks for listening to me complain."

"It ain't complaining," he hesitantly reached over and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. You tried - unsuccessfully - to ignore the tingles that surged through your veins, "I'm sure you'll find something sweet."

"Thanks Joel," you offered him a small smile, "you're very kind."

You brushed past him, giving a last little parting wave as you headed outside. Joel watched you go, a plan already forming in his mind. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was evening before you returned home, deciding that it was time for a hot shower and then into bed with a book. You were starting to feel crummy and hoped this would help. 

But when you got home, you were greeted by a delicious smell that made you stop in your tracks. You hadn't cooked or baked anything…you'd guard went up as you walked into the kitchen.

On the table there was a huge, fresh plate of cookies. You couldn't hold back your squeal of delight as you padded over to them and eagerly grabbed one and stuffed it into your mouth. The idea that it could have been a trap hadn't even crossed your kind. 

There was no note or anything, but you knew exactly who these were from. 

Joel Miller. 

Your heart felt it could burst from sheer happiness. You were going to find later and thank him; this was one of the nicest things anyone had done for you in a long time.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been a few weeks since Joel had made you cookies. You still hadn't managed to properly thank him; every time you saw him he appeared to be busy or disappeared within the blink of an eye.

One day you'd do something special for him. 

That day just wasn't going to be today. You were leaving the sheepish enclosure after feeding the small herd, as it was your designated day to do so. You'd been so preoccupied with playing with them that you weren't paying much attention to the closing of the gate. 

Not until you have a piece of rogue wire scrape down your arm. A sound of surprise escaped your lips as you looked at your arm to find it bleeding.

"Oh," you stared at it until you heard a pair of hasty footsteps stop in front of you.

"What happened?" you looked up to find Joel watching you with concern etched all over his face. He reached for your wrist, hesitantly at first but when you didn't flinch away, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and gently pulled your arm towards him, "you're bleeding."

"I scratched my arm," you looked towards the fence, as though realization suddenly dawned on you. You swore that your arm started to hurt even more, "it hurts."

"I know baby, I know," he didn't seem to have a clue as to what he had said but it was definitely not lost on you. You watched him intently, unable to contain the wild thumping of your heart as he looked you over, "let's go and this cleaned up, okay?"

"Okay," you agreed softly, trying to hold back your sniffles, "okay."

He reached for your hand on the opposite arm and tenderly took it in his hand, leading you over to his place. You'd been to his house before on several occasions but something about this felt so different.

Joel was quiet as he took you upstairs to the bathroom, motioning for you to sit on the side of the tub. He made quick work of getting all his supplies together and then patching up your wound. Not that it was much, it probably looked worse than it really was, but you appreciated him nonetheless.

"It might sting a little, okay?" He grabbed the alcohol and started to clean the scratch and you tried not to hiss at the pain but you knew it was written all over your face, "almost done. It'll feel better soon."

You nodded in understanding as he dabbed some ointment onto your arm before wrapping the wound up so it would stay clean. It was over before you knew it and you were almost sad that it was done. That meant his hands weren't going to be on yours anymore. 

He patted your knee when he was done and stood back up. You looked at him with such wide, soft eyes that Joel had struggled to hold back from kissing you. Damn.

"Thank you," your voice was soft and all he could manage in response was a nod of his head. It was then that you had remembered you still had something else to thank him for, "oh! Before I forget - thank you for the cookies. They were delicious."

"H-how did you know it was me?" his cheeks flushed pink as you beamed at him.

"It wasn't hard to put two and two together," you insisted, "I complained about not having cookies and suddenly there's a plate waiting at home? Come on, Joel. You made that almost too easy! But they were also delicious."

"I'm glad you liked them," he whispered softly, "and I'm glad your arm is okay."

"Me too," you smiled up at him, "all thanks to you, Joel Miller."

He couldn't find it within himself to muster up even a single word, too afraid he might spill his innermost secrets. Instead he brushed his knuckles along your cheek ever so gently.

He didn't have to say anything, not really. Everything between the two of you was loud and clear. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hadn't been sick in a long time and realized it wasn't something you missed. When it came around, you were really down and out. 

Like right now. You caught something but from who or what you had no clue. 

You did know however that you felt and looked like absolute garbage and had no energy either. So you did all that you could - stay in bed and rest.

But you were hungry and thirsty but didn't have it within yourself to actually get up to take care of yourself.

When you heard someone knocking at the door all you managed to do was shout in response, "its open!"

A moment passed before the door was actually opened and you heard a pair of tentative footsteps. You listened to their path until they stopped in front of your bedroom.

You rolled onto your back and looked up, finding Joel standing there and holding several bags of supplies. He hated seeing you like this; you hated him seeing you like this too. 

"What're you doing here?" you asked softly as he cleared his throat nervously, "Joel?"

"Maria told me you weren't feeling well," he said gruffly, "I came to take care of you."

"'m sick," you coughed lightly as he grimaced, "don't want you to get sick too."

"I don't care," he insisted in a tone that suggested it was pointless to argue, "I'm here to take care of you. You realize I'm not just leaving, right?"

"Of course I do," you sat up as he hesitantly came over and sat at the edge of your bed, "you're a stubborn man, Joel Miller."

"I've heard that a time or two," he snorted in amusement, "and much, much worse."

"Hmm," you laughed lightly as you leaned against your pillows, "what if you get sick?"

"I won't."

"If you did," you pressed further, "would you let me take care of you?"

He paused for a moment before nodding. He knew that you were just as stubborn as him, "I would."

"Good," you paused for a moment before a serious look crossed your features, "can I ask you something, Joel?"

"Anything," he insisted softly, his voice dropping to a tone that seemed to be reserved just for you.

"You’re always so nice to me,” you tried to ignore the fact that warmth was rising in your face, enough that you were sure you could fry an egg on it, “but…”

“But…” he echoed, reaching over and brushing your hair out of your face before feeling your forehead, “but what?” 

“It’s me,” you waved your hand around, “you’re always like this with me. But not anyone else. I don’t think so anyway.”

“You’re right,” he confirmed, his simple and sure answer coughing your brain to scramble, “the kid keeps saying I’m sweet on you. She’s not wrong.”

“Oh,” you hadn’t quite processed the weight of his words…not until, “oh.”

“Mhmm,” Joel didn’t necessarily have a way with words, but he didn’t need to when his actions spoke so loudly. You smiled at him and he felt like he was the one that was going to melt into a puddle, “have you eaten?”

“No,” you admitted sheepishly, “too tired.”

“Well then,” he stood up, hands on his hips, “I’ll go and make some soup. Okay?”

“Okay,” yeah. You could definitely get used to this. He grabbed the bags with groceries and supplies before turning to head to the kitchen. But you could let him go just yet, “Joel?”

He turned around and raised an eyebrow, “yes?”

“Me too,” you was the only thing you could get out. Judging from the way his face lit up, you knew he knew what you were trying to say. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised, “get some rest in the meantime.”

“Okay.”

[vickdrake]

Do i know you?

Jake opened his eyes finding the annoying glow of his computer, with those codes that had been left undeciphered after he inexplicably fell asleep on the table.

He didn't remember the exact moment when he had fallen into the world of dreams, but he knew that it was due to an oversight that should not happen again. Tiredness took its toll on him after months without sleeping properly, or rather without sleeping at all.

He cracked his neck, letting out a grunt of relief before looking out the hotel room window. It was autumn, the leaves were falling withered from the trees, indicating that winter was approaching and that everything old had to disappear to make way for a new beginning.

His pursuers seemed to be getting closer, always straining his patience and making him change hiding places more often. When he woke up his first concern had been to check where they were, but he was surprised to see that they had not yet picked up his signal, that they were still quite far away from him.

“Strange” he thought.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and staring into the corner of the room as he remembered a dream even stranger than the fact that his pursuers had not already knocked on the door (although they would never really knock, they would broke it).

Have you heard of people who don't dream? Jake was one of them. Dreams were not recurring in his life since he was little.

And I'll tell you something else, as a child, Jake feared his dreams because they were always too real.

This time it turned out to be a dream within a dream.

There he had also been sleeping as if he had no worries in the world other than rest, but the difference was that this time he was not alone.

A girl who radiated as much light as beauty caressed his hair as he opened his eyes.

—Good morning, sleepyhead. I've never seen you sleep as much as you did today —she said, smiling with amusement and tenderness as she tangled her fingers in the locks that covered Jake's eyes—. Do you want to tell me what you were dreaming? I almost thought you weren't going to wake up.

He himself had thought that it would be weird to find a strange woman at his side, speaking to him as if they had known each other for a long time, but his body, his mind, had reacted in a different way, ending up putting his arm around her waist and approaching to kiss her.

"Wait, wait, i haven't brushed my teeth yet," the woman protested, laughing as he left kisses on her neck and cheeks as he sought her lips.

"I don't care," Jake heard himself say at the same time he managed to make her stay still so he could kiss her hungrily.

She had complained that it was disgusting, but he didn't care at all.

In his dreams he had a life with her, they were both happy and Jake remembered laughing like he hadn't heard himself in years.

Through the tricks his head played on him, he managed to feel the human warmth of someone else for a period of time that felt like decades. It seemed to him that it was someone else's life, someone completely oblivious to him but at the same time had everything to do with himself.

He remembered her delicate fingers on his face, drawing paths across his chest, playfully running over his neck and tracing the shape of his eyebrows in a reassuring way.

He discovered that an engagement ring was on her ring finger and a feeling of pride, joy and overflowing love invaded him as soon as he saw that image. His girlfriend, his girl, his fiancee. Or rather, the fiancee of that Jake who did have a happy and free life.

His own mind playing with him, reminding him that he would never have a life like that, that he would rather end up rotting in prison or dead, buried and forgotten.

After a while he forgot the dream.

He completely forgot about the girl's face, the scent of her hair, and her smile that became Jake's favorite thing for at least five minutes after he woke up.

He continued to run away because it was what he knew how to do best, the only thing he could do, and he didn't allow himself to go back to sleep.

But... One afternoon, almost a year later.

A fragrance invaded his nostrils when the door of the Rainbow coffee opened.

An essence of roses, jasmine and… sea salt.

It seemed like a strange mix, although it made sense as he began to remember every detail of his dreams.

The rose petals that she put in her books so that they would be dissected, the jasmines that she loved so much and that Jake left next to her pillow every time he had to run away again, and the sea salt from that beach where he decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life being by her side, that place where as soon as he saw her come out of the water with her clothes and hair wet, laughing and throwing water at him, he was so hypnotized that the words came out of his mouth on their own.

"Marry me".

It had been a while since the iron mine had caught fire with Richy Rogers and Jake inside, Hannah was slowly recovering after they had managed to rescue her and the rest of her friends were trying to be strong for her but at the same time they couldn't ignore the pain of Richy's death.

The woman, who had helped the group and the hacker, decided to distance herself although she did not lose contact with any of them. She didn't go where she wasn't called, she comforted those who came to her and one day she finally decided it was time to say goodbye.

Jake watched from a table as she entered the cafeteria. Everything about her seemed so incredibly familiar even though he had never seen her in his life and also he could feel deep inside that he knew every mole, scar and mark from her body.

He didn't care about looking crazy as he looked at her, he had no interest in being careful as he found himself immersed in the lost expression on her face as she looked out the window, in how she drummed her fingers on the table and then how she took the cup of coffee to her lips.

He wanted to touch her, call her, say all those words that he had only spoken to her by message, discover if her hair was really as soft as in that dream, if her hands really radiated that comforting warmth.

Then he noticed that she was no longer looking at the cup of coffee or at the people passing by on the street but directly at him.

His heart began to accelerate and he felt the beat reach his ears, also causing his breathing to become agitated.

"I know you"

His legs moved on their own, making him get up to go after her as soon as he saw her grab her things and go to the cashier to pay. He didn't approach, not wanting to draw too much attention from her, but it was inevitable for the woman to get scared when she found him a few meters away from herself. Of course she must have guessed it was him at some point.

Jake heads toward the door to open it, but he turns his head in her direction just to let her know that he's waiting for her. He sees her doubt, observe him, analyze him, and he understands that she is wondering if she is wrong about who he is. She begins to approach, without taking her eyes off him, she watches him carefully, patiently, and Jake has to control the impulse to put his arms around her waist and press her against his body as soon as they face each other.

Nobody says anything. They communicate through looks. Jake thinks about what he wants to tell her and it seems to work, she seems to understand, because her frown softens.

“I love you,” a corner of his mind whispers and he smiles slightly.

No one else in the cafeteria is important, she overshadows anyone else and makes him forget that they've been looking at each other for a while, what wakes him up is her voice uttering a soft “thank you” before she walks through the door and leaves.

Jake watches her walk away, but he knows that she expects him to follow her so he doesn't waste time and with a more noticeable smile, he closes the door of the cafeteria and while he puts his hands in his pockets he decides that from the beginning she was always his destiny.

PS: This story is slightly linked to “With or without you”.

[3-2-whump]

It Started with a Gray Hair

<prev next>

After a couple months' worth of balancing two jobs, hardly getting any sleep, and running himself ragged, Khaled finally snaps.

Thanks @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for the feedback on this chapter, I've applied your advice and hope you like what I did with it!

TW/CW: emotional angst, emotional whump, defiant whumpee (?) (whumpee loses his last fuck to give), slave whump, captivity whump, alcohol, very briefly mentioned food whump (like it's barely there but I'll tag it anyways), intimate whumper, dub con, hate sex

Khaled noticed it when he was towel-drying his hair in front of the mirror after a shower. He accepted it wasn’t a trick of the light as he blew his hair dry in front of the mirror, and he finally confirmed it was exactly as he feared when he combed through his wild floof. Standing starkly contrasted against the black night of his hair was a single silvery strand, long and twisted and brittle amongst strong sable waves.

There was a sharp rap on the door, accompanied by his master’s complaints. Khaled ignored it, still horrified by the discovery of his first gray hair. It was less about vanity for him more than it was a visible sign of the passage of time, of how much time he’d spent living under this man’s thumb. His hands unscrewed the pomade jar on autopilot. He went through the motions of dipping fingertips into the sticky substance and running them through his hair, thoughts racing all the while. He managed to hide the silvery offender –the only one, as far as he knew, though where there was one, there were probably more, and what was that under his eyes? Lines?

“Sometime today, Khaled!” Thomas yelled through the bathroom door.

“Almost done, Master!” he shouted back as he rinsed the hair product off his hands. He hastily dried them and opened the door, subconsciously straightening out his shirt collar as he righted his posture.

“Everything alright?” It was funny, how he almost sounded concerned.

“Fine,” Khaled lied. As if he was going to complain to a forty-something year old man about his first gray hair.

“Well let’s go! We’re going to be late for the reservation I made!”

The restaurant they drove to overlooked a harbor boasting a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean, plus or minus a few barges, with the city skyline largely forgotten behind the vast blue expanse. Regretfully, the outdoor seating was closed for the season, with it already being late fall, so the mob boss and his slave got a table indoors, right next to the wide windows above the balcony.

Whatever hope Khaled had of forgetting about the passage of time was quickly dashed by the first course. “We’ll take the antipasti plate, cured meats on the side, and your 2015 Merlot, two glasses, leave the bottle.”

Khaled cleared his throat, getting Thomas and the waitress’ attention. “Just one glass, please,” he corrected. “I’ll take a water.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” Thomas asked. Khaled shook his head. “Best give him a glass anyway,” he whispered not too subtly. The waitress dutifully wrote down their order before leaving them to their complimentary bread basket.

“Ah, 2015,” the boss reminisced with a sigh. “The year my grandfather passed and I became the head of the Costa Family, what a tumultuous year!”

Yeah, 2015, the year I was kidnapped and sold halfway across the world to you, Khaled remembered. He tried to wash away the bitter memory with the water the waitress had given him, but the icy cold drink only numbed the sensation for a moment. He halfheartedly smeared some butter onto a piece of bread and picked at the marinated olives on their shared plate as his master kept reminiscing about how much time they had spent together.

“That was also the year I got you, wasn’t it?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you remember how small you were back then?” Thomas popped a salted almond into his mouth, chewing it only for a second before answering for him. “You were 5’1” and barely 90 lbs, a scrawny little thing. Then, with enough food and shelter and a stable environment-”

Khaled nearly choked on an ice cube.

“-you hit your growth spurt and made up for lost time!” The older man laughed, taking a hearty sip of his wine. “As soon as I bought you clothes that fit, you would need them replaced! You shot up like a weed over those first two years, and now look at you!”

Look at me now, Khaled bitterly echoed. His gaze flitted to the deep ruby liquid in his master’s wine glass, and then to the opaque green bottle set in the middle of their table. If he was going to make it through the rest of this dinner, he might change his mind about the merlot after all.

The man across from him helped himself to a slice of prosciutto from the side plate. “You’re a handsome young man, now twenty-two years old, 5’8”, 138 lbs. You’re built like a whippet, svelte and sexy in all the right places,” he crooned, throwing in a wink. “It has been nothing but a pleasure spending all these years with you.”

The bread on his tongue felt as dry as ashes in Khaled’s mouth. “I think I will take some of that wine, thanks,” he murmured. He leaned over the table to reach for the wine, but Thomas beat him to it.

Their hands touched on the neck of the wine bottle, two sources of warmth meeting on cold slender glass. Khaled shot his master a questioning look, only to receive a cryptically soft gaze in response. “Allow me.” Thomas took the bottle and effortlessly filled the spare wine glass. “Here you are,” he said, passing it to Khaled with a fond smile. Their hands met once again, the older man’s touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary on the neck of the wine glass as he stared into Khaled’s eyes. There was something softening the look in those steely-gray eyes, and it wasn’t just the candlelight ambiance. This look was warm and cozy, almost comforting like a fresh cup of tea; nothing like the fiery and lustful glances that promised Khaled equal measures of pleasure and pain. At least Khaled was used to the latter type of looks. The way Thomas looked at him now was almost as if –but no, Khaled thought, he’s just playing it up because we’re out in public.

“Aren’t you going to eat any more of this?” Thomas asked, waving down toward the sliced cheeses and grapes and nuts. Khaled hated how concerned his master sounded, making it sound like he cared.

“I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was,” he replied. He threw back the glass of wine and let the liquid pour down his throat, just to give his mouth anything to do other than talk to the man across from him.

“Oh, come on, Khaled, you know the dietary rules don’t apply on your birthday! At least eat something to absorb all that wine you’re inhaling?”

Brushing uncomfortably past the reminder that today was his birthday –the seventh birthday he had spent in slavery to his master, owner, and abuser –Khaled polished off the rest of his wine, instantly tipping his glass forward in a nonverbal request for more. “Why should you care?” he asked.

“Because maybe I care about you.” Thomas refilled his wine glass. He did that thing with his voice again, using the tone that sounded as if he were genuinely concerned. He was looking at him in that same soft and worrisome way as before. Khaled decided that he hated it. It made sense that the man would be concerned about his $150k asset, but anything vaguely resembling more than that was just …wrong.

He made a show of turning his head all about the restaurant, clocking how few patrons there actually were on a Monday night. “You can drop the act you know,” he murmured. “There is no one within five tables around ours, so you can cut the crap and just be yourself, Master.” The title left his tongue like a bitter epithet.

“Cut the –Khaled, what are you talking about?”

Oh, so he’s going to play dumb? Fine! You want to fuck with me, I’m the King of Dumb –wait, hold on. Khaled tipped back his second glass of wine, not stopping until the whole vessel was drained. Whether it was the insincere gestures of concern, or the accumulation of remarks about how much time had been stolen from him, or whatever the hell these soft and warm looks were, Khaled had decided he’d had enough. “I mean, stop being so goddamn nice to me, stop acting like we’re good friends or boyfriends or whatever lie you told these people when you made our reservations, and please, please, please, stop acting like you care about me beyond what I can do for you in bed!”

A few patrons turned their heads toward their table, since Khaled had raised his voice a little at that last statement. The mob boss glanced around with a flicker of nervousness in those gray eyes. “Khaled, baby, calm down,” he soothed quietly, opting to go for damage control.

Wrong choice of words, fucker! Khaled scoffed loudly, emboldened by the alcohol in his system. “You bought me, at fifteen years old, like an object, and you brought me into your empty, soulless home for what exactly? To leave me chained up and alone to slowly lose my mind for the first year I was imprisoned with you?” He slammed his empty wineglass against the table with enough force to rattle the silverware. “Nobody even treats their dog that badly!” he shouted.

“Khaled, keep your voice down, you’re drawing attention-”

The hypocrisy nearly made Khaled laugh. How dare you care about drawing attention onto us now, of all times! “And then,” Khaled continued, retelling his story as he raised his voice on purpose, “you took me to work with you and kept me on an extremely short leash, while the rest of the mafia treated me like the plague! Do you have any idea what they would say about me when you weren’t there? All the names they called me that I didn’t understand? Well, you made me understand, didn’t you?” His master reached out to hold his hand, but Khaled smacked it away, rising from the table to put even further distance between them. “Four years ago, this very night, the night of my eighteenth birthday, you made me understand, didn’t you?!”

“Khaled, shut up!” Thomas raised himself from the table, his livid eyes narrowed threateningly as he stared the young man down.

“You treated me like a whore –no, worse than a whore! You broke and violated my body nearly every night for years on end! You dolled me up and passed me around to your boys like a party favor until I was thrown away like garbage-” Khaled furiously blinked back the stinging sensation in his eyes “-back into your arms when they’d had their fill!”

A small squeak in their periphery interrupted their intense staring match. “U-um, excuse me, have you gentlemen decided on your entrees yet?” the waitress timidly interrupted. Both men fell silent as they realized the weight of a dozen stares were on their table, with both patrons and staff tensely watching them as they fought.

Thomas composed himself first. “No, thanks, I think we’re done here,” he answered gruffly. He reached into his coat pocket and fished out a few $100 bills. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he muttered as he pressed the cash into the woman’s hands and strode purposefully towards the exit. Khaled himself muttered a quiet “sorry” before he followed his master out the restaurant, where they both picked up their argument where they had left off as soon as they reached the parking lot.

“What was that?” the mob boss shouted. “Fuck, boy, what is wrong with you tonight?!”

“What’s wrong with me?! I wasn’t the one who went out and bought a teenager to turn into their personal bed warmer!” Khaled screamed. “I wasn’t the one who stripped him of his clothes and wrapped him in silk and pimped him out to strangers he barely knew! I wasn’t the one who tore down everything he loved about himself-” Khaled’s voice broke on a wet sob he couldn’t suppress, “–everything that made him unique, to wring all the hopes and dreams from his broken body, just to build up whatever I wanted from his remains!” He raised an accusatory finger at the man he called his master. “That was you, you did that, that was all you!”

A brief grimace of an unnamed emotion flickered across his master’s face, disappearing before it could even be named. “You’re making it out to be way worse than it was!” he defended himself. He shook his head as he grabbed Khaled’s elbow and started steering him toward the car. “See if I ever let you drink again, fuck,” he muttered.

“Get off me!” Khaled yanked his elbow away from Thomas’ grip. He bit his trembling lip and swiped away the tears in his eyes. Any and all pretense of wanting to appear strong was abandoned as Khaled angrily wept.

“I could have loved you, you know!” He wrapped his arms around himself as his posture crumpled, squeezing himself in a hug as if he were desperately trying to hold his shattered pieces together for a little longer, if only so long as it took him to finish his damning indictment. “You wouldn’t know this, but I don’t have a father, at least not anymore,” he shuddered through ragged breaths, “but for a little bit, I thought I had you. If you had just been a little kinder, a little more understanding, if you had never touched me like that at all, I could have loved you like a father, and I think I was about to! But you didn’t love me, and I know you never did!”

“Hey, that is just not true!” Khaled heard the crunch of gravel under expensive leather shoes. A shadow cast over him as the mob boss leaned over the young man.

“Why didn’t you love me?!” Khaled glared up at him through his mess of tears. “What was it about me that justified pouring out all your wrath and your lust against me?! Why was it so hard to love me?! Am I unlovable, is that it?! Why-”

A rough hand grabbed him by his hair and tugged him forward. Khaled’s rant was smashed against a regrettably familiar pair of warm lips as Thomas brought him in for a kiss. Khaled clawed at the front of the man’s chest, fighting with a fervor he had not had since the early days to try and put the distance back between them. He groaned in protest against those smothering lips as his master maneuvered both their bodies and flipped Khaled back-first onto the hood of a car. Thomas broke the kiss and quickly covered Khaled’s mouth with his hand before the young man could say anything else. “You want me to love you?” he growled. “What does it look like I’ve been doing?!” Khaled thrashed against the hand on his mouth and the body pressing him down inch by inch into the chrome hood of the car. “I have been nothing but sweet with you for months now, but if that’s not what love looks like to you, I could always go back to what I had done before!”

The statement that would’ve struck terror and fear into him before now just made Khaled even more angry. He had finally freed one of his arms from where it had been pinned and scratched at his owner’s face. Thomas recoiled and let go of Khaled’s mouth on instinct to catch Khaled’s wrist in a punishingly tight grip. It wasn’t long before he had both of Khaled’s wrists pinned in one hand in front of him.

Khaled glared at him as he struggled against his master’s hold. “Touch me like that again, and I will scream,” he promised.

His master scowled, but ultimately released him and stepped away, allowing Khaled to peel himself off the hood of the car. They were still in a restaurant parking lot, after all. “At least wait until we’re in the car, you fucking savage!” he muttered.

They had just made it to the back of the boss’ Bentley when Thomas tried to grab Khaled in one hand and open the backseat door with another. Khaled dodged, and as Thomas reached for him to pull him into the car, he pushed into the man’s body and sent him falling backwards. His back met the seat of the backseat with a satisfying thud. Khaled wasted no time in climbing on top of him and closing the car door behind him.

“Cut this shit out!” the older man yelled, trying to sit himself up from where he fell.

“No!” Khaled pushed him down by the sternum. His master, in turn grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back to bare his neck. The sudden pull made Khaled gasp. The warm, moist pair of lips kissing at his Adam’s apple made him involuntarily groan. He blindly clawed at his master while his head was craned up to the car roof. The pair of lips against his throat murmured a breathy request against his skin. “Let’s do it, here, now.”

Once the hand in his hair let Khaled go to begin tearing off his shirt, Khaled snapped his head back to stare down at him. “I’ll ride,” he said. Thomas blinked up at him as his hands retreated from Khaled’s waistband. “I’ll ride,” he repeated, his tone assertive and acerbic. His fingers moved over the button and fly of his pants before his brain could keep up with what he had demanded. Thomas mirrored the motions as he undid his pants and quickly whipped out his hardening member. “You have taken so much from me, you can at least allow me this, Master.” He pushed his pants and underwear down to his ankles, taking them off entirely before climbing on top of the dumbstruck man again.

Khaled straddled his master’s hips, splitting himself in half on his master’s cock as he gripped the front passenger seat and the back seat to steady himself. A pair of roughly calloused hands maintained an iron grip on his hips, but Khaled had set the speed on his own, pushing himself up and down the rigid shaft at a brutally masochistic pace. The familiar stinging burning sensation accompanied every movement as he pushed himself to his limits, but Khaled didn’t care. This was the most control he’d ever had –more like the most control he’d been allowed to have with his owner, and as he kept hitting that sweet spot inside of him with every punishing thrust, the repugnant act finally began to feel good.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He did both.

“Fuck me!” Khaled looked below, into the eyes of the man he was riding. The mob boss was a mess, with his short blonde hair mussed up, top three shirt buttons undone, and outer suit coat long forgotten. “I don’t know what I did to get you so worked up, but I should do it again if it gets you this eager!”

“Shut up!”

One of the hands let go of Khaled’s hips to slap him across the cheek. “That is no way to talk to your Master!”

Undeterred, Khaled kept riding. After every abuse that he’d endured, there was no way a mere backhand was going to stop him. He felt himself smiling, a dark and twisted little upturn gracing his lips. “Oh, I know you missed this, you sick son of a fuck!” he gloated. “I figured those girls in the whorehouses could only satisfy you for so long! I am your perfect plaything, doing exactly what you have trained me to do!” His pace was becoming erratically frenzied as he sought release from the ever-mounting pleasure. Thomas bucked his hips into Khaled’s, trying to keep up with him as he squeezed the young man’s hips impossibly tight. That’s right, I can’t cum yet, not until he cums at least, I’ve got to get him to cum first, Khaled reminded himself.

“So, so tight –you’re gonna rip my dick off, Khaled!”

“What are you complaining for?! You wanted this!” he screamed. He was close, so close, he just had to hold out a little more-

A strangled mix between a roar and a moan erupted underneath him as a familiar pulse of hot seed injected deep within. Khaled didn’t take much longer to cum after that, spilling himself over imported cotton as he rode through the high of his climax. His grip on the front and back seats slackened, knees and thighs trembling with the effort to keep himself seated on the man’s cock. When Thomas finally let go of his hips to gently guide him down onto his chest –face first into the puddle of his own spend –Khaled went down limply without a fight. He rested his head against his master’s chest, picking up the sound of the older man’s heartbeat and the smell of cologne and sweat and sex radiating off his broad body.

“Holy fuck, Khaled.” Thomas’ voice rumbled in his ribcage as his fingers idly played with Khaled’s hair. “That was kinda hot-”

“Nope,” Khaled cut off, “stop talking. Please.” Fortunately, this time, he listened.

The mob boss and his slave fell into a contemplative silence as they lay against each other. The silence only broke by the fingers in Khaled’s hair, stopping as they twirled a single lock of hair. “Oh my god, is that a gray hair?” the man asked incredulously.

Khaled laughed/cried again.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

This is a personal post about boarding school experience and its later effects in life. It will be under keep reading so anyone can scroll over it if they don't want to read it. It's mostly for me and the need to express the thoughts I've been having and I need an outlet for that.

I've been reading once again about boarding school syndrome all day since this morning. I don't know why I do this to myself. Why I feel the need to go back to all that as if to check if all the damage is still there. Or like a way to pity myself and then to hate it for feeling sorry for myself once again. It's a cycle. I must have remembered something last night before falling asleep because I found myself today at 10 am reading a research paper on it and then looking up testimonials in reddit.

But the thing is, most of the research is done on English boarding schools and as much as the overall experience is similar, there are so many nuances in the differences that exist.

I vividly remember looking out the window and watching my parents get in the car and leave. It was Sunday evening and they had the car parked on a smaller street in downtown where I was left to stay. The next day was the first day of school and I was 11, starting 5th grade.

I read that in cases of children going to boarding school, a lot of them remember in detail the moment the separation took place. And it's true even if it's been almost 20 years since then. That's when my stomach issues began. Of course the cause was emotional stress, but that didn't stop from going to medical clinics weekly to do full check ups when any adult should have realized that I was just homesick. The year after, I began to feel nausea each Monday morning. I used to beg my parents to postpone my return as much as possible so I would only leave home on Monday and arrive an hour before classes would start. For five years I went to school in the afternoon. The nausea became a constant. I would complain on that day, hoping my mother would tell me that I don't have to go to school. But I couldn't understand at that time that my mother was emotionally unavailable and had no idea how to deal with her daughter's real needs.

But I kept going and as years went by, I got used to it and it felt easier by the time I finished high school. When I was already in college, I had forgotten half of my experience and I would gloss over what happened. I would act proud of how fast I had become independent, without needing any help, as if that was a good thing.

Of course that at some point I slowly started to realize that not everything went that well, but either way, that perhaps it was worth the sacrifice if I manage to do something well professionally. Eight years of boarding school meant sacrifices and financial investment. For me to go to the most prestigious middle school (I had to take an English exam for 5th grade, that was unheard of at that time in any other school!), then to the most prestigious high school to receive the best grades which would help to get into the most prestigious university so I can study exactly what I want because by then I found my passion. And I was encouraged. So I worked for it for more than a decade because all the pain had to have been worth it. Yes, parts of life sucks, but perhaps a uni position while I teach and research would compensate for it. But it never did and that entire plan fell to pieces because life doesn't work how I wanted to.

So was all that worth it in the end? Absolutely not.

For years I would think and say that I never suffered bullying in school because my colleagues were nice and for the most part, I had nice experiences. And that's still true. While at the same time forgetting that I also had that other life in boarding school where 17-18 year girls found abuse a form of entertainment.

Bullying is such a common occurence but it gets worse in boarding school because you can't get to any space that feels safe. You can't get home to your own room and to your own parents who might notice something and intervene. In boarding school you have to sleep in the same room and next to the same bed as your abusers. You take showers next to them, hoping that nothing happens. It's living in constant fear.

All my emotional mechanisms have developed during those years, especially between the ages of 11-13. I quickly learned to avoid any type of conflict because that would mess up whatever aparent peace that existed from time to time. I learned that speaking up and telling the adults responsible meant that I was in more danger.

As adults, those who went through the boarding school experience have trouble maintaining relationships. We become self sufficient because we had to. There was no help so we learned to take care of ourselves. Consequently, we don't need other people, especially if we know they will eventually abandon us. Of course attempts are made because it's in our nature. I've lost friendships because rather than making myself heard and to be an active participant in a relationship, I distanced myself. It's easier than to speak because there's a risk that the other person would certainly decide to break the friendship. Avoid conflict at all costs, even it rots everything from the inside. I'm still actively doing this.

When I told my therapist about these experiences (which I don't think I'll talk about in detail here), she used the word trauma. To this day, I have a hard time accepting it. Because deep down I still don't believe that my experience was that bad to be labeled that way. It's not real trauma if nothing really actually "bad" happens.

It's only bad enough that it infiltrated and influenced all aspects of my entire life. From personal relationships to professional. The latter I used to think it was independent and untouchable of all the things I had going on personally. But of course to realize as an adult that the need for perfection, the impostor syndrome, all are a result of never feeling good enough which stems from the initial abandonment.

I find it hard to accept that some decisions taken 20 years ago without me having any real say in it (I was asked and I said yes because my parents know best) and the consequent experiences that I had to go through have negatively influenced my entire life. For many years I never looked at aspects of my life, thinking that something is not well and should be investigated. I was busy in my 20s with other thoughts without realizing the root cause of why I was doing some things. But by the time that decade was over, it's like everything is crashing down. Piece by piece. Every single aspect of my life had been fucked by that thing my therapist calls trauma.

[fandoms-in-law]

Revealing Flowers

Summary: Steve and Eddie both know they're soulmates. They've never spoken and don't know how to start speaking to each other but they know it. The Upside Down at least gets them talking to each other.

/\

Steve knew his soulmate. He just didn't know how to approach or talk to him.

Eddie knew Steve's soulmate. He was trying to pretend he didn't unless Steve started speaking to him.

Hawkins High didn't know who Steve Harrington's soulmate was and loved to speculate and gossip each time he saw a girl more than once. 

Robin Buckley had been a prime candidate until she produced the receipt for her tattoo of flowers people had pointed at saying they matched Steve's. It had been a promise to each other of permanence but not dictated by a soulmate bond.

The only other student everyone knew had tattoos was Eddie and even he'd stuck to animals and patterns rather than convincing the artist to let him have flowers.

They'd forgotten the times the jocks had bullied him for fake soulmate flowers. Billy had found it especially fun to do after the second ones that appeared on his face vanished in a few weeks. Somehow he never realised those flowers matched with other injuries he'd recently caused.

~

"I don't get it." Robin said, hurrying through the store to start her shift.

Steve watched her curiously since no customers were around. "Get what?"

"Nobody knows your soulmate but you say you do. How? You're not dating them or speak to anyone other than that kids and me." she spoke quickly, glancing at the door.

"Eh, he got bullied over faking soulmate flowers. I was off for part of the week but the fading ones matched my injuries. Just didn't know how to talk to him so tried getting the bullying to stop." Steve shrugged. He'd mentioned before that his soulmate was male but never wanted to say who before actually speaking to him.

"Munson? Him? You can easily start talking to him. He's leading the kids club or is it some other guy you've complained over losing Dustin to a million times." Robin rolled her eyes as if it really was that easy.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her. "And when my injuries and scars get questioned?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times trying to think of something but the after work customers started arriving before she did.

~

"Help us find Eddie!" Dustin had snapped it while he and Max did all they could to take over Family Video.

Steve froze, before reaching for the scissors. "Robin? Write 'Let me help. Where are you?' with these please?" He asked, holding both hands out. He wasn't sure Eddie would reply but it would give a better answer than whatever the kids planned on doing.

She didn't say anything as she did, and he didn't react to the scratches being put on the back of his hand, looking to the kids instead. "He's my soulmate. I just never knew how to approach him and he didn't speak to me either. This is over Cunningham, right?"

"It's gotta be back! Eddie wasn't meant to get involved!" Dustin agreed, pacing from stress. "Let's call the rest of Hellfire, see if they know where he'd go."

Max shot a judgemental look at Dustin before turning it on Steve. "Are you explaining that so Dustin forgets to freak out about it cause he's worrying already?"

"Nope just to explain doing this." Steve held his arm up as Robin had just finished scratching his message out.

Before more could be said though flowers were appearing on his forearm.

Steve glanced at them and around the shop. "I'm calling Keith. Your parents have insisted you go home to stay safe if there's someone murdering girls in Hawkins and mine are demanding I join them in California for safety though I've no clue how they heard about the murder already. He can manage the shop now." He resolved. If the Upside Down was back it had never been a one day and finished situation, except for Starcourt but he wasn't sure of that even.

"He replied? Let's go!" Dustin was trying to push them out the door before Steve could make the call and getting dodged.

"After I've at least tried to ensure we have a job for after this is sorted." Steve insisted, glancing at his arm and seeing it still wasn't enough to just drive to. He checked on their system for the full address from the name on his arm while making the call.

~

Eddie had peered out of the boat shed when Steve knocked, justifiably hesitant but letting the four of them in silent until the door was shut. "I didn't do it, Harrington. I don't know what happened." he said then,eyes remaining on Steve the entire time.

"So it wasn't a monster? Normally when things like this happen in Hawkins a monster is seen." Steve asked, certain that would've been mentioned rather than nothing known.

Eddie blinked at that, slumping in on himself. "You're serious? Weird shit has happened before?"

"Yes but it changes every time." Steve gentle his tone, accepting that even if Robin max and Dustin were there and at least one of them wanted to ask their own questions Eddie was only focusing on him. "What did you see? So we can try and help from there."

"She... fuck! Chrissy levitated, floated to the ceiling and then-" Eddie broke off heaving slightly. "Don't make me describe it. She died on the ceiling."

Dustin made a noise of alarm, getting the pair to jump to face him, "Only El has done that so far! And that's when she's in sight of a person!"

"El?" Eddie asked, glancing around at Max and Robin as if expecting one of them to identify as her.

"A girl who had superpowers, moved away last year and had lost them." Steve explained in an aside, he clicked at Dustin, heading towards the door. "You think that through. Let's get to the car. Eddie, you're being a coat pile and coming with us."

Eddie didn't stand, even as Robin and Max filed out.

He was shaking his head before Steve looked back at him. "I can't risk that. They're - they're blaming me, aren't they?"

"You can. Nobody would expect you to be staying at my house, Munson. They're idiots so come on, big empty house with heating and comfy beds or a drafty boat house?" Steve repeated his decision, gesturing impatiently.

Eddie still hesitated but at another gesture reluctantly followed.

~

They didn’t talk about being soulmates. Through the time Eddie was hiding at Steve’s, through Nancy and Robin trying to investigate more of what Wayne had mentioned and Dustin’s realisation that the compasses were changing direction towards a gate, neither Eddie or Steve mentioned the soulmate connection again.

That’s not to say they didn’t grumble about it, Eddie had definitely had complaints over how weird soulmate flowers felt as they formed and Steve got to point out he’d never had enough to notice.

He was noticing now, feeling his skin rippling even as he worked with Nancy and Robin to try and get their original plan back. Whatever had happened with Dustin and Eddie while the vines had tried to kill them was probably killing Eddie now and Steve knew he needed to rush.

Without saying more than “Eddie.” He handed the axe to Robin once their molotovs were thrown and ran, hoping she’d be able to behead Vecna while he tried to save Eddie’s life.

The extra seconds he got from feeling the flowers forming might not have saved Eddie’s life but Steve definitely felt like they did as he lost himself in as much first aid as the Upside Down allowed and getting himself, Dustin and Eddie out and to the hospital. He’d raise hell himself if anyone tried using bullshit accusations to prevent his soulmate getting necessary care.

~

“My boy’s been worried about you.” Wayne commented seeing Steve coming back to the room.

In the week since Eddie was admitted they’d gotten to know each other pretty well, chatting the times Eddie slept through their visits but Steve still felt unnerved by the comment. “I know. He’d been trying to get the nurses to bring a second bed in here so I can rest properly instead of in a chair.”

“I don’t mean since whatever happened. I mean since 83 when his face got covered in flowered to match your injuries and every year since then.” Wayne corrected, nodding to the other chair, “Although he is definitely worried about you currently too.”

He blinked at the mention, eyes tracing over Eddie automatically. “We haven’t spoken about it.”

“But you both know you’re sticking to each other anyway.” The observation was one Steve had been avoiding. It felt vulnerable to admit that when Eddie hadn’t said anything but Wayne didn’t look annoyed. He’d spoken as if that was a fact.

“I don’t want to leave him, but it’s Eddie’s choice what we are, do.” Steve muttered, spotting Eddie’s eyes flickering but after a moment of quiet he settled back to sleep again.

Wayne watched him for a moment, “Well how’re you gonna learn that if neither of you will start talking about it? I’ve been telling him to just say hi to you for years and now you’re talking you ain’t mentioning the soulmates connection for some reason. He said that was how you found him but you’re still not asking how he feels about it or saying what you think. Silence don’t get you far.”

Steve nodded, pursing his lips as he thought over the advice. “Okay, Eddie, stop pretending to sleep and join the conversation. You wanna date and be soulmates?”

“Yes?” Eddie’s brow furrowed, his head rolling to blink at Steve. “How’d you know I was listening?”

“I heard talking as I came up the hall. Wayne doesn’t talk to himself.” Steve stared between Uncle and Nephew unamused for a moment. “I know Dustin told you about the other times shit happened. If there’s one clue I’m going to notice first in the group it’s noises cause my hearing is the best.”

“Oh.” Eddie paused for a moment, taking in that information, “So soulmates?”

Steve smiled at him sweetly, “Yes, I’ll get a date arranged for when you’re released, okay?”

“Okay.”

[james-stark-the-writer]

terrible news, i tried to watch the Friendly Space Ninja Riverdale finale video again and i think i've pinpointed my problem with his videos, specifically the Riverdale ones but also just his general approach to media criticism, it's just the terrible wave of "objective criticism" we had on youtube with shitheads like Mauler but framed as just a more subjective opinion and it tries to pretend like that makes it any better, which it doesn't, like it really doesn't, because the underlying assumption that there is only one way to tell any type of story is just such a terrible thing for art but also he just fundamentally doesn't understand what type of art Riverdale is and there's just such a sheer lack of even attempting to treat it as a serious piece of art because the assumption is already that because popular consensus is that it sucks (the critical consensus has actually been consistently fucking great, you could just go look at the Rotten Tomatoes scores or even check out the legacy section on Riverdale's Wikipedia page), that means it automatically is trash, it never gets the opportunity to fight for itself because it's never given the chance to be thought of as a piece of art. it's an insistence that writing is the only way to analyze an audio-visual medium and like sure, writing doesn't "age" the same way other elements might, but audiences do age and change and evolve, media criticism does too, there's a reason people appreciate the Star Wars prequels more now than they ever did at release because we understand different ways of appreciating art now beyond the base insistence that conventionally "good" writing is the only thing to aim for (the prequels are actually well written but let's not get into THAT rn), that doesn't make the prequels "bad," it just means the prequels are different. i find the whole good/bad paradigm pretty suffocating in the first place but this is just so exhausting and i cannot believe that I've just managed to articulate it bc it seems shockingly obvious in retrospect.

also the video in question is just like factually wrong multiple times, he flat out admits he skips a lot of the season but then complains that the season doesn't make sense when he's jumping in at a random point, he complains that the previous seasons are meaningless but it's like has he forgotten that the audience doesn't forget stuff even if the characters have (and they even get their memories back in a thematically important and resonant moment the defines who the characters want to be so it's not really even entirely sound criticism) and that the show is intentionally trying to do interesting parallels and reversals of the stuff we've seen before, it's like commenting on itself because season 7 is a nostalgic look back at what the comics have been and what the show started from, and about the nostalgic feelings of that time and their appeal contrasted with the brutal truths of the reality of the situation, like this is just basic art criticism, i'm not even like trying to defend the season, like i don't even like season 7 that much, i think it's one of the more boring seasons and it ranks towards the middle for me, but like this is not like deep criticism where you're thinking and analyzing a lot, this is just seeing what the plot of the episodes is and what they're trying to communicate, it's just really irritating how fucking exhausting the objective criticism shit is but it's actually even more grating when you don't pretend to be superior about it because it makes it seem like you're not even bold enough to stand by your opinions and actually embrace the implication present in the shit you are saying, like it's just cowardice, honestly. but anyway, glad i figured it out, because it was honestly irritating me that i couldn't articulate why i didn't like those videos beyond just them being wrong about Riverdale on like a factual level and him just not understanding what it's trying to say as a piece of art.

the point of this isn't to say that i think he's making these arguments in bad faith or anything, i do think these are genuinely opinions he holds, and they are valid opinions for him to hold, i'm not saying they're invalid, you can prefer one aspect of a piece of media over other aspects because it's more important to you, that's okay, i'm just saying they're misinformed takes and generally display a shocking lack of imagination and respect for art and no desire to broaden his horizons.

anyway, if you actually want to understand the appeal of Riverdale, go through the Riverdale tag on my blog for my own analysis (but here's somewhere to get started), or if you want videos, the Super Eyepatchwolf video is pretty good, i still disagree with it a lot but at least the man tries to understand why people like the show and he even gets some part of the appeal, and we are going to get 4 5-hour videos from Lily Simpson over the next few months so i'm looking forward to those, bc Lily generally tends to at least understand the appeal of the stuff she talks about, and the title of the first video ("the captivating madness of Riverdale" [though i don't love the use of "madness"]) is already enough to make me feel like somebody kinda gets it and hopefully it'll be more coherent actual art analysis.

[tinyfantasminha]

Happy Birthday!

Voice Lines:

When summoned: Not to sound desperate, but hey did you got something for me? Just kidding!

Summon Line: Man, this outfit makes me feel fancy. Though I'm a bit worried that this white suit might get dirty.

Groooovy!!: Thanks for the birthday wishes. Ah, I've said ''thanks'' a lot today, didnt't I? Then... I'm glad you're here with me today.

Home: Does white suit me...?

Home Idle 1: On my 8th birthday, instead of a regular cake, my mom made an ice cream cake. I wish I could have that again this year...

Home Idle 2: I don't know, but I'm suspicious that the gift Ruggie got for me is stolen. ...Or bought with Leona's money. If I'm going to return it? No way~ It's mine now, khihi.

Home Idle 3: The headmaster said I'm free of my duties for the day of my birthday since he is ''so gracious''... But that was yesterday. I didn't had the guts to tell him that he got the date wrong. That old man is hopeless...

Home Idle - Login: My schedule is cramped today, but if you want to, we can go out to the town tomorrow. You can buy me my birthday present there if you haven't already, hehe. I'll treat you in a cafe in turn.

Home Idle - Groovy: Since my birthday is on the same day as Cater's, him and Riddle insist that my party should be hosted in Heartslabyul as well. Heartslabyul is certainly more adequade for these kinds of events than Ramshackle. Plus I get to eat delicious treats so I'm not complaining!

Home Tap 1: Kalim excitely congratulated me and gave me lots of expensive presents…! He also invited me for a feast in Scarabia. It's not that I don't want to, but how do I politely tell him that if I eat any more my stomach will explode?

Home Tap 2: Hey, if Azul asks you where I am, don't say a word. Jade told me he seemed excited earlier about the present he got for me but knowing him I'm sure he will demand some kind of repayment later! I just have to avoid him through the entire day!

Home Tap 3: Ehehe… Hmm, do I seem happy? It's just that Jack's gift- I mean that wasn't- No, shut up, it's not what you're thinking- Wipe that grin off your face right now!!

Home Tap 4: Oh my goodness. I totally wasn't expecting to be greeted by Vil in the hallway, he wished me a happy birthday and I blurted out ''thanks, you too''. I want to die right now…

Home Tap 5: Idia sent me a message today with an audio file attached. He said it was my ''official character song'' that he made it himself with a music software. Hey, that's a pretty creative gift don't you think? I wish he'd greet me personally though…

Home Tap - Groovy: Strawberries dipped in chocolate are my most beloved food...~ Huh, there's chocolate all over my face?! Ah, you don't need to get that- Uh, t-thanks. I kind of feel like a child all of a sudden...

Birthday Login Message: My birthday?… How did you- Ah, I see, Cater told you. It feels kinda embarrassing to be the center of attention, but it's certainly better than having your birthday be forgotten. Thank you.

Notes on the card:

The cat is supposed to be her pet cat back at home whom she loves very much.

The doorhole and key is supposed to represent escape rooms (her hobby).

[l-norris]

Spanish GP 2024 Recap

Part 3 of this strangely therapeutic thing I call content!

Forgot to write out stuff that happened pre-race cuz I was busy stressing over final exams tomorrow and realised it only as the formation lap was complete lmao.

('Tis the reason I'm posting it today already as well, brother I am SUFFERING I HATE FINAL EXAMS)

Anyways, enjoy.

And, as always, numbers in brackets are lap numbers.

(Disclaimer: Remember that this is just for shits and giggles, I'm not trying to actually hate on anyone here cuz all the drivers are very dear to me)

- IT'S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!

- Lando looses P1 almost immediately

- and drops down to P3 in the first corner

- That was horrible my man

- But DAMN where did George come from tho??

- No crashes so far

- Oop Ferraris touched actually, nevermind

- Max in the lead (3)

- Is it even worth it to keep watching

- Like we all know how this is gonna end

- Fuck it, never say never

- Lando is back in George's DRS window (7)

- Somehow Fernando dropped down to P14

- Lando is slowly creeping up on George

- First pitstops happening already (Guanyu and Yuki) (10)

- Oscar is literally up Pierre's rear

- Haas fucking up yet another pitstop

- Oh brother I can see the negative points in my F1 Fantasy already

- Kevin apparently did a false start (this seems familiar)

- Max binned it in turn 7 (13)

- Which we never got to see btw

- Alpine fucked up Pierre's pitstop

- Kevin gets a 5-Second-Penalty (now hold on...)

- George in Pit (16)

- Mercedes also fucked up George's pitstop

- What's in Barcelona's air today lmao

- Lando is 8 tenths faster than Max

- Max comes in (17)

- 1,9 second pitstop😵

- Rejoins in fourth

- Carlos is complaining a lot today

- Stop yapping bro, DRIVE

- I'm scared of McLaren's strategy

- I need to go to the restroom but if I've learnt anything it is that something crucial happens if I do.

- Oscar in pit (22)

- Oscar flying past Nico (23)

- Lando pitstop (23)

- Rejoins in sixth

- Lando fastest lap (26)

- Lando closing in on Carlos

- Aaaand he's gone!

- Oscar overtakes Checo easily (28)

- "Tires are very inconsistent" - Max (30)

- OH?

- Lando is getting ready to overtake Lewis

- Gets by easily (32)

- Oscar flies through the field

- Lando is up in P2!

- But George ain't giving up without a fight

- Fight! (36)

- They're side by side for like half the lap

- Lando wins the squabble (37)

-George fastest lap (39)

- Checo is in P10 btw (38)

- I give up, I need to use the restroom

- Nothing happened, nice.

- Lapping starts (42)

- Max pitstop (44)

- Lando is speeding away

- Mom I'm scared

- Lando boxes (47)

- Rejoins P2!!!

- Nico gets a penalty for speeding in the pitlane

- 7 second gap to Max

- Is it too soon to say I can hear the Dutch anthem playing already?

- Wait hold on Lando is actually gaining

- Yuki also gets a penalty for speeding in the pitlane

- 15 laps to go!

- Lewis in P3!

- Max is pulling away again😮‍💨

- Alex bins it (60)

- My hopes are dead

- Max won

- silently fuming

- Not only because Lando didn't win but because somehow Oscar was kinda forgotten again? Correct me if I'm wrong here tho

- At least Lando got DotD

- AND LEWIS PODIUM!

- Everyone actually finished🤯

- This race was... meh.

- Not a single yellow flag, no safety car, no carnage.

- Only plenty of overtakes and battles

- Some of them were GODLIKE but still...

- Turned off the broadcast as soon as the podium celebrations started

- I do NOT want to hear the Dutch anthem rn

- I cannot physically handle hearing it I will cry

- Lando didn't do his signature champagne celebration apparently - very understandable.

- But at least he's second in the WDC now🥹

- inhaling the copium

- ... feel free to add on!

... Yeah. A rollercoaster of emotions, this one.

But hey! My homerace is next! YIPPEE! See ya in Spielberg!

[canirove]

The Princess & the Football Player | Chapter 3

Author's note: Yes, the Charles on this chapter is Leclerc 😅 But think of him as his version from an alternative universe where he isn’t a F1 driver, just very posh 😁

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Look at you. You look gorgeous, darling."

"Thank you, mum.”

"And you are wearing red, Charles favourite colour."

"Oh, please, don't start" I complain.

"Don't start what?"

"Trying to convince me to date him again. It isn't happening."

"Why not?"

"Have you forgotten that he cheated on me? Several times? That he was constantly partying and doing God knows what?"

"He doesn't do that anymore, his mother told me. He has reformed and wants to settle down, focus on his job and start a family."

"Good for him. But it won't be happening with me."

"What won't be happening with you?" my dad asks.

"Nothing. Should we go? We can't be late" I say, starting to walk towards the door.

"Do I want to ask?" I hear him whisper.

"It's nothing, just her stubbornness" my mum replies.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"Eleanor!"

"Roberta" I say, hugging her. "Look at you, this dress is amazing!"

"It is, isn't it?" she replies, doing a twirl.

"Valentino?"

"Yep. Gotta support my country's fashion. And speaking of my country... The duke is here."

"Damiano?"

"The very same."

Duke Damiano, or the guy I had a very steamy summer fling last year, one that made it to all the newspapers and gossip sites.

"Are you going to talk to him?" Roberta asks.

"I shouldn't, my parents would kill me. The only man I'm allowed to talk to tonight is Charles" I say, rolling my eyes.

"I've heard he wants to settle down and find a wife."

"Yeah, that's what my parents also said. But he can keep looking, because I'm not her."

"You aren't who?" someone with an Italian accent says behind me.

"Charles' future wife" I reply. "It's good to see you again, Damiano."

"You too, princess" he says, kissing my hand. "Why are your parents still wanting you to marry that... boy?"

"Who knows" I shrug. "I didn't know you were coming today."

"It was a last minute thing. My mother insisted that I should come because the Spanish princess is also here."

"Parents" I chuckle.

"Indeed."

"Why don't we get ourselves something to drink, uh? It will help us deal with all this" Roberta says, looking around. 

I haven't had time to take a second sip of my drink, when I see him coming towards us. Charles. 

We've known each other since we were kids, my family always spending the summer at his family's huge house in Monaco. And since I can remember, they've told us we are destined to be together. I guess that's one of the reasons why we started dating a few years ago, because everyone kept saying it was meant to be. That, and because like Sophie said, he's stupidly handsome. I think I have never seen a more perfect face. 

"Evening, ladies. Duke" he says.

"Evening, Charles" Damiano replies. "I better go find that Spanish princess. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Eleanor" he says, kissing my hand again while giving me his most mischievous smile.

"Was that really necessary?" Charles scoffs.

"I don't know what you are talking about" I say, taking another sip of my drink. But I know pretty well that Damiano did that to piss him off. They never got along, and what happened last summer didn't help.

"Anyway, would you like to dance?"

"Nope."

"Ok... Then’t let’s talk."

"We are already talking.”

"Woke up with the wrong foot today?" he chuckles.

"I don't know. Maybe" I shrug.

"What about you, Roberta? You look very pretty today."

"Thank you" she says, using the same bored tone I used. 

"Fine, message received. You don't want to talk to me" Charles sighs. But as he is about to leave, my dad shows up.

"Charles, hello" he says, giving him a pat on the back. One that almost sends him flying across the room.

"Your majesty."

"How are you? How are the businesses going?"

"Good, good."

"That's great. Has Ellie told you about Canada?"

"Canada?" Charles asks.

"She's going there to support our boys at the World Cup."

"Oh, football. I'm not the biggest fan" he chuckles.

"France is one of the favourites" I say.

"I am not French" he replies. People have always mistakenly called him French despite being from Monaco, and it bothers him so much.

"Once you are there, do you think you could give Marcus Rashford my number?" Roberta says.

"What?" I chuckle. "Aren't you coming too?"

"I am. But they may not allow me to meet the players, and he seems so nice and lovely with everything he does to help people... And I also find him very hot."

"Fit. He's fit, right?" 

"Dad, what did we say about that word?" 

"Oh, yes, sorry” he laughs. “The one Eleanor finds handsome and attractive is Declan Rice, tho."

"I what?" I say, almost choking with my own words.

"You thought I didn't notice the way you were looking at him, uh?" he laughs again. "Eleanor, I'm your father."

"Who is this person with food as his surname?" Charles asks.

"No one" I say, my cheeks definitely the same colour as my dress.

"Oh, there is Alfred. Gonna go say hello. Bye" my dad says, acting as if nothing had just happened.

"Do you fancy that guy?"

"I don't fancy anyone, Charles. My dad was just being stupid. As usual."

"Yeah, sure" he says, giving me a suspicious look. "Anyway, since I'm not very welcomed here, I'm gonna see if I can find some of my actual friends. Ladies" he says with a little bow before disappearing among the crowd.

"Who is this Declan and why haven't you told me about him?" Roberta asks me.

"He's... He's one of the national team players I met the other day. One who is super handsome, and nice, and like my dad would say, fit. Very fit. And I... I have a huge crush on him."

"But is it a crush like when you fancy a famous person, or is it like a crush crush?"

"It is a crush crush. We flirted a bit, and I felt butterflies on my stomach every time he smiled at me. And we touched once, just barely, but... Dear God, Roberta. I can't remember the last time I felt something like that. Or if I've ever felt it, to be honest."

"Eleanor..."

"I know, I know. I'm fucked" I sigh. And in just a week, I'll be flying across the pond to support him and his teammates, definitely having to see him and spend time with him. What could go wrong?

[thecoppercompendium]

for the tarot rpg ask game! The Fool, The Empress, The Hierophant, The Chariot, The Hanged Man, The Devil, The Tower, The Star, The Sun

Wow, that's a lot (to be clear I am not complaining)! Thanks for your interest! I've already answered The Chariot and The Star here, so I won't answer them a second time, but the rest are new!

The Fool – What do the earliest stages of work on a game look like for you? OR How did you get into game design?

I'm going to be greedy on this one and answer both parts, because… I want to, to be honest. The earliest stages of design vary quite a lot for me, but typically start with either a mechanic (say, exploding dice), a concept (a game set in an eldritch ocean) or a title (Summit). If I'm very lucky, I occasionally start with all three! From there, my first step is to define a few restrictions for myself, normally 1/2 for mechanics and gameplay and 1/2 for genre/vibes. For instance, with The Curse Lingers (which I'll come to in more detail) I started with the idea of it being based on nuclear waste warnings (vibes), that it would be multiplayer (gameplay), and that I wanted to use Caltrop Core for it (mechanics). These restrictions give me a direction to push the game in, even if I often end up ignoring some or all by the end of the process.

When it comes to how I got into game design… It was D&D 5e. My friends badgered me enough to DM for them that I read the entire PHB cover to cover in a day or so, then proceded to make some (very very bad) homebrew for the very first session I ever ran of any TTRPG. I do not recommend this in the least. While that campaign eventually petered out, my creation of homebrew did not, and in the last year and a half I've drifted further from 5e and began making stuff for other systems, as well as a few TTRPGs of my own.

The Empress — Where do your ideas come from? OR Do you seek out or avoid inspiration while working on an idea?

To be completely honest, I have little to no idea where my ideas come from. I have a colossal list of concepts on my phone, typically titles or bare-bones mechanical possibilities, but I can't pinpoint the source of many of them. Some spring from conversations with my friends, others crop up at 4am, probably as a result of sleep deprivation, still more sneak their way in after seeing some particularly cool art. I wish my inspiration for games was more consistent, but I'm definitely not going to be running out any time soon.

This is getting long, so continued under the cut.

The Hierophant — Who is a fellow game designer you’ve learned a lot from? OR What is a piece of popular wisdom about games you think is nonsense?

I can't nail down one particular game designer I've particularly learned from -- I tend to magpie from any and everything I read, taking inspiration from the mechanics and flavour that most appeal to me. In this vein, we have @rathayibacter for their excellent work on [BXLLET>, @prokopetz for his many many posts on game design, John Harper for Blades in the Dark, Spencer Campbell (Gila RPGs) for RUNE and Caro Asercion for Exquisite Biome and i'm sorry did you say street magic. I'm sure there's more that I've forgotten. I've recently joined @uktabletopindustrynetwork, and am learning a lot from everyone there, too.

The Hanged Man — What other creative pursuits do you have? OR What current trends in game design are you most interested in?

I've written a couple of first drafts for fantasy novels that I will come back to one day. My main creative passion has always been worldbuilding, so that inevitably gets built into my TTRPGs in some way if I can get away with it. I particularly love creating maps of the worlds I create. I've been working on a map for my fantasy world that I run D&D (at the moment at least) in since I started that first campaign, back in late 2019. I've included one small section of it here, a dimensional overlap between that world and the Far Realms known as The Wandering Isles, created using assets from Map Effects (it goes without saying you can use it for personal use if you like, but not for commercial use). I've made a bunch of others for towns and cities, but it's the overall world map that's taking the time -- the world keeps expanding on me.

The Devil — What motifs or mechanics do you just keep coming back to? OR What is a game you’ve enjoyed playing in the last year?

As it happens, I was thinking about this last night before reading back through these questions. Turns out every single one of my games so far has you fighting against time in some way: Summit drains your cards the more time it takes you to climb, I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE is literally about trying not to be late, the Curse Lingers has a curse mechanic that mutates you the longer you spend within a temple, and both of my current in-progress games have a clock that counts down in some way. I'm beginning to suspect this says something about me…

The Tower — Talk about about a game you tried to make that crashed and burned.

The very first game I tried to make after becoming disillusioned with D&D (during the OGL debarcle, as it happens, what a surprise) was tentatively named Cursed Fools. It was far too ambitious for a first game, used a deck of playing cards and had an interlocking system of Curse and Boon cards, as well as complex spellcasting, classes and a TONNE of elaborate worldbuilding. I do still like a lot of the mechanics I came up with for it, but odds are the game will never see the light of day in its original form. Since then I've continued to battle scope creep (my nemesis) but I've learned to begin with a smaller scale concept to mitigate.

The Sun — Talk about a game you’ve made that you’re proud of.

This is the bit where I talk about The Curse Lingers (TCL), the most insane thing I've decided to do (so far at least). As I mentioned earlier, TCL is a Caltrop Core game about nuclear waste warnings. In it, players take on the roles of the Keepers of the Temples, many years after an unspecified apocalypse. These Temples are cursed by a Relic, with each curse having specific triggers. Keepers delve into Temples to cleanse and claim these Relics, entering fragments of the Old World, our world, in order to do so.

I'm incredibly proud of the mechanics I developed to bring the feel to the game I wanted, using a variation on clocks (which I know from Blades in the Dark) as well as a health mechanic called Mutation, where a Keeper grows more powerful the closer they come to death. I'm proud of how the Temples and even the 4 included Keeper classes are all based on actual nuclear waste warning suggestions. What I'm most proud of, however, is how long it took me to make. I decided to create a TTRPG for Free RPG Day this year, and this became TCL. What I neglected to mention was that I decided this a week before Free RPG Day. I made the entire 28-page game, including formatting, within that week. It was one of the most exhausting and rewarding things I have ever done. I hope to not do something that insane again,

Thanks a tonne for the ask, and thanks to @che-bur-ashka / @wildwoodsgames for stealing/creating the ask game!

[uboat53]

There are two truths I've noticed recently, one about the left and one about the right. SHORT RANT (TM) time?

THE LEFT IS TERRIFIED OF SUCCESS

How many times have you heard that Joe Biden is a feckless centrist? If you run in left-leaning circles, I'm betting you've heard it a lot. And you haven't heard it from conservatives; according them, Biden is a dues paying, raving revolutionary, communist standing on the shoulders of Mao, Stalin, and Castro. No, you're hearing about Biden's pathological centrism from the left.

Think about that, the guy who appointed more women and minorities to the US courts than any previous president (including the black one!), has the most diverse cabinet in history, passed the largest public investment in infrastructure since the Eisenhower Interstate, the first gun control bill in most young people's entire lifetime, and the first major climate change investment ever is being cast as a bland centrist. Why is that?

Well, part of it is almost certainly right-wing trolls trying to drive down youth turnout, but they're not coming up with the idea on their own, they're latching on to something that's already there. You see, young people on the left have never actually seeing left-leaning government in action. I was born in 1985 and my entire life has been defined by Reaganism (and worse) on the right and the Clinton-era Third Way politics on the left. To me, truly leftist governance like the kind that FDR and LBJ practiced exists pretty much only in the history books.

And that's the thing, talking about that as a way to criticize the current governance is all well and good, but having to actually put it into practice and take responsibility for it is a scary thing. You find this a lot with utopian idealists; you can be perfect in the land of ideas, but doing things in the real world means you will make mistakes and run the risk of failing. And truly left-leaning governance hasn't been practiced in so long that we're going to have a reasonable amount of flailing about as we figure out which parts of it still work with the modern economy, which parts will have be re-worked, and which parts of it we've forgotten how to do altogether and will have to rebuild from scratch. Faced with that possibility, a lot of the American left has decided that it's easier not to take responsibility. So, instead of being known for his impressive liberal accomplishments, the most progressive president of my lifetime somehow morphs into a bland centrist barely to the left of Reagan.

And you can see the difference between leftists who want to enact their agenda and ones that don't. Why do you think that AOC and others like her have been some of the president's staunchest supporters over the last few weeks? Unlike a lot of people on the left, she actually wants to enact the agenda she supports. She wants to do the hard work of putting it into action and addressing the mistakes rather than criticizing from afar.

It turns out, though, that there's a large swath of the American left that would much rather complain about the way things are than do the hard work of making change.

THE RIGHT IS FINE WITH RACISM, ACTUALLY

Recently France had an interesting election. You see, France does two rounds, a first round where anyone who gets 50%+ automatically wins and a second round where anyone who didn't get 50%+ in the first round has to go again. The far right National Rally Party did quite well in the first round and seemed as if they were on track to win big in the second round, but the far left Popular Front made a tactical decision to not contest seats where they weren't likely to win and voted strategically instead, leading to a divided government where they held the most seats.

Overall that's been cast as a win for France, having held off the essentially fascist National Rally Party, but there's something interesting you notice when you read establishment conservative outlets like The Telegraph in the UK or The Wall Street Journal in the US. You see, in their eyes, a government in which the far left has power is just as bad as a government in which the far right has power.

Think about that for a second, the far left being as bad as the far right. The far left certainly wants to nationalize banks and industries, they want to lower retirement ages and increase taxes, but they don't want to round up whole segments of society and they don't want to kill anyone. I realize that sounds a little extreme, but let's not forget that there are people still alive today who remember the last time a far right government seized power in a major western country and actually DID THAT!

The only way you get to a point of view where the people who want to redistribute wealth, possibly to the point where overall prosperity declines, are as bad as the people who want to round up certain groups of people is if you're willing to be paid to allow racism.

People talk about how the policies of the far left will result in reduced prosperity as if the policies of the far right don't also do that. The only difference is whose prosperity is reduced. As a moral matter, it's fairly clear that the person who targets others based on the color of their skin, their religion, their culture, or their language is worse than the person who has misguided ideas about money, but people are often willing to massage their morality if it might cost them money.

And, just so we're clear, it's not as if fascism is any more economically friendly than communism. To white people, fascism only seems like it brings prosperity because fascists take from non-white people and give their stuff to white people in exactly the same fashion as conservatives like to say that socialists give away other people's stuff. And, when they run out of other people's stuff in their own countries, they tend to gin up excuses to go to war so they can go abroad and take stuff from other people over there because they have no ability to create real prosperity.

The fact that conservatives, and not just the far-right, MAGA crowd, but the staid, "sensible", button-down conservative who considers themselves colorblind, can be convinced that money is more important than basic democratic principles like equality and justice tells you everything you need to know about how they can "well, yes, but…" every bit of the violence and bigotry of the far right.

It's not that they're necessarily racist themselves (though many are), it's that they are willing to accept racism if it can bring them personal comfort. Take from that what you will.

[arbitrarygreay]

I would love to hear more Berryz vs C-ute meta if you're interested! I started out as a Momusu fan and dabbled in Berryz but C-ute felt way, way too young for me at first so I mostly ignored them. By the end of their careers though, Berryz sometimes felt like they were miserable performing while C-ute just got better and better. I've never seen anyone seriously ruminate on this though.

Thanks for the ask!

The thing to know about the era is the industry context. MM is the obvious case, starting in the late 90s when there were some pretty big girl groups (Speed, Zone, Folder5), and of course the Golden Age was called that for good reason.

(Huh, weird, now only Wikipedia lists MM's single sales in table format.) But if you look at the singles sales numbers, they've already fallen back down to Morning Coffee/Furusato level sales by 2003. This is why when you read the ancient fan forum archives (o7) the people who are all around for Golden Age have a grudge against 5th and 6th gens, and the taken-for-granted assumption of management's incomptence. So, H!P is already in a decline by this time (not that H!P broadly was ever as successful as MM in this era), but Tsunku is on a total roll musically, so it can be hard to notice.

And outside of H!P, the idol market (for girls, anyways, Johnny's is still trucking along as usual) is pretty bleak. Avex makes a few attempts every now and then (with dream, BRIGHT, and SweetS), but none of them really take off. For reference, AKB48 starts in December of 2005. I have treasured fan forum memories where Maeda Atsuko was "the one who looks like Kamei Eri". They won't get any real traction (especially sales-wise) until 2008, at which point they spearhead the Idol Sengoku Jidai.

This is the environment in which the H!P Kids are formed and have their early careers. H!P in decline but in denial about it and so throwing about some money they probably didn't make back their money on (very notably, the Sports Festivals actually going so far as to rent out Dome arenas). ZYX, Aa!, and early Berikyuu are receiving god-tier music, Berryz skips doing indies and is doing hall tours right off the bat. (Idols won't really get into livehouses until years later thanks to Idol Sengoku Jidai.)

At the same time, there are some signs. Most notably, the similarities between Berryz and Melon Kinenbi. Sure, I just called early Berryz music god-tier, but there are also quite a few songs and singles in those first three albums are now forgotten deep cuts, aren't they? Even the good ones! At the time, people could definitely predict that Kofuku Kangei would get lost, but the ever catchy Piriri to Yukou? More than that, there is the easy sense that this music is already deeply uncool. Those MKB songs are outright cringe now, especially in the visuals. This is why MKB eventually had to re-pivot to that rocker energy (to the point of mosh pits and even crowd surfing at some of their lives). Berryz, however, were never able to do that. To the end, their music retains a composition style harkening to this mid-00s Tsunku pop, even their dance tracks like Want! or Dakishimete Dakishimete. His last hurrah of the unabashed cheesiness that took Love Machine straight to the top and Koi No Dance Site to peak MM's sales. Pata did a series of posts where he complained about Tsunku's intrusions into Buono's otherwise blessedly Tsunku-free run of singles.

Kobushi, of course, also never recovered sales-wise from their scandal parade and exodus of members. However, because the members of Kobushi grew up in the social media age, as well as after H!P had gone through true industry dark ages, the members reacted to the shrinking by upping the sass and DGAF that make for great clips, Jojo Gundan able to engage with them on improv comedy.

Berryz, meanwhile, kind of had a chemistry problem. They were friendly enough. A newbie like me found their early making-of footage compelling. But they could not really carry a non-scripted segment. Again, maybe a newbie might find their DMs sweet, but the moment you switch to another group, you can see the difference when the interactions have snap and rhythm. Wota joke about Yurina's inability to tell anecdotes. There's a very real reason that only Momochi was able to break out on TV, and even Momochi's schtick feels more forced than the attitude the 48G was bringing to the table, honed by late night variety willing to be really mean to them. Maasa and Chinami are getting pretty good at DGAF, but it says something that they seem to get better mileage when interacting with their juniors (like 5nin J=J or 2nd gen S/mileage) than their own group.

So yeah, by 2007 (around Kokuhaku no Funsui Hiroba) Berryz can tell that it is not going to happen for them. I guess given that they started their careers so early, they really didn't know yet what they could possibly do outside of the industry yet, so they all just stuck around because why not? And they broke up when enough of them had found post-Berryz prospects.

Honestly, I can't give you an answer as to why C-ute succeeded. They were why I thought Kobushi's scandal parade and member exodus would actually benefit them, but I was never really into C-ute's music. Their songs were also pretty unabashedly Tsunku cheese? Someone I met through SNSD fandom really liked e.g. The Middle Management, but didn't seem to get any deeper into H!P. Anyways, some kind of magic happened, with Chisato and Nakki embracing late blooms intersecting with being able to snag onto the Idol Sengoku Jidai momentum with with a will. Who knows? Love is timing, after all.

[matchbookarmy]

Okay, I'm back. Sorry I needed a bit of a break from things. Just from everything. Not this blog but everything in [gestures vaguely] life.

As some of you know, my phone broke back over the summer and I lost all of my open tabs and where I was on my journey. That definitely was a setback and I didn't know how I wanted to handle it.

But now that I've had time to think about it, I've decided to.... restart my journey.

Lol.

Now I know you probably think I'm insane, but here are my reasons. When I first started reading I was only reading MCU based fic because I thought you had to choose a fandom on AO3. It wasn't for a while before I figured out I could just click on the ship's tag and see everything. So I was severely lacking in 616 fic. Also I didn't read everything when I started. I tended to skip AUs, a lot of the more kinky stuff. As I read more I opened myself up to a lot more types of fics.

And then finally my last reason is I want to change the way I interact with fic and fandom. I want to comment more and read WIPs and I dunno. I want to share and spread my enthusiasm. I also want to pull back in some ways, *except* on this blog. I want to get to know you and gush with you all about these two guys we love so much and all the creativity that gets poured into this fandom and this ship and these characters, the blood the sweat and the tears of it all.

So feel free to message me about anything. I try to be good about answering requests, though, I don't always have a fic that perfectly matches what you want.

I was thinking there's the findingstony blog that finds specific fic that you know exists, but maybe this would be a good place for people to submit things that they are looking for that they haven't already found. Like more general requests of tropes or plots that you want to read. Again I'll do my best to match you with something, but I'll also put them out to my followers (I don't have a ton but we'll see what the community can do).

Anyway, I'd like this to be a community to talk about all these things we love. I know I still have 2-3 unanswered asks, and I haven't forgotten them. For the person who asked for heartwrenching angst with or without a happy ending, I'm trying to decide if I want to rec you the most heart-shattering fic I have ever read. 🤔🤔🤔 (Are you open to Tony being evil?)

Anyway, does this restart mean that I may never get to some truly amazing fics at the end of the alphabet? Almost certainly. There are over 55k Stony fics on AO3. The first time I did this was a ship that had about 500 fics. I read them all in a couple months. I'm not going to complain about having too much good stuff.

But you can feel free to send in your own recs as well. Again, I'd love this to be a community, and a conversation.

Okay, well... I'm off to read. A couple of notes.

I will attempt to read every fic. There will be some that I do not finish. It might just be that it's not to my personal taste.

When I say everything, I do mean *everything*, which means that I may rec some fics that have content that you don't like. I will tag my posts accordingly. I'm not here to debate the ethics of fictional depictions of fictional characters in a fictional relationship with anyone.

I'm going to post as I go through. It's just easier for me that way. Also this way you can literally see my journey, lol. Posts will be scheduled for Saturdays, one post per week, unless my drafts start to get really full, in which case I'll bump it up to two posts per week.

Sometimes I may open a fic and save it in an open tag if I'm not in the right headspace for it, or if I want to read it but I'm not connecting with it at the moment. Or, if it's a really long fic, sometimes I'll intersperse other shorter fics in between chapters. So just because I skip a fic doesn't mean I didn't like it, or I thought it was bad.

Though I will give everything a shot, in general, kid fic is just not my thing, so you're unlikely to see many recs with that topic. But feel free to send in your own fic recs if there's something you really love. I'm sure others would love it as well.

I also generally tend to be not a fan of kink involving bodily fluids other than spit, sweat and semen, but I will give them a chance. Just don't expect a lot of recs for those. Also I'm not really a fan of age play. It's just not my thing.

The only hard pass for me is anything that tries to villainize Steve for MCU Civil War. That's a hard no for me.

Okay, I accidentally added a poll and it won't let me delete it, so....

Lmao - that was supposed to say goodness not goddess. 🙃🙃🙃 This is why I don't do polls. I am far too much of a mess to handle this kind of responsibility.

[elderemorune]

Fuck You, Ruth.

If you couldn't tell, I'm hashtag neuro-divergent. I've got ADHD, and with that comes a swiss cheese memory, in addition to the other crap you all likely already know. It's a constant bother, and at times it really shocks me just how debilitating that being disabled is.

Two days ago, Cherry's mom texted her a picture of a dog. Said that he could be ours for $250, but that we had to decide by yesterday afternoon.

I'm sure you already see where this is going.

My idiot brain mis-remembered, because a single day clearly couldn't have been right, this kind of thing needs to be very carefully considered. She must have meant Sunday, right? At least enough time to do the budgetary math?

So with nary a care in the fucking world, my roommate and I fucked off to go play Magic for the afternoon. Cherry, who does not have a swiss cheese memory, figured I'd forgotten and that meant no. No dog for us.

Her mom calls, demanding an answer, and when she heard the words "It's probably no.", she started screaming at my wife about how ungrateful we are, how I'll never make her happy, how I never do anything she wants, and when is she going to break up with that loser anyway? Oh and I'm no longer allowed at their house. I always make them feel judged, and bring the fucking mood down.

I've been a judgmental person before, but I've been trying for fucking years to make up for it. I've spent so much time and emotional energy trying to rebuild my relationship with these people, because they're my wife's family. They matter to her, so they matter to me.

Why did I even bother? This is a woman who, when I barred her entry from my apartment, threatened to fucking shoot me. She fed my wife booze when she was 10 'because it was funny'. She hates my wife.

I didn't think I was better than you, Ruth. I really fucking didn't. Then you decided to involve yourself in my fucking marriage. Why can't you just go back to your fucking trash-heap house that you can't even get your own husband to take care of? You know, the guy that beat the fuck out of you in front of your daughters? The guy you haven't slept with in the same bed in how fucking long? The man you CONSTANTLY complain won't FUCK YOU to your daughter?

What fucking right did you have?

You don't even know what I do, you just know I don't make a ton of money, and that's why you hate me. You wanted your daughters to marry rich men so that you could sponge off of one of them like the fucking leech you are.

Your husband expects you to do literally everything because he works. Guess what, Ruth? I work, I cook, I clean, and yeah, I could be fucking better about it, but how clean is your house again? What's that? You can't clean it well because you're also disabled? What happened to that husband of yours who makes you oh so fucking happy?

Oh right.

He's in the garage, smoking.

I do so much for my wife, shit you can't even fucking conceive of because you're a fucking idiot. Your husband wouldn't pack your lunches and put cute notes in them if you were in school. Your husband wouldn't help you load your shit in the car and send you off every day with a fucking smile, hoping you have a good day.

You know what, Ruth?

If it falls to my wife and I to take care of you, I will. I will put you in a half-decent home, and have your every fucking thing go through us. It'll kill you to have your whole life in my hands, only to watch me treat it with the kindness you can't even summon for your own kids.