#and now its spreading towards the new university they just built in the area

[sab-teraa]

My entire hometown catching on fire was not on my 2023 bingo card??? Like shit ... this is the first time we've ever experienced something like this

[amjustagirl]

CHAPTER 2 - FALLEN

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart. 

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (7k words), cameo from MSBY 4

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene.

Masterlist link here!

Tag list link here!

You catch sight of Oikawa Tooru as you bustle through the hospital’s sliding doors, your usual cup of coffee in your hand that you buy on the way to work. He’s seated in the waiting area next to a middle aged man you guess must be his manager, from the way he jumps to his feet immediately to act as a human shield as you call out breathlessly - 

“T - Oikawa? What are you doing here?” 

Tooru’s head swivels around to meet your gaze, and you’re shocked by the lifelessness in his eyes until you glance at the bandages wrapped around his swollen knee. 

Oh. 

You try not to stare, but you do so anyway. The sight of your ex-boyfriend makes you feel as if you’re seeing a ghost, a specter from some past life. You last saw him when he was twenty one, young and proud, wax wings fully spread, a speck in the skies. What a difference five years makes. His shoulders are still broad, and the tilt of his jaw is still proud, but the light in his eyes has faded to darkness, and the pallor of his skin suggests far too much time spent away from the sun. 

Icarus, Icarus. Your hubris has led you to such heights, but look how far you’ve fallen. 

It’s surprising there’s no news of his injury, considering he’s one third of Japan’s trifecta of setters in the volleyball scene’s monster generation. With the Olympics rapidly approaching with just over a year to go, an injury must be devastating, especially to Oikawa Tooru, with dreams of Olympic greatness and victory on his native shores. 

A nurse materialises to usher Oikawa away for surgery before he can respond to the pity in your gaze. You look around. He’s alone, save for his manager. No one deserves to be wake up alone after surgery, so you call after him - 

“I’ll check in on you after you’re done! Gambatte!”

He responds with a thumbs up and a weak smile. 

You flip through his medical files once you get the chance. 

Oikawa Tooru, twenty six. Pro-volleyball player for EJP Raijin previously, currently playing in the Argentinian league. Narrowly missed out on making the cut for the previous Olympics, but went on to represent Japan in the last three World Cups, alternating with Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio. Obviously hoping for another shot at the Olympics, but that’s looking bleak from what you’re gleaning from his medical records. 

His right knee has always bothered him, even during his high school days. Now, a decade later, it looks like he’s managed to tear his tendon to shreds. 

Volleyball is a cruel, demanding mistress, especially for one not born a genius. 

The surgery to repair a torn knee ligament is delicate work, requiring an experienced surgeon, and the road to recovery requires extensive physiotherapy. It’s no wonder he’s resorted to the modern Tokyo hospital you work in rather than returning to his native Sendai to recuperate. The downside of doing so though, is that he’d have to recover alone. 

You wrinkle your nose. He may be your ex-boyfriend, but he doesn’t deserve that. 

The sun is setting when you finally find the time to slip into his room. 

As expected, he’s still asleep. The anesthetic will take some time to wear off. From the looks of the surgeon’s notes, the surgery was a success - though you know from the nature and extent of the injury that his road to recovery will be long and winding.   

So you seat yourself in the visitor’s chair with a hot cup of tea and an onigiri to stave off your hunger at not finding time for a break any earlier. You had an awful day at work today, two of your patients puked on you, another tried to fight you when you drew his blood, and the senior registrar in the ward assigned you a mountain of paperwork that you only just managed to complete, so you give in to sleep yourself as exhaustion settles into your bones.

“Princess?”  

You snap awake at the familiar nickname, ignoring the flush working its way up the back of your neck as you leap to his bedside to check his vitals, only relaxing when you’re satisfied everything’s fine. 

“You’re just waking up after a surgery, Oikawa”. When his forehead crinkles in confusion at the sound of his surname, you correct yourself. “I mean - Tooru”. The corners of his cracked lips tilt up in satisfaction. 

“Will you stay with me?” Tooru murmurs, eyelids beginning to droop again. 

You smile fondly despite yourself. “Do you want me to?” you ask. 

He manages to pout even as he’s falling back asleep. “I asked, didn’t I?” 

You smooth his hair from his forehead, slotting your hand into his. “Fine, fine. Go to bed, sleeping beauty”. 

He huffs an amused breath from his nose before he closes his eyes, contented. Trust Tooru to be shameless enough to cling on to his ex-girlfriend without a shred of awkwardness. You end up staying in his room for hours, watching him sleep.

The heart that you’ve locked away behind bars of bone and steel twitches, just once. 

You frown when the nurse catches your sleeve. “A patient’s looking for you” she says, just as you’re about to go off on a short break. 

“Who?” you reply, wondering whether it’s Sato-san who vomited this morning, or Imai-san whose blood pressure niggles at your mind. You do not expect the nurse to flush pink as she replies - “Oikawa-san”, describing the sweet young man with lovely brown eyes and such a charming voice. 

You slip back into his room when your shift ends. You expect to see a shadow of a man with broken wings, and you do catch a fleeting glimpse of Tooru staring wistfully out of the window, face tilted towards the sun before he turns to you with a wide smile and a pleased - “you came!”  

This is the Oikawa Tooru you are accustomed to dealing with. “Stop flirting with the nurses”, you tell him briskly, bustling over to look at his files. “They have jobs to do, don’t use them to carry messages to me.”

“But I’m boredddd.”

“I’m sure you have volleyball videos to watch.”

“I watched them all day today. ‘Sides, I watched all the matches on today already, twice – and I have plenty of time to watch them a third time. I have plenty of time to catch up with you, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Five years since you broke up to be exact, but you sidestep that fact neatly, pouring over his medical file instead. His doctors’ notes indicate his recovery is promising. He brightens up when you tell him so, playfully complaining that hospital food is shit in a thinly veiled attempt to steal your food, a habit he’s clearly not outgrown. But you’re not all that hungry anyway, so you split your pork bun in half and hand it to him, dropping into the visitor’s chair. 

“So how’re you feeling?” 

“Like shit. My knee hurts so muchhhh.” 

You shrug, careless. “That’s pretty expected, to be honest.”

“Hmph. I thought they’d have taught you some bedside manners in medical school”, he snipes, though the effect is rather lost when his cheeks are comically round and full of food. 

You laugh, the stress from your day lifting from your shoulders.  

“I seem to forget them when it’s you.”

“So mean”, he pouts, hiding the familiar gleam in his eye that appears whenever he’s trying to analyse his opponents, take them apart. “As punishment, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days?” 

You decide to treat him like any old friend, giving him the condensed run down of your professional life,  how you’ve graduated from medical school (with top marks I bet, he interjects), how you chose to stay in Tokyo instead of returning to Sendai (your parents must miss you he says, and you brush him off with an airy they have other children, they’ll survive), how you chose to work in this hospital because you’re considering a specialisation in Orthopedic surgery (because of your grandma, I bet, he says, and you choose not to correct that, using your silence as a lie).  

He in turn tells you about the highlights of his career, how he’s spent a year at EJP Raijin before he was headhunted to the Argentinian league, how he spent four years overseas save for summers back in Japan to train with the national team, how he’s hopeful, even now, of recovering and fighting for his spot on the Olympic roster next year. 

You already knew all of that from news alerts on your phone you never forced yourself to delete, diverting him instead with a question about life in Argentina, nodding as he reminisces about his apartment in San Juan where he gets to watch the sun set over the Andes mountains, the kitchen that he stuffed full of Japanese groceries like daishi and mirin and sake and miso in his first year there just so he has a tangible reminder of home. 

You stop yourself from wondering whether he thinks about the little home he shared with you with such fondness. That time has passed. 

His voice wavers as he spins you stories about his teammates - Matteo, whose family owns a vineyard and taught him to appreciate wine like a proper Argentinian, Miguel, who makes the best empanadas and gets roaring drunk every time they win a match, Gabriel, who takes him to his family’s home in the mountains every other weekend because his grandmother is convinced that a single young man without family in the city will starve if he’s left to his own devices. 

It seems his wings were durable enough for him to soar across the oceans, his grit and determination the foundation of the new life he’s built, whole continents away. 

“It’s funny how the world works”, you remark off hand. “I never expected to see you again.”

His eyes gleam again. “The universe seems to work in funny ways.” 

You start spending breaks in his room, scarfing down your lunch and dinner while he talks your ear off about the horrible sitcoms or ridiculous game shows he’s watched today. You catch him watching a video of Kageyama’s serves and you’re amused when he practically hisses when you comment idly that his kouhai has certainly improved since his high school days. 

You ignore his spluttered protests that service records aren’t everything and besides, his own spike serves have definitely won Japan a game or two last year until, with the air of a boy king, he commands you to sit next to him on the hospital bed so he can pull up a compilation of his serves and his best moments. 

Years might have passed, but you’re still hopeless at refusing him. Besides, isn’t it better that you distract him from the sorry state of his knee? So you do as he says, ignoring the faint flutter of your traitorous heart as he leans into your side. 

“See? I told you my spike serves are amazing?”

“Yes, yes. I already knew that. I watched so many of your practices in university, remember?”

He looks at you strangely. “Did you?” he asks, leaning his head on his hand, eyes boring into yours. 

You think of evenings spent sitting on the bleachers, homework in your lap as you watch as the boy you love builds the strength in his wax wings in preparation for his eventual flight. “Yes”, you admit, sheets rustling as you shift away from him, avoiding his perplexed frown. “You were probably too focused on practice to notice.”

You already know you shouldn’t spend so much time in his room, but you’ve spent most of your life doing what you should instead of what you want to so just this once, you ignore rational thought in favour of sentiment.

After all, he’ll be discharged from hospital in a week, then you’ll never see him again. 

Tooru promptly proves you wrong the day before he’s scheduled to be discharged. 

“I need someone to help me move into my apartment.”

“Hire a mover”, you tell him. You don’t even look up from your notes. 

“Already did”, he chirps, undaunted by your apparent disinterest. “But it’d be nice to have a friend who I know will be nice enough to help poor old crippled me put my stuff away.” Then he grins cheekily, “plus I checked with that pretty nurse – Yuna-san was it? Anyway, she told me you’re off tomorrow, so you might as well spend the day with me.”

There goes your excuse to wriggle out of having to spend your rare day off with your ex. 

“I have a mountain of sleep debt to pay off”, you protest, but faced with wide brown eyes and an embarrassing wobble of his lip, you comply. Still, you manage to get the promise of a free dinner out of him, so you suppose it’ll do.

Tooru doesn’t have much to unpack, a couple of cardboard boxes of clothes and books, probably because most of his belongings are still in Argentina. He laughs and raises his hands in an attempt to placate you when you lift an eyebrow, first at the lack of kitchen equipment in his furnished apartment, second at the weights and volleyball he tries to smuggle in behind your back. 

“You’re not supposed to exercise for at least a month or two”, you cluck your tongue, sighing with disapproval at the furtive look he casts at the volleyball sitting at the corner of his living room.

“I can set while sitting on a stool! Don’t scold me, my heart can’t bear it”. He throws a hand across his face, brow creased dramatically. 

Icarus, Icarus. You’ve already fallen once. Will you seek out the sun again? 

A string of familiarity loops into a knot over your heart. If you close your eyes and count to ten, you can imagine that you’re eighteen again, chiding the boy you love for practicing too hard. But you’re twenty six now, a full fledged adult who should know better than to dabble in sentiment again (especially when it comes to brown eyed boys who only dream of the sun), so you slash through the threads connecting you to him with a flash of your teeth, bury your beating heart deeper into the dungeon you’ve built years ago of white bone and solid steel.  

“Do what you want, but your neighbours will hate you if you keep thumping that damn ball against the wall.” You say, simply, dismissively. 

“No one could ever hate me”, he declares with bravado. “I’ll charm them all with my charm and good looks.”

“Ridiculous”, you huff, dumping the last of his clothing into the cupboard. “Where’s the dinner you promised? I want ramen and gyoza at least.”

“So demanding”, he lilts. “I’ll order in. Tonkatsu ramen with char siu, bamboo shoots, extra spring onions with gyoza on the side?” 

Your heart struggles against its shackles. He still remembers your order.  

“Yes”, you finally say. “You got that right.”

He grins at you cheekily, as if to say of course. 

After you gulp down your ramen, devour your gyozas, you pack up, ready to leave. You have an early shift tomorrow, and you’re already dreaming about your soft bed whilst dreading the cup of coffee you’ll have to down tomorrow morning just to stay awake. 

He catches your wrist, presses the spare key to the apartment into your hand.  “Come back. I want to see you again”, he says, an order and not a plea. 

You are about to make up an excuse, tell him anything but the truth that you suspect it’s bad for your heart to keep seeing him again. 

“Please” - he adds with a tint of fragility to his voice. 

“I’ll be back when I can”, you finally say. 

“Tomorrow?” he looks up at you with hopeful eyes. 

“We’ll see”, you pry your hand loose from his grasp, slip out the front door. 

You stay away for two days, citing your work schedule as an excuse until he wears you down with a barrage of cutesy line stickers aimed at driving home how lonely he is and how much he misses your presence. You’re being dramatic as usual, you text him dryly, but you turn up anyway at his apartment on a Friday night, letting yourself in with an armful of reports and a bucket of oden. 

“How’re you doing? Are you listening to your physiotherapist? Eating properly? Sleeping well?”

“You sound like my mother”, he grouses, rolling his wheelchair to the dining table. 

You flick at his forehead, he slumps back in his wheelchair.  “Stop bullying the cripple’, he wheezes through his chortle. 

“You deserve it”, you retort. “Don’t run away from the question. How’re you feeling?”

“It still hurts”, he admits with a mock sniff. “It should stop hurting by nowwww.”

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “That’s to be expected. Your sinews just got stitched together two weeks ago. Not sure why you’d expect any less.”

“Bah, rude. At least you didn’t say I told you so”, he grumbles, spooning oden into his mouth. “That would be insufferable.”

“Well, maybe you’ll listen to me now that I’m actually a doctor”, you inform him pertly, batting away memories of a teenage boy with hazel eyes shouting indignantly at you after practice in the Seijoh gym.

Tooru snorts. “I can’t believe my eighteen year old self was dumb enough to open my future self up to a jab like that”, he complains, chewing on a cabbage roll grumpily. 

“We’re all dumb at eighteen”, you remark. “You’re no exception.” 

“You were dumb enough to date me”, he teases with a mocking smile.  

Your spoon slips from your hand momentarily. It’s the first time he’s alluded to your past relationship. 

“I was, wasn’t I”, you say lightly, before turning the conversation to Tooru’s physiotherapy sessions. 

You have no wish to delve back into the past, but you’re willing to be his friend since he seems to need one for now.  

Tooru’s knee recovers enough for him to shift from his wheelchair to crutches, which he points at you playfully, mimicking a gun every time you pop by for a visit. He seems to plan his physiotherapy session around your schedule, just so he can wheedle you into paying him yet another visit when your shift at the hospital end, bribing you with a cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate from the café across the street that you’ve never found the time to visit. 

“Thank you, kind sir”, you say, accepting the coffee with a laugh. 

“You’re welcome, my lady”, he answers with a smirk, motioning you to follow him for yet another evening to be spent in his home sitting across him, red ink smeared on your hands as you mark up the reports in your lap. 

His façade that he’s coping with his injury just fine slips every so often. You catch him more often than not watching compilation videos of Kageyama and Atsumu at the World Cup this year with a strained expression on his face, or resting his chin on the windowsill whilst staring wistfully at the birds in the sky. 

He does not confide about his worries to you. You’re not sure you want him to. 

But you can’t explain to yourself the impulse to purchase a bird feeder for his balcony, nor the glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations that you cart into his bedroom until your heart has to scramble for equilibrium when he thanks you, his smile soft. 

“In exchange for all the coffee you’ve bought me”, you reply, turning away to hide all evidence of your heart’s betrayal, the diffusion of blood in your cheeks.  

A month passes. Then another. 

The crutches get kept in the storeroom. A limp remains, but the degree which his knee can bend increases by the day. His mood improves even further, and you constantly find yourself swerving to avoid his affectionate gazes, his attempts at flirtation. 

“You’re looking so pretty today!” he lilts, fitting his arm snugly into the crook of your elbow as you walk down the neon lit streets of Tokyo. He insisted on this outing, and in the custom of your rekindled friendship, managed to convince you to accompany him on your off day so he can get crepes from Harajuku notwithstanding the fact that it takes forty five minutes on the train and his knee still acts up from time to time.  

“It’s my first time downtown in a month”, you tell him. “Of course I’m going to dress up.” You don’t tell him you spent far too long in front of your closet, tossing outfits on your bed until you found one that complements you just right. 

He buys you trinkets, hair accessories that you’ll never wear, tries to win you ridiculous stuffed toys from the claw machine. 

“You’re wasting money”, you scold, wiping the whipped cream from his mouth. 

“It’s not a waste if it’s for you”, he tells you, with startling sincerity that you still doubt.

He doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself. It’s just Tooru being Tooru. 

You refuse to admit what’s staring you in the face until you have to duck your head to avoid his attempt at pressing his lips to your cheek. 

“Goodnight, Tooru”, you manage to say before you bolt off into the night. You check to make sure your heart is still under lock and key. 

It is, but it beats resentfully. Tooru, it beats against its bars with frightening intensity. Tooru. Tooru.  

You ignore it. You know what’s best for it.

You stay away from him for a fortnight, requesting for a change in your schedule without updating him, taking the other exit from the hospital so you don’t have to see him. You stay away until he manages to wear you down yet again, texting you the most ridiculous conspiracy theories about your absence from his life – you must be abducted by aliens, he texts you once, or your mother forced you to marry some stranger, I can break you out if you just say the word. 

He has a guest, you hear another voice, deeper, filled with gravel and intensity, so different from Tooru’s lighter lilt. You do not mean to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to interrupt Tooru when he has a rare guest over, and there’s nowhere else for you wait save for the dusty front step, so you settle yourself in, pen poised to continue your work. 

“What did the doctor say? When are you coming back for practice?” 

“I’m doing good! The physiotherapist thinks I can try light exercise next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back to practice in a month.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I had a good medical team. And I’m actually resting properly!”

“Shittykawa. Stop sounding so proud about doing what’s necessary for your recovery.”

“Iwa-channnn, stop being mean to meeee!”

Ah, Iwaizumi, of course. You haven’t seen him in years, but you remember him from school, a stoic boy with a good heart. You wonder if he’s changed. 

“Are you planning on heading back to Argentina?”

Tooru answers without hesitation. “Of course”, he says airily. “As long as they take me back.”

Your foolish heart shudders with disappointment. Of course. If you run your fingers down his spine, you’ll probably find blooms of wax attached to his very bone. 

You are about to stand up and leave when Tooru speaks up again. 

“But I’m going to enjoy my time in Japan while I’m back. Did I tell you I reconnected with my ex? She’s great, it feels like I never left.”

The firestorm of blood in your ears nearly drowns out Iwaizumi’s growled ‘piece of shit’ (he truly hasn’t changed after all), the clatter of glassware as Tooru protests that he’s not playing with your heart, he truly cares about you, his sullen silence when Iwaizumi demands what’s going to happen when he leaves Japan for Argentina, when he inevitably leaves you behind (yet again).   

Of course. 

You know his heart longs for the sky. There is no space for you. 

You barely have time to react when the door swings open, Iwaizumi on the verge of storming out. You plaster a smile to your face that does not fool him, but you hang on to it nonetheless, cracks appearing only when he gives you a wide eyed look of sympathy that only pours oil onto the flaming war between your brain and your heart. 

“It’s fine”, you say, and though he clearly does not believe you, he bows and leaves anyway. 

Tooru stares at you, mouth open, stumbling over himself with apologies and demands for you to tell him what you’ve overheard, but you motion for him to just stop with your hand, wave aside his protest that he means what he said, he truly likes you.  

Your heart screeches in delight, but your mind is firmly in the driver’s seat. 

“Let’s just pretend I never heard you say that, and we can continue just as before.”

“As friends?” he says, twisting his lips as if the words taste sour in his mouth. He clutches at your shoulders.

“I want more. I want you.”

Your heart thrums in agreement, but you recall assembling the remains of your heart back into your chest whilst kneeling on the cold bathroom floor half a decade ago. The span of five years should have molded you to view your shared past with pragmatism, but your heart seems to have forgotten its lesson. You shake your head.

“There’s no way you truly want me. I don’t think you’ve only ever had space in your heart for anything but your goals.” 

Your response emerges more bitter than you intend. 

“That’s not true”, he weakly protests. “I care about you.”

Not enough, you refrain from telling him. “Let’s remain friends”, you do say, and he opens his mouth to object again, but at the hard look you give him, he slumps back with a defeated nod.

He tries to respect your decision, never complaining when you keep a careful arm’s length distance from him, though you can feel his heated gaze on you whenever he thinks you won’t notice, hear his quiet sighs whenever you shy away from any accidental touch. He droops when you turn down his invite for lunch with his family when they come down for a visit, citing work even though he knows you’re off for the day. 

Still, it’s manageable and he says he needs you, so you return for visits, at least twice weekly, offering encouraging smiles and friendly words when he returns first to light exercise, then to rehabilitative practice a month later, just as he predicted. 

He carves out time for dinners with you, taking care to ask about your day, preferring to spin you stories about the pigeons and doves and crows crowding his balcony rather than talking about volleyball or his practice. He insists on escorting you to his apartment after work when you allow him to, offering you his arm with a soft smile that disarms you, dissolves any resistance. 

It’s an uneasy equilibrium, but it’ll suffice. 

The careful balance you’ve maintained in the space between you and Tooru is shattered when you find you’re not the only one who’s decided to pay him a surprise visit on a Friday night. 

“Tooru, ya didn’t say ya got yerself a pretty girl during yer break”, a man with bleach blonde hair wolf whistles appreciatively when you step into the apartment. 

“I’m just a friend”, you reply confusedly before Tooru’s shout “Shove off, Miya” confirms that one Miya Atsumu has decided to invade Tooru’s apartment. Well, him and what seems like half the MSBY team, with Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutaro and Sakusa Kiyoomi squashed uncomfortably on Tooru’s tiny sofa, long legs stretched across the living room. 

It turns out the MSBY team just finished a game in Tokyo, and Hinata dragged his teammates to visit Tooru in a wholesome bid to cheer him up. You try to excuse yourself after exchanging nods with Sakusa (he hasn’t changed much from his university days) when Miya Atsumu blocks your retreat with a drawled invite for Izakaya and the promise of karaoke after. 

Tooru mouths playfully at you don’t leave me alone with these clowns (you’re tempted to point out that he’s very much one himself), and before you can even blink, you find yourself dragged along to the nearest Izakaya, impressed by the amount of food each man polishes off - skewers of chicken hearts and cartilage, bowls of potato salad and rice with braised pork belly, listening to stories of their exploits on the national team together, stumbling into the karaoke bar tipsy from the beers that Miya Atsumu pressed into your hand, head heavy enough to allow him to wind an arm around your waist. 

“She’s too old for you, ‘Tsumu-kun”, Tooru trills, inserting himself in between you and Atsumu, mouth taut with aggravation. 

“I’m not old, just a year older”, you roll your eyes, as the blonde setter backs away, lips turned up in amusement. Tooru is not placated, muttering how the younger setter is a douche and a sleeze bag as he drapes his jacket over you like a blanket. You nestle against his side, head on his shoulder as his arm rests protectively around you. 

Atsumu watches this with raised eyebrows, whistling slowly, opening his mouth to remark that he’s never seen Oikawa so smitten before when Hinata interrupts with a chirped  “‘Tsum-Tsum, join me!”, handing him a microphone while bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

Karaoke is the most fun you’ve had in ages. Hinata and Bokuto and Atsumu sing all their favourite anime theme songs with gusto - Atsumu even gets misty eyed when he croons Sparkle by Radwimps, reddening when everyone teases him for being a romantic sap, Bokuto shaking his hips to Western pop hits, Hinata showing off his Spanish skills. Sakusa refuses to even touch the microphone but you suppose it’s a win that he’s even in the karaoke booth with all of you. 

Tooru slaps away Atsumu’s attempts at handing you any further alcohol, forcing you to down cups of water until you are no longer glassy eyed, but still tipsy enough to agree to sing ridiculous K-On songs with Hintata and Bokuto, not stopping even when Tooru whips out his phone to video the entire performance with an indulgent smile. 

“Delete it!” you squeal, losing your balance when you try swiping the phone out of his hands, tripping into his lap instead.  

“In your dreams, princess”, Tooru chuckles, his arms snaking around you like a vise. 

“Anndd that’s our cue to call it a night”, Atsumu quips, herding Hinata and Bokuto out onto the street, Sakusa heaving an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing you a wink. 

“I’m technically his senpai, cheeky brat”, Tooru mutters, the irritation in his voice washing away as you giggle. “C’mon, it’s too late for you to get home and my place is nearer to the hospital so you might as well stay over tonight. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”

You shake your head, arguing that you couldn’t possibly turn an invalid like him out of his bed but he huffs at the insinuation that he’s anything but well, his knee almost whole again. You give in after he convinces you that it’d be more inconvenient for him to escort you all the way to your own home rather than put you up for the night, and you allow him to loop his arm around yours and lead you back to his apartment. 

It’s not the first time you’ve been in his apartment this late, not by a long shot, but it is the first time you’re over with the intention of staying over. The t-shirt you borrow from Tooru hangs off your frame, the scent of the fabric softener Tooru uses is familiar. You would’ve preferred being tipsier to dull your senses, but alcohol would only impair your logic, allow your heart to prevail, so you try to quell the thrumming of your blood in your veins by curling up on a seat by the window with a cup of tea when Tooru emerges from his shower. 

“Ready for bed?” he asks, towelling off his hair, frowning when you shake your head. “It’s late, you have work tomorrow, even if it’s the afternoon shift.”

“It’s fine”, you say without turning your head to face him. “Go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m insulted, princess. What kind of a man d’you think I am to make his guest sleep on the couch? ”

It’s less dangerous to ignore him, so you pay him no mind, choosing instead to lean your chin in your hand and look up towards the night sky. It soothes you, the moon an old friend, reminding of five years’ worth of quiet nights spent in your own flat, filtering your younger self into adulthood. 

“What’re you looking at?” He takes a step forward, kneels down next to you. 

“The moon and the stars”, you say dreamily. “They’re pretty tonight.”

A myriad of weather conditions must coincide to allow the stars to even be visible in the polluted Tokyo night sky, but tonight of all nights fate intervenes, the stars align. The sky is cloudless, the full moon hangs heavy, the stars shimmer and dance.  

“Are they?” Tooru whispers. “I haven’t noticed.”

You finally turn to look at him. “Why’re you staring at me?” 

The unconscious echo of your past - a boy and a girl, falling in love under the same night sky makes his mouth twist wistfully, eyes faded gold.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and my stars. I love you better than anything in the sky.”

Your mouth falls open, your heart suddenly roaring, pounding against its restraints. 

“You can’t mean that”, you whisper. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I do”, he says, with heartbreaking sincerity. “And I always will.”

Nostalgia, aided by the lingering alcohol in your veins opens the gate to your foolish heart. You want to pretend that you are eighteen again, without a care in the world, indulging in the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the caress of his breath on your cheek. Your lips beckon his, swallowing the catch of his breath when your hands slide under his shirt. 

“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are hungry, almost ravenous, but his hands still hover at the hem of your top. 

“Yes”, you murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of his neck. “Please, Tooru - please.” 

He carries you into the bedroom, undresses you with shaking hands, chanting your name with reverence, almost a prayer. His eyes darken with desperation and need, unwilling to allow himself any release until you fall apart boneless, caged in his arms.  

“Stay with me”, he murmurs, after you’ve both cleaned up a second time, tugging you into bed. 

It’s laughable. Five years on, Oikawa Tooru still has the power to make your mind lose all reason (however temporarily). With a single heated look, he commands your heart to break willingly in his hands. How could you not have learnt your lesson? The conversation between him and Iwaizumi merely confirms what you’ve known all this while.

(The sky his heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in)

Even now, you can see the glimmer of golden wax feathers budding along his spine, gleaming under the pale moonlight. 

You lie under the covers until his breath evens out, then you stumble out of bed. You force your heart to relinquish the keys to its freedom, handing it back to logic and rationality, pulling on your clothing, folding your borrowed clothing aside.  

Tooru mumbles your name, his hand outstretched towards you. “Come back”, he says in his sleep, fragility tinting the edges of his words. 

Your fingers miss the doorknob by an inch. You dash your foolish hopes against the darkness of the room, put on your resolve like armour, leave your spare key on the kitchen counter. 

Without looking back, you slip out into the night. 

​

[annie-mit-ie]

Glimpses: Part 3B (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // Previous chapter <<< >>> Next Chapter

Summary: The Hotel Room

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning: slightly NSFW

A/N: Hey y’all! I’m not sure if this already counts as NSFW but I guess we all are better safe than sorry, so.. here we go!

_______________________________________________________________________

She doesn’t turn the lights on as she makes her way to the window front and opens the blinds. The city lights that are now shining in spend enough light for you to see her roaming the apartment. She stops for a moment to take a look outside as she takes a couple of pins out of her ponytail, shakes her head and runs her hands through her hair.

You stare at her silhouette, highlighted by the night, and only catch yourself as the door closes behind you with a loud clicking noise. She turns around and reaches for the light switch on one of the lamps closest to her.

“Come on in, Honey! Take a seat“ she chimes and shortly taps a chair as she passes by it on her way to the bathroom. 

Your heart is racing as you take off your shoes and make your way over to where she told you to sit. You can hear her roaming in the room next door and scan the apartment. The room must be a suite - not that you had any comparison or anything - but it looks expensive and you are hesitant to sit down on anything. The large kingsized bed takes up a lot of space but still looks small in comparison to the room itself. 

You sit down on the chair closets to the bed, with its back against the mirror, that grants a view out of the window as well as towards the closed bathroom door and wait. Your phone vibrates and you take it out to check on the notification.

11.53pm. You unlock the screen and are greeted with tons of new messages in that group chat you are in that is discussing Kathryn’s appearance at today’s event. A grin forms on your lips and you can’t help but bite your tongue as you type out how good you think Kathryn looked today. Everyone agrees and you open tumblr so see what content other fans are sharing right now.

It all feels unreal. You, in your element, as you are next door to the woman you admire so much. You look at the door again, right as she opens it and looks straight at you. Your mouth falls open and she raises an eyebrow as she notices. “Like what you see?“

You look away and focus on the phone, that is still in your hands, for a second before looking back up. “I’m sorry, Kathryn. I didn’t mean to intrude. You just… You look so different. It’s nice.“

It wasn’t a lie - she looks absolutely stunning, familiar even, but at the same time she looks like a whole different person as she stands there, leaning against the bathroom door frame. Her hair is starting to curl again and falls loosely over her shoulder as she twirls a strand of it around her finger, her eyes focused on you. She exchanged the corset and suit pants to a louse grey sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. Obviously, you had never seen her like that before and it absolutely mesmerizes you and you try to burn the image into your mind. 

Still focused on each other, you bring your eyes back up to meet hers and decide to just go for it and give her a compliment. “You look beautiful, Kathryn.“ 

The name and compliment roll off your tongue and it just feels right. Thinking about that, you notice her cheeks are blushing and the way her smile has changed. You take note of it. “Nah,“ she says, „nothing special.“ 

You want to argue against it, you really do, but decide that tonight would not be the night for it. You have noticed that Kathryn often disputes compliments and praise, no matter how deserved. It even feels like she doesn’t believe in herself sometimes, at least not in the fact that people could actually admire her. You want to tell her all that and make another note of it in your head, but right now it certainly doesn’t feel like the moment. You really don’t need to fangirl about AND TO the woman that invited you into her life to hang out tonight. She walks to the table she had placed the wine on earlier and pours another glass for both of you before moving towards you to take a seat on the couch that is next to your chair. As she hands the glass to you, she looks at you from above and you suddenly feel very small and a shiver runs down your spine. The shirt, as loose as it is, had fallen off her left shoulder and is now exposing her collar bone once again. You bite the corner of your lower lip as your eyes travel along the hem of the shirt that is currently exposing a little too much skin for you to stay calm.

Kathryn notices and suddenly bents down a little deeper than needed as her fingers brush yours once again. Your breath hitches, a sudden desire coming over you. Fuck. Your mind is in overdrive. The urge to grab her by the hips and just pull her onto your lap is overwhelming. You imagine what it would feel like to have her on top of you - to slowly slide your hands into her hair and pull it, just a little, until she moans, just for you. 

You sit up a little straighter, adjusting the way you sit, as she lets go of the glass but stays standing in front of your chair. You put the glass aside onto the small table that you find right next to where you are seated and think about if you should reach out and just grab her hand. It would be a move. It COULD be a move.

Her eyes are focused on your chest, she can tell that you are breathing heavier than before and it makes her mouth run dry. Unsure what to do next she forgets to move and sees you shifting in your chair, a thousand thoughts running through your mind.

Right as you make up your mind and decide to just go for it, there is a loud knock on the door that snaps both of you out of your thoughts. The concierge is finally delivering the bottle that Kathryn had ordered at the bar earlier. She takes it from him and the door closes again, but this time she locks it before turning around. Bottle in hand she walks straight towards the couch and sits in the middle of it, facing you.

Pushing down the feelings that had just bubbled up and ignoring the unpleasant state that your thoughts about her left your underwear in, you fall into an easy conversation once again. She wants to know what you are doing in life, you talk about university and work and she tells you short anecdotes about life on set. It feels like you have always been friends, not that you are now, but the thought of it spreads a warm, very welcome, feeling in your chest.

Kathryn appears to you just like you remember her from interviews and talks you had watched. She is open, charismatic, very funny and whenever it is your turn to talk, her full attention is on you as if you are the only thing that exists in her life in that very moment. It all feels easy and, just like before, you forget about the tension that has built up earlier and fall into a friendly, familiar, atmosphere.

It is around 1.30am and you are way into the second bottle of delicious white wine as she receives a text from her assistant that lets her know she has a last minute meeting for a job to go to in the morning. She shares that information with you and shoots you an apologetic look as she replies to the message to let her assistant know that she is coming. 

“Guess we should finish these glasses and head to bed soon, because those bills certainly don’t pay themselves.“ She says with a sad glint in her eyes. 

You can tell, because during your conversation she had moved closer to your chair again. So close, that your legs would be touching, hadn’t yours been propped up on your chair.

“It’s fine! Don’t worry! You invited me here, so it very much is your call how and when to end the night.”Your mouth was a little faster than your brain could work and you scold yourself immediately for hinting that there was a way to end the night other than simply talking and going to sleep.

You realize how fast she is emptying her glass and a sad wave runs through your body. Overthinking what finishing the glass means, you realize that you, obviously, did not bring any clothes to sleep in.

She must think the same thing, as she looks you up and down. “Sweetheart, do you get cold in your sleep?“

You nod slowly and see the gears turning in her head. “Alright, then how about you just wear what I’m wearing right now - I should've really thought about this sooner and worn something else - and then you should be fine.“

Thankful for the offer, you nod, without thinking it all through, as she gets up to fish her sleeping gear out of her suitcase. You can already tell that it is very short and excitement rushes through your body once again. 

“Would it be okay if I changed while you finish your glass, Y/N?“ she looks at you, clearly needing you to say yes.

“Oh yes! Absolutely! Don’t worry about me. Go do your thing, I’ll finish all up here and then you can get your sleep. I’m fine. Really, don’t mind me.“ You shoot her the brightest smile you can.

While she is in the bathroom, you empty your glass in one sip and proceed to clean up the seating area so she doesn't think you are messy. Right as you finished and find yourself in front of the bathroom door that is close to the table you put the bottles and glasses on, you hear her voice from out of the bathroom.

“Bathroom is free!“ she exclaims as you turn around to face the door. 

Not expecting you to be standing where you are standing, she walks out while checking herself in the mirror once again, which is why she isn’t paying attention to you literally already standing there and runs right into you. She stumbles and threatens to fall, but you grab her and pull her in. 

You should be letting go now, you know that, but embracing her feels too good to be true and she is not moving away, either. Instead, she wraps her arms around you as well and holds onto you. “Thank you for this nice evening, Y/N. It was very good for my heart and I’m glad I found you.“

Words. Any words. You need to say something, ANYTHING. “I… You’re welcome, Kathryn. I don’t know how I deserve this and the pleasure is certainly mine, but I just wanna say,“ you get out of the hug to properly look into her eyes, “I am very thankful. Grateful even. I’ve always dreamt of meeting you and to get to sit and talk with you, even if its just for a couple hours, is more than anything I could’ve ever wished for.“

She smiles and moves forward to plant a small kiss on your cheek. “The pleasure is all mine, Sweetheart.“

Leaving you standing in front of the bathroom door, she quickly moves past you. “Also, thank you for catching me. You really don’t want to see me fall, trust me.“, she says as she slides under the blanket, too fast for you to turn around and take a look at her again.

As the bathroom door closes behind you and you look at yourself in the mirror, it all suddenly sinks in. You are in a hotel room with Kathryn Hahn. THE Kathryn Hahn. She is sitting in bed with (probably) very short clothes on while you are going to wear her comfy attire. You look at the pile she neatly put on the counter for you, grab the shirt and automatically raise it to your face to smell it. Her sent is still lingering in the clothing and you close your eyes as you breath in. 

Shrugging it off you undress and fold your own clothes before putting the shirt and sweatpants on. Looking into the mirror again, you smile at yourself and make the decision to straight up offer to sleep on the couch - out of respect. Not that you think she would offer for you to sleep in bed with her, you just wanted it to come from you.

She is on her phone and the light is dimmed as you walk out of the bathroom. “Hey you.“, she says as she looks you up and down. “Cute.“

You blush and fiddle with your hands before you make your way to the couch she was just sitting on a short while ago. Kathryn doesn’t comment on it, but she gets up and offers you one of the pillows and an additional blanket she grabs from a wardrobe next to the bed. Walking towards you, you get a chance to look her up and down again. 

Her silky shorts are VERY short, exposing her beautiful legs. She is barefoot and moves on the carpet floor without making a sound. Her whole appearance reminds you of an angel and you gratefully take the pillow and blanket out of her hand, as she leans her back on the bed that is high enough to support her like that. She stays there in case you need help with arranging the couch. You don’t, take a step back to appreciate your work and turn around to look at her again. 

Not realizing she was still in the same spot, you find yourself very close the her once again and bite your lip as you try to avoid eye contact. Instead, your eyes travel down to the loose silky tank top she is wearing that exposes way too much skin and your tongue finds its way out of your mouth to wet your lips. She notices.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.“ A soft chuckle comes out of her mouth as she shakes her head and makes her way back to bed, leaving you in a state of absolute shock.

“Alright, it’s time.“ She waits for you to get comfortable on the couch before she turns the lights of completely, making sure to wish you a good night in the process.

Kathryn didn’t want to make the decision to send you on the couch. Hell, she would’ve loved to hold you close, even though she wasn’t sure if that would've been a good decision, either. She looks at you and where she assumes your head is placed right now, as it is too dark to actually see your face.

You offered to stay on the couch. Out of respect.

She likes that.

[smut4bangtan]

Genie's Home Service (Jimin, One Night Only Anthology)

...GIRL. Once again, I’ve got a new favorite. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! 😉

—

The cold breeze seeping in through the slightly open window made you shiver. The more time ticked away, the less your dinner looked appetizing. Still, though, you forced yourself to eat a few spoonfuls. You'd be needing energy later.

For the fifth time in two minutes, you checked your phone. There were two messages: one from your best friend Jian and the other from an unknown number. You clicked on Jian's message first.

[Jian: Sooo excited for you, girl!!! Just go with the flow and don't get too nervous. Trust him. He's a professional. Also, don't hesitate to contact me immediately if anything goes wrong, alright? Good luck and enjoy the night! 👻💦]

[You: Thanks, girl. Will you come home tonight?]

[Jian: No. I'll stay at my boyfriend's. Feel free to use every corner of the apartment except my room! Okay?]

[You: Got it. 😊]

[Jian: You're on your pills, correct?]

[You: Yes ma'am]

[Jian: Okay. Now stop texting and get ready!]

You checked the text from the unknown number next.

[*********: Good evening! This is Genie. I'm already here at the lobby. 😊 Wearing a dark blue shirt.]

Your heartbeat raced upon seeing the message. Even just the mention of his shirt color was already making you feel dizzy.

[You: Hi! I'll come down right away. 😊 Thanks!]

You recognized Genie as soon as you went down to the lobby. He was just sitting at the waiting area, using his phone. Aside from receiving his photos a few days ago, his sharp features and firm built made him naturally stand out from the others; picking him out from the crowd was not hard at all.

You walked towards him with light steps as if you didn't want to wake a wild animal up, but it was no use. Genie looked at you just as you were about to reach him. With a smile, he stood up. He must have recognized you with the photos that Jian sent. "Hey there."

"Genie, right?" You asked. He just nodded.

The two of you proceeded to the receptionist to record Genie's required information on the guest list. He listed his name as Park Jimin.

Is that your real name? You wanted to ask him, but you only mustered up the courage to actually do so when you rode the elevator.

"Is that your real name?" You asked. Genie just looked at you, puzzled. “Park Jimin, I mean. I peeked when you were writing. Sorry.”

Genie just chuckled. “Yeah, that’s my real name. And don’t apologize. That’s our little secret now.” He winked, making you catch your breath.

“Then, that’s what I’ll call you starting now.” You flashed a smile, hoping that it looked natural and definitely not nervous.

“Go ahead as you please.”

The two of you got off at the fourth floor and stopped at unit four hundred and seven. With sweaty hands, you stuck the key in the door knob and pushed it. In a while, I would be like this door knob. Filled in, you thought.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Jimin asked as he placed his black duffel bag on the sofa.

You nodded and pointed on the door beside the kitchen. “There.”

"Thanks!"

“I’ll be waiting in the bedroom with the yellow door.”

“It would be nice if you remove everything except your underwear.” You just looked at him upon hearing what he said. In return, he just smirked at you and proceeded to do his business.

Like what Jimin said, you took off everything except your bra and panty. You suddenly didn't like how your plain white bra looked, so you quickly threw it into the hamper and changed into a black underwire. Anxiety continuously grew upon seeing yourself in the body-sized mirror in front of the bed, but you didn’t think much about it and just trusted his words. He knows what he is doing, you reminded yourself.

You barely sat on the bed when Jimin entered the room. He was now wearing a plain black shirt and khaki shorts that almost looked like swimming trunks. Even though it was dim with only the lamp on, his bulge was clearly visible from where you were. His eyes scrutinized you from head to toe with an expression one would see at a predator looking at his prey. “So, shall we start?”

You just gave him a vulnerable smile and made room for him on the bed. Don't get too nervous, your head repeated in Jian's voice.

Jimin joined you on the bed with a mischievous smile. It was obvious that he's trying to hide his reaction but was incredibly failing. "I noticed that you're a little stiff. Would you mind if I massage you?"

"O-okay."

"Please lie on your stomach."

You did as Jimin said. He placed a bottle of massaging oil on your side table. Upon seeing that, you closed your eyes and let the situation sink in. What was about to happen didn't seem real. It's finally your turn to ride this scary and exciting roller coaster. Everything was unpredictable, and all you could do was enjoy the ride. Once it's finished, boom! You're a part of a whole new world. Nothing's the same again—for your body, at least.

"So, how did you become friends with Jian?" Jimin asked. His oily hands started to run freely through your back.

"University. You?"

"We're childhood friends."

"Oh, you must be very close then."

"We are. Jian's the type of friend anyone would want to have. She's just so accepting and open-minded even about my job."

"Mhmm."

He slowly slipped his hands under the clasp of your bra, making your breath tremble a little. "That's why when she opened up about you, I immediately agreed." You just chuckled, not knowing what to reply. For some reason, your cheeks heated up. It was definitely about what he said. "I heard from Jian that it's going to be your first time."

"Yeah," you replied.

This time, Jimin slipped his hands under the straps of your bra. Your nipples slightly hardened. You kept getting goosebumps every time it scratched against the bra cups

"May I ask why?"

"It's just that I think I've waited long enough. I'm not really confident about showing my body, especially when I was younger."

"Why? You're so beautiful. I was actually astounded a while ago. You look even better than your photos."

Your lips wanted to form a smile, but you stopped yourself. He's one of the best-looking people you have ever seen in your life too, and such a compliment from him means a lot. "Thanks," you just replied with a slight giggle.

Without a word, his hands once again slipped under the hook of your bra. "I can remove my bra if it's getting in the way," you said.

He was silent for a while but eventually replied, "got it."

When Jimin finally unclasped the hook, you pulled it from your chest and threw it on the floor. You were dead sure that he caught a glimpse of your breasts, including your hard, rosy nipples. He moved on to massage the sides of your breasts, as well as your underboob. Now, you felt your nipples reach to its hardest and biggest form. The touch of your sheets against them was slowly making you wet. "Haven't you tried to at least give a blowjob?"

"I have. A lot. But that was the farthest that I could go."

"Mhmm. How about using dating applications to set up one night stands? Why didn't you try?" He asked.

"I don't trust any of those men."

"So you trust me," he confirmed.

"Jian knows you. I trust her with everything."

You felt his nod. "Don't worry. I won't let you down." The two of you let out a giggle in unison with what he said. That was so cute of him, you thought.

"I'll proceed to your legs now." Jimin placed himself on top of you and started to massage your thighs all the way to your calfs. His rock-hard bulge was rubbing on your buttocks, making your stomach and breasts sweat. You felt your vagina release a huge amount of discharge. This made you feel a little nervous. What if he notices?

"You're so wet already, huh?" He teasingly said. Of course he would notice.

"You caught me."

Slowly, Jimin slid your panty off. He then went on to slide his hand from your asshole to your pussy. "Ah," you moaned with your hips slightly rising on its own.

"Can you sit down for me?" Wordlessly, you sat in front of him, legs apart. He took a glance at your bouncy breasts and pinkish pussy. "Beautiful."

You pointed at his shorts. "I want that out."

"Take it off for me, then," he said, kneeling in front of you.

Making sure his underwear was included, you gently pulled his shorts off, revealing his hard cock. It looked so angry and ready to fight. That's how you like it best. "Better," you said.

Jimin took the massaging oil and sprinkled a generous amount on your breasts. His hands ran from your chest to the stomach and pussy, spreading the oil all over your body. You let out a sigh as you tried to conceal the pleasure that was generating all over your body.

"Feels good?" He asked. You just nodded, looking him directly in the eyes.

He came back to your breasts and started to twist and pinch your nipples. You couldn't help but bite your lip and moan. "Fuck," you whispered, looking at the reflection of your breasts and Jimin's cock on the mirror. Your pussy throbbed so hard as it rushed to get more wet.

Jimin suddenly slid a hand down to your pussy and massaged your clit as soon as he touched it. Slowly, he bowed his head down to your breasts and started to lick your nipples.

"Just like that," you said, grabbing him by the thigh. "Oh, fuck. Please."

He gradually played faster with your clit, making your hips rise on its own and your discharge slowly drip from your pussy. "Yes, faster! Faster!" You yelled. In no time, his mouth was already sucking your breasts and he finally slid his middle finger inside you. "Mmm, yes, yes, yes!"

You stretched your vulva out as he slid his ring finger next. It hurt you for a short while, but it felt good as soon as he rocked his hand.

"Do you like that? Huh?" He asked, almost whispering under his breath.

"Mhmm," you replied, rocking your hips against his hand.

Jimin lifted his head to kiss you. Your tongues fought and your lips sucked each other. You could hear your discharge making a sound as he fingered you fast and deep.

"Oh, I think I'm going to squirt!" Before either of you could do anything about it, you already did. He slapped your pussy as your vagina uncontrollably let out everything you could. The squirting reached the lower part of the mirror.

Without a word, you took Jimin's cock and licked the head as you looked him in the eyes. Slowly, you stuck it in your mouth and sucked it like a lollipop. You made sure your tongue was on it, too. "Ah," he let out with his eyes closed. "You're good." He finally removed his shirt, revealing nothing but his bare body.

He placed his hand on your head and pushed it deeper. You then held his hips and pulled him closer. His cock has finally reached your throat. He slowly pulled your hair, making his juices flow down from your mouth.

Ultimately, he held your head and started to thrust in and out of your mouth. You sat there helplessly, getting facefucked. His cock was secreting so much discharge that you could already could swallow a great portion. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum!" He exclaimed, suddenly pulling himself out of your mouth. Discharge and saliva flowed out of your mouth once again. It looked like it could fill up a small perfume bottle.

You lathered your finger on the liquid and tasted it again. "Sweet."

"Pineapples, baby."

Jimin pushed you gently to the pillows and went right in front of you. As he was slowly inserting his cock inside your pussy, you stretched out your vulva once again. "This might hurt, but I'll be gentle."

"It's okay. You got me."

He finally inserted the head, and then the body—slowly. It started to feel a little sore, but you did your best to keep it in. He rocked his hips a little more, until his whole cock was already inside. The pain tinged a little greater than before, but it's manageable. "Does it hurt?"

"It's alright. Fuck me," you replied.

As Jimin started to push and pull himself in you, he played with your nipples to lessen the pain. The head of his cock could be felt sliding inside. It felt so good that it might be your new favorite feeling. When your vagina seemed to have adjusted well, he gradually improved the pace.

Jimin pulled you closer and sucked your breasts. You started to massage your clit, matching his phase. Your eyes rolled up in pleasure. "Ah!" you moaned every time he pushed himself inside you.

Suddenly, his cock slid out of your vagina. "Shit," he said, wiping the sweat on his temples with his palms.

You crawled on the other side of the bed and bent over, showing your vagina and asshole to him. "I've always wanted to try getting fucked doggystyle."

With a naughty expression, he slid his cock into you and rock his body hard against you. "My favorite position," he said.

You could feel his cock better with this position and for some reason, it felt more pleasurable. He was hitting the right spot every time he pushed his cock into you. "Deeper, faster," you commanded, so he did as you said with a slap on your butt cheek. "Ah, fuck. Yes!"

"Oh, I'm gonna cum," he said, suddenly pulling himself out. You immediately turned around and saw him masturbate. It was the hottest thing you've ever seen.

You leaned in and put your face in front of his cock. Just in time, his fresh, hot cum splattered all over your face.

He leaned on the headboard, panting hard. His legs were spread out, exposing his smooth asshole. "It's still hard. Do you wanna?"

You nodded. "I think I can squirt again." You sat on his cock, your back facing him. "Shit," you whispered as he filled you up again.

You bounced on top of him as you played with your nipples. You could see him watching you on the mirror with a smirk. Upon seeing that, you spread your legs wide so the two of you could see everything.

Jimin hugged you from behind and billowed his body against you. His hard cock was widening your vagina in the most pleasurable way. Meanwhile, his hand made its way to your clit. You pulled his head closer and kissed him on the lips. "Oh, God. Harder," you commanded in between the kiss. The two of you increased your pace.

Finally, you could feel that your pussy was almost full. "I'm cumming!" A big squirt came out of you as soon as you said that. "Ah!" You yelled, your hips shaking.

"Yes, yes," Jimin seconded as he slapped his cock on your vagina.

Your body dropped on top of him when you finally let everything out. Your back could feel his heart beat.

"You're so perfect," he whispered on your ear in between his panting.

"And so are you."

[babylon-cal]

A Little Help in The Studio {c.h}

Pairing : Female!Reader x Calum

Genre: Smut

Requested : by anon : Hi! I love your writing and I seen that your request are open so I was wondering if you could do a Calum smut for me where he comes to see me as I’m working in the studio recording my own music an he sees that I’m stressed out about writing... Thanks❤️

Warnings : just smut so look away if its not your thing

Word Count : 1.6k

The gif might be a hint ??? 👀👀

Only the ticks of the wall clock approaching midnight, could be heard in the silent enclosure of the studio. You laid back in the office chair, staring up at the ceiling, the note app open on your laptop on the table by your feet that was leisurely laying on the top of it. Having only written two lines, your mind was struggling to produce more for your song. It was a creative block that you had been struggling to get past for the past 2 hours.

The bright red carpet made your head spin at this time of night and the air conditioning made the hairs on your arm stand up. You shivered from the air and grabbed your jacket that you had left hanging on the backrest across your body just like how you had it when you walked in. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you let out a sigh, your lips forming an “o” shape as it pursed upwards. Your nerves were through the roof and you felt yourself getting more frustrated by the minute.

This new album was something that meant the world to you. It was the most heartfelt and vulnerable one you had produced so far, with the tracks that had been produced up to this point. You wanted to create something on the more explicit side for this track. Something that would exhibit the feelings of sexual pleasure and passion. However, it had been a while since you and Calum had last had sex, or done anything remotely sexual for the past two weeks due to absence from busy schedules. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to be intimate with him or how he made you feel.

It was as if the universe had read your mind when the door creaked open. Startledly snapping out of your thoughts, you dropped your feet from the table, afraid it was one of the owners who had come in to close up. Maybe you could ask them for the keys like the other times before. You turned in your chair to see Calum stepping towards you from the door, a large grin on his face. You could only tiredly smile back. He was wearing his green Empathy hoodie and sweatpants and he had let his hair free today, his curls a mixture of brunette and blonde.

“Matty told me you were writing late tonight, so I thought I’d come see you and bring coffee,” he leaned down to give you a kiss and you pulled him down by his collar when he pulled away after a second, to reconnect your lips with more conviction. You missed his lips. “I’ve missed you,” he chuckled, handing you the warm coffee which you happily accepted, taking a sip of, before placing it on the table. While you did this, Calum dragged out the empty chair next to you and sat down. “Whatchu working on?”

“Honestly, Cal, this is a nightmare,” you stressed, running your hand through your hair. “I don’t even know. I have nothing,” you sighed and buried your face into his arm, linking your arm with it. You missed him so much. He gave the top of your head a kiss before turning to read what you had written.

“This is good, (y/n),” he reassured. “What's your plan?” he asked and you lifted your head. You explained it to him but sighed again as you had to reiterate your frustrations.

“But I haven't seen you in two weeks and I don’t even know how to channel the feeling!” you exclaimed, sinking back into the chair and folding your arms. At first, Calum’s expression was exhibiting one in thought, but then he smiled at you and took your hand.

“Maybe I can help you, then. Help you relax a little,” He stood up when he said this, a suggestive smile on his face that gave you a fuzzy feeling in your gut. “Take your jacket off,” he cooed, tugging at one of its sides. You obliged, removing it from your frame and dropping it to the ground, not really caring anymore. Calum walked to stand behind you and he started giving your shoulders a massage, unknotting the stress lumps in your muscles. It hurt a little bit in the beginning but after a few cycles of circular motions and pressure from his thumbs, you started to relax, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths.

You enjoyed his touch with your mind wandering to what other places his hands would feel good at. A few minutes had passed and you felt a breath of hot air at the side of your neck by your ear. “How are you feeling?” Calum’s smooth but deep voice giving you goosebumps across your body.

“Really relaxed,” you hummed, as he continued to rub your shoulders. HIs warm pair of lips pressed on the skin under your ear, leaving a trail of kisses down to your shoulder as his hand gently tilted to let his lips access the area easily. HIs lips gave you tingles and you felt yourself get aroused as his hand dipped from your shoulder down to your breasts to give them each a squeeze through your t-shirt. Next thing you knew, he had turned the chair around and fallen to his knees, his eye level at your chest.

You leaned down to give him a kiss that deepened almost immediately, his hands resting on your upper thighs, gently caressing them moving down to your knees and moving up again. His tongue slid into your mouth and your breathing got heavier, feeling time slow down around you. His fingers danced at your hips, slowly letting his fingers swipe across the skin just under your t-shirt.

“Can I take it off?” he looked up at you and you nodded. He did so with no hesitation, leaning down press kisses along your collarbone and down the valley of your chest. “What about this?” he asked again, hands moving up your waist and reaching behind your back towards your bra hook. You kissed him again and hummed into his mouth, going mad at his touch. His slight actions were enough to cause a reaction between your legs, causing you to squeeze them together and squirm discreetly. He unhooked your bra letting it fall to your lap and he pushed it aside before planting his lips on your nipples, giving each of them wet kisses alternately. You sighed as he worked on your breasts, feeling your nipples harden at the stimulation and cool air that had blown across it when his mouth moved away.

He leaned up to give you another kiss. A hungrier one, fully succumbing to the desire that has been built up for so long. He tasted like cherry and cigarettes and his lips were slightly chapped but felt good against yours and your skin. He pulled away, leaving you to let out a small whimper at the loss of contact. He chuckled moving further down, kissing down your stomach. He reached the waistband of your pants, and looked up at you with his deep brown eyes.

“You don’t have to ask,” you whispered out, reaching out to run your fingers through his locks. He smiled and pulled your pants down your legs, together with your panties, leaving you wet and exposed in front of him. He raised your legs and rested on his shoulders and he pressed slow kisses on each of your thighs. Your arousal increased as he got closer and he stopped right between your legs.

“Jesus, this wet already?” he snickered, blowing out a breath of air against your crotch and your legs shivered at the feeling. He glided his fingers across your entrance and up to your clit in an excruciatingly slow pace that made you squirm and let out a small whimper as he did so. “I barely touched you, babe,” He repeated his actions, a bit quicker the second time. You felt your body heat up and your sensitivity increase. You tried to push his lips towards you from the back of his head but he gently grabbed your wrists and placed them on the chairs armrests. “Relax,” he whispered, another wave of his hot breath breezing against you.

His tongue touched your clit soon enough, and he took his time, paying attention to how you let out small moans when he was at just the right spot and your heavy breaths as you spread your legs wider apart. Your fingers tangled in his hair while he dipped his tongue between your labia causing you to moan out his name at the stimulus and the heightened sensitivity in that area. HIs stubble rubbed against the curves between your thighs and crotch as he continued to lick you, increasing your euphoria as the minutes went on. You felt your gut twist after a while and your walls clench as you thrust your hips against his mouth, letting out louder moans and whimpers from his magic. You reached your orgasm after, curling your toes and closing your eyes as he slowed his pace and giving the area and your thighs soft kisses.

He helped you put your pants back on as you panted and swallowed the saliva that had built up. You opened your eyes to meet his, and a loving smile before he gave your forehead a small kiss and then one on your nose.

“Well, maybe you’ll be able to write that song now,”

END

[bakugous-bitch-boi]

BNHA AND G/T STORY

So I wrote this back in January for Amino and thought "Hey I have a Tumblr now, why not post it there?" So yeah thats what I'm doing-

For reference the borrower in this story is my OC Thomas. He's not explicitly BNHA related but I just thought it'd be cool to see him in that universe so I slapped a quirk on him and did what I usually do with him.

Throw him into danger-

Anyways uh yeah so enjoy the short story- if enough people like this one I'll continue it and it can be a series UwU

————————————————————————

They were barely audible inside the colorfully decorated dorm room, the tiny steps only just being heard above the natural ambiance of the building's various series of ventilation. The source of the tiny steps was also similarly barely detectable, wirh the noise originating from the movement of a young borrower boy named Thomas who’s height only just reached a measly one inch. The boy also made sure to stay as low to the ground beneath him as he possibly could to eliminate the easy viewing of his silhouette against the cream colored wall behind him. Granted, the terrain the child was walking on was a flat one dotted with figures around three times his size at their smallest of a man he didn’t recognize, so their was ample space to hide in case the inhabitant of the room decided to return.

Thomas was used to this sneaking around, he had been doing it ever since he was born after all, it was just how borrowers made it in the world. However this time was different from every other living arrangement he had found himself in. His last travel companion had abandoned the young child in the bitter cold around a week ago, leaving the kid to fend for himself. It was something new for Thomas, and already seven days in he had made up his mind that he didn’t like it. The world had always appeared scary, again that was just a prerequisite for being a borrower born into a world where eighty percent of humans are born with the most terrifying abilities, however being near someone always managed to make it better for Thomas. Without that extra layer of an adult's protection, simple acts like going mere meters away from his hole-in-the-wall home seemed like the most daunting thing imaginable.

The child had tried his best to limit his borrowing activities due to this extra fear, however that was something a lot easier said than done. When Thomas had clambered inside the closest building for protection that stormy night, he quickly realized that no matter where he decided to make a home inside said structure he’d be without one resource or another. He found that the layout of the building was fairly simple, it was almost like a square ring that held a garden in its center with a open indoor room flanking this courtyard on the first floor which was followed by the floors above split into a hallway and several other smaller rooms, however no one place in the large building had everything he needed. His old traveling friends had shown him what objects were most essential to gather, and while some were easily found if he went to the right spaces like cloth or tape other’s like the basics of food and water were incredibly scarce no matter where he went. Or, in the areas where they could be found easily, they were guarded by “quirked” humans which essentially made them inaccessible unless he was able to wait for the human to leave. Some rooms were completely off limits in fact due to said quirked beings having particularly terrifying, in one case quite literally explosive, predispositions. This left Thomas’ options severely limited and obviously made his life ten times more difficult, however he had managed it so far and was able to get things down to a pretty consistent routine.

Thomas’ steps remained quiet and his body close to the ground as he reached his final source of resources for the day, after he grabbed this he would be able to try his best to fall asleep. Granted, this resource wasn’t necessary or even a particularly consistent one, however the child’s sweet tooth obviously couldn’t resist a lazily opened and forgotten chocolate bar when it was so close to his space inside the wall. He approached the candy from an untouched side still kept snuggly inside it’s wrapper, however tearing into said wrapping to get the freshest piece would make his presence incredibly obvious so doing so was completely out of the question. He was pushing his luck even going for the candy in general to begin with. His head swiveled towards the door as he slowly reached the opened side of the candy bar which lead him to leave the safe area behind the assorted colorful plastic figures and make his way out in the open. He noticed the sound of people approaching the room he had situated himself in, easily recognizing one of the voices as the teenage inhabitant of the space. His eyes grew as he heard the distinctive sound of speech, he had to make this as quick as possible. The fluffy haired borrower darted over to the exposed and somewhat mangled chocolate and bent down on his knees, his feet slipping the slightest bit on the slick wood of the dresser he had been sneaking around on. He grabbed a small piece of metal he had gathered in his travels from the sack strung over his shoulder which he then drove into a chunk of relatively untouched but still exposed chocolate. He used what little arm strength his young arms had built up to saw a lump of chocolate away from the rest of the bar which he then wrapped in a bit of shredded wax paper he had gathered from one of the rooms. He was quick about the whole action of cutting the chunk and then wrapping it up, so when he stood up and noticed that the voices were still firmly outside he was only a little surprised.

He took those few seconds of breathing room to look up at the wall behind him, his eyes trailing up the massive poster that spread across it which was slightly obscured due to his viewpoint. The poster was of the same man in a colorful outfit that the many figures and other posters in the room depicted, however despite him being so abundantly shown in the small space Thomas was always drawn to this one particularly large image. He didn’t know why, after all the sight of a human was hardwired in a borrower's brain to be like looking at death itself, but the aura the man gave off was similar to that of the adult borrowers he had been traveling with all six years of his life. Maybe it was just the smile of the man in the image or simply the colors he adorned himself with, but the past few seven days spent in the terrifying collection of horror filled rooms was made just a little brighter and easier when he was met with the warmth of this particular poster. His eyes were lost, so lost that the movement of him slinging the pack over his shoulder once more was slowed and without haste. As he looked up a childishly pure smile grew on his tiny face, a smile that was unaware of the motion of an opening door behind him and the sounds of rising voices and shuffling feet until the very last second.

When Thomas finally turned around after breaking himself away from the happiness of the poster, he was greeted with a sight that would take the smile off of even the most grizzled borrowers face. He saw the boy who inhabited the room standing in the doorway, and while his silhouette did not appear too imposing when considering the other people living in the building, he was still a human with a much more capable build than most typically had. At first Thomas’ heart hitched in his chest as he immediately assumed he was seen and therefore completely finished, however after a second of looking he noticed the boy was busily scrolling through his phone and thusly hadn’t noticed the tiny child staring at him in terror on his dresser. The tiny boy wasted no time after realizing he was safe, and with one push from his little legs he sprinted over to the zigzagging crack in the wall just big enough for him to squeeze through. He didn’t focus on keeping hidden, he didn’t focus on staying quiet, all he saw in those few heart wrenching seconds was his sliver of hope and safety. As he ran he heard an audible “Hmm?” from the freckled green haired teen who had apparently noticed the sound of rushing tiny steps and the puny silhouette of a minuscule boy sprinting for safety. While he heard the sound, Thomas didn’t stop. He kept running, pushing his speed higher and higher with every step, determined not to get captured. While he tried his best to stay calm, his breath couldn’t help but quicken and tears managed to loosen from the corners of his eyes. He could see the gentle glow of his quirk beginning to activate around him through blurred teary eyed vision, however he managed to push down his body's instinctual urge to protect his young, fragile self so he could focus on getting back into his hiding spot.

He launched himself into the cracked space cutting through the wall, his body scraping against the tight jagged sides, tearing at his baggy self-made shirt and cutting up his skin. He didn’t care about the slight pain in that moment however, instead he was concerned with making sure it looked like absolutely nothing strange or out of the ordinary was happening behind the small hole in the wall. The child gathered himself and the few belongings he had before pushing them all against the side of the tight space just out of view from someone looking in, he himself sitting against the drywall with his head tucked into his folded arms to look as small and inconspicuous as possible. The inviting shine of his quirk appeared once more as he felt the teens presence just outside his miniature room, the thought of him peering in looking for an intruder to destroy with glee only forcing out more pitiful tears from the young boys eyes and the continued growth of his quirks effect. He stayed quiet however, not letting a sound slip from his tiny mouth as he waited for the teen to either pass him by or try and find a way to get to the quivering borrower.

After a few tense moments, the massive green haired teen reluctantly decided that the noise he had heard shuffling across his dresser was just in his head, leading him to walk off over to his bed. In the new, less pressured silence Thomas was able to let his rising emotions out as much as he wanted to in the form of quiet stuttering sobs. By this point his quirk had fully activated and created a bubble-like shield around him as it was supposed to do when he was in danger, and behind the glowing force field the tiny child tried to calm himself down as best as he was able to after his perceived brush with death. As his hands trembled he went to grab his makeshift pack, his fingers nimbly curling around the small wrapped piece of chocolate he had borrowed mere moments ago. He didn’t want to waste the sweet substance so quickly, however the poor kid rationalized that he was scared enough to deserve munching on the cocoa flavored chalk. He took small, feeble bites, only stopping to let loose another hiccuping sob.

After all, what was a tiny kid to do under such heart-stopping pressure?

[kkysolo]

Stuck on You / Chapter One

You curse him for it, sometimes. Loathe him for it - for how he’s made you, his parents, his friends feel. How he’s broken them. Reduced all of you to nothing but fickle fragments that pass through time and space with little awareness, with little recognition, of what’s happening to them. At least, that’s how you feel. But the bitterness, the fury - it doesn’t last long. It never does.

Prologue 

Pairing: Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Reader Setting: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, dystopia, modern, gangs. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, war, gang violence, emotional hurt/angst, codependent relationships (eventual fluff, smut, romance).

A/N: Tense change from past to present because we’re shifting into the present timeline of the story. Also, if you’ve read any of my other work, you’ll know I tend to write in second person omniscient. I love a bit of head-hopping, keeps us on our toes, lol. It won’t appear in this chapter, but bear it in mind for the future. 

Chapter under the cut, and also here, on AO3. 

Summary: The year is 2084.

Despite its advances, society has collapsed on itself. The world is crooked, damaged, dying. Rezoned into new territories, separating the elite from the unworthy. Civilization is crumbling at your very feet, and in the midst of it all, your best friend, Ben Solo, has been missing for three years. You desperately cling to what’s left of him, hoping that he’ll come home, praying that things will fall back into place.

And then he does. And they don’t. Because life is different when you’re a scoundrel in the midst of a class war.

Now: 2084, Spring 

You’ve always hated spring. 

They used to call it the season of new beginnings, and new beginnings were good. But that was before. Now, starting over is nothing more than an expected, quotidian task each time the Empire rezones the land. Which is often. Too often to ever feel at home. Too often to ever really feel as though there’s a new beginning to be had. 

“It was the right thing to do, you know,” Rose smiles sympathetically in that way that she does, the kind of way that doesn’t make you feel pitied, but loved.  “Hm?” “Breaking up with Jon.”  “Oh,” you hadn’t actually given the situation much thought. He’d already retreated the back of your mind, an unimportant speck among an ocean of stress. “Yeah, I know.”  “Because you didn’t love him.” “I know.” “Because you love Ben.” “Rose,” you hiss, your head flying around the dimly lit room. Because that’s all it is, really - a room. They’d outlawed bars (at least, in the rezoned areas) six months ago. Your shabby little makeshift basement bar - ran by Ben’s mother, nonetheless - was an illegal, yet necessary sanctuary. “Would you stop? Someone will hear.” 

“Oh, stop,” she scoffs, taking a sip of highly illegal (and cherished) gin and lemonade. “As if everyone here doesn’t already know.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now, does it?” you mumble, twirling a bottle of beer between your hands. It’s a good one, not badly brewed and watered down. Leia, she gets the good stuff. How she gets it, you aren’t sure. “It’s not like he’s around.”  “He’s not dead,” Rose affirms. “He can’t be.” “What makes you say that?”

Because you believe it, too, you do. He can’t be dead - couldn’t possibly be gone. Because Ben, he’s strong. He’s good and he’s kind and he’s funny and brave and men like him don’t just die unknowingly. Men like him go down in glory - of that, you’re sure. 

“Because it’s Ben,” she shrugs. “He’s supposed to be running this place one day.” 

You nod, still dragging your bottle across the uneven wood of the table. 

“It’ll be awkward, though,” you sigh. “With Jon.” “You think so?” “I mean, yeah,” you lean back in your seat. “He’s still with the Resistance, I’m gonna have to see him all the time.” “Yeah, I mean, maybe missions will be awkward but,” she shrugs. “He’s not an idiot, surely he knows to, you know. Stay away.” 

You hum in agreement, taking a swig from your bottle. Ben would like this beer, you think. It’s bitter, like he likes. 

“Sweetheart,” Leia is behind you now, a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Could I ask a favour?” “Of course.” “Could you watch the place for me tonight?” She has that apologetic expression on her face she so often bears, and it pains you to think of her worrying to ask you something. “Han is home from his mission tonight, and I’d just love to see him, honey.”  “Leia, of course,” you place your hand atop hers. “You deserve all the time together you can get.”

And they do. They’d separated for several months after Ben’s disappearance, neither of them able to cope with the weight of it in a manner that allowed them any semblance of intimacy, any notion of peace. But they’d rekindled as much as they could of their relationship, and despite Han’s long missions, continued to work on it. 

“Thank you, honey,” she smiles softly, squeezing your hand before turning to a demanding patron. She gives so much of herself to so many people, you wonder how there’s any of her left. 

When Leia finally bids you farewell, you’re already shuffling around behind the badly crafted bar, held together precariously by planks and rusted nails. You’re not sure who built it - though you expect it may have been Poe - but you’re surprised it’s still standing after only one week of use. You pull another bottle of gin from a box on the concrete floor, and you scoff at the icy feel of it. The wicked cold from the exposed ground has kept it remarkably cool. You hope you’ll be able to shut the refrigerator off, in that case. It’s far too expensive to run. 

“Here,” you pour Rose another glass. She sits at the bar now, resting her chin in her palm. “Perk up a little, you’ve gotta keep me company.” 

Rose sticks her tongue out playfully. 

“Did you get settled in your new place?” She speaks into her glass and the sound of her voice vibrates through the liquid.

“Mhm,” You sigh, pouring a drink for yourself. It’s your second move of the year already - the Empire having pushed you out of every zone you’ve ever called home. When they come, ships and tie-fighters blackening the sky above you, you’re herded like goats to whatever new (and smaller) zone they deem suitable for nuisances such as you. For peasants such as you. “You?”

“Meh,” she shrugs. “I wish they kept me with you this time. I hate being by myself.” “Me too,” you murmur. And you do. You really do. “But it is what it is.” 

You glance to your left, eyeing the stacks upon stacks of boxes that pile up against the wall. All labelled ‘bottles’, ‘glasses’, ‘coasters’ in Finn’s terrible handwriting. There’s one that sits at the bottom, labelled only ‘our stuff’. Back in the old bar - the real bar - you’d had CD players (the old kind, from decades ago - you couldn’t afford anything else). You’d had string lights and flowers and Sabacc tables. You’d decorated the walls with photos - of you, of Ben, of the resistance. Of the people who owned and worked at the only establishment for fucking miles that conceived any happiness. And it was beautiful. It was perfect. 

“When’s Poe back?” Rose hums.  “I think he’s coming back with Han tonight,” She takes a sip of her drink. “Why?” “I really wish he’d move those fuckin’ boxes,” you grit. “Hide them in the back or something, but I can’t stand the sight of them.” 

Rose nods sympathetically. 

“He will,” She turns, then, as the sound of rain pummels against the ground outside. Though it’s a basement, there’s still windows, the kind that sit more toward the ceiling, the kind that are awfully awkward to open. She squints at them, and your eyes catch how she leans closer to get a better look. 

“You alright?” You lean toward her, resting your elbows against the bar. You can hear how it creaks with the pressure.  “Y-yeah I just,” she drags her eyes away, bringing her attention back to you. “I just thought I saw someone outside.”  “There’s lots of people outside,” you smile. “There always is.”  “No, I know, but they were like…” She looks back to the window. “They were crouching, looking in.” 

You sigh.

“Hopefully not an inspector for the Empire,” Rose turns back to you as you speak, and you smirk at her reassuringly. “That Armitage Hux prick has always had it out for me.” 

She laughs in that airy kind of way that she does, the kind of way that makes you bubble with gratitude - because you know her. You’re fortuitous enough, privileged enough to be around such a light, such an ethereal soul. You often wonder what you ever would have done without her. You often wonder if you’d have survived it - survived this, survived the loss of him, without her. 

“Maybe if you wouldn’t rile him up, he wouldn’t hate you so much.” “But it’s just so much fun to piss him off,” You grin. “He gets so flustered.” 

You stay like that, laughing together, until well after midnight. You’re glad for it, the distraction. You need it, even now. Even after all this time. Being alone - with your thoughts, with the gaping hole that sits inside your chest - doesn’t get any easier. They say time heals all wounds. You wish it would. It’s only made yours worse, only further infected it with spores of him, that burst and spread the ache right down into your bones. You curse him for it, sometimes. Loathe him for it - for how he’s made you, his parents, his friends feel. How he’s broken them. Reduced all of you to nothing but fickle fragments that pass through time and space with little awareness, with little recognition, of what’s happening to them. At least, that’s how you feel. But the bitterness, the fury - it doesn’t last long. It never does. 

When you trudge inside your new apartment (though new doesn’t seem very apt, perhaps crumbling would fit better), you feel him. He’s never been there, of course, but you feel him nonetheless. You feel him everywhere. In everything. And it haunts you - he haunts you. And he has no right to, because you know he’s not dead, he can’t be. 

You run through your nightly routine, finally readying yourself for slumber. You hope you’ll see him there, when you close your eyes and drift from hell into harmony. You hope you’ll find him nestled in the crevices of your subconscious. Because you know he’s there. He’s always there. And when you unlock your front door, when you prop open the windows before crawling under the sheets - you hope he’ll find you here, too. Nestled under the covers, waiting for him. 

And when you fall into deep sleep, into a dream - or a memory - of long ago, a dream of smiles and laughter and his honey-brown eyes, you don’t hear the door as it creaks and clicks open. You don’t hear the windows as they fall shut, the frigid breeze no longer assaulting the room. You don’t hear the footsteps, nor do you hear the breathing - panicked, rushed. 

When you’re asleep, you find him. And when you’re asleep, he finds you.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Breathe fire into me

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio might have a little crush on the cute barista from the boba shop he visited recently.

Only there’s a catch: there’s much more to Galo Thymos than what he seems.

Note: role reversal AU, boba barista Galo, archer main Lio

Also on AO3

[Chapter 1]

[Chapter 2]

Lio, to his own disappointment, did not find the peach tea particularly special.  

It was fragrant, at the very least. And the caffeine has just the right kick. It's just...a little on the sweet side? Okay, maybe a lot on the sweet side. Lucia definitely loved her drink. The bitterness from Aina’s matcha helped balance out its overall taste. The rest had some wide eyes and raised eyebrows upon their first sips.  

Still, it’s not bad enough for Lio to want to avoid the place the rest of his life. Maybe he can try for an order with less sugar the next time? Not that he thinks he’ll have the chance to do so soon and—

“Lio, you’re about to miss your mug by about a mile.”

Lio’s snapped out of his daze by a sharp clap on his shoulder from Remi, and he only registers what he means when he sees that he’s this close to pouring his coffee directly onto the countertop. He quickly fixes his aim, frowning hard at his mug like it’s its fault that he almost made an embarrassing mess.  

“You can always talk to us if something’s bothering you,” Remi offers, sounding genuinely concerned that Lio seems to be unusually out of it.  

“No, it’s not a big deal, really,” Lio assures because it shouldn’t be. It ridiculous that he’s even getting distracted over something so insignificant when there are more important things to direct his time and energy towards—especially now knowing Mad Burnish has once again gained a new leader. They’ll have to start tracking him down soon, start paying more attention to potential target locations for arson. They must not be allowed to mobilize.  

“If you say so.” Remi doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but he doesn’t pry. “The offer still stands, though.”

“Thanks.” Lio then slightly jiggles the jug he’s holding. “Coffee? There should be just enough left for another mug.”

Remi shrugs, accepting his offer. The two spend a silent moment in the pantry simply huffing into their mugs, trying to cool their drinks down enough to take careful sips. The wall fan in the lounge buzzes extra loudly whenever it turns a specific direction and sends the weighed-down papers on the desks flapping in place. It's quiet enough that they can faintly hear Lucia’s muffled laughter from the nap room upstairs as she indulges in whatever random online content she’s managed to stumble across this time.

This is the sort of tranquility of night shifts that Lio really enjoys.  

He heads to the rooftop once he’s finished his coffee and cleaned up, leaving with a casual reminder from Remi to not fall asleep there again. Lio climbs the stairs and reaches the top, pushing heavy doors open to be greeted by a sea of black.  

The stars aren’t visible tonight—though it’s not like they’re normally all that easy to see either thanks to the ever-present city lights. It’s the moon that Lio’s spotted earlier when he happened to glance out a window; a bright, pale yellow orb seemingly hanging low enough in the sky for him to simply reach out and touch at the height he’s at.  

He takes a breath, savoring the air from the breeze blowing towards him as he casts his gaze afar. Even in this time of the night, the city doesn’t seem to sleep. Music echoes from somewhere in the distance, some stray cats are having a fight in some alley. There's a short revving of bikes. Even along the streets within the station’s proximity, where most—if not every—shop should be closed by midnight, Lio spots people walking about, heading somewhere yet seemingly nowhere.

He pulls his jacket just a little tighter around himself and sighs, relishing the moment.  

And he nearly jumps when the sirens suddenly blare to life.  

Lio’s bolting downstairs in an almost conditioned response, mentally taking note of all the information recited through the speakers by a computerized voice, sent directly from the site of fire via compulsory built-in detectors as part of Promepolis’ centralized fire alert system. A residential house at the south district, approximately three kilometers from base. No particularly flammable substances reported. Cause of fire: Burnish flares.

Lio would not be able to participate directly in the extinguishing part of the mission, with his Gear still awaiting repairs. They have a spare one in store but Lio, to his frustration, can’t seem to pilot it half as smoothly as he can with his own—to the point where Ignis agrees that he would be of more effective help without it.  

A residential fire isn’t usually a particularly difficult job, fortunately. Only Remi, Lucia and Lio himself are dispatched, with Remi in charge of the brunt of the work while Lio and Lucia deal with support in whatever way they can.  

Lucia sends out a drone the moment they’re close enough to the scene, promptly processing whatever information she can glean and giving out instructions to guide the others. The flames seem to have originated from the first floor and have spread downstairs, but fortunately not yet to adjacent houses. Most neighbours seemed to have evacuated from their homes nonetheless, just as according to standard safety procedures taught to them during periodic neighbourhood fire drills.  

Things look under control—until Lucia’s drone detects the presence of two people within the fire.  

Lio and Remi are leaping out of the Rescue Mobile before it’s even come to a proper stop; Remi diving right into the blaze in his Gear while Lio prepares to deliver first aid and handle crowd control.  

It's not difficult to discern who had been inside the house when the fire started and who are merely bystanders. Lio hurriedly approaches the group of three covered in soot and huddled together, obviously still shell-shocked at whatever had just transpired. They’re a pair of parents with a child around ten to twelve years old. Lio tries to assure them that they’re safe, that the FDPP is here to help. Asks if they’re hurt anywhere, carefully scans over their limbs to make sure they really are fine when they respond negative.  

“But our daughter,” the mother manages to stammer, voice choked with barely restrained panic. “She’s still inside!”

“My teammate’s getting her out of there,” Lio assures, noting the sporadic crystalline bursts from Remi’s ice bullets behind him as he tamed the fire. He knows he’s holding back; he has to be extra mindful about preserving the building’s integrity while there are still people inside, lest everything collapses around them. “Just give him a moment m—”

“No, you don’t understand!” The lady clutches Lio’s arms, increasingly frantic as she digs her fingers into his jacket sleeves. “There’s this young man, he just—”

She doesn’t manage to finish her sentence, cut off by the sudden roar of serpents erupting from the blaze. The hairs on Lio’s neck instantly stand on their ends, and on instinct, he turns around.  

And he feels his stomach sink as Lucia manages to intercept the fire just in time, freezing it in place barely a foot away from him. Lio swallows thickly, hearing multiple screams around him. It seems that he’s not the only one suddenly attacked by the flares—but what happened? It wasn’t this aggressive before, did something—

“Someone’s leaving the house!” Lucia’s voice fizzles through his earpiece, nearly drowned out by the shattering of ice all around them. Lio grits his teeth, willing his body to move and look towards the house’s front door, peering through the flames to see two figures indeed shuffling their way out into the open.  

Why aren’t they with Remi? Lio doesn’t have time to wonder. He gets on his feet and rushes over, expecting either of them to collapse any moment from the heat and smoke and having to bodily carry them to safety.  

Except they don’t.  

The pair are engulfed in flames that look different from the usual Burnish flares, a shade of teal instead of the bright blues, pinks and yellows. It looks completely harmless on them—almost looking protective, even, shielding them from the raging fire of the house. The young man has a hand on the girl’s shoulder as he walks her out.

It finally clicks: these two are Burnish. The girl must’ve either just awakened as one, or lost control.  

Lio watches the flames flicker and dance, subconsciously mesmerized, before they abruptly retreat back into the young man’s body like it’s where they belong.  

Lio could've sworn he hears the faintest sound of giddy, child-like laughter as it happens.  

“Hey, you’re...”

Lio glances up, and, in a moment of what feels to him like pure absurdity, finds himself face to face with the staff from the bubble tea place.  

xXx

Burnish are actually people who’ve undergone a sudden, unexplained mutation, many a result of extreme stress.

The girl was a university student, apparently just about overwhelmed with exams and papers to write and under a lot of pressure to perform well to maintain her scholarship. There could’ve been more factors building up to her awakening; Lio did not and was not obliged to pry. There are more than enough similar cases, people driven to the limits of what they can emotionally and mentally bear by their circumstances and randomly bursting into flames.  

The girl sustained no injuries from the event, but she was still sent to the hospital to get checked just in case, and later on she’d be introduced to a mental help program to hopefully provide her the support she needs. Once all that’s settled, she’d be registered for classes to teach her how to keep her fire under control so there hopefully wouldn’t be more unfortunate accidents. Her family will be staying in a shelter in the meantime while they settle matters concerning their house.

The young man, on the other hand, had been in the area by sheer coincidence on his way back home when he’d seen the explosion of fire in the house. The madman had then barged right in, evacuated the rest of the family, and stayed with the girl until he could convince her that the fires wouldn’t hurt her and that the rest of her family is safe. It's after she’d managed to calm down that they’d then left the house, and the remaining flames allowed themselves to be put out.  

He’d insisted he’s completely fine when asked and had slipped off soon after handing over the girl to Lio’s care.  

Lio can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever consider joining the FDPP—that sort of courage and resistance to fire is exactly what they need—but he digresses.

They manage to wrap things up within the next hour, and thankfully there’s no other incident until Lio clocks off the next morning. He heads home just as dawn breaks and the rising sun colors the sky with a gradient of yellows and blues. Lio barely notices this, though, dead set on simply making it to his bathroom to take a shower and then pass out for the rest of his long-awaited day off.  

He wakes up starving some time in the afternoon, and even then he’s trying to convince himself that a human being can last a solid number of days without food just so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. He does eventually manage to drag himself up, though, only when the hunger and dehydration begins gnawing at him. Lio groans as he shuffles his way to the pantry to put together some cereal and milk.  

He lets out a huge yawn before scooping a spoonful into his mouth, staring absently at his fridge as he crunches on the lightly sugared bits. He’ll have to do some grocery shopping later; the remaining ingredients he has wouldn’t last him until his next break day. Lio ponders over what he should get while he slurps up the last of the milk in his bowl, then later briefly cleaning it up and heading back to bed with his phone in hand.

He spends the next hour or so mindlessly scrolling through his social media feed and watching whatever’s on his recommended list on Y*utube. Lio used to be bothered by how he seems to only be able to laze his way through days when he’s off duty, but he’s proud to say that he's mostly gotten over it. Although being part of Burning Rescue does not necessarily mean there’s always an emergency to tend to, they must always be ready to drop everything and rush out when need be. Carrying out rescue missions and dealing with Mad Burnish when they pop up are one thing, but the constant anticipation for alerts wears them down almost just as much. Lio doesn’t always have the chance to simply let his guard down like this, and he’s gradually learnt to appreciate the quiet, insignificant moments he has when he can just pass the hours idly in his apartment.

It’s almost six in the evening by the time he works up the motivation to prepare going out. He changes out of his jammies, nearly forgets to brush his teeth, and bunches his hair into a hair tie because he can’t really be bothered to untangle it at the moment. He then pockets his phone and wallet, scoops up his keys and a couple of reusable bags from the little basket on his shoe rack, and with a final sweep of his gaze across his room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important, he heads out.  

To be clear, Lio still hasn’t figured out what he’d like to eat for the next week. Then again, it wouldn’t be much different from the usual meals he could whip up either within thirty minutes or cook in a large batch so he can just store them in the fridge and have whenever he needed. He’ll just have to get some meat, fruits, some fresh cartons of milk. He's run out of bread too, he remembers. He could get some canned tuna to make some quick snacks while he’s at it.  

The supermarket is close enough to Lio’s apartment for him to walk there and back. Plus it’s the best option since rush hour is still ongoing at this point. Crowds of people gather at bus stops, the roads almost packed with slow-moving traffic. Lio spots students in uniforms chattering loudly in groups, adults in various types of work attire carrying their own bags of groceries. In the distance, a train rattles by.  

Lio spends a moment to bask in the mundanity of it all.  

He's greeted by a familiar playlist and a blast of air conditioning the moment he enters the supermarket. Lio eyes the growing queues at the check-out counters as he makes his way to the aisles, and decides not to dawdle too much before the crowds get bigger. He briskly heads to the usual sections and fills his basket, grabbing himself some bags of chips in the last minute when he spots the discount labels on the racks. He'd planned to look around and see what else could be on sale, but guess he’d just have to save that for the next time.  

Lio walks out about forty minutes later, heavy bags in hand, and pauses in his tracks.  

And finds himself going a different direction than that leading home, a slight, subconscious spring in his steps as he moves closer towards the city center. It takes maybe fifteen minutes and one wrong turning before he finally reaches a street that’s still just vaguely familiar. It'd been midafternoon the last time he was properly here and not just passing by, the sun almost too bright in his eyes and blinding when reflected off the many white-washed walls. Now it’s pleasantly buzzing with activity, the incoming night illuminated with bright lights and loud music.  

Lio doesn’t plan to properly go into the shop. He’ll just have a look while walking past, just to make sure the guy’s doing okay after that fire. Just be natural, Fotia. Don’t stare, don’t try too hard. At least it’s probably a busy time now and he won’t have the time to notice every passerby and—

The shop is quiet, with the staff crouching behind the counter scrolling through their phones. By sheer dumb luck, Lio’s eyes somehow almost immediately meet with those belonging to the one with spiky blue hair.  

Sees an excited grin bloom across his face.  

“Mr Firefighter!”

Lio hates the way his heart does a little flip at the address.  

“Oh, hey,” Lio manages to respond casually enough (god at least he hopes so), stopping to watch the guy maneuver his way over from his workstation. He's suddenly very aware of the fact that he hasn’t combed his hair. “You doing okay after everything?”  

“Yeah, it wasn’t anything serious, really,” Boba boy assures with a scratch of his cheek. He then spots Lio’s groceries. “Went shopping today?”  

Lio hums his affirmation, trying not to grow overly conscious of the crinkling of his bags of chips next. “Won’t be off until sometime next week after this.”

“That’s a shame. Thought I’d treat you to a cup, but guess it’s not exactly the most convenient for you at the moment, huh?”

Lio raises his eyebrows at the sudden mention of a treat. “There’s really no need, though?”

“Please, just take it as a token of appreciation. For taking care of a fellow Burnish sister yesterday.” Boba boy then frowns. “Or maybe you’re the type who considers that sort of hour ‘this morning’.”

Lio, the absolute fool he is, finds himself charmed from that statement alone. “I’ll drop by some other time, then? I’ll see if I’ll be free to visit after work tomorrow.”

“Cool, cool! I’ll keep an eye out for you!”

“Thanks,” Lio says, then realization belatedly dawns him. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name?”  

“Oh, right.” Boba boy lets out a sheepish laugh as though it hadn’t occurred to him as well. He slips his hands into his pockets, leans his weight back slightly. Relaxed, casual. “It’s Galo. Galo Thymos.”

[hazel-writes]

Summary: A devastating secret is revealed - one that you will never forget.

Word Count: 3,100

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

People they come together

People they fall apart

No one can stop us now

'Cause we're all made of stars

• We Are All Made of Stars - Moby •

You walked towards the room that the Commander had told you to meet him in. It was in a section of the ship you weren’t familiar with; red lights lined the sleek black walls and it was quiet in comparison to the bustling area closer to the command center. Needless to say, walking the near-empty corridors made you nervous.

And rightfully so.

Because at that moment, as you rounded a corner, you found yourself barrelling right into none other than General Hux.

Why am I like this? you thought to yourself, amused by your constant poor luck.

You stumbled backwards, mumbling an apology as Hux recovered. His features screwed into an expression of disgust.

“You.” he said through gritted teeth. “What do you think you’re doing here? This area is restricted. We don’t allow artist scum here.”

You didn’t want to reveal the true nature of your visit to this section of the ship, so you tried, and failed, to think of another excuse for your location.

“I- I was…”

He chuckled, a sinister grin spreading on his face. “Lost for words now, are you? That would be a first.”

When you continued to stay quiet, Hux took a predatory step towards you, his long, angled nose merely inches from your face. You shut your eyes tightly, attempting to block out his anger and ease your own.

He raised a finger in front of your nose but you held your ground defiantly. “Speak girl, I asked you a question!”

"Hux!” a voice sounded from down the hall, interrupting the interrogation.

The General's expression soon turned to one of irritation as he spun to face the individual who had spoken. You recognised the voice immediately as that of the Commander.

“I requested that she come to this part of the ship.” He calmly walked towards you and the General. “I take it you won’t keep her from our meeting any longer.”

“What would you want from her?” he scoffed, eyeing you with disgust. “She’s just a piece of Lothalian trash-”

Suddenly, his voice was cut off as he brought his hands up to his throat, grasping at an invisible force. You took a few steps back, taking in the scene before you. After a few moments, Hux was released and he crumpled to the ground, coughing and sputtering. The Commander then turned towards you.

“Come,” he said, before turning and walking back in the direction he came from.

You followed behind him, looking back at Hux, who was still on the ground. You knew you would be in trouble the next time you crossed paths with him, but now, you simply revelled in the sight of him lying helpless on the floor.

It wasn’t long before you arrived in front of a large metallic door. With a wave of his hand, the Commander wordlessly opened it, revealing a small, black room. Your eyes, however, were glued to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall.

“Wow,” you said, entranced by the speckled expanse of darkness.

“Sit,” he ordered, avoiding eye contact.

You did as he said, bringing your legs up in front of you and draping your hands over your knees. Silence enveloped the room and as much as you hated small talk, you despised awkward silence even more.

You couldn’t take it any longer. “So are we gonna play patty-cake or are we just gonna sit here. On the floor. In silence.”

A sigh emanated from his modulator. “You are well aware that you are force-sensitive.”

Ah, so that’s what this is about. “I guess, though I still am unsure as to what that entails.”

“The Force is a field of energy, created by all life, that connects everything in the universe. Those who are force-sensitive are highly attuned to its flow; they can sense and manipulate it to their will. Less than one percent of the universe’s population has the ability to do this.”

This was the most you had ever heard him speak and you hung onto every word. “And I’m one of those one percent?”

“With proper training, yes, you could be.”

This confused you. “But why do I need to be trained? It’s not like I’m some soldier who could use it in battle; I’m an artist! What would I gain from it? ”

He answered quickly and straightforwardly. “Power.”

You hated that word. It was too often used to justify war. “But I don’t want power; I want peace.”

“Peace only comes from power,” he responded robotically.

You shook your head in disagreement and let your eyes wander to the sheet of space before you. You thought of your dad, and how he always knew how to deescalate a tricky situation. Or your mom, who was always putting others before herself. And of course your little brother, who always saw the best in everyone and everything.

You smiled fondly. “I think peace comes from empathy.”

“You’re being naive,” he sighed.

You shrugged. “Or hopeful.”

He responded as if reciting from a First Order textbook, if that was even a thing, you thought .

“Hope is dangerous. It distracts us from our fears.”

"And gives us the confidence to confront them,” you retorted confidently.

He was starting to grow frustrated, his gloved fists clenching and unclenching. “You should always go into a fight imagining the worst possible outcome, not hoping that you will somehow make it out unscathed.”

“But hope provides us with something to fight for, and without that, we’re powerless,” you thought deeply, choosing your words carefully. “You were wrong before. Peace doesn’t come from power, power comes from peace.”

He silently searched your face, as if tracing each line would help him figure you out. You noticed a shift in his body language; he looked on edge, hesitant, nervous.

“I want to try something. I am going to attempt to see into your mind - and I want you to try to stop me.”

“Haven’t we done this before?” you smirked.

“Yes, however, I want you to replicate your actions, control them.”

“And why would you help me keep you out of my mind?”

He fidgeted with one of his fingers. “There are people on this ship that wouldn’t be happy with me engaging with someone so dispositioned to the Force, as I am.”

This surprised you. “Who, Hux? He hardly seems like a threat you’d be concerned about.”

“Yes, Hux. But there is another. Someone I answer to.”

This surprised you even more. You couldn’t imagine the Commander answering to anyone but himself. “And why would this person be so against you training me?”

“He would believe his power over me would be jeopardized. He would perceive you as a threat.”

You scoffed. “Me, a threat? Does he know who I am? I tripped over a chair in my room last night and apologized to it. I mean, it’s just my personal opinion, but that definitely does not give off the most threatening of vibes.”

“Well, unfortunately, he does not care about your opinion.”

You paused, considering all the new information you just learned. Knowing that the Commander was following another’s orders should’ve made you nervous, but instead you had hope that maybe some of the bad things he had done in the past weren't completely his doing.

“Alright, fine. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

He nodded silently. As he brought his hand to your temple, you couldn’t help but flinch. Surprisingly, he stopped his movement.

“I’ll make it as painless as I can.”

You stared up at him, astonished by his uncharacteristic comment, before nodding. He slowly continued his maneuver.

You felt nothing at first, only a small tingle at the back of your skull. Like vines on a tree, you felt the tingle form tendrils and reach across the expanse of your head. You focused on each one, imagining walls being built in front of each. But the vines were persistent. They snaked up the cracks of your walls, making their way to the top. You tried making the walls taller, but there were too many; you couldn’t keep up. You managed to keep most of the vines at bay, but one vine slipped its way over the top of the wall, and started its descent to the other side.

As it did, flashes began to hit you in small bursts. With them came visions, memories.

You and your older brother, Doran, sat on a blanket, watching as your little brother, Benji, played in the dirt a few feet away.

“Why does he do that?” you asked Doran.

“Why does he do what?” he replied.

“Play in the dirt like that. It’s gross.” You watched as Benji squished a handful of mud in his hand, smiling.

“Maybe he sees something in it that you don’t.”

“Like what, worms?”

Doran looked at his younger brother fondly. “I dunno. He’s always been like that - perceptive. He lives in his own little world.”

The scene twisted into another.

“Wait up!” Benji shouted as you both raced down a steep, rocky hill, giggling like idiots.

You remembered this day. You won the race.

As you neared the bottom, you turned, only to see your brother trip.

This was new… You didn’t remember that happening.

Expecting him to stumble off of the rock he was standing on, you lunged forward.

Only, he never fell.

You watched as your brother hovered in the air, horizontal to the ground, arm outstretched in front of him.

“Benji-”

The vision changed.

Your mom and dad whispered in the living room of your house. You watched from the crack of your bedroom door. Their whispers were rushed, panicked. You could tell something bad had happened.

“We can’t just give him to them to use as a weapon,” your father said, frustrated.

Your mother responded, frowning. “He is old enough to know what his sacrifice would mean.”

“Sacrifice?!” he whispered, astonished. “So you admit it! Handing him over is a death sentence!”

Your mother sighed. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

Your father interrupted before she could say another word. “It’s exactly what you meant! You want to send our ten year-old son to fight for the Resistance.”

Your heart sank.

"He could save millions of lives.”

“If he isn’t killed first!”

“He will be well-protected. They’ll take care of him.”

“For the wrong reasons! All they want is another weapon to use against the Order.”

“He’s already said yes.”

“He is being manipulated, and so are you!” Your father took your mother’s hands, pleading with her, begging her, for some sort of understanding. “Listen, just the other day he told me that someday, when the ships don’t fly above our house so often, he wants to study plants. That’s what he loves to do: look at the little plants, watch them grow, sprout leaves, bloom flowers… He’s just a boy. Our boy.”

She sighed. “I understand, trust me, I do… but think of all the other little girls and boys who will die if we don’t do this. I won’t be responsible for that kind of pain.”

“I just-”

“I know… but it has to be done.”

Your father looked down at the familiar dust-covered floor. His voice lowered in defeat. “The children can never know. Especially her,” he said, nodding to your bedroom. “It will put them in danger. We will tell them we sent him away until the land is safe.”

The scene changed again.

You stood in the doorway of your house. Your brother waved goodbye to you as he walked towards a small ship, hand in hand with your mother. You smiled, turning around before he did, and heading back into the house.

Why, why did you turn around? Why didn’t you keep looking for just one more second?

The scene presented itself to you over and over. You couldn’t escape it. You heard a voice, calling your name, urging you to escape your own mind.

“Hey… Hey! Wake up!”

You shot straight up from your position on the ground, panting. A face hovered over you - one you didn’t recognize. You shuffled backwards, startled.

“It’s me! It’s just me.”

You faintly recognized the voice - it was similar to one you had grown accustomed to over the past few days, except this one was less distorted and slightly higher in pitch.

“Commander?”

He nodded, looking away. Your bleary vision made it hard to see the man before you. You could discern a pair of deep, hazel eyes. They reminded you of one of father’s paintings; your favorite painting. It depicted a forest, with trees that touched the clouds and pinecones that littered the ground. You could practically smell them right through the canvas. Endless shades of green stood out against the stormy sky. It all seemed peaceful, yet full of life.

You brought yourself up onto your elbows, before scooting back towards the wall for support. You remained silent for a moment, processing the recent turn of events. You finally spoke, eyes wide, face blank.

“They killed him.”

The Commander looked back at you, confused. “Who-”

“My parents…” you interrupted, still in shock. “They killed him.”

He remained patient. “Killed who?”

“My brother,” you responded, the immensity of the secret you had just unearthed beginning to hit. Your vision became clouded, hot droplets hitting your tights. “My little brother.”

The Commander looked down, as if attempting to decipher a riddle. He spoke slowly.

“I thought you said he was killed by the Resistance.”

“He was,” you responded, running your fingers through your hair. You were angry now; angry at your parents, the Resistance, the constant wars and fighting. “But not in the way my parents described. They told me that there had been an accident . That an X-Wing crashed and he had simply been in the way. But he hadn’t just ‘been in the way’. He was on that X-Wing. The whole time they were using him - using his abilities - to help them win the war. I didn’t remember before. They must’ve done something to make me forget...”

The Commander looked at you strangely, his hazel eyes trained on yours, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“What a surprise,” you let out a breathy chuckle, raising your arms in exasperation. “You don’t care about any of this, do you?”

He remained still. “I never said that.”

Your emotions began to swell, and unfortunately, you projected your anger onto the Commander. “Well if you cared at all about my brother’s death, then you wouldn’t be blowing up planets on an everyday basis!”

“I have my orders,” he said, flatly.

You stood abruptly. “You can choose not to follow them! You’re no better than my parents - sending innocents off into a war that isn’t even being fought for them.”

The Commander stood and spoke with a slight irritation in his voice. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.”

You paused, looking him up and down. You let out a humourless chuckle, knowing you probably sounded crazy. “You think you are so powerful, hiding behind that mask. But now I know… you’re just a man. You follow blind orders and when someone calls you out on your cowardice, you throw a temper tantrum like a spoiled toddler. Do you have any thoughts of your own?”

He whipped his head towards you and spoke through clenched teeth. “If I didn’t have thoughts of my own, you would be dead right now.”

“Tell me them then!” You were yelling now. “Why would you care what happened to my brother - what happens to me? Why would you?”

“Because I was your brother!” he boomed. But his powerful voice didn’t match his eyes; they looked desperate, scared, like he was a little boy again. You took a hesitant step back. He noticed this and took a deep breath before running his hands through his hair. “I was… used for my abilities. And when they became too strong, I was perceived as a threat.”

Your mood softened, surprised by his sudden vulnerability. You searched his eyes gently. “Who thought of you as a threat? The Order?”

He looked down, his hair concealing his pained expression. The room’s red glow cast somber shadows on his face, but just for a second, you swear you saw a flicker of light dance across his face.

“You can tell me.”

He shook his head, the shadows having returned, and avoided your eyes. ‘I’ve already said too much. I’m... I’m not the only one who can read minds.’

"There is someone else? Someone like me?”

He answered immediately, facing you with a stoney stare. “No, nothing like you.” He paused, regaining his impassive composure and putting his mask back on. “You can’t know - It is not safe.”

You started to open your mouth to protest, but a blaring alarm interrupted. You jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected noise. The door to the room you were in slid open with a hiss. The Commander spun around, activating his lightsaber. You had never been this close to it before; it crackled with a furious energy that both scared and enticed you.

Your focus made its way back to the opened door, where two terrified officers now stood.

“C-Commander, General Hux wishes to see you. He- he says it is urgent.”

The Commander stalked towards the officers, lightsaber still activated. The officers shrunk into themselves, anticipating their demise.

“Leave.”

The officers nodded vigorously, before running back the way they came. The Commander turned to look back at you.

“I have to go. I will be in contact with you soon.”

“Wait, I just wanted to say...” you paused as he stopped his movement. “You only become a threat to others when you become a threat to yourself. Always remember who you are. That’s what is important - that’s what makes us powerful.”

Your eyes met his masked expression in a moment of deafening silence. You caught his focus shift to the windows behind you, the stars reflected in the black slit where his eyes had been moments before.

An image flashed before your eyes briefly, except this time, it wasn’t yours: Stars surrounded you. You could make out two gold cubes hanging from someplace above. A small hand emerged from behind you, attempting to grab the shiny objects, but it couldn’t reach them. It kept reaching, and right when you thought it was going to touch them, everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, you were alone again.

——————————————

Previous || Masterlist || Next

[rebuiltbionicle]

Red Star

A component of the Great Spirit Robot kept separate from the rest of the Matoran Universe. The Red Star (actually called the Externalised Engine in the Great Being’s schematics, and referred to as “the Spheres” by its inhabitants) is a booster rocket, interstellar drive, and monitoring station all in one, and has some emergency functions to defend the Great Spirit Robot from external forces.

The Red Star was built by the Great Beings. The Great Spirit Robot needed to travel interstellar distances and they wanted to maximise observation time of alien civilisation over travel time, so they created their undoubtedly most advanced piece of technology ever: a warp engine. Only a few prototypes had ever been produced and the technology had never been implemented for long-term use. The technology was so unrefined that it was deemed safer to have the engine built outside of the Robot. This provided several advantages for additional features placed on the star.

The Red Star was held in a slot on the GSR’s back, where it produced massive amounts of thrust to (in conjunction with foot and hand mounted thrusters) take the enormous weight of the machine into orbit. There (after fixing any orbital problems caused to the planet by the raw power of takeoff) the GSR would fold into a ball for interstellar travel. The Red Star’s enormous reactor would produce a tonne of negative mass particles to create a stable warp bubble. Further exotic particles had to be produced to burst the bubble and come back into real space. This process produced massive amount of heat, and after shutting down the waste heat would be used to power systems for a thousand years until it was needed again. The heat was so immense that it kept the Star operating perfectly with energy to spare.

After finding a planet to survey, the Red Star would detach from the GSR as it landed and disguised itself for observations. The Star would assume a not-quite geostationary orbit of the planet, monitoring the GSR as it did its observing. It had several emergency functions that could aid the GSR, including a power beam that could transform Matoran into Toa. It would also project Toa Spirit stars and other functions should the Matoran be forced to surface. One of the more important but misused functions was that the Red Star would act as a communications satellite capable of communicating with the Great Beings back on Bara Magna.

There were two different kinds of inhabitants of the Red Star. Firstly, the Kestora: the smaller service robots designed to maintain areas of the GSR the awakened Biomechs were never meant to see, of which the Red Star was included. Secondly, the Voltest: giant biomechs intended for work within the Star’s reactor, with bodies meant to anchor themselves and withstand great heat.

The Red Star was built as a trio of spheres, each slightly small than the other and built into the far wall of its superior, resulting in one spherical chamber and two crescent/bowl shaped chambers. The outermost, the thinnest, was the maintenance deck. Exclusively staffed by the Kestora, it was here that the internal operations of the Red Star, including its communications equipment and propulsion, was operated from. The middle section was the habitation section, dominated by a simulated biosphere of biomechanical trees growing high-energy fruit for the inhabitants to feed on. There were also places to sleep, though since these beings were never intended to be sapient these locations were best described as hives. The inner chamber was the only spherical chamber, and where the reactor and primary functions were situated, exclusively staffed by the Voltest. Gravity went inwards toward the reactor core. The entire thing was covered in a sheath shaped like a hexagonal bipydramid with hexagonal faces on each end instead of pointed vertices.

Operations on the Red Star were as-intended for the first thousand years of the GSR’s journey. This changed when the Great Being Gaardus teleported into the Star. The inhabitants attempted to expel him as a contaminant, but Gaardus altered their minds to allow them the same sapience the rest of the Matoran Universe possessed. Gaardus immediately realised this could negatively effect the running of Engine, so he took the time to organise their society on the basis of the Matoran society and encouraged the worship of the Great Beings, specifically himself. He established a Voltest Hierarch to rule over them in his stead.

This Hierarch’s reign was short lived as he became a tyrannical slavedriver. They refused to let culture grow outside of maintenance work, enforced nearly perpetual workshifts, and encouraged hatred between Kestora and Voltest to avoid being the target of the people’s anger. This failed and they were hurled into the reactor by unknown assailants. Their death forced a discussion of how the Star should be run, and a democratic council was established. Culture was allowed to develop and flourish, including the building of the Great City of Silver. The Red Star flourished, with no detriment to its operations. Gaardus’s regular returns brought malcontent as he disapproved of the overthrow of the Hierarch and insisted that a singular being was superior to what he termed “mob rule.” He attempted to install a new Hierarch, this time a Kestora, but the society resisted and maintained the council. Knowing the Red Star’s importance, Gaardus was hesitant to push the issue to the point of dysfunction.

The seeds of the Red Star’s doom had been sown. Despite thousand of years of prosperity, there was malcontent within its society. The chosen Kestora hierarch (calling himself The Prophet), denied a throne, continued to stir up trouble within the society, though amounting to nothing for millennia. They attempted a coup and had to remain a wanted criminal hiding in a very small habitable space, evading capture only through loyal followers ferrying them from hiding place to hiding place.

The collapse of Red Star society came with the Great Cataclysm. The Red Star was fully aware of the Cataclysm, having been ejecting from the robot prematurely in a jolt that gave their civilisation its own cataclysm. The Prophet was able to return to prominence and blame the event of incompetent rule by the council, which retorted that the event was clearly from outside. The next few decades were spent rebuilding, while the Prophet slowly spread dissent amongst the Kestora. At this time they received a visitor from beyond; not Gaardus but Artakha. The Master Builder, in his more proactive attempts to help Mata Nui in their time of need, projected an spectral image to survey the situation. He directed the reconstruction of more irreplaceable systems and informed them of what had been going on. He also provided a voice in favour of the council opposed to the Prophet. The never swayed a majority of the Kestora, but they achieved just enough to launch a coup in spite of Artakha’s efforts.

The Prophet’s followers attacked the City of Silver in a ruthless attack. They’re acts of violence made it too dangerous to stay in the city, forcing most of the inhabitants out. Kestora not loyal to the Prophet were forced into the maintenance section and sealed there, while the Voltest fled to the outer habitation decks and the inner reactor. A war began in which the fortified Prophet forces would slowly hunt down the Voltest, despite the protest of the spectral Artakha.

The Voltest were hunted down to a mere handful of survivors. Artakha instructed them to hide, but they chose to lay siege upon the city to reclaim it. They managed to break in, but it was a losing battle. Out of the blue, Takanuva was deposited into the Red Star via Olmak. Artakha informed him of the battle in the city and instructed him to help. Unforunately Takanuva misread the situation. There was only one Voltest left, which Takanuva interpretted as invading the Kestora’s city. Fortunately Takanuva merely drove it off. After being reprimanded by Artakha, Takanuva befriended the creature and manged to lure the Prophet’s Kestora out of the city, where the Voltest retook occupation and sealed the Prophet out. From there they allowed the friendly Kestora back in and attempted to restore order, and begin repairing and rebuilding the Voltest species. The Prophet’s forces remained active on the outskirts.

Gaardus would later return, and was blamed for the war and forced out; all loyalty and respect he once commanded gone. Later on, Artakha would command them not to repair the Star, as the GSR had been seized by the Makuta. Without the Red Star his ability to conquer other worlds was severely handicapped. Makuta noticed a lack of response from the Star, and teleported a legion of Rahkshi there which made the Kestora and Voltest far more cooperative. The Mad Skakdi Vezon also showed up via Olmak to the star, and made himself known to both the natives and the Rahkshi. He would sporadically juThe Red Star was made operational again, but was never used. Makuta jumped without it from Aqua Magna to Bara Magna, where the GSR was rendered inoperable and would never need the Red Star again. The Rahkshi went feral and were slowly culled.

With contact with the outside world cut off, things became a little stir crazy. Sure, the Red Star had always been isolated, but now they knew important things were happening out there without their knowledge. Tensions flared up again against the Prophet’s forces. A second war was averted when Vezon returned and had the Prophet killed. The Red Star citizens were grateful, and Vezon decided to use this gratitude to his advantage, rallying the Red Star citizens to face a greater cause for the freedom of all biomechanicals within and beyond the Red Star. He brought them to Spherus Magna to help in the fight against Gaardus and his attempt to restore a Great Being dictatorship.

The Red Star has remained in orbit since then, but now as a political entity in full contact with the outside world. Trade and immigration is now possible. The prosperity of Red Star civilisation in the intermediary years now seems a period of stagnation and isolation compared to what they’ve made of themselves.

[boardingadmission]

Boarding Schools In Delhi

CSKM Public School

Col Satsangis Kiran Memorial Public School is a senior secondary school established in 1986 by Col P S Satsangi(VSM). It is affiliated to the Central Board of Secondary Education. It is a co-educational English medium school. The school believe that every child can be developed and improved, The school believe that every child can be guided towards success, The school believe that every child is a winner and the school also believe that every child can be groomed to be boarding schools in delhi a successful human being. The school have both boarding as well Long Hours Day Boarding facilities for both boys as well as girls.

Ganga International School

Ganga International School New Delhi is one of the best residential school in India. The surroundings of this residential school is spread over 20 acres of land including vast playgrounds in the lush green surrounding. The boarding school in Delhi have earned the reputation of being counted among renowned boarding school in India, which can accommodate a thousand students. Established in the year 1989, the school was recognized by the Directorate of Education, Government of Delhi and is affiliated to Central Board of Secondary Education since 1992. It came into its present form of a residential school in 2001. The school has developed with a spirit of imparting quality education and a global vision for more than two decades. Since its founding, the school has won the reputation both in India as well as abroad for the high quality of its academics, its commitment to excellence on the sports field, and its dedication to the mission of forming young generation with vision, skill, knowledge and moral probity.

The Mann School

The Mann School (MS) located in Holambi Khurd, near Alipur on G.T.Karnal Road, New Delhi is a symbol of quality education and holistic all round development since its inception in 1989. Located 25 kms away from the railway station and 35 kms from the airport, the school is happily far removed from the pollution and the madding crowd of the city. The Mann School is a member of Indian Public Schools Conference (IPSC) and is an authorised body for conducting ESOL Examinations for University of Cambridge. MS has also been certified with ISO-9001:2015 and ISO 14001:2015. A sprawling estate is the background for one of the finest educational experiences in India. Its charming, picturesque surroundings provide a perfect atmosphere for young minds to blossom. Students not only learn what their textbooks have to offer, but also get in touch with nature and discover their own hidden facets. The school employs the latest teaching techniques to ensure that students not only earn certificates, but also accumulate knowledge during their sojourn here.

Shanti Gyan International School

Shanti Gyan International School is not just a school, but a training ground for life. The child learns the foremost values of love, trust and truth from parents and later realizes the values of courage, ambition and determination from the larger society, at school. Shanti Gyan International School has been established on this foundation to prepare the child for life. But, Rome was not built in a day and we are still growing ... without any external aid or donations! We are just growing, with our commitment towards perfection; for we believe that what is true, good and beautiful, shall always be accepted. Shanti Gyan International School is set to provide creative and progressive education to rise above the conventional teaching in a peaceful and safe environment. Shanti Gyan International Sr. Sec. School has carved niche for itself in a short span of time and aims at the holistic development of the students, in a healthy environment under the guidance of qualified and dynamic teachers. Here teaching is not just a set of instructions but an experience which goes beyond books and class room learning. The students are taught the necessary skills, attitudes and aptitude thus preparing them for life. We believe in making a difference EVERY DAY!

Delhi City School

The school is set in the bustling area of North Delhi- taking education right to the door step of the students and parents. It is an attempt to provide all amenities and facilities to people in the vicinity i.e. the city; within a protected and contained environment. The school building has got an uplift with state of the art facilities like play area for the tiny tots, a playground of international standards, interactive classroom sessions through smart boards & well stocked digitized library. The school is set in the bustling area of North Delhi- taking education right to the door step of the students and parents. It is an attempt to provide all amenities and facilities to people in the vicinity i.e. the city; within a protected and contained environment. With his vision and progressive approach, Delhi City School is set to make a mark in the society, through its students. We at DCS intent to make our students independent, modern and versatile learners. We not only impart education that is most suitable for the times, but also integrate technology in education and give considerable emphasis to sports and arts.

Mount Carmel School

Mount Carmel School To provide Educational Excellence to Boys & Girls irrespective of caste, creed or colour with special preference to those from Christian minority community. The School has excellent facilities for students. In their daily regular curriculum, the students take part in various co-curricular and extra-curricular activities. These activities are meant to not only make them more dynamic, but to instill in them a sense of achievement, self-confidence and camaraderie. The School has various playgrounds with sports facilities like Cricket, Hockey, Badminton, Basketball, Tennis, Athletics and indoor-activities.The School stresses on its students to take active part in all kinds of co-curricular and extra-curricular activities, ranging from craft workshops, theatre, yoga, classical dances, air-rifle shooting, hiking and excursions, painting, debates to athletics and indoor sports, in order to bring out their creative faculties. The school has well-equipped science laboratories – biology and chemistry laboratories. Both laboratories are extensively used by the students to carry out their practical experimentsThe school has an extensive library well stocked with books on a wide range of subjects. The students here get exposed to different worlds through the medium of books. The library keeps not only books on academic subjects but on diverse topics which broaden the inquisitive minds of the students.

Modern School

Modern School is synonymous with quality education and is a pioneer in mooting all-round development and to foster an all-round growth in its wards. This prestigious temple of education was established in 1920 in a building located in Daryaganj, New Delhi. This precinct found itself embedded in a sprawling mansion that belonged to Lala Sultan Singh. His philanthropic gesture was a result of his sons vision of an institution par excellence which would be a jugalbandhi of traditional Indian system of education and modern educational techniques. Lala Sultan Singh was a prominent businessman in British-ruled India in the early 1880’s. Khushwant Singhs articles provide more details on his life. Sultan Singhs son, Lala Raghubir Singh, founded the school to provide quality education, and to foster all-round growth of a child. Lala Raghubir Singh was the spirit and the soul of the school. In a world torn by conflicts and differences in social, economic and political realms, we must try to unlock new ways of viewing problems and open doors to a brand new world of potential solutions and perceptions.

Khemo Devi Public School

Khemo Devi Public School is committed to awaken the children and not just teach them. The school is strategically situated in Narela on 3.0 acres of land .KDPS a beautifull,spacious,airy piece of archietecture has now come to be a noted landmark in the area .Khemo Devi Public School is a futuristic school, Where knowledge reigns supreme. Our school aims at grooming each child academically, socially so that He/She becomes a very confident and well balance citizen of the world. We can also proudly say that we always upgrade technology so that we are able to provide a cutting edge technology plateform for our students.We instil the values of creative thinking,reading good books,confidence building and respecting others values and beliefs and developing a spirit of tolerance. The scholars are skillfully trained in life skill education too.The purpose of education must extend beyond purely clinical outputs it must contain an ethical underpinning and promote values that we can aspire to as a comminity . We must remember that intelligence is not enough. Intelligence with character is the ultimate goal of the true education.

Modern Convent School

The faculty of Modern Convent School, Dwarka consists of around 106 full time, highly qualified and experienced teachers, each of them an expert in his/her own field. Established on the 1st of April 1999, Modern Convent School is a Senior Secondary Co-educational school managed by the Modern Charitable Foundation registered under the Societies Registration Act 1860. The ultra – modern school building is located on a four-acre plot of land in Sector 4 of Dwarka, amidst well maintained sprawling lush green lawns and a huge state boarding schools in delhi  of the art playground. Modern Convent School is recognized by the Directorate of Education N.C.T. and is affiliated to Central Board of Secondary Education (Affliation no. 2730338). The school has nearly 3400 students on its rolls with a staff of around 300 (including non teaching) and offers quality education to students from Nursery to Class XII.

Vikas Bharti School

Vikas Bharati Public School, Sec- 24, Rohini,a CBSE affiliated, educational institution, started taking roots since its inception in 1999. Meeting the international standards of education from Pre – school to class XII, it is scaling to glorious heights by taking giant leaps. A perfect ambience with a vast expanse of 4 acres of land, it is a spacious, modern high tech building surrounded with a colorful bonanza of fresh floral bounty. Well litsmart classes, Maths, Science, Computer, ATLand Home Science labs with latest equipmentsare instrumental in providing wholesome education. A huge playfield with Basketball court, Lawn tennis court, Swimming pool and Skating rink helps students bring about excellence in sports and games. With exclusive transport facility which includes a fleet of around 30 buses, VBPS ensures safe and secure journey to the students. The school ground also accommodates Rain Water Harvesting System, Reverse Osmosis Plant and Recycling Plant. With an excellent infrastructure and exceptionally well resourced teaching faculty,the school has reached the heights of success among already statured public schools of Delhi. Knowledge is Power’ as an ideology is the main source of inspiration for every pupil in the institution.

https://boardingadmission.com/list-of-top-boarding-schools-in-delhi

[ceekbee]

What to Remember When Waking Up

By Paul C Pritchard on Wednesday June 17th, 2020

Remember, Remember ...

I am sensitive and I can be hard on myself. It’s a paradoxical feeling of wanting everything to be better (I am an idealist) and then getting deeply affected by the pain of this life and those things that I want to help change. Consequently, I feel like I play a game of peekaboo with life. And that’s okay too. I come out when I can be at my most effective. And I retreat to restore and gain more resilience when needed. However, I make a promise to never give up. I hear the Dalai Lama telling me this over and over again as he’s smiling and laughing in earnest:

Never give up — No matter what is going on. Never give up. Develop the heart … Be compassionate. Not just to your friends but to everyone. Be compassionate. Work for peace in your heart and in the world. Work for peace. And I say again, Never give up. No matter what is going on around you. Never give up — Dalai Lama

At the moment, there’s a lot to be idealistic about. I don’t want to ever lose that fire in my belly for justice and graceful right action. I want to be vigilant and participate in the collaboration of change that is happening in the world right now. It excites me when: the global energy is emphatically chanting for justice and for a collective means to make amends; when there’s a conscious alignment for rebalance and a shift in global consciousness; when the sporadic and independent voices start to harmonise with synchronised purpose and when consciousness shakes the apathy, the mediocrity and the resignation out of us — making way for our souls to sing.

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?” – George Eliot (AKA Mary Ann Evans)

I feel great comfort in my heart as I read these words, a respite from the relentless search for meaning in my life. Back in the 19th Century women were frowned upon as writers and simply were not as popular as ‘male’ writers. Subsequently, Mary Ann Evans wrote under the pseudonym George Eliot. In my commitment to truth and integrity, this fact feels important to share. No matter how big or small these gestures of restoration are, only by continuing to correct the order and equality, can we make an honest impact. And we can all make an honest impact in our very unique ways.

Alt text hereWork for peace in your heart and in the world. Never give up. Image: Christopher Campbell

Focussing on the Solution

I personally don’t like to focus too much on the past and the whys (although I feel it’s vital for our understanding). I have learned I am more useful in solution-focused energies. When there is a natural surge to make amends, the invitation arrives for me to enter the slipstream and make my voice and actions count. Some people are activists and generators. I wasn’t built like that. I’m a collaborator and support person. We are experiencing a spectacular wave of transformation energy right now and the invitation is for us all to get on board with our own personalised way of creating lasting change.

Sometimes it’s not possible to do everything. So, I like to give to causes where my contribution will have a greater impact and also an ongoing ripple effect. I believe in giving to education initiatives and also projects that support basic survival needs; clothing, food and safe-shelter. If I can make a difference in a child’s life and their education, I know I am helping pave the way for a kinder world by empowering them with skills to take care of themselves and also one another.

Other causes also grab my attention; especially when I see broken children walking around in adult bodies feeling lost and at odds with the world. All their pain and wrong choices like a snowball gathering momentum in a cold and unforgiving world. I am a great believer in reform and rehabilitation. Yet, I learned a long time ago I cannot be an idealist and a perfectionist in the area of reform and rehabilitation. I cannot click my fingers and make all the world’s pain and suffering disappear. These things take time, a lot of time. It takes generations of healing. But I am committed to at least make a start in helping broken adults now.

Planting the Seeds of a Better Future

I imagine I am planting an acorn for that big old oak to come forth. Perhaps I will never get to sit in the shade of that magnificent tree. But it does not stop me planting and protecting this acorn, this sapling, this young tree. Right now, I can find solace when I think about all the shelter this tree will provide in the many years to come.

I believe the energetic blueprint of kindness can never be destroyed — it ripples into Existence eternally. It feels humbling to know that my invisible hands and invisible work will continue to have a kind influence in the world. I plant to make the world a better place for even when I am no longer here. This is what I try and hold on to when waking up.

Alt text hereI may never reap the rewards of my actions but maybe someday, someone else will. Image: Ksenia Makagonova

David Whyte, in his simple, yet deeply profound poem, What to Remember When Waking, reminds us of what is important. Not the destination but the journey. And more importantly what qualities we hold dear as we travel as a seemingly individual being. It is to hold steadfast that small opening of remembrance and to cultivate hope and trust. To foster a purer knowing and acceptance that we are not individual beings but a spark of the one Light. He states so eloquently, “To remember the other world in this world, is to live in your true inheritance.”

When I am too hard on myself and when my idealist cannot reconcile or make sense of the world, all I have to do is remember who I truly am, remember back to where it all began, that spark of light from the one true Light. And as I beacon myself out into the world, out into the universe, I must stay present enough to be amazed at the myriad of attributes of the exquisite light refractions I experience all around me. I must wait with curiosity, in childlike wonder at what shapes the seed of me is yet to reveal. My prayer is to keep shining and reflecting back into the whole — that one particular, unique and distinctive light that I call ‘Me’.

In that first hardly noticed moment in which you wake,

coming back to this life from the other

more secret, moveable and frighteningly honest world

where everything began,

there is a small opening into the new day

which closes the moment you begin your plans.

What you can plan is too small for you to live.

What you can live wholeheartedly will make plans enough

for the vitality hidden in your sleep.

To be human is to become visible

while carrying what is hidden as a gift to others.

To remember the other world in this world

is to live in your true inheritance.

You are not a troubled guest on this earth,

you are not an accident amidst other accidents

you were invited from another and greater night

than the one from which you have just emerged.

Now, looking through the slanting light of the morning window

toward the mountain presence of everything that can be

what urgency calls you to your one love?

What shape waits in the seed of you

to grow and spread its branches

against a future sky?

Is it waiting in the fertile sea?

In the trees beyond the house?

In the life you can imagine for yourself?

In the open and lovely white page on the writing desk?

~

What does this poem evoke in you? Can you take a breath now and recognise that spark of light that you call ‘you’? What are some of the qualities that you hold dear on this journey? What shape waits in the seed of you to grow and spread its branches against a future sky?

As always, we look forward to you sharing in the comments below and as always we are with you and sharing our love with you.

Paul and Team UPLIFT

[planetenfreund-blog]

This Landscaping Company is Rescuing Atlanta’s Urban Canopy

The city in the forest has a plant problem. More specifically, with non-native plants, whose invasive spread, accelerated by human planting and seed-dropping birds, threatens the biodiversity of Atlanta’s native flora. Taking a walk through most Atlanta neighborhoods, one can quickly spot numerous invasive plant species. In my own area of West Midtown, the evergreen leaves of Chinese privet and Japanese honeysuckle pervade back yards and local parks. The rope-like vines of English Ivy crawl up the trunks of our neighborhood’s oldest trees and Chinese wisteria hangs from suspended powerlines along the highway. Even in manicured lawns and gardens, non-native monkey grass with its stalky purple flowers grows in thick, lush rows. 

In the absence of natural predators and competitive species, foreign plants can grow rampant in new environments. With their advantages over native greenery, invasive species easily wins the race for territory, sunlight, and other vital resources. The uninhibited spread of invasive species stifles the growth of young trees, blankets forest floors, and can even cause mature trees to fall and uproot. When uncontrolled, areas impacted by invasive plants become unable to sustain native plant growth. These areas can be rapidly overrun by monocultures, like the vast acres blanketed in kudzu one can see driving down any given highway. 

Looking at the numbers, Tanya Povolny saw an opportunity to aid Atlanta’s urban forest: The majority of the city’s trees are privately owned, with estimates that 80% or more of the total canopy is on residential properties. Targeting invasive vegetation on privately-owned land could rescue thousands of acres of Atlanta trees. In October 2019, Povolny founded EcoLogic, a company specializing in restoring native landscapes. EcoLogic offers a wide variety of native plant care and invasive species removal services, all without the use of herbicides. I recently spoke with Povolny to learn more about her new venture and her journey in conservation work. 

At EcoLogic, Povolny and her team of three restoration technicians use a low-impact, manual approach to revitalize forested Atlanta properties. Since the company does not use weedkillers such as glyphosate, which has been linked to cancer and harms native flora and fauna, all of their labor must be done by hand. “We only work in five-hour shifts,” Povolny explains. “It’s heavy work. It’s hard on your body. Doing more than that is not viable or sustainable.” 

Knowledge of native species is critical for leaving the landscape unharmed. “The main thing is knowing what to take out and what to leave behind. It’s vitally important to the forest’s ability to bounce back,” Povolny says. “Untrained landscaping crews, when they come in to do ivy removal, they’re taking out everything.” This presents a threat to some rare native species that resemble invasive ones. Like the bay star-vine, which grows in the Fernbank Forest. “If you don’t know better, you would think that it looks like English Ivy,” she tells me. 

Founding EcoLogic is the latest endeavor in Povolny’s storied experience in environmentalist work. “One of the main themes of my life has always been nature and being outdoors and being connected to the Earth,” she divulges. “I knew I was going to be unhappy having to do a desk job where I was forced to stay indoors all the time. I was really looking for something after undergrad that would allow me to bring together all of these interests in a venue that also allowed me to connect with nature.” 

Povolny joined Americorps, where she worked with children in agricultural and environmental education programs. She then began taking ecological classes at Austin Community College while also overseeing a chicken coop program for a local 4H chapter. Eventually, Povolny enrolled grad school, studying landscape architecture at the University of Texas in Austin. She continued for two years in the program before deciding to drop out: “It was so geared towards the business side of landscape architecture [rather than] how to affect change in our environment and bringing together mental health [with] nature and how we use our built environments to speak to our intentions,” she explains. “Funnily enough, now that I’m a business owner, I appreciate some of the things I was learning. But at the time . . . I felt very disconnected from what it was that I wanted to be getting out of it.”

After leaving grad school, Povolny relocated to Atlanta and took up work with the Deep Forest Field School, a restoration nonprofit group operating in the Fernbank Forest. During that time, she assisted on founder Dr. Jeremy Dahl’s environmental research team. Eventually, Povolny felt called to start her own restoration company that could offer educational programming. “It was something that I was trying to do for a long time with [Dahl], but we never really got it off the ground,” she shares. “So that’s one of the reasons that I felt that I needed to start my own thing, to broaden those opportunities, because they just weren’t being exploited.”  

Currently, Povolny’s technician crew consists of three artists whom she befriended in the local DIY scene. “It’s funny who you find doing this kind of work,” she says. “I had these friends through [the DIY community] and they were approaching me about being interested in this kind of work.” Povolny has been training her team for nearly two months now, sharing the expertise she has acquired through her years of experience.

While formal education is beneficial for restoration work, Povolny finds it is not mandatory: “You don’t need an informed educational background. It definitely helps, and I find that it makes people more interested.” As she sees it, a concern for the environment can be more valuable than one’s experience level. “It requires you to be aware, to pay attention, to put it bluntly, to give a f--- about the end result,” she explains. “That’s really what you have to start with. If you have that, you can learn everything you need to know about forest restoration within a year.” 

As for the most challenging aspect of Povolny’s work at EcoLogic: “Getting the word out there. Reaching people. That’s the hardest thing . . . I think that’s probably difficult for any new business, especially if you don’t have a budget, which I don’t,” she says and laughs. Currently, the business remains focused on invasive species removal as it continues to grow. Povolny already has her eyes set on expanding, however: Eventually, she envisions EcoLogic branching out to include community outreach and educational programming. “That’s really the direction I am most interested in,” she explains. 

In the meantime, the hard work continues; on EcoLogic’s Instagram account, the crew can be seen laboring over thickets of privet and tangles of English ivy. In between serious posts educating on sustainable forest management, there is also a smattering of memes about native Georgia flora and fauna. Those interested can also visit the company’s website or follow them on Facebook to learn more. 

(Restoration photos courtesy of EcoLogic.)

[architectnews]

Ten modernist architecture highlights in London's Metro-land

Joshua Abbott has written A Guide to Modernism in Metro-Land to highlight the modernist architecture in the northwestern suburbs of London. Here he selects ten of the most interesting examples.

A Guide to Modernism in Metro-Land focuses on 200 modern buildings that were built in London's northwestern suburbs, which sprung up in the 1920s and 30s along the route of the Metropolitan Railway, much of which became the Metropolitan London Underground line.

Abbott began documenting the area's architecture while studying at the Harrow campus of the University of Westminster, as he noticed that the occasional modern buildings stood out within the largely traditional, residential suburbs.

"The default style of Metro-land was historical, taking influence from the Tudor and Elizabethan eras," explained Abbott.

"The modernist and art deco buildings that also appeared in this area, often cinemas, tube stations and schools, catch the eye with their use of concrete, steel and glass, especially when contrasted against the half-timber and tiles used elsewhere."

Abbott hopes that the book will draw attention to the city's modern architecture beyond the brutalist highlights in central London.

"The recent interest in brutalism has seen people concentrate on the big beasts in central and east London; the National Theatre, the Barbican Estate and Balfron Tower."

"I hope the guide can show that there is a great wealth of modernist buildings throughout London, especially in the suburbs, and a variety of different modernist styles including the International style, art deco, festival style, high-tech, brutalism and more."

Below Abbott selects ten building from across Metro-land that are worth making a trip to see.

East Finchley Station by Charles Holden and Bucknell & Ellis, 1942

This Northern Line station is perched on a viaduct next to the Great West Road. From street level its not one of Charles Holden's best designs, but the platform level is a joy.

When passing through the station on my commute, I sometimes used to hop off the train and wait for the next, just so I could enjoy the glass staircase towers and Archer statue.

Arena and Empire Pool by Owen Williams, 1934

Now better known for hosting the X-Factor finals and overshadowed by new buildings, including Hopkins Architects' Brent Civic Centre, this former sporting arena was Owen Williams' great leap forward towards "The New Objectivity".

The reinforced concrete roof has a 72-meter span and is supported by brutal-looking exterior fins and boxy water towers.

Hoover Factory by Wallis, Gilbert and Partners, 1935

Somewhat derided in the architectural press when completed, the Hoover Factory has become a fixture on Western Avenue, with its Egyptian-derived colour scheme livening up many a dull car journey.

The rear production area is now a supermarket and the front art deco offices were recently converted into apartments by Interrobang.

Enfield Civic Centre by Eric Broughton & Associates, 1957-75

One of many civic centres built around London in the 1960s and 70s, this scheme encapsulates the post war change from small-scale Scandinavian modernism to uncompromising Brutalism, with an evident change in style over the 20 year project.

Unfortunately, many civic centres have now been demolished to make way for new housing.

Highpoint I & II by Berthold Lubetkin & Tecton, 1938

An icon of early British modernism, this twin apartment block was originally intended for workers from Sigmund Gestetner's factory in Tottenham.

Berthold Lubetkin's final design was deemed too good for that, and now its apartments looking out onto central London change hands for millions of pounds.

Rayners Lane Grosvenor by FE Bromige, 1936

A former cinema, now the Zoroastrian centre, has a facade supposedly designed to resemble an elephant's trunk.

This building, along with Rayners Lane station across the road, was one of the reasons I started the modernism in Metro-land project, a piece of exuberant art deco amongst the brick and half-timber.

97-101 Park Avenue by Connell, Ward & Lucas, 1936

Designers of probably the first piece of modernism in Metro-land – the High and Over house in Amersham – Connell, Ward & Lucas intended these three houses to be the start of a modernist village.

Ruislip was not ready for that, but we still have this small slice of Le Corbusier in suburbia.

23 Strand on the Green by Timothy Rendle, 1966

This slim 1960s house is slipped into an 18th-century terrace alongside the Thames at Chiswick.

The design is perfectly of its time, from the steel spiral staircase inside to the pop art concrete relief number 23 on the outside.

Parkleys Estate by Eric Lyons, 1956

One of Eric Lyons' earliest and best Span developments, this estate near Ham Common features flats, maisonettes and shops, spread around mature trees and hedges, allowing the estate to flow and be part of its neighbourhood.

The Span style would prove hugely influential in mass house design over the next twenty years.

Askett Green by Peter Aldington, 1961-3

A reimagining of the traditional cottage, this house in Buckinghamshire has a long sloping roof and an almost blank face to the street.

This building was the furthest point out from London I visited for the book, and despite the rain and patchy transport links, it was well worth the effort.

Hille House by Erno Goldfinger, 1961

An instantly recognisable Ernö Goldfinger building, complete with trademark cantilevered box with coloured glass.

Built as an office, showroom and factory complex for the Hille furniture company, who were patrons of modernist designers with offices in Piccadilly by Peter Moro, and designers such as Robin Day and Fred Scott on their staff.

The post Ten modernist architecture highlights in London's Metro-land appeared first on Dezeen.

[holy-mountaineering]

This spread is for @kaerunotame 

Thank you for donating and waiting!

Your spread is a 5 card Pyramid spread with two crossed cards in the center. In this spread the triangle represents the first formulation of an object or a second dimension in space. There is a sort of beginning, middle and end. When you draw a single dot for 1 and if you add another dot for the number 2, you can create a straight line but add a third dot and now you have a triangle, a shape, an object in two dimensional space. The center card on the bottom of the two represents the internal or emotional central idea of the spread. The top center card represents the external central idea or what action is crucial to what you’re set to do.

Now imagine that you’re looking at one side of a pyramid dead on.

The first and uppermost point of your pyramid is the 3 of Cups, Abundance.

Like all 3s this is the first shape (triangle) the suit takes, in this case Water or emotion, intuition, and connectedness to life. This card is about taking care of your basic emotional shit that connects you to other people in your relationships so that you might build and move on intelligently. The intelligence and communicative abilities of Mercury are in the maternal and intuitive Cancer.

Try to put some basic form to how you’re feeling right now. Don’t focus on a finished product like healing every relationship you’ve ever had, just start putting it together the most basic way you can so you can move forward in a new and more complete place.

The second point, the first to connect to the earth is the 4 of Wands, Completion (of an action or a task). 

This is the boost you get when you finish squaring (4=square)  up the way things are going to be done. This is the fiery growth spurt of spring (Aries) affecting the love, beauty, and green growth of Venus. The trump cards The Emperor and the Empress are Aries and Venus, respectively. You have the “lower” conception of this union encapsulated in this card. This is finishing an important action so you can move on to the next goal.

I’d say that you square up with what you’re doing, finish the task at hand, and that’ll boost you forward into your new cycle of action.

The last point and the corner that then connects again to the top completing the geometry is the confidence booster Herself, XVII The Star, Heh, Aquarius.

Despite its name making me think of water, Aquarius is an air sign. Aquarius the water-bearer is the vehicle for the water she is baring. The life giving water flows through her. It has been said that “Tzaddi is not the Star” and Crowley made it so in the Thoth deck. There is a mystery in this attribution of the Hebrew letter to this Tarot card that I will not go into. 

I read this card called the “Universal Principle of Self-Worth” or trusting yourself as the vehicle of transmission. Her gaze is toward her reflection in the cup above her and she is pouring through herself to the areas below herself.

Trust that you’re a worthy conduit to transmit what nourishes life. Trust that your shit is real and who you are makes you capable. That which is above wishes to come below through you.

The heart of the pyramid holds pure fuckery, the 10 of Swords (mental and communicative) Ruin. 

Astrologically, this is Sol the Sun or your center being split by the duality of Gemini or duplicity. This is like making a decision by not making one. Your intellect is collapsing in on itself due to building duality or otherness conflicting with how you think of you. This is being “of two minds” but they duo doesn’t seem to work together very well. The good news is that they’re damn near done working together at all. 10s are the highest number card or as intense as it gets. 

Try to integrate your splitting and increasingly destructive thinking and/or communicating, make meaning out of this chaos. And hey, don’t worry, it’s peaked and now you have to slide down the mountain of crazy you just climbed.

And the limestone surface of the pyramid is marked with some well needed grounding or the Ace of Disks, the root power of Earth or the material. 

This is the foundation which all your solid structures are and will be built on. This is the very root of your real world/material life situation. While this doesn’t mean you must tear everything down or that there is nothing in your material world that you've built, it does mean you must look at the source from which you've built your material and everyday world. If you have no foundation you can have no structure. If you have a shoddy foundation, you'll have a shoddy structure. Look to what things were like  before you began building. Is there sand beneath you? Are you in a swamp, building castles of stone that will bind to the mud and be pulled down much sooner than later? Did you account for the raise in elevation when you laid your foundation? Look down to the base of what you've made and what you've made it upon.

This is an engineering job, you’ll need tools to measure and level everything out. The occult might not be the best place to find these tools and it is possible that you have issues much more base than you're willing to cop to. There are many tools you can use to look at your foundation provided in psychology and meditation from other sources. The Universe throws us extreme situations and more often than not, this is the only way people see their basest of instincts and behaviors really act out. If you can, take a look at what connects you and what you’re building to the Earth before an earthquake, tornado, volcano, or other act of G-D forces you to pray everything was fine. Check the strength of your foundations before the strength of your foundations are checked.

Get down to the base fundamentals of what is going on in your material (things, money, living situation, literal stuff) and build from the ground up if you must.

In conclusion: 

It is time to focus on new ways to take care of yourself and protect that space you create for yourself. This isn’t just “thinking about it” this is putting together something in the real world that allows you the time and space to take care of your emotional well being. This action then allows you the space to complete some emotional cycle you’ve been going through so that your new growth might begin again! Once you can accomplish these tasks you will be granted that feeling of self-worth that helps you feel like this stuff that is coming through you out into the world, like your art for example is received and deserved. Once you know you Can, you will know that you should. And while your head might still be spinning from some loads of information or news that you feel you had to overcome, despite the odds, is, well, nice and over. You’ve reached the end of this bit of fuckery as least so give your head a break as noted in the first card of the spread. Final note is that this process, which is kinda self-discovery through action in a way, is helping you “get back to the basics” of your real world life and what all that means to you and what you mean to it.

TA DA!! Hope that helps and please let me know if you have any questions or want any clarification on any of the cards and the spaces that they’re in.

Love is the Law!

-FR. N0ught

[makeste]

some meta on chapter 236 regarding Kotaro, Tomura's quirk upgrade, and potential ways for AFO to continue tormenting the Shimuras in the future

okay I’m back. here’s another ask from @thequietmanno1! I think there’s like four or five more of these to go. my initial goal of getting through them all in an evening and then going on to respond to other asks as well may have been sliiightly unrealistic. idk sometimes you just sit down and you’re all “fuck yeah I’m about to type me some WORDS” and you get carried away.

this ask is in regards to chapter 236, I’m pretty sure!

---

To be honest, when Kotaro smacked Tenko with the weed clippers (giving him the mouth scar he has today) I read that as being a bit accidental and fueled by panic. I think he was trying to maybe push Tenko back with the weed clippers, use them as a pole to shove him away before whatever effect his quirk was causing affected him. But due to his blind panic, footing due to the decaying ground, and perhaps a subconscious anger towards his son for what he’d done, he hit him in the face again. Partly by accident and bad luck- his face afterwards is clearly somewhat shocked and ashamed by what he’d just done, though he’s still scared of Tenko- but his next action, rather than resuming his attack with the weed clipper in his right hand, was to reach out with his empty left hand towards Tenko, perhaps realising that he didn’t want to hurt him, and he needed to treat his son with kindness, appeal to him as a parent rather than as an abuser. But it was simply too late.

You could also see this as a kind of “what you are in the dark” test that Kotaro failed- his wife tried to help Tenko to her last breath, but when faced with his impending death, Kotaro’s action was to instinctually protect himself with violence. Still, it’s interesting that the whole “AFO give him the decay quirk” doesn’t have any definitive answers to support or deny it yet. Like, if this was just a casual reader checking out the story, they might accept the “destructive mutation” explanation without question, but thanks to your theorising there’s a definite possibility of there being more to the story than Tenko knows. But crucially, while Horikoshi hasn’t outright confirmed it yet, he hasn’t given us anything that denies this as a possibility either, so it lets us, the readers, feel smart for noticing the little clues before they become relevant.

That said, again this chapter brings up something Re-Destro and Toga alluded to- that the concept of ‘personality powers’ is very much at play in the MHA universe, and may even be enforced by the power itself. Toga had a yearning and lust for blood as the result of her quirk; even though that isolated her from normal society, it was still part of her psyche, something that just existed alongside her, as natural as the urge to breathe. Similarly, Tenko here seems to have had a natural urge to destroy things around him. His statement about how “the itch went away” leads me to believe that the itch was his subconscious desire to destroy contrasted with his childlike innocence and non-desire to harm others. Hell, perhaps his allergies were a side effect of suppressing his power’s potential and it causing microscopic damage to his body- decaying his skin cells, for example. At the very least, the weird damage around his eyes doesn’t seem to be caused by a normal allergy. Plus, if he got the quirk at some point before we think he did- he might have received it as some undocumented point in the past, and the policeman dropping him off could be AFO in disguise checking up on his investment and his progress towards using the quirk- then there’d be time for it to affect his body and be mistaken for an allergy. The damage to his eyes doesn’t seem to be too bad when we first see him, so he can’t have had it for long.

Incidentally, here we can see that Tenko’s powers effect seems to be tied to his emotions, similarly to how black whip is to Deku (perhaps, when Shigaraki gets All for One’s quirk, he’ll be gifted with Quirks that complement and contrast with Deku’s own 7 quirks, just to balance out their battles?) Tenko’s first use on Mon seemed accidental and left the dog mostly intact- you can see the whole left side of his body in one piece, so the dog was killed simply because he was in contact with Tenko’s fingers. But with the others, it seems like the decay almost sought them out, moving from object to object until it reached its intended targets, like a wave of corruption. Hana wasn’t directly touched- Tenko just grabbed her clothes, and his mom and the grandparents were destroyed when the decay spread through the grounds towards them. On the panel where Kotaro first sees Tenko and the destruction, you can see that the decay stopped shortly after reaching the spots where their bodies were standing. And when Tenko sees Kotaro, the decay- which had stopped- starts up again even stronger than before, completely destroying the yard and preventing Kotaro from running away. It seems like the decay is fueled by Tenko’s subconscious hatred towards his family for their treatment during his abuse, attacking them based on his pure emotional response towards them even when his mind and heart are screaming otherwise. It’s like it’s keyed directly into the emotion of Pure Hate, and that may be why Tenko’s usage of it varies so much throughout the series.

I think AFO telling him to keep the hands close may have been a sick means of giving him control over that Primal Emotion, and the quirk with it. The feeling of hatred that drives Tomura now is so all consuming that his Quirk’s initial usage seems indiscriminate- he hates the world entire, so his quirk destroys everything all 5 fingers touch, but that ‘5 finger discount’ rule may just have been a rule AFO helped implant in his mind during his Control phase growing up. He can actually use the decay without it, but doing so seems to make it more powerful. Like, learning to use it with 5 fingers made the quirk easier to control, but weaker overall, hence why Aizawa didn’t lose his arm. As the series has progressed and Tomura’s enmity with Midoriya and the losses he’s had to endure around the new symbol have shaped him, Tomura’s become more capable of mastering his actions and emotions, his personality slowly changing from the experiences he’s faced into someone more in control of himself. Hence his power now reaching a new, more controlled state as he remembers his childhood trauma and thus unlocks the raw destructive power he had with that trauma, now more emotionally equipped to handle it, focus it and use it to his will.

This ‘targeted’ aspect of the quirk may be why it suddenly seems to develop a ‘corruption spreading’ effect during this arc. If the Quirk’s tied into his emotions and perceptions of what he’s using it on, then he was able to dust the entire group and once (and part of the street they were standing on) because his sleep-deprived perception perceived them as one large object, hence allowing him to use it on a large area. Similarly, when Shigaraki dusts the tower, neither Giran nor Re-Destro were affected despite this chapter making it clear that the decay can spread through the ground, because Shigaraki didn’t see them in the tower, and wasn’t ordering the quirk to affect them. (His desire to rescue Giran may also have been a factor.) And it didn’t affect Re-Destro because he’d just been a voice on a radio to Shigaraki up till then, so he didn’t have an ‘image’ to focus the decay with.

Also, I read this somewhere- can’t remember the source- but the deaths of Tenko’s family are symbolic of their relationship and actions towards Tenko’s abuse. Mon died loving and hugging Tenko and not making a sound despite literally being spit into pieces, because he was the boy’s source of comfort after he got locked in the garden. Hana turned her back on Tenko when she pinned the blame on their trespassing on his desire to see his grandma, and died with her back to him. The grandparents died standing far away from Tenko, just as they stood aside when Kotaro locked him out. His mother died trying to make a futile attempt to love and confront him that never managed to reach him or stop the pain he was feeling. And Kotaro died leaving a physical scar on his son, rather than a ton of mental ones, and was the only one the decay was focused on, hence why his body was almost completely decayed apart from the hands, and his house that he built to deny heroes was also destroyed. Also here we get an idea of what Tenko’s decay actually does- it seems to split the target apart into small individual chucks like they’ve been hit by a messy version of a Blade Mode move from Revengance. The more modern, controlled version Shigaraki uses in the present day seems to apply the principle on a microscopic level, appearing to ‘dust’ the target as it falls apart into its component molecules. The preciseness of the splitting seems to vary with the level of enmity and Shigaraki’s perceptions. Hana and the rest were somewhat intact, but Kotaro seemed to get more shredded than the others, because Tenko focused his pure hatred on him and the house that symbolised his control over his son, and the torment he’d suffered within its walls, so his currant ‘hate everything’ mentality allows him to freely use the quirk within the self-imposed ‘5 finger’ restriction in a more precise and focused manner in the present.

Lastly, I feel confident in predicting that at some point in the future, Midoriya is gonna discover the truth of Shigaraki’s origins, and that will, in turn, let Nana witness what became of the son she left behind. I see two ways this is possible. Firstly, Deku’s freaky past-vision powers that he’s experiencing with OFA may also allow him to somehow interact with Shigaraki at some point and see inside his nemesis’s head, giving him a good idea of what made him into his mortal enemy and letting him recontextualise Tomura as his opposite- someone who started from a similar place, but took a different path to him. Perhaps the fact that Tomura has part of Nana’s DNA would allow Midoriya the ability to interact with him in specific circumstances- OFA contains Nana’s spirt, so it may react to familiar DNA that it once resided in and was nurtured with. Alternatively, AFO, after being freed by Shigaraki, may lure Midoriya to a remote, isolated location and, rather than hurting him, will play footage of Tenko’s origin and subsequent rampage in front of the horrified teen, captured from Spy cameras he discreetly planted around the house shortly after he gave Tenko the Quirk, just to taunt Midoriya, and more specifically Nana and All Might, about how hard the previous generations failed him, and how he’s nothing but a vessel of evil and hatred worthy of carrying AFO’s legacy forward. Perhaps your theory that AFO was the actual first Holder and the two Quirks are one and the same, and thus joined together, may allow him to directly interact with and taunt the previous holders ‘face-to-face’ as it were. My fondness for the former makes me reluctant to support the “AFO gave Tenko his Quirk” theory simply because it would be so much more ‘devastating’ if he was actually innocent of this particular tragedy, and could smugly rub that fact in the heroes faces.

Frankly, we won’t get answers to the theory that he gave Tenko an extraordinary lethal quirk and just waited for the explosion until he’s out, but I like the fact that, one way or another, AFO had a hand in shaping Tenko’s origin as a villain by forcing Nana to abandon Kotaro and then killing her before they could reconcile. That said, I feel it would be so much more narratively traumatic and damaging to the heroes if he could claim, with complete honesty and no means of lying or twisting the truth, that that indirect abandonment was the extent of his involvement. Sure, he took advantage of a godsend opportunity, but he’s innocent of the abusive household atmosphere that poisoned Tenko and his subsequent Lethal Rampage- that’s all on All Might, Gran Torino and most especially Nana. If the former ‘past-vision’ method is how Midoriya learns of it, then it would also allow Nana to show and express her grief at how badly things turned out for her child and her well-meaning intentions- I can totally see this so far strong, confident, charming and reliable woman that we’ve seen so far in All Might’s flashbacks being so overwhelmed by the enormity of her failure that she collapses to her knees in a wordless scream, exactly like Deku did when Bakugou got dragged through the Warp gate. If it’s the latter ‘spy camera’ version, then it would serve no purpose for Midoriya directly, but would allow AFO to hurt the previous Holders through him. After all, doesn’t he seem like exactly the kind of person who’d cause a dead woman to cry, just to savour her misery?

--- 

damn dude, you sure know how to paint a picture lol. this is a very specific theory, and I’m not sure I could see it happening myself, although it would sure make for some good angst. but... how to explain this. just, I’m very attached to the idea of Nana being every inch the strong, unshakable woman with an indomitable spirit that All Might saw her as. so I wouldn’t actually want to see her break down like this. this is the woman who taught All Might, the Symbol of Peace, what it means to smile. this is the person whose spirit carried him through his darkest times. so the thought of her being reduced to a helpless image of grief, needing Deku to avenge her, just rubs me the wrong way. if anything, were she to ever learn the full truth, while she would no doubt be shaken, I would want her to respond with determination to save her grandchild. AFO’s already basked in enough misery; he doesn’t deserve to win this one. he consistently underestimates people’s hearts and spirits, and I want that to continue to be his downfall.

backtracking to the beginning of your post, I like your interpretation of the complicated thoughts running through Kotaro’s head in his last moments, and his actions. he was scared, and clearly isn’t one to shy away from violence. but at the same time this was his son, and in spite of his abusive behavior, he still clearly cares about him, and was already feeling remorse about his earlier actions based on his conversation with his wife and in-laws. I really like what you said about the contrast between him and Tenko’s mother. it really is a shame, Kotaro. in another life you could have been a better man.

I’m still holding out hope for the AFO-gave-him-the-quirk theory to be true, though it could go either way! as I’ve said, I still think Tomura will turn on AFO eventually, although it will definitely take some time, and I agree with @addermoray that Tomura’s already far gone enough at this point that his initial response to learning about the deception might even be gratitude. but I’m still banking on his once-it-has-time-to-sink-in response being decidedly less grateful (or at the very least, being more of a “you know what, my family may have sucked, but fuck you too”). that may require some Deku-jesusing to put things into perspective for him. anyways, this is basically just more of the same old speculation, and I think you know my thoughts on that by this point lol.

I don’t think Tomura is actually going to get AFO’s quirk, though? I could be dead wrong about that one. but that’s one thing I could never see AFO doing, even if he did intend to die and leave Tomura to carry on his legacy. I feel like he’d let the quirk die with him. Tomura, in any case, certainly appears to be strong enough on his own as it is now, sob.

I think you’re absolutely right about the nature of Tenko’s quirk and how it ties in to his emotions. and interesting analysis of how Tomura’s decay and its spread works! I haven’t attempted to give it much thought (part of me may be hoping that Horikoshi’s constant urge to explain quirks in great detail will win out sooner or later and we’ll get an official explanation), but this seems pretty accurate.

and that symbolism with Tomura’s family’s deaths also went over my head when I read the chapter, but that also seems spot on! I keep finding new ways to appreciate this flashback, man. it just traumatizes in all the right ways, damn.