#and knows that things are ever shifting. why plan when you can hit Real Hard

[sturniololuvz]

“who the hell are you?”

Meanmatt! x Partygirlreader! -part 7.

⸻

It’s been three days since you closed the door on him. Three days since you told him to prove it.

And you meant it. You meant every word.

But that didn’t stop you from checking your phone too often. Or playing that moment over and over again in your head — the way his voice cracked when he said “you make me feel things.”

He meant that, too. You know he did.

So when his name pops up on your screen at 12:42 AM — FaceTime — you hesitate.

Then you answer.

The camera’s shaky at first, and when it settles, you see him: hoodie on, hair messy, one arm behind his head like he’s been lying in bed staring at the ceiling. His eyes are tired. So tired.

“You’re awake,” he mutters.

You scoff. “So are you.”

A pause. Then he gives a sad half-smile. “Touché.”

Neither of you says anything for a second. It’s not awkward — just… full.

“What do you want, Matt?” you ask softly.

He looks away from the screen, like he’s embarrassed. “I just… couldn’t stop thinking. And I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

“To prove it?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “To prove it.”

The silence isn’t heavy this time. It feels like space being made.

He shifts slightly. “Can I say something?”

You nod.

“I don’t want to be this guy.”

You frown. “What guy?”

“The one who makes you cry. Who makes you question yourself. Who pushes you away every time he starts to care.”

You stay quiet.

He swallows hard. “You asked why I’m like this. Why I said all that shit. Why I ran. And I think… I owe you the truth.”

Your heart thuds.

He looks into the camera like he’s looking at you — like this is harder than he wants to admit.

“Every girl I’ve ever liked either lied to me, used me, or left when things got real. Every time I gave someone access, they walked out with a piece of me. And I started thinking — maybe if I’m mean first, if I ruin it before it gets close — I get to walk away with something left.”

He pauses. You say nothing, because your throat is already tight.

“But then there was you,” he continues. “And you didn’t back down. You matched my energy. You didn’t care when I was cold or sarcastic. You just called me on my shit and kept showing up anyway. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Your eyes burn.

“I didn’t mean to kiss you,” he says quietly. “I mean — I wanted to. So bad. But I didn’t plan it. And when it happened, it felt like everything I’d been trying to avoid just… hit me at once. Like fuck, this is real. And real things? They fall apart.”

You blink quickly. “Matt…”

“I told myself I didn’t care,” he goes on, voice thinner now. “I told myself you’d be fine. That you were just some party girl who didn’t feel things that deep.”

Your breath catches.

“But then I heard you cry,” he says, breaking. “And I knew I was wrong.”

He goes quiet. And when the screen shifts again, you realize he’s rubbing his eyes — and not just because he’s tired.

He’s crying. Again.

“I wanted to be better,” he whispers. “I wanted to be the kind of person you deserved. But I didn’t think I could be.”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tears come slow at first, then all at once — silently falling down your cheeks as you stare at his broken expression on the screen.

And then he notices.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You shake your head. “Because I thought you didn’t care.”

“I do,” he says quickly. “I care so much it scares the shit out of me.”

Your lips tremble. “Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you ruin me,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You make me want things I’ve never wanted. Like being soft. And safe. And good.”

You let out a choked laugh-sob. “That’s not ruining you, Matt.”

He smiles, broken but real. “Feels like it.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, in a voice so small it barely sounds like you: “I liked you anyway.”

His expression shatters.

“You still do?” he whispers.

You sniff. “Maybe.”

“Enough to stay on the phone with me ‘til we fall asleep?”

You wipe your face, nodding. “Yeah. Enough for that.”

Matt exhales, relieved.

“I’ll stay on as long as you’ll let me.”

You lay back against your pillow, finally letting your body relax.

And through the screen, Matt does the same.

He watches you. You watch him.

No more lies. No more pretending.

Just two people who are tired of running.

And when you both fall asleep — phones still propped, faces still lit — it’s the first time in days either of you actually rests.

⸻

a/n: soooo…..

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxra-cxm @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris

[halemerry]

On the Bookshop, the Concept of Home, and Going Too Fast

So, weirdly enough, I want to start with a scene that has very little to do with the actual Bookshop: 1967. We get Crowley planning a heist and being interrupted by an angel clutching a thermos full of holy water and promising that someday, maybe, they could let themselves have the life they want together. And we get that line. You know the one. You go too fast for me.

This one line of dialogue went a very long way to cementing the fanon perception of their roles in the relationship as we've largely been shown them - Crowley gently pushes and gives Aziraphale space to slowly feel comfortable setting his own boundaries or adjusting his worldview. And I’m not saying this is wrong - it’s definitely what we're primed to expect in their pattern - but I do think it ignores a fairly common variation of their pattern. See, sometimes, Aziraphale is actually the faster of the two of them - he's just not quite as flashy about it.

Crowley very rarely actually does any pushing without getting some kind of signal from Aziraphale first. Aziraphale, whether consciously or otherwise, quite frequently is the player making the first move on their metaphorical chess board. We see that he's the first to push for them to work together in the story of Job. We see that he's the first to invite Crowley to socialize together in Rome. We see as early as the Globe that Aziraphale has discovered and weaponized how to ask Crowley for things with a simple look and that Crowley has gotten very good at reading those asks. We actually see this dynamic in real time as Aziraphale drops signals to Crowley on how he should form his deception of the angels in the Book of Job. Even the Arrangement itself is something Crowley doesn't push for until he knows explicitly that Aziraphale isn't happy with the terms of his work. In other words, Aziraphale sets a cue, Crowley picks up on it and adapts.

So what does this have to do with the Bookshop?

Well. The Bookshop is a prime example of Aziraphale getting there faster. Because the bookshop, whether he knows it at the time or not, is absolutely a nest.

Nesting is behavior typically associated with birds, but is actually something lots of animals do. Even humans exhibit this behavior to some degree. It’s functionally gathering a bunch of stuff to create a safe, comfortable place, typically constructed for the purpose of raising children or attracting a mate. In other words: the creation of a home.

Because the Bookshop is their home. It is their safe space and sanctuary. It is a space for them to meet and just Exist without worrying about being seen. A home base where they can just Be themselves. It’s a constant in a world ever shifting around them. It’s a place for them to come back to. A place that will always be waiting for them both. And a place that they both have to be able to check in on each other. This is why the Bookshop burning hit as hard as it did. Their home was destroyed in fire and flame. And they both know it. Every expression and shift in tone when they talk about it speaks to the gravity of that loss - even if it was only temporary. And I think it was always intended to be just that on some level from the very start.

So timeline wise the closest scene we know about to Aziraphale starting his plans for the shop is the scene at the Globe. This takes place in 1601 and features the two of them being very conscious of being seen and the potential consequences thereof. They pick going to the Globe expecting it to be busy enough to blend into the crowd and Aziraphale's objection re the Arrangement has shifted onto the idea of Hell destroying Crowley.

It is less than a century later that Aziraphale buys the land that will eventually become the bookshop. In 1630 he purchases the land with his own money. That’s his money. Money that he made mostly the human way. Although this space would eventually become an embassy to Heaven it was made via earthly means. It’s his, not Heaven’s. Less than 30 years after we first see them express concern for how dangerous it would be to be seen Aziraphale starts making a space for them to retreat to.

And he does it slowly. He spends decades slowly buying up the land in the area. In fact, it’s nearly 200 years before the Bookshop will be ready to open. By the time we hit the Bastille, he’s clearly decided on a bookshop and has clearly told Crowley all about it. They’re comfortable with each other and already trust each other to a frankly absurd degree. Aziraphale risks discorporation on the sure thing that Crowley will know he’s in danger and come save him just because he wants to see him. In other words, by the time they’re at the point where they’re making elaborate excuses to see each other, Aziraphale is less than a decade away from naming the home he has been carefully making for himself A.Z. Fell and Co.

The and Co is important here for obvious reasons. We all know there’s only one person that it could be referring to. Even as Aziraphale is still denying that they are friends, he is plastering the idea that they are a unit all over the front door of his home long before even he realizes that what he is feeling for Crowley is love.

This is part of why the conversation about ‘our car, our bookshop’ comes much easier to Aziraphale. And it is an easier jump for him to make. He's the one that brings it up and he does it quite casually. He's testing the waters a bit, but is confident the conversation will go his way. Of course we have a car. Just as we have a bookshop.

The thing is I don't think Crowley ever really got that memo on a conscious level. We can see his relationship to the shop shift in the way he moves around the shop shifts over time. The earliest we see him in the shop itself is 1941. It's night time which gives the whole thing a bit of clandestine air, which is fitting for where they're at on the timeline. He stays mostly in one spot in his shots here, sort of hovering about the shop not getting too close to Aziraphale but not drifting out on his own either. He also stays as close to sitting normally as we tend to see Crowley ever sit and his glasses stay on. Which that's not to say he doesn't relax at all. He takes off his hat and make himself comfortable and, most telling, doesn't bother with fixing his glasses when they slip off his nose. He's comfortable and familiar here but it's in a strained sort of distant way. There's trust there, for sure, but he is clearly a visitor in this space.

The next we see of Crowley in the shop is the mid 2000s. It's still night time. His glasses stay on until he's drunk and the he takes them off of his own accord. He moves about the shop, touching various objects and leaning against various pillars and shelves and furniture. He's more comfortable here, but he still he needs a bit of alcohol in his system to get there.

We then see him briefly in the daytime after they realize they have lost the Anti-Christ. The glasses stay on here and alcohol is notably present. And then we do not see him in the shop again until it is burning. All and all most our shots of the bookshop from season one are Aziraphale alone moving about his space. We know Crowley's there enough that his smell lingers in the place, but we don't actually see that much of it beyond those first tom scenes.

Season 2 couldn't be more different in this regard.

Crowley moves in and out of the bookshop as it suits him. At one point he wanders off in the middle of Aziraphale zoning out in a memory without bothering to shake Aziraphale out of it. We even get him doing what is functionally a bird courtship dance right here in the middle of the shop. Aziraphale in turn takes active steps to get Crowley into the shop whether it's leaving him to watch it while he's gone or suggesting that Crowley likes waiting in the shop for him - a thing Crowley does not outright deny beyond objecting to Gabriel's presence there.

And we get a lot of Crowley in the shop this season- both with and without Aziraphale. And regardless of Aziraphale's presence, Crowley's behavior doesn't really shift too much. He's moving around the shop far more that we've ever seen him historically and he spends half that time sprawling on the furniture like it's his.

And, of course, nearly every time we see him enter the Bookshop to engage with Aziraphale, the glasses come off.

He lets his face stay exposed in the shop, even eventually in front of Gabriel. The only other place we've ever seen him take his sunglasses off by his own choice are in his own flat or when he's trying to make a point about his own nature. Even when he's engaging with Hell, so long as he's not grabbed unexpectedly, he has them on. Crowley wears them around people well before sunglasses had technically even been invented. But not here. Not anymore. Not in this story that is framing the bookshop as a literal safe haven.

Even the palette for the Bookshop this season speaks volumes. Now Season 1 in general is a little grayer than Season 2 (this is in part because of the general aesthetics of when they were made and in part because of the difference in tone between the two seasons) and it's very very noticeable in the shop itself. Here's some side by sides of similar areas of the shops between two seasons, I bet you could guess which was which based on the colors themselves.

The palette season 1 suits Aziraphale just fine. It's more neutral tones like he tends to favor on himself. It's still cozy but in a dusty sort of way. The palette of season 2 is warmer. Less white and more orange to the point where even the pillars holding up the bookshop are more vibrant. There's more natural light and we see it more often during the day. It's a warm, shared, space now. They both get plenty of use out of it.

And Crowley now looks like he fits there too. The shift in his palette makes him feel in conversation with the bookshop in a way his season 1 red can't quite mesh with the more washed out palette. I won't repost all these images I was going feral over last night but you can find a lot of shots of him in the shop windows here that really show the ways he works with the colors of the shop.

So why hasn't Crowley moved in officially if he's practically done so already?

Because this is their whole problem in a nutshell. It's a prime example of the way their pattern doesn't work anymore. It's not built for a world like this. Its built for a world where they have to hide and make excuses. And while being free of that is objectively good it also means they have none of that to hide behind anymore. Subtext doesn't have to be subtext anymore and that can be as scary as it can be exciting. Freedom from things like Heaven and Hell can be hard when that's all you've ever known. This is all new territory for them. The meaning of what home can be to them shifts a lot in a space where they can more or less do as they like.

Aziraphale doesn't need to be indirect about what he wants anymore but can't quite figure out how to be more direct in the asking. He's ready but can't quite parse how to say that out loud. Or why he would even need to when he's been saying it quietly for more than a century. He built a shop full of human knowledge into a safe haven for the demon that fell for asking questions. He invited Crowley into the shop on day one, just like everything else he loves. He's already left the door open for Crowley to come and go as he pleases and as far as he's concerned Crowley has already half moved in anyway. From his perspective he's already set a large blinking neon sign up that says 'this is your home too'.

Crowley, for his part, can't read this cue. Not without thinking about going to fast or starting a battle with his own sense of self worth. He's been in keep them alive mode for so long I'm not even sure he really knows how to let himself have needs outside of that on any conscious sort of level. There's nowhere to push if you don't have an endgame. And even if he did have one the last explicit boundary he had established by Aziraphale was telling him to slow down.

But I do think they both realize this. Crowley grumbles about what's the point from the start of his first scene and of course eventually does take a shot at expressing his wants. Aziraphale's fixation on the Ball comes into play here too. He says they allow humans to realize they have misunderstood each other and that they're actually in love. Which is just flat out their whole problem summarized for us nice and neatly.

They're not understanding each other. They haven't had the conversations they need to have. But they are trying. They still trying, even if they don't understand the ways each other is doing so. And at the end of this season even as they are separated again, the nest still stands. And, maybe the next time we get to see them, they'll decide it's in good hands right now and start building another nest together in in South Downs, but, no matter what, the shop is still home. And even if it is a place they have lost each other twice, there is no doubt in my mind that it is a place they will find each other again.

[happypopcornprincess]

Where You Let Me Stay || Chapter 4

a Kim x Kenta fanfic

Fandom : Pit Babe [S1 and S2]

Warnings: TW! Heavy themes, mentions of human trafficking and experiments, kidnapping, MINORS DNI! Mentions of abuse, drinking.

a/n - Soooooo Okayyyyy this chapter took me a lot of time to write I was busy with my internship and work so I had to pull double shifts to write this asap. I fear I might be a bit too late T~T please let me know how did you find the story to be. I hope y'all like this story. Have a nice day ahead, and stay safe <3

Chapter 3>> || Masterlist || Chapter 5<<

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆.⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆.

Kenta couldn’t think straight.

He had sat in Kim’s car in the past countless times, in the passenger seat right next to him. He had never noticed how his arm would brush against him every time Kim changed gear, or how he would wrap an arm around the passenger seat when he would park the car. This observation was useless at this point, they were closing in on the lab, and Kenta had to focus on the plan that involves both of them coming out of this unharmed.

Every time he looked out the window to think about the plan, the only thing he could think of was…

An hour ago...

Kenta groaned as Kim followed him around, his nerves on the end as he screamed at him for even thinking about going alone.

“I thought you were the calm type! Why are you doing this Kenta!” Kim shouts at him., holding him by his shoulders to push him back.

“Don’t get in my way!” Kenta resists, but not as much as he should. His body holds back on its own, almost as if his subconscious was restraining him to not hurt Kim.

They fought, Kim holding his arms pushing back, and him pushing forward, screaming that he wants to go alone, the panic in his chest growing as he thought of how many innocent people were being hurt by Tony right at this moment.

Kim screamed at one point, “why do you always act like you’re alone in this world! we’re in this together! What do you even see me as?”

Kenta pushed him hard, his hands flew to his sides as Kim stumbled back, “Who am I to you! What am I!” he screamed, a question that had been nagging him since he had stepped foot in Kim’s home.

Kim looked at him, his expression still, “A friend, roommate… a close one.”

Kim fought him, hard, manhandling him on the table and crashed his lips on his. It wasn’t a kiss, but he felt his lips on his, a for the first time, the voices in his head were not screaming at him to go away. He wanted Kim to stay.

Kenta’s mind reeled back to the guy who was up all night changing cold cloths on his forehead when he had fever, who smiled harder when he ate seconds for dinner, who never raised his voice at him until absolute necessary.

Kim broke away, his face only inches away from him, “You always care about Pete and others… could you care about how I feel too?” He stepped back, running both hands through his hair like he needed to rip out the thoughts tearing through him. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just… I’m sorry.”

Kenta didn’t say a word when he straightened and walked over to the counter, picked up the car keys and placed them in Kim’s hand.

The car stopped, and Kenta was reeled back to the present, of the very real, and very probable near future where he or Kim can get seriously hurt.

“Minsu,” he said, his voice softer than the silence between them.

Kim looked up, “Yeah?” he asked, almost hopeful, like Kenta might tell him they were going back home instead if raiding the lab on their own.

Kenta hesitated, his throat clenched, words harder than any fight he’d ever trained for, “Stay close to me, no matter what happens in there.”

Kim didn’t answer at first, he just stared at him, “I will.”

Kenta opened the door first, letting the night air bite at his skin, his boots hitting the gravel like gunshots. Behind him, Kim sat in silence for a few seconds longer, and then followed him out.

---/---/---/--/--/--

Kenta held Kim back with an arm across his chest, his fingers gripping the fabric of Kim’s jacket. The sound of hurried boots echoed faintly in the distance; Tony’s soldiers were getting closer. They were hidden for now, tucked behind rusted filing cabinets in the abandoned lower wing of the lab, but Kenta knew they wouldn’t stay unseen for long. They were almost out of time.

“Stay here,” Kenta said quietly, urgently, “and don’t follow me. Please.”

He didn’t have time to explain, to comfort, to lie and promise he’d be right back. There was no promise like that he could make now.

Kim stared at him, and Kenta could see the desperation blooming in his eyes. Kim was trying to stay calm, trying so hard to do what Kenta had always done: hold it together. But fear and panic were written across his face.

Kenta could mask his emotions like no one else. He’d been trained for years by Tony’s best; former special ops, and ex-navy on how to shut it all down, mask his fear, erase all trace of himself.

But Kim? Kim unraveled him without even trying, he saw through Kenta’s façade. Every. Single. Time.

And now, Kim could see what Kenta wasn’t saying; Kenta was going to give himself up.

“Kenta…” Kim’s voice broke, soft and shaking. “Let me help…”

“no!” Kenta’s heart clenched, a tight knot in his chest, as he physically pushed Kim back a step, like it might help him draw a line between them. The brown shirt Kim was wearing with the pale white over jacket… it was the same shade as the walls of his home.

Their home.

“Trust me, Minsu. Go. I’ll distract them.” He knew what he was doing when he said that, there was only one person in this entire world who trusted Kenta pure heartedly, and it was him.

Kim froze, because he knew then… Kenta wasn’t just trying to throw off the soldiers; he was giving himself up to let Kim escape.

Kenta turned around before he could let himself see Kim’s face again. If he looked back, he might lose the last ounce of resolve holding him together, behind him, the man who had somehow become the center of his world… who made soup when he was sick, who smiled like sunlight, who stayed even when Kenta had done everything to push him away… stood alone in the shadows.

And as Kenta raised his hands and knelt to the ground while surrounded by guns and bullets, he heard a distant roar of a familiar engine. When he was being hauled away to face Tony, the only thing he could think of was him driving away from the Lab.

Kim was safe, away from danger.

---/---/---/---

Few days after Kenta moved into Kim’s house

Kenta let out a smoky exhale as Kim opened the balcony door to stand next to him. Kim thought he looked ridiculous; wearing a white vest and a pair of bright blue pajamas with yellow sunflower doodles on it… not the ideal outfit for a person with a grumpy face smoking.

Kim’s eyes narrowed at the cigarette. “Seriously?”

“Can I smoke in peace without you haggling me for it?” Kenta muttered, voice low, already sounding annoyed.

Kim let out a long sigh, planting his hands on his hips. “Not in my house you can’t.”

Kenta gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, his mood clearly worse than usual. “Which is why I’m outside, Kim. Go to sleep.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kim huffed, stepping forward, with one smooth motion, he plucked the cigarette from Kenta’s lips and tossed it onto the tiled floor before grinding it under his heel with a final stomp.

“Hey!” Kenta shoved his shoulder, eyes flaring.

“This is my balcony,” Kim shot back, shoving him right back, not caring they were now chest to chest. “Don’t. Smoke. In. My. House.” He punctuated each word by poking Kenta sharply in the chest with his finger.

Kenta stared at him, stunned at first. Then scoffed, looking away, but Kim noticed something in his expression softened.

---/---/---/--/--/

Standing in the same spot, Kim blows a puff of smoke looking ahead at the dawning light of the day appearing at the horizon. How the puff of smoke disappeared in the wind, the smell too familiar with the memories of that night.

He hadn’t meant to smoke, he hadn’t even thought of smoking since his mom caught him doing so in high school, earning him a well-deserved thrashing from his parents and his eldest sister, but helplessly watching Kenta walking into danger once again, discussing with the X Hunter team about ambushing the Lab, and coming home to an empty apartment where Kenta wasn’t waiting for him… it was all too much.

Kim looked at his phone, the wallpaper being of him posing in front of his car, and unlocked it to the home screen… a shot of Kenta with a faint smile on his face that he had captured when he was watching a K Drama. Kim stared at the photo, how at ease he looked, and his mind wandered to how terrified Kenta would be when Tony’s men had captured him, being back in the hell that he escaped with such difficulty.

His phone rang; with Babe's name flashing on the screen

“Hey.” He picked the call.

Babe huffed out a breath, “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah. You?” he asked, taking another drag.

“Same.” He sounded tired, almost drunk, “We have a plan. Meet us at the track in three hours.”

“Okay.” Kim says, putting out his cigarette on the railing and throwing the butt in the bin.

“Kim,” Babe says, “we’re going to save them. Take some rest, okay?”

“Sure.” Kim says, “you too.”

“Okay, see you at the track.” Kim says, looking at his couch, still unmade from last night.

Kenta had fell asleep on it while reading a book, making Kim close it with a bookmark and lie on the ground next to it, the sleep claiming both of them in an instant. They had fallen asleep here. Kenta had been curled up on the couch, and Kim had slipped down beside him on the rug, close enough to hear him breathing.

Now, he buried his face into the curve of the cushion, the blanket smelled faintly of laundry detergent and that shampoo Kenta insisted on using despite Kim calling it “too fancy for a dude with two outfits.”

He whispered with desperation, “Don’t do anything stupid, Kenta.” Before slipping into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

---/---/---/---/---

Kenta was, indeed, doing something stupid.

The bruises on his ribs still throbbed from when Tony and his goons beat him to a pulp some hours ago. Winner, the ex-racer and now Tony’s latest right-hand man, had left him tied to a pole, leaving a guard to keep an eye on him. He had also covered Kenta’s head with a sack, to limit his chances of getting out. Kenta had knocked out the guard, tied him in his place after swapping his clothes with him, covering his head with the same sack.

If he gets caught, this time thy won’t let him go. It would either be Winner or Tony to put a bullet through his skull for good. But the thought didn’t stop him, he was on a mission to find out what Tony was actually planning and now dressed as one of the soldiers, he could easily do that, because this wasn’t just about revenge anymore. This was about ending a regime that had turned him into a product.

For every night he was used, for every kid stolen off the street, for every Charlie, Babe and Kenta… for every version of him still locked in those rooms.

Kenta adjusted the button camera on his collar that perfectly blended with his black uniform. He went through corridors, hallways, scanned all four abandoned floors of the entire building but found nothing but empty rooms and surveillance rooms.

What was left in the building was the basement.

Kenta took the elevator to the floors below, and when the doors opened, his fingers tightened around the rifle in his hand as his boots hit the ground

The hallway leading ahead was lined with iron railings, like tiny prison rooms. People sat in each one of them, some tied, some just lying down on the floor. He feared how many of them had survived these inhumane trials and how many were still waiting.

What did Tony promise them that they are here voluntarily? Or did he kidnap them off of the streets?

As he passed the cages, his eyes fell on two kids, barely fifteen, sitting together in a corner, holding each other’s hands through the railing. They were looking at him with their gazes mixed with anger and fear, as if they were waiting for him to snatch them away from each other. Kenta had to shake his head and move ahead to snap out of the anger he felt brewing in his head.

The rooms ahead had no doors, only open doorframes, and were completely painted white with the fluorescent lights giving off an eerily sterile vibe compared to what he witnessed just a few steps back. These rooms had people strapped to the bed, as people dressed in lab coats observed them with devices and medical equipment. There were guards in front of every room, their faces covered with black masks. He continued on his way, with his back straight, until his eyes fell on a familiar shade of blue standing out in the white in one of the rooms.

Charlie was tied to the bedframe, sitting on the floor looking at his feet.

Kenta approached the door, gave a small nod to the guard, who didn’t even flinch. Once the guard’s gaze turned away, he moved fast, looking round to see that the room had a camera

He had to be careful.

“Charlie?” he whispered.

Charlie jerked up at hearing his voice, his panicked eyes met his through his broken glass frame, “Kenta!”

Kenta knelt down as he pulled his mask down, hushing him while he looked at him dazed, barely upright, his skin pale and bruised.

“What the fuck… is Babe here?” Charlie rasped. Kenta let out a slow exhale, because even now, even here… Charlie’s first thought was Babe.

Kenta exhaled, the breath shaky. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s just me.”

Charlie blinked slowly, his head lolled slightly to one side… he was sedated, and fighting against it as hard as he could. Kenta moved closer, lowering his voice, “what happened to you Charlie?”

He leaned his head back against the cold bedframe, his breath rattling in his throat. “Willy… he got me… he’s enhanced. I was at Pete’s lab, sedated so I couldn’t fight him off.” His voice hitched as he tried to sit up straighter, “Tony… he wants my DNA. He’s going to use my power to replicate his formula... he will make more alphas.”

His gaze dropped to Charlie’s wrists; red, raw, bound so tightly in steel cuffs that his skin had started to break. Kenta got up and took a step back, his mind racing; He didn’t have time.

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” Charlie asked almost casually; like it wasn’t the first time someone had walked away from him.

Kenta’s lips parted, guilt roared up through his throat, he crouched down again, forcing his voice out, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

But Charlie… Charlie smiled.

His lips trembled as they curled into something soft and brave and endlessly gentle. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I have a tracker. Babe put it in my glasses… He said I lose things too often.” He chuckled, breath catching, “They’ll come for us, Kenta. But right now… you go, do what you came here to do.”

Kenta blinked, staring at him like he was trying to burn the moment into his memory.

Kenta reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. His thumb brushed lightly over the blood-stained hoodie, “Hang in there, alright? I’ll make sure they get to you. I promise.”

Charlie nodded, sluggish but firm. “I trust you.”

He looked back at Charlie sat slumped against the bedframe with blood on his cheek. Kenta turned toward the darkness ahead, straightening his back, rifle steady in his hands.

Kenta swallowed hard, the ache behind his eyes impossible to ignore. They were coming…. Kim was coming.

And he needed to make damn sure this was worth it.

So he turned around and walked ahead towards the deeper parts of the basement.

---/---/---/---/---

Kim’s eyes didn’t leave the horizon… not once.

The engine roared beneath his hands, the wheel slick under his grip from the sweat on his palms. Their convoy sped down the back roads of Bangkok; black SUVs, flashing lights, motorcycles with silencers off. Police cruisers closed in with their sirens muted, their guns loaded, and the collective rage simmering just under the surface.

Beside him in the passenger seat… Babe was silent. He had insisted he should drive in Kim’s car. His fingers tapped on his thigh; the only tell that he was barely holding it together.

He was scared… but not for himself.

But for the two idiots who weren’t in this car… who were stuck behind locked doors under Tony’s thumb… Charlie, and his Kenta.

Kim’s mind wouldn’t stop replaying the last time he saw Kenta; scared but determined to give Kim an opening to escape. His face etched with pain and worry as he looked at him one last time.

“We’re 2 minutes out,” came Alan’s voice from the comm, “Prepare breach protocol.”

Babe didn’t respond, he was staring out at the road, his face cemented in a stoic expression.

“You okay?” Kim finally asked, his voice raw. Barely more than a breath.

Babe didn’t look at him. “Charlie told me once… that he hated hospitals.”

Kim’s throat tightened as Babe continued like he was afraid if he said it too loud, it would make it more real, “I should’ve protected him, Kim. Willy took him away right in front of my eyes and I couldn’t do anything!”

Kim looked ahead again. “You will save him Babe; he will be safe.”

Babe turned to him, his eyes were glassy but fierce, “Any news on Kenta?”

Kim’s grip on the wheel trembled for a moment before he gripped the steering tighter, “No… but If he’s hurt,” he said quietly, “I’ll burn that fucking place down, Tony with it.”

The comms crackled, this time with Jeff’s voice, “Charlie’s tracker is still pinging, he’s in sublevel three.”

Kim hit the brake and yanked the wheel as the building loomed ahead; The old chemical plant rebranded as a tech warehouse. Alan’s SUV skidded beside them, doors flying open as everyone jumped out; Sonic, North, Pete, Jeff, and Alan. The police team flanked just behind them.

Babe got out of the car, his eyes locked on the entrance like he was already inside, dragging Charlie out with his bare hands.

“Positions,” Alan barked. “North and Sonic; you two at the north exit. Pete and Jeff; with the police. Kim, Babe, you’re with me, we’re going to the basement.”

Kim didn’t wait, as he slammed the door shut and drew his weapon. He looked at Babe, whose chest was rising and falling in short, furious bursts.

And with that, the X Hunter team surged forward; with their hearts on fire and nothing left to lose.

To be continued….

--/---/---/---/---/---

More Thai BL Fanfics

Tangled Fates: The Sign Series FanficA Phaya x Tharn fic about their past life as Sapuna and Wansarut.

Call It What You Want : Wandee Gooday Fanfic How Oyei and Cher found solace in each other; Pre Canon AU

[kurorotic]

Okay, so, maybe Kiyoomi was a little spoiled. A little bratty. A little sheltered.

And snapping at the waiter because he brought him the wrong side dish was… bad.

But said waiter was /also/ Miya Atsumu, the most annoying person Kiyoomi had the displeasure of knowing since middle school.

How was /he/ supposed to know that Atsumu would act like a kicked puppy in front of his parents?

And that they would take Atsumu's side?!

'Just because they bring us our food doesn't mean they're beneath us, Kiyoomi.'

'Working here will help you understand this, it'll shape you to be a kinder and more empathetic person.'

You'll get your credit cards back at the end of summer, once you've proven to have a better attitude.'

If only his mother and father could see the shit eating grin on Atsumu's face now.

But whatever, he can bear through it. It's just waiting tables, what's so hard about that?

He didn't want to hear a single thing from Atsumu and ignored any and all stupid advice he might have.

Suna was right there with him, snickering as they watched Kiyoomi out in the dining room.

Everything went fine for an hour… maybe two, tops, before Kiyoomi made his first mistake of giving the wrong dish to a table.

Then they just kept piling up and he was about three seconds away from having a meltdown because /why/ is he the only waiter taking orders?!

Finally, /finally/ Atsumu swoops in to save the day, thus making himself look 50x better to their customers.

God, he hated Miya Atsumu.

And there were three more months of this?!

'Ya should quit since ya obviously can't handle it, Omi-kun.'

'I refuse to give you the satisfaction, Miya.'

'Sure, we'll see how long yer spoiled ass lasts.'

It took about a week or so for Kiyoomi to get the hang of all of this, including remembering his 'customer service smile'.

It was strange serving the same students he saw around school

and group of fellow rich kids thought his parents fell into poverty.

He thought it'd feel more humiliating, but instead he was just irritated at their snobbish nature.

… Ah.

'Do I act like that, Miya?'

It was slow and he caught Atsumu coming back from the kitchen.

'Yeah, but yer at least cute about it.'

What, what did that mean? And why were his cheeks kinda warm?

The weeks pass and Kiyoomi voluntarily took up a night shift since they were shorthanded.

Suna wasn't here for Atsumu to hang out with so obviously that's why he sought out Kiyoomi.

And maybe sitting at the same booth as Atsumu wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Getting to see his lazy smile as they joked about the work they were very much not doing.

Playing rock, paper, scissors when it came to waiting on their annoying, drunk upperclassmen.

(Omi won)

(Or Atsumu let him win, idk)

Either way, Atsumu could handle the drunks far easier than Kiyoomi ever could.

He still kept an eye on them, just in case they wanted to cause trouble.

They ended up closing together and Atsumu offered Kiyoomi a ride home.

For once, Kiyoomi didn't want to automatically reject him… and took it.

That had to be the night things… changed.

Because why was Kiyoomi expecting a kiss before leaving Atsumu's truck?

Ugh ugh ugh…

He becomes aware of Atsumu's flirting in later days and hits right on back, causing the blond to backfire in real time.

It's Kiyoomi who asks if Atsumu has anything going on after this shift and Atsumu immediately throws away any plans.

… Kiyoomi didn't expect him to say yes. But it's fine, they just go with wherever the vibes take them.

Kiyoomi gets his kiss this time when Atsumu drops him off… and that feeling still lingers when he does get his cards back.

He's nearly forgotten them as all he can think about is Atsumu… and wondering what else they'll get up to outside of work.

[haliotropes]

Black Star (Rustin Cohle x OC)

6. And One Day | Rated M

A/N: canon typical talk of grim topics

₊˚ ✧.* ೃ ₊˚ ✧.* ೃ ₊˚ ✧.* ೃ ₊˚ ✧.* ೃ

Kenny wakes with a pounding head and stiff limbs. She moves her hand over to pet for Froggy, but it falls upon flat air. Then she stirs, and the plastic of the chair creaks under her. This is when Kenny realizes she isn’t in her bed at home.

She sits up and the light of morning, or day, could be afternoon but she sincerely hopes not. Not even immediately, but through a haze, she realizes she’s inside of Rust’s apartment. She’s alone, because obviously he’s at work. His wall of evidence tilts into focus as Kenny orients herself. Tries to remember what exactly she had done, said, or tried to do or say last night. Nothing extreme comes to mind, so she takes that as a small victory instead of a testament to how hard she hit the bottle.

Marie…

Kenny pushes herself up despite the fact that she's not fully awake. Stumbles toward the wall where she spies a couple polaroids of the geometric stick configurations that had been left at Dora Lange's site and in the Fontenot backyard. Groggily, Kenny peels them from the wall and slips them into her back pocket. She knows Rust will notice eventually, but these are good photos, and she's going to need a good reference for the plans she's forming in her still recovering head.

-

Rust's only real concern about leaving Kenny at his apartment was that she'd find his stash of pills from Carla. But, if she's fighting her prescription medications, she's probably not fighting to get ahold of someone else's. It barely puts his mind at ease about her.

They visit the commune and get Dora's bag, and around all those girls, Rust is thinking about Kenny. How close to the edge she always seems to be. How she dances along the precipice with a smile on her face and it's both fascinating and infuriating.

Rust is a hypocrite. Byproduct of the job. She's so lucky but she's so close to being devastated. These girls at this commune got here by some sad story or another, but he's willing to bet none of them had ever planned for it.

And just as he saw the power and violence in Kenny the first day they met, he sees her form now in the faces and bodies of these women, and he keeps his eyes to the ground most of the day.

They visit the burned church and Rust wonders if an attack on a holy building will trigger further repose from Tuttle and his gang. He can't stand it.

He wonders if Kenny believes in god and makes a note to ask her soon.

And on their way home, Rust remembers that birds in large numbers can create all sorts of strange patterns, and so maybe what he saw outside the church wasn't a hallucination. Still, he stares out the window of the car and waits for something to shift and turn evil.

“You alright, man? You seem distracted today.”

Marty asks from the driver's seat. Rust is always in deep thought, but apparently that thought was observably wandering.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Alright. Listen, have you heard from Kenny? I thought about calling her after the Fontenot thing but, I don't know, I didn't wanna…I wanted to give her space, you know?”

Rust knows this is an opportunity, or rather, a test. If he isn't honest here, and it comes out, Marty will have no reason to trust him again.

“She came over last night,” Rust says as unaffected as he can. He feels Marty's eyes flick from him to the road.

“Kenny came over.”

“Yeah.”

“...Oh. Um. What did you…”

“We talked about Marie, she told me about her past, then she fell asleep dead drunk in one of my chairs so I let her stay.”

“She go home in the morning?”

Rust wonders why he asks.

“I left before she did.”

“So you weren't there when she woke up.”

“No.”

Then, Marty chuckles.

“Shit, man. You're gonna have shit missing.”

Rust looks over at him.

“What?”

“I'm telling you. The way you have all that shit stacked up in your place? Hope there wunn't any pertinent information laying around.”

“She knows better.”

Marty nods.

“She does. But that doesn't mean that she'll do better. Wonder what it'll be.”

Two photographs, as it turns out. Both of the devil traps at Dora Lange's site. Rust definitely knows this could be worse, but he's not out of the woods yet. He needs to go get them back, and he's not entirely prepared for whatever he's going to find when he gets there.

It's nearly seven when Rust pulls up to Kenny's farm. Sure enough, her covered porch has about four devil traps hanging from it, all increasingly better in quality from one to the next. Froggy is laying lazily on the porch and he picks his head up when he hears Rust's truck.

By the time Rust makes it up to the house, Kenny is coming outside. She doesn't look the least bit guilty, rather looks like she expected him. She's in overalls that are stained with paint and grease and her hair is pulled up and away from her face. Reading glasses are perched on her nose and Rust knows she's been working.

He looks at her. They're keeping eye contact now, longer than ever before. He moves his jaw back and forth as he debates what to say.

“Hey, detective,” she greets. Her voice drifts the honeysuckle into his mind’s eye and he shakes his head to get it away. He points to the traps.

“You gotta take these down.”

He goes to the one she obviously made first- obvious by the fact that it's barely staying together in its shape. Kenny watches him in interest as Rust reaches up to untie it.

“Practicing arts and crafts as a means of enrichment-”

“I'm not playing around, Kenny. Take em down. And I need my photos back.”

Rust sets the first trap down on the porch railing. Kenny crosses her arms.

“Why’re you so wigged out by me having em up?”

“Aside from it bein bad form?”

Kenny shrugs. “No one comes out here.”

“It's dangerous.”

Kenny is quiet for a moment, processing his choice of word.

“Dangerous?”

“And you know it.”

Now more frustrated with her, because she either is oblivious or stubborn or fucking with him, Rust moves to the next trap. Kenny follows.

“Whoever is killin these girls is not gonna wander out here and be offended I copied his art-”

“Well first of all, you wrote an inflammatory piece about Dora Lange, so you made it personal-”

“How the hell was it inflammatory-?”

“And you are a young woman, vulnerable, who is very openly investigating him.”

He isn't sure why they're arguing. Could blame it on the heat but the day is milder than they've been lately and he's barely breaking a sweat. Indignation colors Kenny's face.

“And so you think I'm making myself a target? That he'll find out where I live, kill my dog, kidnap me, tie me up, cut me, rape me, build a shrine outta me?”

Rust winces like she hit him. “Christ, Kenny.”

“That's what you're implying, isn't it?”

Rust runs his hands down his face. She's not gonna budge in her opinion of this, so he goes back to square one.

“Gimme the photos.”

She doesn't move. Grinds her jaw and digs fingernails into the firm flesh or her bicep. Rust narrows his eyes at her.

“What's your plan, Kenny? What do you want from me?”

He watches her face flicker. Some internal conflict. He didn't really expect a fight out of her about this, and she clearly got what she needed from the pictures. Her deep frown resets to a thin line, then flicks up, down, her brow breaks and her whole face relaxes. Whatever the fight was, she lost it.

Kenny walks towards the door and Rust follows her inside. Crosby, Stills, and Nash plays from the stereo. Froggy pads behind them and yawns.

“We don't have to fight,” Kenny says with her back to him. “I'll give you the photos, but will you tell me where y'all went today?”

Rust looks around her place, trying to determine if there's been any major or minor changes that might indicate mania. That might suggest some sort of break.

“You stole evidence,” is all he says in response. Kenny straightens from the coffee table and holds out the photos.

“Sure did. You wanna talk about it? Here.”

He takes them, slides them into his back pocket. Lights a cigarette. Kenny twists her face.

“Come on, I'm done being mean. I'm sorry. We don't even have to be friends. Just miserable cop and miserable beat reporter.”

Rust breathes in, out. Decides to sit on the far end of the couch. Kenny follows suits.

“Not for printing.”

Kenny smiles and shrugs.

“My recorder’s in my car. I need more tape anyway.”

And so he tells her. Tells her all about the commune with those girls, Dora's diary, and the church. Tells her about the sort of things she wrote in there. And, despite how easily it all comes out, he doesn't speak of the birds.

“King in Yellow?” Kenny asks, her brow knit in deep thought.

“Yeah.”

“Don't that sound familiar to you?”

“No. Do you know it?”

Kenny stands and goes to a bookshelf by her stereo. “I dunno. Maybe? Sounds like a book or something. Have you looked into it?”

“No.”

Rust watches Kenny as she peruses her shelf. Who has so many books that they don't remember? Rust notices on her back right shoulder is a tattoo of an eye. He imagines for a moment, or maybe he doesn't imagine it, that it blinks at him.

Kenny turns, her search fruitless.

“I'll do it first thing tomorrow. Get me back on your good side.”

“Kenny-”

“Don’t act like y'all won't be too busy to work on it tomorrow.”

He doesn't fight her on it because he knows she's right. Rust sighs and puts out his cigarette. Suddenly doesn't feel like smoking anymore. He wipes a hand over his brow. Kenny goes to the kitchen. The fridge door opens and closes.

“We gotta find something. Fast.”

Kenny hands Rust a diet Coke and he opens it, drinks greedily. She plops down beside him on the sofa, closer this time.

“Is there a rush aside from the obvious?”

“Reverend Billy Lee Tuttle.” Rust draws the name out and Kenny chuckles.

“Ho-ly. I completely forgot. I woulda said something but Marie…he, uh, he called me on his way to the CID. Asked why I said Dora Lange's murder wasn't satanic.”

“You know him?”

Kenny snorts. “Hardly. Friend of my father's. Did he give y'all a hard time?”

“Threatening us with a task force.”

“I understand the urgency.”

“Any chance you can get him off our back?”

“Jesus. I mean, he and I don't like each other. At all. He's just nicer about it. I could…try? Or… hah,” she chuckles.

“What?”

“I could ask Daddy to call him off.”

Rust thinks of Commissioner Marsden and Reverend Billy Lee Tuttle and that conversation and he shakes his head immediately.

“I wouldn't ask that of you.”

Kenny leans her head against her hand and blinks, smiles. “Well… we'll save it for the worst case scenario. Where y'all going tomorrow?”

“Trying to find a tent revival.”

“Which one?”

“Friends of Christ.”

“Don't know em. That's gonna take you a far ways out.”

“Probably.”

Their voices grow lower. Kenny leans closer.

“Listen, about last night…there's a lot about me that's difficult. People don't really like. I don't really like. Took me a long time just to learn how to survive it. And sometimes it helps me do my work. Other times, it doesn't. But for the first time, it feels like I got somebody who understands. Maybe even…I don't know, relates. Not to make assumptions, but…anyway. thank you, I mean. For listening. For not being afraid.”

As she speaks, Rust looks over her freckled, scarred, tattooed skin.

He holds out his hand, his palm facing her. Kenny looks from his face to his hand, her eyes wide. Rust doesn't say anything, doesn't move. Slowly, Kenny slides her palm against his. Their lines meet and split and meet again. He can feel her pulse hammering under her skin.

Fingers shift opposite and slowly but suddenly they're interlocked. “Helplessly Hoping” begins to play and Rust shifts, pulling Kenny from the couch. At first, it's just his other hand on her upper back, hers with his shirt in a fist. He waits for her to relax, and then they draw closer. Soon, they're swaying.

“You ever heard of synesthesia?” Rust asks.

“Like, things have colors associated with em?”

The way her voice vibrates through his shirt makes him shiver.

“Not just colors, but yeah.”

Kenny looks up at him. They're looking each other in the eyes now.

“Is that why you seem so far away sometimes?”

Rust cracks a smile. “Plenty of reasons for that.”

Kenny presses her cheek to his shoulder. Rust is tall, but Kenny isn't short, so she comes up to a little under his chin.

“What color am I?”

He had been hoping she'd ask.

“Dark cherry red. Shiny. Slow. Intentional.”

He thinks of the word dripping but decides not to use it.

“Sweet?”

“No, you don't taste like cherries.”

“What do I taste like?” she all but whispers. Rust's voice is husky when he answers.

“Earth. Smoke. Honeysuckle.”

Their bodies are flush now. For an infinite list of reasons, he does not initiate what they both want. So Kenny does. Slides her hand, shaking, to just where his neck meets the rest of him, fingers curl around, and she draws him down and pulls herself up.

-

His top lip between hers and mouths slightly ajar, almost as if they're surprised with themselves. He is every bit as hard and soft as Kenny had expected him to be. Wanted him to be.

She's shaking all over. Being this close to him would have been enough. Touching him, letting him touch her, was beyond it all. But now, to kiss him…

Kenny thinks she's a little in love.

Their hands detangle. Hers goes to his shoulder and Rust holds her by the waist. A bit of teeth, a bit of tongue. Kenny breaks to kiss and then breathe against his cheek. Rust's mouth travels down her jaw and lands at her neck.

They still. Kenny is pressed like a board against him and though she feels the warmth, her own blood pulsing loud in her ears, she wraps her arms around his next and pulls him into a hug.

Rust gets the message. He holds her back and one hand lands in her hair.

They hold each other until the song runs out. Rust strokes Kenny's hair- what of it isn't still tied up.

“You gotta be careful out there, okay?” She whispers against his shirt.

“Inn’t that what I was telling you earlier?”

“Yeah, well, you can knock down my stick figures but I can't follow you from place to place.”

“Quitter.”

Kenny laughs at that and he smiles. She likes his smile, rare as it is. She gets to see the lines in his face properly. Lifted, not pulled down by grief or fatigue.

“Well, I'll let you know what I find, and you let me know what you find,” she says.

“We'll see.”

“I could ransom all those murder books at your place.”

Rust checks his watch.

“Shit. Speaking of…I gotta go. Marty and I got an early start tomorrow.”

They finally release each other and Kenny finds herself cold without him.

“I mean it. Both of you- careful. People out there… they're different than here. Harder.”

“Careful,” Rust nods. He hooks a knuckle under Kenny's chin and lifts her face to his. “And you take that last trap down.”

“Alright.”

“Promise?”

She chuckles.

“Promise.”

“Alright.”

He kisses her quickly on the lips, and then he's out the door. Kenny follows, lets Froggy out as Rust gets in his truck. He gives a final wave before driving away.

A breeze wafts through and Kenny gets a chill. Sun's setting so she calls Froggy back in. Her lips are still buzzing with the kiss she shared with Rust. She finishes both their diet Cokes. The devil's trap goes untouched.

[thebitchesterbrothers]

Remember this?

I couldn’t stop thinking about about it, so …

I wrote something. Here it is.

_____________________________________________

Hob was waiting at the bar for about forty minutes now for Dream to finally show up for his shift.

It was a friday night and the inn was already packed with party loving students.

His employees were busy waiting tables and handing out beer at the bar…except for one employee. Dream.

When Hob had reopened the inn, after completely renovating it, he had hired Dream as a bartender right away. He had experience, his drinks were amazing and a hit with the students and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes too. Not that that was the reason Hob hired him in the first place but hey, Hob had eyes.

Eyes that just loved watching Dream shake his drinks and look bored while doing it.

Before starting to work at the inn Dream was working for an expensive restaurant in a posh part of London. Hob should’ve been suspicious why a guy like Dream would give up that job for the inn.

Now he was convinced that Dream must’ve been close to being fired for his missing work ethics at his old job.

He was constantly late for his shifts without any explanation or excuse for his boss. He drank his fair share of shots while working. He went home an hour before his shift ended without saying anything to anybody.

He ignored customers he didn’t like. He smoked cigarettes in the kitchen and weed behind the building.

But still Hob couldn’t bring himself to fire him.

Every time he planned to confront him and have a serious talk with him … he just couldn’t bring himself to actually do it.

He would make up random excuses in his head for Dream's behavior. Maybe he was going through a hard time? Maybe he didn’t know better? Maybe he wasn’t feeling comfortable around his coworkers?

And despite his problematic attitude the customers loved him. They were all too happy to spend their hard earned money on fancy and more expensive drinks instead of cheap beer just so they had the chance to talk to the hot bartender.

Dream would gift some of them with a playful smile and get a ridiculous amount of tips in return.

It drove Hob absolutely insane. It drove him insane that he would do the exact same thing to make Dream smile at him like that.

He was well aware of his stupid crush on his employee. He knew it wasn’t very professional.

He was aware that this crush was the real reason he had not fired Dream yet. He wasn’t proud of himself, thank you very much.

Dream was in his twenties and more beautiful than anyone Hob had ever seen. He had that mysterious aura and eyes to get lost in.

Meanwhile Hob was a history professor in his thirties who spent too much time in his own bar ogling his employee. He was quite a few years older than the object of his desire and not nearly as attractive as Dream. He never would have a chance with him and he had accepted that months ago. It still hurt sometimes.

Not that he knew what exactly Dreams' type was. Women? Men? Both?

As much as everyone flirted with his bartender, Dream never took anyone home as far as Hob had noticed.

„Nice of you to finally show up, Dream!“, one of his waitresses interrupted Hobs thoughts.

Dream had just come through the back door, tying a black apron around his slim hips, looking bored and not apologetic at all.

„Dream! A word?“, Hob turned around towards his office without waiting for an answer. As expected, Dream followed slowly, clearly not in a hurry.

Hob sat on the edge of his cluttered desk, crossing his arms, watching Dream closing the door behind him. Did he lock it?

Before he could say anything, Dream beat him to it.

„What is it, boss?“ God damn, that voice.

„Dream, you’re almost an hour late. Everyone was waiting for you. You do whatever the hell you want. I should fire you, you know“, Hob sighed.

At that Dream smirked, stepping closer to Hobs desk and between his outstretched legs.

„Yes, yes you should. So tell me…why haven’t you fired me yet? Hmm, Hob? Why do I still have my job?“

Hob didn’t have a satisfying answer for him. Dream came even closer, his legs touching the inner side of Hob's clothed inner thighs. He could still feel the warmth of the other man through his jeans. How was he supposed to think like that?

„Hob…I mean boss…I think we both know why I still have my job. You just enjoy watching me behind the bar a bit too much, don’t you?“

Oh how Hob hated this arrogant little prick. How he hated that he was right.

„Oh Hob“, Dream smiled and tucked a strand of Hob's hair behind his ear. If Hob would just tilt his head a little to the left his nose would touch Dreams slightly stubbled cheek.

„Dream, this is highly inappropriate…“ Hob managed to force out. He should stop this. He should push him away. He was the boss, Dream was his employee.

Dream‘s eyes crinkled with mirth and raised his dark eyebrows.

„Very inappropriate, yes. Seems like you have to fire me after all, boss.“

Before Hob could react to that, Dream had cupped his face in his hand, his other surprisingly strong arm snaking around Hob‘s waist, pulling him closer into his chest before their lips met in a kiss that made Hob lose every single thought he just had.

Dreams' lips tasted of rum and irresponsibility and Hob decided that he would never get enough of it.

‚I never was a good boss anyway‘, he thought to himself before pulling a laughing Dream up the stairs into his flat. Dream was late anyway, what difference would a few more hours make?

[ash5monster01]

Goes On Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, eventual smut, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

Summary: Against his best efforts Charlie has to start at a new preparatory school after the tragic events that took place at Welton. The very events that led to the loss of his best friend and getting expelled in the first place. He has no plans to make friends let alone get close to anyone ever again. That is until he meets Evelyn and her interesting group of friends. No matter how hard he tries to push them away he finds it to be impossible. So he caves and in the end learns that life can still be enjoyable even if it feels like everyone is against you.

word count: 2.9k

Eleven ←→ Thirteen

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

3/26/60

Dating in a private school could be difficult. Evelyn had listened to Violet complain about it for years but until now she hadn’t realized how true it was. It had been a month of dating Charlie and every day people still gave her a hard time and she felt like neither of them had any privacy. Even the dates at the cafe on campus didn’t feel real due to so many peering eyes. It was like animals in a zoo and Evelyn was tired of it. Especially since she still felt like she was getting to know Charlie. There was still so much there he hadn’t given her access too and she partly blamed it on this damn school.

So she had been grumpy. Which wasn’t usual for the girl but she was just annoyed. Sick and tired of waiting for the world to finally let her have and enjoy something for once. She finally found someone she enjoyed being with and liked, so why the hell couldn’t the universe provide her with a break? Allow her a chance to date her first boyfriend like every girl should. Not with the overlooking eyes but with an innocence that comes with experiencing all the things you hadn’t before.

“If you’re not careful your face’ll get stuck like that” Charlie muttered, leaning toward her on the couch and rubbing a thumb over the crease between her brows. Evelyn’s face instantly softened, heart yearning for the boy beside her.

“I’m sorry” she told him, legs shifting in his lap. The library had become a sort of safe haven for the two, cradling their budding love between the stacks of hundreds of books. At first Evelyn thought it was romantic but now she just felt annoyed that this was the only place she felt any privacy with the boy beside her.

“Don’t be, what’s on your mind?” the chestnut haired boy asks and Evelyn sighs, head leaning back against the couch.

“I just wish we could be alone” she tells him and Charlie chuckles, eyes glancing around the semi empty space around them.

“We are alone” he says and she groans, head shaking against the back of the cushions, brunette tresses falling in all directions.

“No I mean alone away from this school. I feel like everywhere we go there is someone we know. Relationships shouldn’t be so monitored” Evelyn counters and Charlie gives a understanding look because he knows exactly what she means. Even now there is a librarian twenty feet away and if he sneaks into her room at night it’s only bound to be interrupted by Violet or her be there the entire time. When he had wanted girls to attend Welton he had never considered the watchful eye factor, people like Nolan and Mr. McAllister watching your every move. He could see himself now sneaking his girl out to the old Indian Cave just to get some alone time, and then it hit him.

"What if we just left campus" he says and a shocked look paints Evelyn's face quickly.

"We can't, not without written permission from a parent and I don’t know about your parents but mine would definitely not sign off on me running around with a boy" she defends quickly and Charlie laughs, pulling her closer and hoping the librarian doesn't look up to bust them both.

"I didn't say anything about asking for permission" he grins, mischief sparkling in his eyes and the gears finally start turning in her head. It wouldn't be impossible. A few right moves and they both could be off and into the night, returning in the mask of the dark, and no one would know a thing.

"Okay, let's do it" she agrees quickly and he smiles wide, squeezing her as he presses a soft kiss to the side of her head.

"What do you say about 7:30, meet past the gate and behind the tree line?" and the nerves start to bubble in Evelyn's stomach but she smiles and agrees anyway.

"Perfect, but now I have to get ready!" and before Charlie could protest, Evelyn was up and out of her seat, scurrying in the direction of the dorms so she could get dressed for her first very real date. Sighing he leans back into the couch, a smile on his face from how much he adored her. Only once in a while did he feel despair about getting so close when he had promised himself not to. Those were only during the dark moments though, the moments where he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about how much he would miss her if she suddenly went away and then those thoughts would bring him right back to Neil. He wished he had appreciated him more when he was here. With this thoughts now swirling in his head he did the one thing that always made him feel better.

"Yeah, hi. I'm calling for Todd Anderson" Charlie said once the phone line picked up and whatever twelve year old blazer boy answered was off in search of his meek friend that could be the only one to calm him down during this time.

"Hello" Todd said after a few moments, voice coming out staticky from the phone and hundred miles inbetween them.

"Hey Todd, it's Charlie" he responded quickly, trying to keep his voice even as he tried to get the panic and sadness to go away.

"Hey Charlie, what’s going on? It's not Wednesday" Todd said, confusion laced in his voice and Charlie chuckled, a little sad because he could picture exactly what the boys face looked like right now. The overbearing weight of wanting to be back at Welton swallowing him whole. How torn the world must be if he still wished he was back at that dreaded school.

"I know, it's just- I have a date tonight" Charlie spoke softly and Todd grinned wide on the other end. The image of his overcondienct and cocky friend coming to mind. The one he knew, not knowing the new person he had become.

"Hey that's awesome Charlie, is it Evelyn?" Todd questioned, coming to know the girl from how the boy had talked about her. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he couldn’t stop himself from going after her. Todd was starting to get used to always being right.

"Yeah it’s her, it's just-.." and Charlie clamped his mouth shut, suddenly feeling silly for feeling this way. He was Charlie Dalton for Christ sake, he was confident, smart, and a womanizer. Why would he be calling quiet Todd Anderson about it?

"You can tell me Charlie" Todd spoke, finally sensing the discomfort coming from the boy he hadn't seen in person since before Christmas. Charlie took a moment, collecting himself before responding.

“What if I get to close and lose her too?” He whispered, voicing his worries out loud for the very first time. Todd was taken aback, shocked to hear the words that just left his mouth. Then it dawned on him that Neil was Charlie’s best friend, the one guy who had been by his side for the entirety of his days at Welton. Todd had only known Neil four months for him to become important to him, he couldn’t imagine a lifetime. Neil had already been gone more than half the amount of time Todd had known him but for Charlie it was different. For Charlie it was losing the one real person who loved you your entire life.

“Does she know?” Todd asked, curious if Charlie had disclosed the tragic event that had all changed them entirely for the rest of their lives. Yet Charlie’s silence was enough of an answer in itself.

“No one does, well except my room mate. I just didn’t want it to define me” Charlie finally told him, realizing the weight in his chest he has been carrying this whole time over not grieving properly. He had yet to be comforted for the loss of his friend and that had made it hard to get over. Hard to move on.

“You should tell her, it won’t change anything but until you do, can she ever really begin to understand you?” and Charlie remembered exactly why he had called Todd in the first place. He had become his new voice of reason since Neil died and he knew the exact right thing to say.

“I just don’t want her to see me differently” Charlie admitted and Todd wished he was there to give his friend a hug. He remembered not liking Charlie much at first. He thought his outgoing spirit was dangerous and that it put him in a position to be targeted amongst the group. Yet he failed to notice just how loyal the boy was and now he wished that during the time they did spend together he got to know him better.

“You are different Nuwanda. What matters is if you own it” Todd told him and Charlie chuckled lightly, fighting the tears that burned at the back of his eyes.

“I’ll tell her when I’m ready, I promise” he finally said and Todd accepted this answer not wanting to push him too far, so he decided to leave him with just this.

“Just remember you may never be ready” Todd says knowing his own grief had changed him entirely as a man. He was still living out his punishment with Nolan. It was funny how Nolan used to be annoyed with how outspoken he was but the moment he speaks up he gets silenced.

“Thanks Todd, I’ll talk to you later” Charlie smiled, feeling much better than before about this date.

“Good luck” Todd bid him goodbye and then the receiver clicked before indicating the dead line and Todd was gone, leaving Charlie no choice but to get ready and face his fears.

It’s not long until 7:30 hits, Charlie had been hiding in the tree line since 7. Wanting to lessen the chances of both of them getting caught and take the time to prepare himself for a real date. He may have always been cool with the women but he had truly never been on a proper date before. Especially with a girl like Evelyn, she deserved to be swept off her feet. He jumps when the sound of a branch snapping fills his ears but he quickly calms when he sees the foot is one with a kitten heel and not loafers that belonged to a teacher ready to bust him.

“That was thrilling” Evelyn whispers despite not needing to. They were far enough away now that no one would be able to hear him. Yet her words don’t register in Charlies head because as his eyes move up from her feet they find leg. Lots and lots of leg until right at her knees he is met with baby blue tulle, the skirt making her look like an angel on a cloud. It gets even better when he meets the sweetheart neckline, strained over her chest and looking so inviting. The silver chain necklace around her neck makes him shiver. Finally his eyes meet her own, just in time to spot the grin she wears from watching him check her out.

“I’m beginning to regret this idea of going out and not staying in now” Charlie says, shifting a little as he prepared to approach her. Evelyn just shook her head and reached for him anyways, not giving him much choice in the matter.

“I already convinced Violet to stay in Marty’s room until at least 3am, so we have time” she whispers before pulling him close and capturing his lips in her own. Charlie hums as she kisses him soft and sweet, agonizingly slow and leaving him wanting more. “Right now I just want my boyfriend to take me on a date”

“Then let’s do it” Charlie smiles at her, stealing one more kiss before lacing his fingers through her own and starting them on the walk.

It takes only a mile before they’re met with the sight of town, one Charlie had only been in a handful of times since coming here. Evelyn takes lead on picking the restaurant considering she had been in Ridge much longer than he ever had. It’s no surprise when she picks the small diner opposed to somewhere nicer. People gave the pair looks walking in all dressed up just for some burgers and shakes but neither of them minded when they finally found a booth. Floor sticky and table greasy, it was perfect for two kids just beginning to fall in love.

“I’ve never been on a real date before?” Evelyn admits, taking the red and white stripe straw between her lips and taking a sip of her chocolate shake. Charlie just smiled, his own strawberry shake in his hand.

“You’re telling me none of those guys in that co-ed school snuck you off campus to take you on proper date?” He teases, voice full of amusement as he looks at her.

“No Charles, they haven’t. Yet that’s the thing about co-ed schools. The boys don’t understand to appreciate it more” she says, thinking about all the boys she grew up with who never learned to be gentlemanly or even nervous in her presence.

“Idiots, I didn’t talk to a girl until I was thirteen” Charlie says with the shake of his head, smiling as the waitress sets down burgers and fries for them both. He grins at the way Evelyn has one fry shoved in her mouth before it even hits the table.

“How come you’re not nervous around girls then?” Evelyn inquires, grabbing some salt to put on her fries and on Charlie’s before setting it down.

“I figured there was never any reason to be. If I wanted to have a fighting chance I couldn’t just gape at a girl like a fish, I had to snag her before some other idiot did” and Evelyn’s laughing loudly at the explanation, other customers looking over and chuckling at the young kids on their night out.

“Well lucky for you no other idiots in that school liked me and I learned to accept that a long time ago” Charlie’s stiffens as the words leave her mouth, thinking of his friend who was probably in their shared dorm wondering where the hell he was. His friend who was the only one to know anything about him here. If only Nate had said something before he had fallen for the girl but now it was far too late.

“Idiots indeed” Charlie agrees before grabbing his burger and taking a large bite. Evelyn just smiles, mimicking his movements and doing the same. When some mustard gets smeared on Charlies cheek she’s quick to giggle and wipe it away.

As the night progresses the conversation continues to flow, laughter and smiles filling the space between them. It’s not long until plates are empty and stomachs are full. At some point Charlie even ends up on Evelyn’s side of the booth, arm wrapped around her as he recalls tales from his Welton days. Evelyn particularly likes the ones about Knox and all the things he did to gain the attention of Chris. Sadly it was getting close to curfew so Charlie threw some cash on the table and led the girl out the booth and back in the dreaded direction of the school, feeling guilty for still not telling her the truth about his past.

“That was much easier than expected” Evelyn says, swinging their interlocked hands between them. Charlie just laughs, eyes glancing down at her in the moonlight.

“It’s not over yet, now we have to sneak back in” Charlie informs her and she just rolls her eyes, leaning closer to him the closer they get to the school.

“I almost don’t want to go back in” she says when the gate comes into view and Charlie glances at his watch, noting there still was just forty minutes until curfew. Before Evelyn can say anything more he has her pressed up against one of the trees and he doesn’t miss the sharp breath she takes in.

“Then let’s not, at least for a little bit” he tells her and before she can agree he has his lips on hers, tipping her head back and against the tree. Evelyn settles into the kiss fairly quickly, hands coming to rest on his chest. Charlie finds his own comfort in the kiss, keeping a hand at her waist and the other on her face, making sure she kept access for him. He loved how she still tasted faintly of chocolate shake and how she relaxed into his arms. He hadn’t kissed many girls in his lifetime but none of them could ever compare.

“That was the best first date” Evelyn mutters when he finally gives her a chance to breath, lips trailing down her neck and to the top of her chest that he could barely keep his eyes off of all night. When his fingers tangle into her necklace he finally begins to pull away.

“Agreed, what do you say we do it again?” and Evelyn giggles as his lips meet her neck again. Smiling she reaches to tangle her fingers in his hair and memorize this moment to keep in her heart forever.

“Anytime Charlie”

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[cassandra-knows]

Ff

As a Millennial I was scarred by having my formative political years coincide with the rise of Dubya.

I didn't think anyone could possibly be thick enough to vote him in. And they didn't-! But he was escorted over the line by others in power, went on to miss a devastating attack on home soil and used it to start a war for oil, THEN GOT ELECTED FOR REAL ON THAT RECORD. All while coming across as a total nitwit.

Since I was in middle school I have been dumbfounded by what Republicans will steal in broad daylight and browbeat everyone into shifting the overton window to accept. No one called foul on them. No one EVER calls foul on them.

You can go all the way back to America's Original Sin and see the exact same pattern that has repeated over and over and over again. A small group of wealthy people pitch a fit about a policy that would hamper their acquisition of more wealth and power, cloaking their greed in the language of religious righteousness or patrotism or paternalism or fearmongering, and the rest of the people with wealth and power may talk a good game about equity and justice but at the end of the day they have far more in common with their fellow parasites so they agree to carve out an exception for them. But the wealth addicts have no concept of 'enough', only 'more' so they spend a few decades learning to exploit the status quo and when they hit that ceiling that bust through it increasingly brazen audacity and act like they're the victims, or they're entitled to it, or God promised it to them, or just WHAT'RE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT, HUH? Actually ousting and defanging these leeches would risk the whole country coming undone. (WOULD IT THOUGH?! Maybe now, but that's because it's been left to fester for so long!!!) So we'll pretend this coup/ethnic cleansing/fraud on the people doesn't actually count. But just this once! Just the one time. We'll definitely get serious and punish the next person who tries something really bad.

When I was a teen I was appalled by everything about the War On Terror. I couldn't understand why my fellow youths weren't marching in the streets. Our parents were former hippies, what happened to that spark?! The apathy was deafening. It broke something in me: I felt so helpless.

Now I know why they didn't march. Because the hippies were always a minority counter culture, and the rest bought into Greed Is Good, this is how the world works so you better learn to play the game. Even my former hippie dad was adamant that I needed to learn the game in order to look after myself. As a generation Millennials were told a lie about how to secure our futures, and certainly older Millennials bought it. If the global economy hadn't crashed in 2008, it we'd been allowed the same advantages as our parents, we would be just as insufferable as the worst Boomers.

I worry that the decades of zero options, zero hope, zero money, have fostered that apathy. We literally couldn't go anywhere or do anything because that requires money. Many of us still live hand to mouth. I've half-joked for years that our generation's retirement plan is going to have to be to dismantle capitalism, but it becomes truer every day.

The system is working as designed. We are all too tired, too poor, too anxious, too sick, or too scared to take any risks. We're all one car failure or health incident away from penury. We keep hoping someone will go marching in on our behalf and sort things out, clean up the mess, provide some relief, be the adult in the room.

There are no adults here but us.

Do we deserve to call ourselves adults if we won't take a stand for something that really matters?

Adulting didn't have to be hard. America didn't have to be hard. Other people made them hard and convinced us that was the right and proper way to do things.

We're burned out and barely hanging on for whose benefit? The gerontocracy that refuses to let go of power, but WILL die sooner than they want to accept? The shareholders who are addicted to making money, even though they could never spend it all in a human lifespan?

I don't think I'm the immature one here. I'm not the snowflake who has a tantrum when someone suggests I share the toys I stole. If I'm sent to the corner I don't call the other kids liars who are out to get me. I don't crap myself in public or fall asleep at my own trial. And I'm not dumb enough to believe it when a kid covered in chocolate tells me he's never taken any pudding but if he did that would be fine because he deserves pudding and he should definitely be given more pudding now.

America is being held hostage by squalling toddlers.

No one is coming to save us but us.

We are the adults in the room, if we act like it.

[cigarettesuga]

ok so. mini ramble i guess??

i’ve been thinking a lot about opposites don’t attract and where i’m at with it, and truthfully... i think i just need to take a step back for now. not dropping it, not abandoning it, but like… she’s going in a lil drawer for a bit so i can focus on other things.

and it’s not even about being mad or dramatic, it’s just... kinda discouraging when you pour so much into something — like all these layered dynamics, and all this emotional mess, and it’s deliberate — and still feel like people aren’t really clicking with it. or worse, like they’re expecting something else entirely. and that’s valid too!! but i guess it stings when your writing’s always been about the complicated stuff. the hard love. the not quite ready to admit it but dying inside anyway kind of relationships.

and honestly? this isn’t new. i've kinda been feeling this since chapter 2. part of why chapter 3 took so long to come out even though i literally have the whole thing planned already (like i had chapter 4 outlined before chapter 1 was even finished lmao). but i’m a certified overthinker™ and i got bpd sooooooo everything becomes a spiral eventually 😭

plus, like—if you’ve been around since the way he loves her (aka my first posted fic ever) you already know this is what i do. i’ve always gravitated toward stories that are emotionally intense but flawed, not easy but worth the fight. the kind of love that’s messy, yes, but real. people figuring it out as they go, making dumb decisions and still trying. not perfect love. just willing love.

this fic was always meant to be slow and emotionally messy. jimin and (y/n) are both insufferable in their own ways (i made them that way lmao), but they’re also scared and prideful and figuring it out in real time. that was the whole point. and i know not everyone’s gonna be into that. i knew it. but idk — doesn’t mean it doesn’t hit a little when it feels like the engagement’s just... eh.

so yeah. maybe i just need a breather from it for a bit. shift focus, recharge, let the characters simmer without resentment creeping in. i love this story, i do. it’s very me. but rn? maybe i’ll write something else. or maybe i’ll just rot and listen to sad music idk lmao

anyway. thanks if you’ve been reading. thanks if you see what i’m trying to do. i’ll circle back when it feels right again. 💭

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 11

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

As Anakin says "This is where the fun begins." This chapter starts out the part of the fic where we follow Fives' story arc. It won't be a truly faithful translation, but atleast you know what to expect!

Chapter 11: ... Ready For It?

“Each of you take a corridor. That’ll split them up,” you say over the comm, voice calm but firm. “Rendezvous in the central antechamber, then you can hit them hard.”

Your command echoes through the helmet receivers of the troopers fanned out on the fringes of the hangar. You stand over your holotable, fingers darting across the blue-lit projections of the station’s layout. The ever-shifting geometry of Ringo Vinda station makes this feel less like a battlefield and more like a living labyrinth. The Separatists and Republic forces have been trading sections of the station for days now.

You draw in a sharp breath and refocus. The map updates again, one of the corridors just changed hands.

“Adjust your route, Torrent,” you warn. “36th corridor’s just gone red.”

This place is hell to navigate. It’s suspended in orbit, a ring station spiraling above the planet below, and its segments shift with each assault. One moment you're safe, the next you're boxed in. Which is why you’re here, in a makeshift command post in a scorched hangar, headset snug against your ears, eyes flicking between the holomap and the fading glows of blaster fire outside.

Fives’ voice crackles over the comm. “Copy that. We'll draw them out.”

There’s static, then silence. You clench your jaw.

The strategy's risky. If the enemy adapts faster than your troops regroup, they could be picked off before they even reach the antechamber.

But this isn't the first time you've played this game, not with him in the field. And if there's one thing you trust more than your own instincts, it’s the way Fives moves through combat like it’s a dance.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the console.

You take a deep breath.

This whole mission is riddled with what-ifs. New gear. New tactics. New risks.

The troopers have been outfitted with prototype blaster shields, massive slabs of durasteel alloy that can deflect even concentrated fire. You’re part of the research division behind them, testing this new material under real combat conditions. The shields work, yes, but only just. They’re heavy, cumbersome, and force the men to move slow. Progress through the narrow corridors of this hell has been inch by painful inch.

Still, they’ve been holding the line. Barely.

Morale, however, is a different story. The station's twisting halls offer little in the way of rest. No open skies, no natural light just endless enemy movement. The mission’s dragged on too long, with too few breaks, and you can feel the weariness in every voice that crackles across your comm.

Just moments ago, Fives had pinged you with a private channel.

“Tup’s not looking good. Head’s giving him trouble again. We’ll need a medic as soon as we pull out.”

You’d made a note, then buried the rising dread. You don’t have time to feel things right now.

You shake your head and refocus, eyes locked on the shifting dots on your display. They're in the antechamber now, just as planned.

“Fan out,” you call, your voice strong despite your pulse pounding in your ears. “Take cover along the outer curve. They’re bottlenecked on the left side for now, light them up when they push through.”

The comm crackles again, just a whisper of a voice this time.

“Any word on, hey, wait… stop!”

Skywalker.

Then silence.

“Repeat,” you snap. “General Skywalker, repeat transmission.”

Nothing.

You stare at the screen. The dots start to shift. Not forward. Back.

Something’s gone wrong.

Panic rises like bile in your throat. You tear off your headset and shove it into the hands of the nearest strategist. “Take over,” you bark. “They’re falling back, something’s happened.”

You spin on your heel and sprint toward the nearest corridor that intersects the antechamber’s fallback route. You slam your hand on the security terminal and open a channel to central command.

“Seal the Separatist corridors. Close blast doors six through nine, now!”

A beat of silence, then a loud, mechanical hiss as the blast doors slide shut one by one.

Your boots thunder against the durasteel floor, each step echoing louder than the last, louder even than your heart. You don’t know what’s waiting ahead, but if Fives is in trouble, if he’s hurt, you need to be there.

You round the final corner and skid to a stop just as the squad stumbles into the chamber in disarray. The tension is immediate.

Fives is dragging Tup into a side room, holding him in a restraint, the kind meant to protect more than punish. Tup’s arms are shaking violently, his head lolling side to side. Rex stalks beside them, hand on his holster. They get him into the room, and you see Fives quickly secure Tup’s wrists behind him.

Then the air shifts. A stillness falls.

Master Tiplee steps into the chamber, her expression hollow, eyes red with grief. In her arms is the body of her sister, Master Tiplar.

You stop breathing.

No, no, this isn’t possible. How did this happen?

Around you, the men move like shadows, posturing defensively, weapons loose in their hands, expressions dulled by shock. The silence is eerie. The kind that hangs after something terrible, before the full weight of it settles in.

You hear some muttering, rising from the room where Tup was taken.

You force your legs to move and step quietly toward it. You glance inside.

Tup is rocking slightly, eyes distant, sweat streaking his temples.

“Good soldiers follow orders… good soldiers follow orders…”

There’s saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth. His gaze passes right through you, like you’re not even there.

Your stomach knots.

Fives sees you.

He stands abruptly and slips out of the room. His face is pale beneath the dust and sweat, jaw clenched so tight you think it might crack.

“I don’t know what happened,” he says, voice hoarse, low. One of his hands grips your shoulder. It’s barely a touch, but it roots you. Anchors him.

“He just snapped. Killed her. Point-blank. No warning. It wasn’t him in there.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy. Before you can answer, the silence is shattered by a cry from the room.

Tup.

A sudden crash. Screaming. Tup launches himself with unnatural force towards the doorway. Master Tiplee flinches as he lashes out wildly, his eyes wide, filled with fear and fury. A Force user somewhere in the room, maybe her, maybe Skywalker arriving too late, throws him against the wall to subdue him.

He crumples to the floor, unconscious or stunned.

Fives immediately rushes back inside.

You snap into action, hitting your comm. “Medbay, we’ve got one incoming. Gonna need sedatives.” 

Skywalker and Rex accompany Fives as he half carries, half drags Tup out and down the corridor, following you to the portion of the hangar set up as a medbay.

—

The medbay is too quiet. 

Tup lays strapped to a gurney, unmoving. Monitors beep in steady rhythm beside him, charting his shallow breaths and irregular vitals.  Whatever’s wrong with him, no one has a name for it yet, but it’s something bad. Something big.

Fives sits at his side, elbows on his knees, hands twisted together. His helmet rests forgotten on the floor, and he hasn’t looked away from Tup once. The worry in his eyes cuts through you sharper than glass. 

You stand near the foot of the bed, just far enough to feel like you don’t belong. There’s a tight circle of voices in the corner of the room; General Skywalker, Rex, Kix, a couple of command officers. The conversation turns clinical, procedural. What to do with Tup. How to classify this. Where he should be sent for further analysis. You listen, but you don’t speak. You know there’s no room in this discussion for emotion, and certainly none for you.

Still, your eyes never leave Fives. You see the way his jaw keeps tightening, the way his knee bounces like he’s barely holding it together. You want to reach for him. Say something.

Finally, a decision is made: Tup is to be transferred to Kamino. They’ll do a full neurological workup. Kix seems reluctant, but agrees it’s the best chance at answers. Fives doesn’t hesitate, he volunteers to go. Of course he does. You could’ve guessed it before he said the words.

“I’m going with him,” he says firmly, standing at last. “He’s not going through this alone.”

The next few hours pass in a blur of logistics, prepping the med ship, authorizations, departure clearances. You’re not part of the convoy. You're told to remain on the station. You don’t argue, though it kills you not to.

You watch the ship launch from the hangar, Fives onboard beside his brother. You stand there long after they’ve disappeared into hyperspace.

You’re halfway through a briefing when the alert comes through. An emergency distress signal. The ship carrying Tup is under attack. Separatist forces. Your blood runs cold.

Why a medical ship?

Your mind races. There’s no strategic value, no prisoners of war, no sensitive intel, unless...

You storm into the command center, already formulating a plan before you hit the holotable. “They’re not after the ship,” you tell Skywalker. “They’re after Tup. They may have had something to do with his actions.”

He doesn't dismiss you. In fact, his eyes sharpen with realization.

You deploy your strategy fast, rerouting patrol ships, coordinating intercepts, buying just enough time for the medical vessel to escape. You save them. Not just the medics. Not just Tup.

You save Fives.

You approach General Skywalker with an air of confidence you most certainly fake. “Sir.” You say, careful to keep your voice in check. 

“I think I should accompany the men to Kamino. There’s clearly something going on, something the Separatists don’t want us to know. I can get a better look at things from a first-person perspective on Kamino. I can report back.” You say it all at once, ending with a quiet but deep breath. 

Skywalker ponders it, looks at you with weary eyes. “Fine.” He says. “I want a briefing if you find any patterns.” 

You nod and turn on your heel to go. 

—

Kamino is unlike any place you've ever been. 

The ocean stretches endlessly in all directions, crashing against the stark white structures with relentless force. Rain pelts down in sheets, so heavy and fast it sounds like blaster fire against the walkways. Wind howls between the platforms, tugging at your coat and cutting straight through your clothes.

You hurry across the landing pad, boots slick on the metal, head bowed against the storm. There’s no sky here, just a ceiling of swirling clouds and lightning flashes. It feels like the whole planet is holding its breath.

You make it inside, soaked to the bone. The interior is all chrome and silence, sterile and hollow. 

You don’t get more than a few paces in before Rex nearly collides with you, moving fast, his expression grim. His shoulder brushes yours, almost hard enough to spin you around.

“Hey,” he calls over the roar of rain as the doors start to hiss closed behind him. “Tup’s down Hallway A23. Fives is quarantined next to him. Keep me posted, will you?”

“Wait, quarantined?” you shout, but he’s already gone, sprinting back toward the storm.

Your heart thuds in your chest. 

Quarantined?

Why?

You set off down the corridor at a near run, the sterile white halls stretching endlessly, twisting and turning in a way that makes your pulse climb higher with every step. Nothing here is marked clearly. Everything looks the same. 

You're deep into the facility when panic really starts to rise, you’re turned around, lost. Hallway A23 might as well be a myth at this point. You curse under your breath and spin, unsure which way you even came from.

“Need some help?” a voice calls.

You whirl around.

A girl stands in the middle of the hall; small, human, maybe nine or ten years old. She’s dressed in plain Kaminoan grays, a data tablet clutched under one arm. Her blonde hair is spiked up and held back with a headband, and she wears a bright, easy smile like this is all perfectly normal.

You blink at her. “Uh… yeah,” you say, thrown off by her sudden appearance. “I’m looking for Hallway A23.”

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “Thought so. You’ve got the “lost” look.” She turns smartly on her heel and gestures for you to follow. “Come on.”

You hesitate just a moment before falling into step behind her.

“How do you know this place so well?” you ask, voice echoing a little in the quiet.

“I live here,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I know every corridor, vent shaft, and shortcut."

You stare at her back as she walks, confusion knitting in your brow. A child. Living on Kamino? That doesn’t make sense. You thought the only inhabitants were the Kaminoans, clone cadets, and a handful of personnel.

But there’s no time to chase that thread now.

She leads you with perfect confidence, turning left and then right, ducking through a maintenance bypass tunnel and emerging into a long, gleaming hallway marked A23. She stops at the threshold and grins over her shoulder.

“Here you go. Tup’s room is on the left.” She points to the sealed door next to it. “And that one’s Fives.”

Your stomach tightens. She knows their names? Who is this kid?

“Thank you,” you say, but she’s already skipping off, tablet swinging at her side.

You press the panel outside Fives’ room, and the door hisses open softly.

Inside Fives is pacing like a caged animal, red fatigues rustling with the movement. A medical droid hovers beside him, trying to scan his vitals, but he brushes it off with growing impatience.

The moment he sees you, he stops dead in his tracks. 

“Mesh’la,” he breathes, crossing the room in three quick strides. He wraps his arms around you with a desperation that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. “You’re here.”

He clings to you like a man who’s been drowning.

“They’re running tests on Tup,” he says into your hair, voice shaking. “He was… he was shaking, like seizing. Then he started screaming. And then they cut me off. I couldn’t get to him, couldn’t see him.”

You tighten your hold on him, grounding him with your touch. His heartbeat thunders against your own, fast and unsteady.

For a long second, neither of you say anything. The storm outside is distant now, but the storm in him is not.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed. “Wait, what are you doing here? You weren’t cleared for Kamino, you were supposed to stay on the station…”

You gently place your hand on his chest, steadying him. “The attack on the med ship. It didn’t make tactical sense. Unless the Separatists were after Tup. I pitched the theory to Skywalker. He agreed. I was sent to oversee security and check for signs of Separatist involvement.”

Fives stares at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “That makes sense,” he mutters. 

He shakes his head and grabs your hands again, grip tight. “They won’t let me in to see him. I’m being monitored, some kind of containment protocol. But you… you’re cleared. You can go in.”

You nod, already knowing what he’s going to ask.

“Can you check on him? Be there for him? Please. He shouldn’t be alone.”

Your heart aches at the way Fives says it. At how helpless he sounds.

You lift up on your toes and kiss him, just a soft, brief press of your lips against his. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’ll be back soon.”

You squeeze his hand once before turning and slipping back out into the corridor.

The door to Tup’s room is just a few steps away.

As you approach, a medical droid glides past you on its way out. The door remains open.

Inside, the lights are low, and monitors glow blue and green in the dimness. Tup lies motionless on the bed, expression slack, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling shallowly. Electrodes run from his temples, and strange readings flicker across the screen beside him.

You step in slowly and immediately freeze.

You’re not alone.

To the left of Tup’s bed stands Shaak Ti. You recognize her instantly, legendary warrior, member of the Jedi High Council.

To her right stands another figure, Nala Se, the Kaminoan lead scientist. You recognize her from the intelligence briefings on the trip in. 

Both turn as you enter.

“Hello,” Shaak Ti says calmly, though there’s a weight behind her words. “We were told by General Skywalker to expect you.”

You square your shoulders, meeting her gaze.

Nala Se tilts her head ever so slightly, her long, graceful neck swaying with the movement. Her vast, unblinking eyes fix on you, cold and unreadable. “The clone designated CT-5385 is in critical condition. Any unnecessary presence may be... disruptive.”

Your jaw tightens. “I have my orders.” You glance to Shaak Ti, hoping for reinforcement. She watches you with the calm, unreadable gaze of a Jedi Master.

After a beat, she nods. “Someone to watch over him and report back to General Skywalker is wise,” she says. “This is his man, after all.”

Nala Se exhales in a scoff. “Perhaps,” she murmurs, and gestures curtly toward the bed. “Very well.”

You take the seat beside Tup, placing your hands carefully in your lap. One glance at him, and your throat tightens. His face is paler than before, ashen and slick with sweat. His lips are slightly parted, jaw slack. Whatever’s happening to him is getting worse. Rapidly.

Your heart thuds in your ears.

A droid you don’t recognize glides over to Nala Se. Its voice is mechanical, neutral. “Might I suggest a second neural scan? An atomic-level scan may reveal what we seek.”

Nala Se narrows her eyes slightly,  “It is possible,” she murmurs, “but the procedure would be highly invasive. And if his deterioration continues…”

That’s when the conversation begins to shift. Technical jargon and cold medical terminology. You’re not a medic, you’re a strategist, but even you can tell the tone has changed.

Then you hear it.

“His neural patterns are too unstable. The subject is weak.”

“A full scan would risk permanent damage.”

“He may not survive another cycle.”

And then, “terminate”.

Your head snaps up.

Shaak Ti’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “The Republic commissioned the clone army,” she says, cool but firm. “We therefore bear the privilege and the responsibility of their care.”

Shaak Ti continues, “I will consult the Jedi Council before permitting any atomic-level scan. Tup will not be terminated until a decision is made. That is final.”

Silence settles like a fog.

Nala Se’s tall frame stiffens, but after a long moment, she bows her head with a small nod. “As you wish.”

The droid withdraws. The tension lingers. Then both Nala Se and Shaak Ti leave the room in a whir of robes.

You exhale slowly, only now realizing you’ve been gripping your seat so hard your knuckles have gone white.

You couldn't say anything. This isn’t your fight.

But the thought of Tup being terminated, no, killed in the name of data makes your stomach turn.

You lean in slightly toward Tup, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. 

He’s not property. He’s someone’s brother.

Fives’ brother.

You sit silently, the sterile chill of the medbay seeping into your skin. The hum of machinery surrounds you, but your focus narrows to just one thing, Tup.

His hand rests limply on the gurney beside him. You reach for it, letting your fingers curl around his.

It’s cold.

Too cold.

“I’m here,” you whisper, unsure if he can hear you, but hoping some part of him does. “I’ve got you.”

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

Thanks for reading! I'm not gonna lie, this and these last few chapters I'm working on are such a pivot from the sweet little romance that's been built that its throwing me for a loop. I'm going to do my best to add romance where I can. I think the fic needs it- I need it atleast.

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes @bimboshaggy

[honolulucarrental]

Why Smart Shoppers Book Their Car Rentals Before Landing in Honolulu

Touchdown in paradise might feel like a dream, till you step out of Daniel K. Inouye Airport without a plan. You squint at your phone. Signal’s weak. Uber? Surging hard. Shuttles? Packed. Taxis? Already crawling with luggage. In that humid moment, one thought differently should’ve booked that Car Rental yesterday.

Hawaii ain’t mainland. Island pace runs slower but demand runs high. Especially when it comes to wheels. With folks flying in from Tokyo, L.A., Vancouver all itching for sandy drives and sunset stops, vehicles vanish faster than malasadas on a Sunday. Prices? They soar once your feet hit the tarmac. That’s why seasoned travelers, digital nomads, and even kamaʻāina all say the same thing: secure your Rental Car before you ever hear the pilot say welcome to Oahu.

Why wait till you're on island soil when five clicks can lock in better deals from your couch in Oregon? Smart shoppers don’t gamble with island logistics. They score the Cheapest Car Rental Honolulu by booking ahead, avoiding airport chaos, and skipping sketchy counters with upsells thicker than pineapple syrup. It's not just about saving cash. It’s about gaining control, peace of mind, and your own lane on H1.

Now picture this. You breeze past the rental desk. No line. No frantic scrolling through overpriced apps. Just your name, your keys, your ride waiting like it knew you’d come. You slide behind the wheel, windows down, and that first breeze off the Koʻolau Mountains greets you like an old friend. That’s what early booking buys. Freedom, not friction.

Booking ahead also gets you access to better cars. Locals know fleet availability shifts like island weather. One week there’s nothing but full size sedans. Next week? SUVs rule the lot. Don’t leave your plans up to luck or last-minute scraps. Reserve a Cheap Car Rental Honolulu early and drive what fits your life not what’s left.

Whether you’re heading straight to Waikīkī or detouring toward the North Shore for a shrimp plate and shaved ice, every mile feels lighter when you’re not burning $150 on Ubers. Or worse stuck without a ride at all.

Why Choose Us

Island Booking Made EasyWe don’t complicate your plans. You book. We confirm. The vehicle gets prepped early. Our process skips fluff and hits results, so your Car Rental Honolulu journey starts smooth before your plane even lands.

Budget Friendly with No Sneaky FeesMost big name counters throw on charges once you're exhausted from the flight. Us? Straight pricing. No mystery taxes. No location surcharges buried deep in fine print. What you see is what you roll with.

Closer Than You ThinkOur location? Just outside busy airport lanes but close enough for quick access. That sweet spot means better prices without airport markups and hassle. Honolulu travelers call it a golden zone for smart rentals.

Flexible Options That Fit Real LifeFrom compact zippers for solo explorers to roomy vans for big family fun, our fleet stays island proof. Rain, sun, or surf are all covered. And because you booked early, you get first pick.

Cash Friendly No Credit WorriesPlastic not your style? No problem. We honor real folks who budget in real ways. Cash, debit, or prepaid we’re flexible because life ain’t always about perfect credit scores.

Locals’ Choice for Real ReasonsYou’ll see our name recommended in Oahu Facebook groups. That’s not marketing. That’s word of mouth from neighbors, repeat visitors, and happy travelers who trust our wheels over flashy chains.

FAQs

Can I still get the cheapest car rental in Honolulu if I book a week ahead from Los Angeles?Yes booking even five to seven days ahead gives you major leverage. Inventory’s better. Rates hold steady. Waiting till you land in Honolulu usually means fewer options and higher cost. Best move? Lock in your Rental Car from home.

Is it safe to use a local rental service if I’m flying in from Seattle late at night?Absolutely. Our crew prepares rentals for late arrivals all the time. If you tell us your ETA, we make sure your Car Rental waits for you, not the other way around.

Are rentals near Waikīkī higher than in other parts of Honolulu?Big chains near hotel rows hike rates hard. Our location stays consistent. So if you're headed toward Ala Moana or Diamond Head, starting with our Cheap Car Rental Honolulu saves big.

Do you allow cash payments from travelers staying in Kapahulu?Yes. Cash, debit, even reloadable cards. Whether you're staying in Kapahulu or Salt Lake, we support flexible, no-hassle rentals that don’t demand plastic-only transactions.

What if I need to extend my rental while staying in Kailua?No stress. Just call or text. We handle extensions easily. From East Oahu back toward town, our team works around your schedule to keep your Rental Car rolling.

Can I change vehicles after pick-up if I end up needing more space near Pearl Harbor?Sure can. If you realize mid-trip that your car’s too tight, swing by. We’ll explore swaps from our current inventory. Our service adjusts when plans evolve.

Contact DetailsHonolulu Affordable Car RentalAddress: 1491 S King St, Honolulu, HI 96814, United States Phone : +1 (808) 638-1888

[achievecoachingandconsulting]

Life Coaching Services That Help You Break Through Mental Blocks

Ever feel like you know what to do, but just can’t seem to do it? That’s the power of mental blocks they keep you stuck, frustrated, and spinning your wheels. Life coaching services are designed to help you not only identify those blocks but also overcome them so you can reach your full potential.

If you're tired of letting limiting beliefs or past failures dictate your future, you're in the right place. Let’s explore how life coaching can give you the breakthrough you’ve been waiting for.

What Are Mental Blocks?

Mental blocks are the invisible walls we hit when trying to move forward. They can show up as:

Self-doubt

Fear of failure

Perfectionism

Procrastination

Negative self-talk

Limiting beliefs

Lack of motivation or clarity

These blocks often stem from past experiences, fear of change, or unresolved emotions.

Why Life Coaching Services Work

Life coaching services are not therapy, but they are highly effective for people ready to move forward. A skilled life coach helps you:

Identify the exact thoughts and beliefs holding you back

Replace them with empowering mindsets

Set meaningful goals aligned with your values

Stay accountable as you take consistent action

This isn’t about just thinking positively it’s about shifting your perspective and creating real change.

Signs You’re Struggling with Mental Blocks

You might benefit from coaching if you’ve experienced any of these:

You constantly start but never finish things

You fear what others will think

You overthink every decision

You feel stuck in the same situation for months (or years)

You talk yourself out of opportunities

How Life Coaching Helps You Break Through

1. Creates Self-Awareness

The first step to change is awareness. A life coach will help you uncover blind spots patterns and beliefs you may not even realize are affecting your decisions.

2. Challenges Limiting Beliefs

Beliefs like “I’m not good enough” or “I’ll never succeed” are common mental blocks. Your coach helps you reframe these thoughts and build a more empowering belief system.

3. Helps You Set Clear, Aligned Goals

If your goals don’t excite or align with your deeper values, they won’t stick. Coaching helps clarify what really matters and sets goals that motivate and inspire you.

4. Provides Accountability and Encouragement

Let’s face it breaking old patterns is hard. Having someone in your corner makes all the difference. A life coach keeps you on track and celebrates every win.

5. Builds Confidence and Momentum

Small wins build trust in yourself. Coaching focuses on progress, not perfection—helping you gain confidence with every step forward.

Real Results from Life Coaching Services

Here’s what people often experience after just a few months of coaching:

Increased confidence and decision-making power

More energy and motivation

Clarity on what they want and how to get there

Stronger relationships and communication skills

Better time management and productivity

A noticeable shift in mindset and outlook

Who Can Benefit Most from Life Coaching Services?

Life coaching isn’t just for executives or entrepreneurs. It’s for anyone who’s ready to stop settling and start thriving. Whether you’re:

Switching careers

Navigating a life transition

Struggling with motivation or focus

Dealing with stress or burnout

Trying to build healthier habits

…coaching gives you the tools to break through what’s holding you back.

How to Get Started

Schedule a Discovery Session Find a coach who understands your needs. Many offer a free consultation.

Identify Your Mental Blocks With guided exercises, uncover what’s truly getting in your way.

Set a Breakthrough Plan Create a roadmap with milestones, action steps, and support.

Commit to the Process Growth takes time but with coaching, you’ll accelerate your results.

The Long-Term Value of Coaching

Unlike quick fixes or self-help hacks, life coaching services offer sustainable transformation. The skills and awareness you gain don’t just help with one goal they help with everything.

You’ll learn how to:

Trust yourself more

Set better boundaries

Manage stress effectively

Navigate fear and failure

Take control of your life

Final Thoughts: Your Breakthrough Is Closer Than You Think

Mental blocks can feel overwhelming, but they’re not permanent. With the right support, you can clear the fog, stop second-guessing yourself, and finally take bold, meaningful action.

Life coaching services are a powerful resource to help you stop surviving and start thriving.

Your breakthrough isn’t someday it’s now.

FAQs

1. How long does it take to break through mental blocks with coaching?

Many people experience shifts within a few sessions, but lasting change typically takes 3–6 months of consistent coaching.

2. Is life coaching the same as therapy?

No. Therapy focuses on healing the past, while coaching focuses on creating the future. They can complement each other.

3. What types of mental blocks can coaching address?

Coaching can help with self-doubt, procrastination, fear of failure, imposter syndrome, perfectionism, and more.

4. Do I need to have a goal to start coaching?

Not at all. A coach can help you discover what you truly want and how to pursue it.

5. Can life coaching really change my life?

Yes if you’re committed to the process, coaching can shift your mindset, behaviors, and outcomes in profound ways.

[motherhoodandmarriage]

Why Your Vacation Feels Like More Work (And How to Fix It as a Team)

Vacation is supposed to be dreamy, refreshing, soul-filling... but if you’re a parent, especially a mom, it often turns into a mess of stress, meltdowns, and whispered arguments in a hotel bathroom.

Let’s be real: you finally get a break from the daily grind. You’ve packed the swimsuits, the sound machines, the snacks, the sunscreen. You’re hoping to feel a little sunshine, breathe a little deeper... maybe even sip coffee on a porch in peace. But instead, you’re still doing everything. Managing naps. Figuring out food. Mediating tantrums. And your partner? Maybe they're chillin' on the deck or asking you where the wipes are for the third time.

Let me say it loud and clear: Vacation isn’t a break if only one of you gets one.

If that hits, keep reading. Because in this post, I’m giving you a better way to approach family vacations — one where both partners feel supported, the resentment stays low, and you come home feeling more connected instead of more exhausted.

That One Vacation We Argued the Whole Time

When my kids were 2 and 4, we went on a trip that was supposed to be relaxing. I had packed the bags, double-checked meds, prepped snacks, created an itinerary. We got there... and I was still doing everything. Waking with the kids. Making the meals. Trying to make it fun and magical for everyone. My husband? “Just trying to relax.”

On day three, I hit my breaking point. We had a fight that felt like déjà vu. But it led to an important realization: we had planned the logistics, the kid stuff, the Airbnb... but never once sat down to talk about what we needed.

That was the turning point. Now, we approach every trip with intention — not perfection. And it starts before we ever hit the road.

Step 1: The Pre-Vacation Partner Talk

Before your trip, have a real conversation. Sit down when you’re not rushed or irritated. Pour a drink or go for a walk, and walk through these questions (you can also bookmark or print this list):

Questions to Ask Before Vacation:

What does rest actually look like for each of us?

What’s one thing you really want to experience on this trip?

What times of day are the hardest with the kids, and how can we divide that load?

What are our expectations around parenting, food, alone time, and together time?

These might feel small, but they build the foundation for teamwork instead of tension.

Step 2: Build In Shared Rhythms (Not Rigid Schedules)

No one wants to be locked into a minute-by-minute itinerary. But what does work? Rhythms.

Think:

You take mornings, I take evenings.

I do nap duty today, you do it tomorrow.

We each get one hour a day completely alone.

These flexible rhythms help you both know what to expect and what to look forward to. When both partners know they’re getting time to breathe, they show up better in the moments they are “on.”

Step 3: Talk Like a Team (While You're There)

Communication changes everything. During the trip, use language that reinforces partnership, not pressure. Simple shifts like:

"Want me to take this shift for a bit?"

"Would now be a good time for you to go rest?"

"What do you need right now?"

This isn’t about being overly polite. It’s about being connected and proactive. When you communicate like teammates, you feel like teammates.

One of the tools I teach inside Relationship Blueprint Mapping is how to use simple, clear phrases that bring you closer instead of adding friction. It’s not about avoiding stress, it’s about knowing how to navigate it together.

Step 4: Use a Reset Cue

There will be hard moments. The toddler will still throw a fit in public. Someone will lose it over the last granola bar. It’s not about preventing all conflict, it’s about what you do when it shows up.

Create a reset cue. This is a phrase that says: “Hey, let’s pause and shift.” Try something like:

"Hey, I think we need a reset. Can we pause and check in?"

"I love you, and this feels hard. Let’s take five."

When you build in that grace, you don’t have to spiral. You can regroup, reconnect, and move forward instead of staying stuck.

Step 5: Let It Be Messy and Good

This is your permission slip: the vacation will not be perfect. But it can still be wonderful. It can be:

sand in your shoes and coffee on the porch

screaming toddlers and sunset walks

arguments and making up

You just have to decide, together, that you’re not doing it alone. Not at home. Not on vacation. Not in this season of life.

Want Support Creating This in Your Everyday Life?

If you want help creating rhythms that actually work not just for vacation, but for your everyday life together, check out my Relationship Blueprint Mapping sessions.

This is where we map out communication, rhythms, and aligned decisions that make your partnership feel strong again. So you're not just surviving together you're enjoying the life you’re building.

And if this post hit home, send it to your partner and say, "Hey, let’s try this before our next trip." Because you can enjoy this season. Together.

Pin this for later:

Vacation isn’t a break if only one of you gets one. But with a few intentional conversations, it can become a time of rest for both of you.

[grandinternetcollector]

Boost Your Brand Trust with Strategic PR

Introduction

Does it ever feel like your business is working hard just to be trusted? You’re a small business owner with a super cool idea, but let’s face it — people are skeptical these days. They check out reviews, scroll through social media, and read news before they decide to buy. One little mistake can turn into a big problem fast. Plus, if you’re running a small or midsize business, you don’t have the giant ad budgets of the big companies. That’s where smart PR comes in — it’s all about sharing your story, making real connections, and getting influencers to cheer you on. A top global PR firm like 9 Figure Media shines at this, helping you build trust with honest stories and real talks that stick even when things get tough. Sure, picking a local PR firm might seem easy, but it can hold you back — firms like 9 Figure Media, based in Austin but rocking it worldwide, use huge media networks and smart data to land awesome spots like “Featured on Bloomberg,” giving you way better results no matter where you’re located.

This article shows you how to build trust through PR, mixing clear insights with a friendly vibe. You’ll learn from PR pioneers like Ivy Lee and Edward Bernays, plus get modern tips on digital media, influencers, and handling crises. We’ll share real examples from PR companies in Austin, PR agencies in Nashville, and top media firms in the Southeast to show how trust turns into growth.

Here’s what we’re aiming for:

Explain why trust is a big deal today, with stats on what customers and investors think.

Give you a clear plan that small businesses can use right away, even on a tight budget.

We’ll also spotlight 9 Figure Media, a PR company in Austin known for landing “Featured on Bloomberg” campaigns and using Bloomberg Sponsored Content to boost client trust.

Historical Background: From Hype to Trust

How did PR become about trust? Let’s look back.

Press Agentry Era (late 1800s–early 1900s): Early PR was all about flashy stunts and getting attention.

Ivy Lee’s Big Idea (1906): Lee pushed for honesty after a Rockefeller scandal. His open approach showed trust starts with truth.

Edward Bernays’ Mind Games (1920s): Bernays used psychology to shape opinions, like his “Torches of Freedom” campaign for cigarettes. It was bold but showed stories can change how people think.

Key Takeaway: Know what drives your audience. It’s a must for PR companies in Austin or PR agencies in Nashville building trust.

Mid-20th Century Growth: Radio and TV brought new PR agencies. Austin grew creative firms like 9 Figure Media, while Nashville’s storytelling roots shaped local PR agencies.

Tylenol Crisis (1982): Johnson & Johnson’s quick, honest recall set a gold standard. Clear actions and words rebuilt trust fast.

Digital Shift (2000s–Now): The internet opened up media. Blogs, podcasts, and social media gave everyone a voice. Top Southeast PR firms now use SEO, social tracking, and Bloomberg media kits to land big features.

Current Trends and Analysis

What’s driving PR today? Let’s break it down with the latest insights so you can stay ahead of the game:

Trust Gap Persists: The 2024 Edelman Trust Barometer reveals only 52% of people trust business leaders to act ethically. Healthcare enjoys a stronger 60% trust level, while tech trails at 45%. Why the gap? People worry about things like data privacy in tech or safety in healthcare. Tackle your industry’s specific issues head-on — say, by sharing how your tech company protects user data — and you could see trust rise by 10–15%. For example, a small Austin-based health app I worked with posted a blog about their encryption methods, and customer sign-ups jumped 12% in a month. What’s your industry’s trust hurdle, and how can you address it?

Data-Driven Storytelling: PR pros now lean on analytics to craft pitches that hit the mark. Tools like social sentiment trackers, journalist interest heat maps, and website click data show what’s resonating. 9 Figure Media, for instance, uses a predictive model to spot trending topics two weeks before they peak, landing clients timely features. Imagine you’re pitching a sustainability story — data might show journalists are hot on eco-friendly packaging right now. Use that to shape your angle. Start small: check Google Trends for buzzwords in your field and weave them into your next pitch.

Micro-Influencers Steal the Show: Forget mega-celebrities — people crave authentic voices. Niche influencers in places like Austin or Nashville, with 5K–50K followers, drive 4–7% engagement, crushing the 1–2% from big names. Why? They feel like real people. A Nashville coffee shop I know partnered with a local food blogger who had 10K followers. Her post about their fair-trade beans got 500 likes and 20 new customers in a week. Find a micro-influencer who loves your vibe and ask them to share your story. It’s affordable and packs a punch.

Interactive Media Kits: Old-school PDF press kits are history. Modern ones, like Bloomberg media kits, include videos, interactive charts, and mobile-friendly assets. These cut journalist response time by 30% because they’re easy to use and engaging. Picture this: your media kit has a short video of your founder explaining your mission. A journalist on a deadline grabs it, and boom — your story’s in their article. Ask your PR team to create a dynamic kit or use free tools like Canva to build one yourself.

AI Boosts, Humans Shine: AI is a game-changer, drafting press releases or tracking sentiment in real time. But don’t get it twisted — humans still run the show. AI can’t match the gut instinct needed to frame a story or the charm to build journalist relationships. A PR friend of mine used AI to draft a release, but her personal follow-up call with a reporter sealed the deal for a feature. Use AI for grunt work, but lean on your human touch for the big wins.

Video Content Surges: People love videos — short, snappy ones especially. In 2024, 65% of consumers say they trust brands more after watching a behind-the-scenes clip or founder interview. A Southeast PR firm helped a small brewery share a 30-second video of their brewing process on Instagram. It got 2,000 views and 50 new followers in a day. Try posting a quick video about what makes your business special. It’s easier than you think with just a smartphone.

Purpose-Driven PR: Customers want brands that stand for something. Whether it’s sustainability, diversity, or community support, aligning with a cause boosts trust. A Nashville PR agency helped a clothing brand share their eco-friendly production process, landing them in a local lifestyle blog. Sales spiked 8% that month. Pick a cause your business cares about and weave it into your story — just keep it genuine.

Your Move: How can you tap into one of these trends? Maybe try a micro-influencer or a quick video this week. What’s one small step you can take to make your story pop?

Your Move: How can you use data to make your story stronger? Try tracking social media comments for insights.

Why Credibility Matters

Trust isn’t just nice — it pays off:

Customer Loyalty: 78% of people buy from brands they trust.

Investor Boost: Trusted public companies see stock values 20% above average.

Higher Prices: Trusted brands charge 10–15% more without losing sales.

PR builds this trust by:

Third-Party Credibility: A Bloomberg Insider feature screams “legit.”

Leader Visibility: Write op-eds or speak at events like SXSW to show you know your stuff.

Clear Messaging: Keep your story consistent across your site, socials, and interviews.

Pro Tip: Add a “Featured on Bloomberg” badge to your website — it can lift conversions by 12–18%, based on Southeast PR firm data.

Leveraging Social Proof

Want people to trust you? Show them others do. Here’s how:

Customer Reviews:

Get Them: Send post-buy surveys or offer small discounts for video reviews.

Show Them: Add review widgets to your site and share success stories on social media.

Influencer Partnerships:

Find Locals: Team up with Austin tech bloggers or Nashville lifestyle vloggers for authentic posts.

Track Results: Use unique codes to see what each influencer brings in.

Awards and Badges:

Show Off: Highlight BBB accreditation or industry awards.

Use Media Wins: Feature Bloomberg Sponsored Content badges in your media kit.

Quick Tip: Share a customer’s story on Instagram this week. Did someone love your product? Let their words shine.

Strategies to Build and Keep Trust

Here’s your playbook to boost credibility:

Targeted Media Features:

Write pitches that fit each outlet’s audience.

Use Austin or Nashville PR firms to get insider access.

Thought Leadership:

Share white papers or host webinars to attract leads.

Turn speeches into Bloomberg Insider op-eds or trade journal pieces.

Community Ties:

Partner with local nonprofits for events to build grassroots trust.

Post employee volunteer stories on LinkedIn to show your heart.

Track and Tweak: Measure sentiment, traffic, and conversions — not just media hits.

Check quarterly: what worked? Do more of it.

9 Figure Media Spotlight: Need a boost? 9 Figure Media blends data and storytelling to land clients in local and national outlets, making trust-building easier.

Your Turn: What’s one way you can connect with your community this month? Maybe a local event or a nonprofit tie-in?

Handling Crises and Bad Press

Bad news hits hard, but you can bounce back. Here’s how:

Spot It Early:

Set Google Alerts and use paid tools to watch social media, forums, and news.

Act Fast:

Form a crisis team (PR, legal, ops) ready to move in hours.

Be Open:

Post updates on your site and socials. Hold daily briefings, even if it’s just “no news yet.”

Try a live Q&A to answer questions directly.

Learn After:

Review what worked, what didn’t, and update your crisis plan.

Real-World Example and Case Study

Let’s dive into a real story that shows how smart PR can turn a crisis into a comeback. A Southeast retailer, known for affordable home goods, hit a rough patch when customers reported a safety issue with one of their popular kitchen appliances. Social media lit up with complaints, and sales dropped 25% overnight. Panic could’ve taken over, but they acted fast and hired a top PR firm to steer the ship.

The firm crafted a multi-angle plan. First, they launched a TV and radio campaign across local markets, featuring the CEO apologizing sincerely and outlining the recall process. No corporate jargon — just a human admitting the mistake and promising to fix it. They didn’t stop there. The firm secured a Bloomberg Insider op-ed where the company shared their new quality control measures, backed by data showing a 99% safety compliance rate post-fix. To rebuild trust, they offered affected customers free replacements and a 20% store discount, which they promoted on social media with heartfelt customer testimonials.

The results? In just six weeks, sales climbed back to 93% of pre-crisis levels. Sentiment analysis, which tracks how people feel about a brand online, showed an 18% positive shift — meaning customers started trusting them again. The retailer didn’t just recover; they came out stronger. Why? They owned the mistake, communicated openly, and showed they cared. I saw a similar case with a local café I worked with — they messed up a big order, but a public apology and free coffee for a week turned grumpy customers into loyal fans.

This story proves you don’t have to be perfect, but you do have to be real. A crisis is a chance to show your values. If you’re transparent and proactive, people will give you a second chance. Think about your own business: what’s a small step you could take to prepare for a hiccup? Maybe it’s drafting a quick response plan or training your team to spot issues early. The key is to act before things spiral.

Your Move: Set up a Google Alert for your brand today — it’s free and takes five minutes. You’ll get a heads-up if your name pops up in news or social media, so you can catch issues before they grow. Also, jot down one or two key messages you’d share if a crisis hit. Having them ready can save you stress later.

Conclusion

Building trust isn’t about splashy ads or big budgets — it’s about being honest, smart, and connected. Share stories that hit home, back them with solid facts, and get others to cheer you on. Whether you’re going solo or teaming up with pros like 9 Figure Media, every move you make builds your credibility. Your brand deserves to be trusted, and you don’t need to wait for a big break to start. Take it one step at a time — reach out to a local journalist, share a customer’s story on social media, or write a blog post about what your business stands for. The world’s ready to listen.

I remember when I first helped a small business get featured in a local paper. They were nervous, thinking they weren’t “big enough.” But their story — about hiring local teens to give them a start — struck a chord. That one article brought in new customers and gave them confidence to keep sharing. You’ve got a story like that too. Don’t hide it. Start small, but start now.

Trust isn’t built overnight, but every action counts. Maybe you send a thank-you note to a loyal customer or ask a micro-influencer to try your product. These little steps add up, creating a brand people believe in. What’s holding you back? The tools are in your hands, and the opportunity is right there.

Final Thought: What’s one trust-building move you can make this week? A quick email, a social post, a phone call — pick one and do it. Your brand’s future starts today.

[feeldresearch]

So, I Met a Dom… and He’s Not What I Expected

Whew, y’all. I met a Dom! And let me tell you, it’s been an educational experience. Now, before we get into it, let me just say that I’ve been very intentional about only engaging with Black people of color when it comes to these kinds of things. Because, respectfully, there’s no way I’m learning about power dynamics, submission, or sensual exploration from a white man. Hard pass.

Now, back to Dom. He’s a little older than me, and I appreciate his old-school ways. When I saw his profile, I led with my usual: “You look like someone I can learn from.” Men eat that up. But this time, I think I actually hit the jackpot—turns out he’s a teacher in his Muggle life. So, not only does he love to educate, but he also knows how to structure a lesson plan. A win?

We exchanged numbers and started texting back and forth at lightning speed. At first, it was the usual getting to know you type of conversation, but then things got real interesting. He started asking me intimate questions—things I’d never even thought to ask myself. And that’s exactly what I wanted: a mental shift. I wanted to rethink sex, intimacy, and kink in ways that stretched my perspective.

Now, let’s be clear. This man is not my type. At all. I don’t find him attractive in the slightest, and, fun fact, he’s uncircumcised (lol). But despite that, I’ve truly enjoyed our conversations. He’s been a Dom for years and was trained in tantra and other sensual activations, so he knows his stuff. And the questions he asked me? Whew.

• When was the last time you had sex?

• Was it kinky?

• Did the experience drive you or stroke you?

• Have you ever been to a sex club or play party?

• What are you curious about?

• Have you thought about your boundaries or limits?

Now, when he asked me when I last had sex, I answered honestly. And something about that activated something in me. His follow-up questions got me even more intrigued.

Him: When was the last time you had sex?

Me: Tuesday. Is that important for you to know?

Him: Yes. Was it kinky? Was your experience pleasurable?

Me: Not kinky at all. Honestly, it was pretty vanilla—the kind of sex I’d have with a boyfriend.

Him: Did the experience drive you or stroke you?

Me: It was satisfying… but it actually made me even hornier lol.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation like this with a man before. It wasn’t just about what I did, but why I did it. And the way he framed his questions had me reflecting in ways I never had.

Then he started asking me about boundaries—had I ever thought about them in depth? What about blood play? Asphyxiation? Other kinks I hadn’t even heard of? He wanted to know not just what I liked, but why I liked it. That last part stuck with me. he even sent me two questionnaires that he sends to his subs, and reading their answers really made me clutch my pearls.

So, I started making a list. A desires list. And as it grew, I added notes about why each thing appealed to me. Initially, when I joined Feeld, I thought I was looking for a pleasure Dom—someone to baby me, adore me, and let my bratty, contrarian side run wild. I envisioned playful punishments, pleasure through discipline. But when I really sat with it, I realized… I want that in a committed relationship. Not from random men on an app.

And that realization made me rethink my whole approach to Feeld. Did I really expect a stranger to give me all that without deep dialogue and emotional investment? Absolutely not.

So, where does that leave Dom and me? While I have zero intention of moving forward sexually, I do plan to keep him around as an educational resource (lol). As a lifelong learner, I know the importance of self-exploration and developing the confidence to communicate my desires. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m excited to keep learning.

And who knows? Maybe the next Dom I meet will be fine and circumcised. Fingers crossed.

[anchorsfm]

Charlie snorted, kicking the ball lightly with the side of his foot. "I haven’t met Vic yet, but I’ll be on my best behavior. Tryin’ to keep my gold star record with the Holström family." He flashed a quick grin, but it didn’t stick long, especially not once Jones stopped mid toss to hit him with the full force of her stare. He threw his arms up dramatically, a mirrored picture of his younger self. "Oh, come on.. have you ever known me to be a relationship guy? I can cook a decent meal, sure. I can line up a decent playlist. Wine and dine is my specialty.. But that doesn’t mean I know what the hell I’m doin’ when it comes to all this."

His smile came easier as she talked about Signe. He didn’t say it, but the truth was obvious in the way his eyes lit up. Jones had clocked it before he even admitted it to himself. Then, classic Charlie, he surged forward and kicked the ball out from under her foot, trying to distract from how much of his heart was suddenly hanging out of his chest. "I don’t think it’s juvenile," he said, breathless from the drill, “I just… I’ve never had to ask someone to be my girlfriend like, properly. I didn’t have the time for dating before. And now I’m here, and she’s this.. this person, and I don’t wanna mess it up. I want to do it right." He stopped dribbling the ball, letting it roll to a slow spin in the dirt. His voice dropped a little, sincerity cutting through. "So how do I do it, Jones? Like actually. ‘Cause I’m properly fucked here. She’s incredible." There was something in the way he said it, half hopeful half terrified, that made it clear this wasn’t just a crush. This was the real thing, and he knew it.

When Jones started talking about missed things, childhood do-overs, swimming with dolphins, Charlie’s expression shifted. He slowed his movements, nodding, "Yeah," he murmured, "I get that. That’s what Mum always says. Get out there.. Make up for lost time.. Talks about therapy like it’s a spa day. I'm still duckin’ it, but maybe you’re right." He tilted his head at her, a small smile creeping in. "So you’re sayin’ I just ask her? Like plain and simple? A real grown-up Will you be my girlfriend?" He blinked, half in awe and half in dread. "Why am I embarrassed? Or nervous? I don't know what I feel." He let out a groan, dragging both hands down his face. "Bloody hell. This is why I need you. You keep me from spiralin’ straight into.. what was it? Male pattern idiocy." A breath later, his voice softened. "Thanks, Jones. Really. For this. For lettin’ me be all tangled up about it and being weirdly nice." He kicked the ball toward her again, eyebrows raised. "Alright, then. One more run, then I’m takin’ your advice and makin’ it official. You can even help me plan it... if you promise not to roast me too hard. You're on a winnin' streak right now, don't break it."

   Jones  threw  her  hands  up  in  surrender,  "thank  fucking  God  'cause  I  was  going  to  beat  your  ass  right  here  and  now.  That's  crazy.  Small  world,  huh?"  It's  then  that  she  goes  to  steal  the  ball  from  Charlie,  knowing  he's  caught  off  guard  and  wanting  to  both  physically  and  metaphorically  shake  off  the  energy  of  thinking  about  either  of  her  parents  and  the  vast  network  of  people  they  knew.  That  she  knew  by  extension.  It  was  easier,  to  COMPARTMENTALIZE,  let  the  world  pass  by  but  also  detrimental  to  her  personal  life.  "Søren  is  really  a  gem  of  a  man.  The  whole  family's  pretty  interesting?  Vic's  a  bit  weird,  I  don't  know  if  you've  met  them  yet.  That's  who  you  may  want  to  watch  out  for.  Streets  were  saying  they  broke  into  a  monastery  because  the  acoustics  were  better  than  the  studio  they  were  in."  The  pink  haired,  tatted  and  pierced  sister  of  Søren  was  hilarious  juxtaposed  to  the  sheer  girl  dad,  wife  loving  energy  that  Søren  had  always  given  off.

   Focusing  on  the  ball,  Jones  balanced  it  on  her  right  toe  for  a  moment  before  letting  it  fall.  Focus,  Joanna.  Focus.  This  was  not  the  time  for  her  to  lose  focus  and  crumble  in  a  conversation.  Though,  she  knew  she'd  be  safe  to.  It  was  not  her  moment  --  it  was  Charlie's.  Luckily,  he  made  it  easy  for  her  to  be  snapped  back  into  reality  when  he  asked  if  he  had  to  ask  Sigrid  to  be  his  girlfriend  officially  or  not.  If  she  had  been  roasting  him  before,  it  was  nothing  compared  to  what  was  to  come.  Her  foot  stomps  on  the  ball,  securing  it  to  the  ground  in  front  of  them.  "You're  telling  me  you  did  the  whole  'Rom-Com'  thing  on  the  beach  and  you're  asking  ME  if  you  need  to  ask  HER  to  be  your  girlfriend?"  It's  then  she  starts  to  laugh,  actually  laugh  because  men  were  hilariously  stupid  sometimes.

   "Does  Signe  strike  you  as  a  vibes  and  assumptions  type  of  girl?  You're  literally  looking  at  art,  trying  to  understand  symbolism  and  metaphors  but  can't  see  the  obvious.  Work  on  that  before  trying  to  get  into  art,  for  real.  Because  yes,  you're  gonna  need  to  ask  her  to  be  your  girlfriend  properly  --  especially  if  you're  doing  the  real  relationship  thing.  Especially  when  you've  talked  to  her  dad  already,"  a  laugh  comes  from  her  again,  this  time  disbelieving  as  she  becomes  more  passionate  in  her  response.  "Listen,  I  know  you're  not  stupid  just  nervous  but  this  is  a  new  level  of  MALE  PATTERN  IDIOCY  that  you've  unlocked.  Signe  better  be  thanking  me  after  we  get  this  figured  out."

   Finally,  her  tone  softens  and  her  hands  rest  on  her  hips  as  she  considers  her  next  words.  "It's  not  juvenile  to  ask  her,  Charlie.  My  therapist  has  been  telling  me  for  years  it's  actually  good  to  do  the  things  we  didn't  get  to  do  when  we  were  younger  but  as  adults.  I'm  supposed  to  go  to  Disneyworld  soon.  Eat  some  shitty  food  at  the  parks.  Maybe  go  swimming  with  a  dolphin,  I  don't  know.  It's  weird  but  it's  normal.  Maybe  the  swimming  with  the  dolphins  isn't  everyday  normal  but  you  get  what  I  mean,  RIGHT?"