#before this blog most of these au ideas would just blow away like ashes in the wind

[transingthoseformers]

Anyways so I go absolutely feral (affectionate) when people want to make Literally Anything based on my posts/ideas/ocs, and i give full permission to do such as I love seeing it, y'all are always allowed to tag me in stuff

[ashdumpsterpile]

ASH’S TMA HURT/COMFORT/FLUFF REC LIST 

For the gays. (And @damcrows who’s been dead for the past 24 hours. Rest in peace babe. Read some gay fic. Deny the inevitability of canon. <3)

___

the end, but the start (of all things that are left to do)  by @ajkal2

Jon wakes up.

aka. mag200 tore out my heart

(Very smol, very short, very spoiler. Def recommend for anyone who just finished the podcast.)

remind me how to smile by @tamerofdarkstars

Jon is probably fine, just hiding out somewhere while the whole murder thing blows over and that's... fine. Martin is fine with that explanation. Really. He's got plenty to distract himself - like listening through the entire What the Ghost episode library, for example. Or watching Georgie Barker's Instagram livestreams.

(Yea this was in the last rec list, but you don’t understand THE ADMIRAL GIVES CUDDLES)

Chamomile by Dribbledscribbles

Whatever the ex-tea was, if it really had ever been that last bag of chamomile Martin claimed he’d found tucked in the back of the cupboard, it was fast now.

Martin had tried catching it, chasing it, blocking its way with shoebox lids and plates and an upended footstool, but the thing was just too quick. Jon knew as well as Knew that he might have left off the attempts completely if not for the creature’s preferred game.

The game was, See How Many Times I Can Push Martin Towards Cardiac Arrest Before He Comes at Me with The Broom.

(Scottish Honeymoon Era. Adorable and weird. A vampire gets harassed.)

hey stranger by @ennuijpg

It’s a late night Tesco run, how eventful could it be? It’s not like Martin is going to run into his boss who’s wearing something absurdly different from usual and get the most acute form of whiplash possible from seeing him, right?

(Martin runs into Jon at the grocery store and has an existential crisis.)

roses roses, roses. by @judesstfrancis

Rose scented laundry detergent. Running into Jon in the breakroom. Running into Jon on his way back to his desk. Rose scented detergent. Running into Jon. Roses. Jon. Roses, roses, roses. 

(Canon enemies to friends to lovers au-ish. Martin POV. Very pining much sweet.)

go softly by doomcountry

And there is nothing else besides this. 

(More hurt/comfort than fluff. Scottish Honeymoon Era. Mild eye mutilation.)

Not Alone by @backofthebookshelf

After the coffin, Daisy and Jon are both fragile. They hold each other up. 

(Post-buried Jon&Daisy starter pack. Very hurt/comfort.)

trust my love by antlsepticeye

“you… you’re real, aren’t you?” jon whispers, the fog slowly dissipating from his mind. “it is not a trick?”

“i’m here,” martin says softly, reaching up to grab jon’s hand that was resting on his cheek, intertwining his fingers with jon’s and squeezing. he moves jon’s hand to martin’s chest, resting it over his heart. “you’re alright. i’m alright. take your time, love. let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?”

(TOUCHSTARVED JON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT.)

reaching out by Athina_Blaine

By the time things settled, when Martin had finally managed to crack through his cold shell, feel some of his old self returning to him in bits and pieces, they had found their little routine.

One that had the two of them sleeping in the same bed, making breakfast, going to the mart. Where Jon reached for his wrist while they slept, and Martin luxuriated in the gentle warmth of his fingers.  

But not one where Martin reached back. One that had Martin kissing Jon awake or taking his hand over the breakfast table, because ... Martin never had the courage to try. And then it never became a part of the routine.

And Martin desperately wanted it to be.

-

Martin and Jon have an important conversation.

(More Scottish Honeymoon Era for the soul. Hurt/comfort/fluff.)

Belabor by @janekfan​

Jon's given the position of Archivist and is falling apart at the seams. Tim and Sasha are upset and playing games. Elias is overbearing and manipulative.

And poor Martin is stuck cleaning up the mess.

(THEE first fic I ever read for tma. Season 1, hurt/comfort/fluff, and hints of Jmartin. janekfan is the absolute master of seasons 1-3 hurt/comfort. This is my favorite, but pls check out the rest of their fics.)

tea, blankets, and a damnable stubborn attitude by ivelostmyspectacles

“Are you really gonna stay here and pester Jon all evening?”

“I’m not pestering him,” Martin retorted, sounding vehement if not busy going through the cupboards. “I’m heating up soup.”

“Oh, you might as well make him another cup of tea while you’re at it.”

“Oh, good idea.”

Jon shot Tim a withering look.

(The one where Jon is ill, Martin makes tea and they watch doctor who together. Fluff 1000%.)

A Kind Hand by @voiceless-terror

Jonathan Sims was adjusting just fine, thank you very much.

In which a minor workplace spill causes Jon to realize that he might have friends.

(Ah yes, the other master of seasons 1-3 fic aka voiceless-terror being my other fav author in the fandom. This one is also season 1 hurt/comfort/fluff.)

A Weather In The Flesh by @cuttoothed

"There is a span of years where Jon doesn’t touch anyone other than the occasional hand shake. It’s not so bad. He’s never been someone who’s needed physical affection."

*

Jon has never been any good at making people want to stick around.

(More touched starved Jon! Much hurt/comfort!)

Something Old, Something New by @cirrus-grey

Months have passed, and everyone is doing better than they were. Daisy and Basira are getting married, Melanie is feeling her old self, Georgie is as much herself as she has ever been, and even Jon has stabilized on his wild fall away from humanity. Everyone is doing better.

Well. Almost everyone.

(Daisy/Barsira wedding! Melanie is a bitch and we love her! Jmartin dance! Post-canon (almost) everyone lives!)

The Weight of Love by @voiceless-terror

Jon is a restless sleeper. Martin attempts to adjust. 

(The fic where Jon is literally me and Martin attempts to sleep for 1k words.)

The Art of Conversation by @voiceless-terror

"Do you ever stop talking?"

Jon has a complicated relationship with words. Difficulties come and go.

(Jon has adhd and Martin is in love.)

Novelty by @backofthebookshelf

Jon experiences A Sexual Attraction; Martin has A Concern. They figure it out.

(Any fic that explores the ace spectrum is a 10/10. We stan all ace interpretations of jon on this blog.)

Half a Hug by Dathen

I know you weren’t going to hurt me, I trust you, he said again and again. And then a different kind of fear shone through, hollow and echoing: “Please don’t stop touching me."

-

Or: Life is hard when you're touch-starved but have trauma related to your closest friend.  Spoilers through TMA 132.

(Honestly bless every author who saw jon&daisy and was like. They’re siblings. No I will not elaborate.)

the loneliness never left me (but i can put it down in the pleasure of your company) by Athina_Blaine

It was about Martin making Jon feel safe, treasured, and loved. And it had been so, so long since anyone made him feel that way.

And, in the face of it all, Jon was starting to flounder.

(At this point I just need to make separate rec list for Scottish Honeymoon Era.)

you can watch me corrode by scarletfish

"So, how long have you been pulling this shit then?"

"I… excuse me?" Jon’s indignant, certain she can’t mean what he thinks she means.

"When was the last time you ate?"

(Georgie decides Jon and Melanie need a normal day off. Jon learns that he and Melanie have more in common than he thought.)

(Look, Melanie isn’t my favorite person in tma, but she and Jon are like THE SAME PERSON and I adore fics that elaborate on their relationship.)

Out of the Wind, In From the Cold by @ostentenacity

There are two bedrooms in the safehouse, and two beds.

For a moment, Jon considers asking to share, but decides against it with a wince. “I really loved you,” Martin had told him. Loved. Past tense. And Martin doesn’t exactly have a lot of choices right now in terms of company; it would be cruel to demand he play at feelings he no longer has just to make Jon happy.

(For a moment, Martin considers asking to share. But he dismisses the idea with a shake of his head. Jon has already done so much for him. Martin isn’t about to ask for more, especially not when it’s something he doesn’t really need. He has his right mind back, and he has Jon’s friendship. That should be enough for him. It’ll have to be.)

---

Jon thinks that Martin doesn’t love him. Martin thinks that Jon doesn’t love him. They do not, of course, discuss this. Unrequited love is already awkward enough, right? No need to dwell on it.

(THEE SCOTTISH HONEYMOON ERA FIC. IT’S ABOUT THE PINING, BEING MUTUALLY OBLIVIOUS AND FALLING IN LOVE. 10000/10.) 

I Do by @voiceless-terror

“I, um- this was supposed to be a lot more romantic, I swear.” Martin looks down at the dirty bar floor. “I had it all planned out, I-I was going to take you somewhere nice, and then we’d go for a walk in the square- I’ll still do it!” He hurries to explain, as if that’s the most pressing part of this situation. “It’ll be really nice, I’ve already hired a photographer-”

In a fit of protectiveness, Martin proposes to Jon.

(Everyone lives, Martin accidentally proposes and Jon is crying in public.) 

________

[talesofsonicasura]

You Met A Terrible Fate Too?

Writer's block is still being a bitch. I can draw but I have issues writing. Here's a little excerpt for now. Enjoy.

Time was beginning to hate this portal travel altogether. Apparently the latest one decided to drop all of them in Wild's Hyrule but split him off from the group. It felt like the shadow's doing as the Hero of Time immediately found himself in a monster ambush.

Wizzrobes, Moblins, Lizalfos and two black Lynel… Just his luck. Overall Time was vastly outnumbered but no way in hell would he bow down to this threat. His group, his brothers in arms, HIS FAMILY, could be in the same situation or much worse. The scarred warrior had to come back.

It looks like he'll have to use that damned mask… At least none of his comrades would see the painful transition wrought by the Fierce Deity. Time began to look for an opportunity amongst dodging the fleet of arrows, parries, sword slashes and clubs bashing against his shield. Enough of a sliver to equip the mask without the chance of it getting knocked from his hands.

The Link barely had any time to notice one of the Lynels ready itself with a Bomb Arrow amongst the two Shock Arrows. He quickly dove away from the Shock Arrows' trajectory but barely pulled his shield up to block the explosive arrow. Close range impact from the bomb had flung Time back first into the side of the tree, his armor didn't serve well to cushion the blow. It'll no doubt bruise later if he survives.

The scarred man barely managed to pick himself up when he saw it. A portal opening above the hoard of monsters before him. Unlike the previous ones that were yellow and black, whether by the Goddess Hylia or by Dark Link, this new one is a pure crimson in color. Almost if the sky itself had begun to bleed.

Then a large blur shot down from it faster than anything Time had seen before as bolts of golden light formed around it like…Light Arrows. He barely managed to shield his eyes before everything went up in a blinding gold explosion so loud that his head rang and the dying cries of the beasts were muffled. Once the light dimmed enough to be safe, the knight opened his eyes to a horrid sight.

A large hulking beastly humanoid more than twice his size stood with his back faced before Time. Long crimson snake went down his lower spine like a twisted tail, maddening red/yellow ringed eyes stare back at his single blue and smiling. Half of his attackers remained as the fallen collapsed into violet ash clouds.

The true horror had been who this beast could only be. A familiar cap made of gray cloth that held green and red patches alongside a bird emblem tip sewn into it. Almost common blonde hair in that similar style but more rugged and wild. But the final nail in the coffin was the golden visage on the giant's black chest armor.

A golden Triforce around the waist barely covered by the peculiar blue tunic. This brought back a very familiar and terrifying question. One from his most haunting adventure as a child. "You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?" Quietly came from Time's mouth just before the monstrous Link that stood over him roared ferociously at the remaining monsters.

That's it. A little practice writing something that's Linked Universe related, well Chain to be more accurate. I like the idea of a bunch of Links being stuck together as Hyrule Warriors but also Spider-Man Into The Spiderverse shows how a trope like this can possibly go.

The monstrous Link in question is actually a design I did with a non-LoZ concept from my other blog. You can click the link for information as I'm still posting his design at the bottom. He's an AU version of Spirit or Spirit Tracks Link basically that I'll call MAG Spirit. Just know Spirit isn't going to have a good time here upon realizing he's about to join a group made up of other hims.

There's going to be two versions of this story involving Spirit and the Chain. A solo version where he arrived completely on his own with the origins to his transformation being very vague. The other is more crossover related since the MAG concept comes from a different series called Madness Combat.

I have a contrastingly different version of the interactions for that one since Spirit will be a member of completely different team before meeting the Chain. Plus Madness Combat is a very violent and bloody series as Krinkels, the creator, doesn't shrug off potential gore nor the shitton of bloodshed. Neither do I depending on the franchise. (LoZ only reached up to T rating with Twilight Princess.)

That's it for now. Until next time folks, I'll see you later. Here's Spirit/MAG Spirit.

[lil-creatorwritings]

Author Interview

I got tagged by @alloveroliver ! Not sure how this will go but let’s do it~

Name: Well you can call me Becky! Trust me, my surname is a tongue twister and you don’t need to know that.

Fandoms: Er dear lord, that’s a lot if I count the ones outside of otome. If we’re talking just that, then it’s mainly Cybird titles (MidCin, IkeSen, IkeRev and IkeVamp). I have anime and video games fandoms too and you can ask me about that here or on my personal blog! Want to do in the future: Write more, I guess. And get a new phone for more otome games!

Where You Post: Tumblr and AO3 for my fics. Twitter is mostly for my ranting about routes or something about the otome and my main place for finding fanart (and retweeting them, BECAUSE WE DON’T STEAL OTHER PEOPLE’S FANARTS).

Most Popular One-Shot:  It’s apparently my Day 2 Kinktober. A lot of y’all are thirsty for some Leonardo smut eh?

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: The MitsuhidexOC smut trilogy (which I am now calling the Phone Call trilogy lol). It’s hilarious because whenever I think of this story, I remember that it wasn’t suppose to be a trilogy in the first place (it was a one-shot but then someone aggressively persuaded me into writing more of it). I honestly didn’t expect it to blow up like that (and I underestimated the Mitsuhide stans hahaha). Here is part 1, 2 and 3.

Favorite Story You Wrote: Probably my Day 21 of a 31 Day Writing Challenge I did in 2018. I also had an original work, but it’s been put on the back burner for awhile now.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Five, which was my first IkeSen fic. I was nervous because I wasn’t sure if I got Masamune’s character right and for a personal reason (that I’m just gonna leave at that hahah).

How You Choose Your Titles: Most of the time, I either have a pending title for it or the title comes to me first as I’m writing it. The general theme of the story also has weight on its title. 

Completed: 70-ish fics. Which reminds me that I need to fix and update my Masterlist lol.

Incomplete: *tucks away my wips and google docs of future fic ideas* What incomplete works? Who is she? (lol but seriously maybe..2 or 3. I don’t usually write something and then start another one without completing the previous one, which is probably why I have few incomplete WIPs--because if I didn’t start on it, it’s technically not incomplete lol.)

Do You Outline?: When I first started writing, not so much in the way that I would write them in bullets or a flow chart. I would imagine the scene in my head then write it out, which works for me most of the time. I suppose you could argue that it’s a form of outlining too.. But I mostly type or write the general flow of my fic when my thoughts start to wander and branch out of my original idea to keep me in check.

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: An IkeRev Ray fic that... I’ll be honest it’s a little diamond in the rough, and the theme isn’t really a pleasant thing to talk about. But this is a fic that I feel compelled to write for personal reasons. I don’t want to say much now because I’m not even sure how to start it as of right now. But I do want to write it. There’s also a soulmate AU I want to do for IkeVamp (and for some reason I wanted to do it with Arthur but I haven’t done his route yet), an IkeRev mafia AU (trying to steer away from the ‘crystals are drugs’ and think up of another idea), an IkeSen detective with that femme fatale thing (look idk what the genre is called but think Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea), an Edgar Bright art student AU, and just... more stuff lol. But more smut!

Do You Accept Prompts?: I do, but I rarely get them. Maybe because I don’t get to them on time and my followers don’t bother to ask me for stuff lol :( . I don’t really mind that I don’t get them, since I often write my own ideas. But I mean, feel free to drop one if you want to!

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: Uh, I guess to finish my Kinktober..?? yes shut up i know its 2020

(Apparently the next questions were added by Ash, so I’ll go ahead and answer them too~)

What do you use to edit?: Currently, I’m not using any third party writing editor. That’s just my personal preference though.

Writing setup: My main set up is in my room, sitting in front of my desk with my laptop and bluetooth keyboard (some of the letters on the laptop aren’t working, so I use an external one. I always have a water bottle with me (because I could sit for hours) and Spotify playing on my phone on speaker. I use Google Docs for all of my fics. Sometimes I’ll go mobile and hook my bluetooth keyboard to my phone and type from there, especially if I can’t stay in my room.

Do you use a beta reader? Nope. For some reason, it’s not a habit of mine to ask someone to beta read my work, though I have done it a few times before. I write, walk away from it, come back to proofread, post, then try to stop obsessing over if it will get notes or not.

Where do you get your writing inspo?: A lot of places--books, songs, anime, tv shows, the internet, other people, prompt lists.. As to the motivation to write, well, that’s something that I’m also struggling with right now hahaha. 

Can we get a quote from an upcoming WIP?:

It wasn’t much of a surprise. This amount of workload always comes with the highest ranking officer in the army, and you’ve always understood that. There are some things that can’t be delegated or that specifically need his approval. Yet it didn’t stop you from feeling a little left out and wanting some of his attention.

Feeling restless, you push off the table and head towards the door. If he was still working, there was only one other person you could think of to keep you company. Skipping down the hallway, you stop in front of one of the doors before knocking on it enthusiastically. “Hm? Little lady?”

Sirius’ room was pristine as always. You step in and plop down on his bed, not caring if your skirts ride up your thighs. “Ray’s still working.”

He smiles and sits down next to you. “And I suppose you came to me to keep you entertained?”

This time, you pout at him. “So what if I did?”

Idk who to tag so if any of my followers (who haven’t done this) see this, go do it!

[twinfanfics]

The tale of the three head beast: the marching fishes (10/21)

Second part of the tale of the three head beast series, our extra large Digimon Game of thrones Au, you can read the first part The chosen children Here and here, or look for the tag  3t3hb  on this blog.

And you can read all past chapters of the marching fishes in the links below

ACT 1. ESCENE 1: THE RAIN

ACT 1. ESCENE 2: THE WILL  

ACT 1. ESCENE 3: THE TRIP

ACT 1. ESCENE 4:THE SON

ACT 2. SCENE 1: THE ARRIVAL

ACT 2. SCENE 2: BROTHERHOOD

ACT 2. SCENE 3: MOTHER | **warning suicide attempt**

ACT 2. SCENE 4: THE BATTLE OF THE IKKAKU ISLAND

ACT 3. SCENE 1: THE INTERROGATION

ACT 3. ESCENE 2:  DELIVERY 

His stomach hurt, god, he didn't remember the time of his last meal, it doesn´t matter; everything in his mouth taste like ashes, his hands sweat and his head feel like a ticking bomb, every light was to bright, every sound was to loud.

Joe had lost everything, his children, his wife, his son…

Taichi speak nonsenses since the throne, since Joe´s throne, funny how he continues to lost things: his Kingdom, his authority, his sanity

What time it was? what day? it´s feel so much like to the old days, those days he had lost everything too.

His brothers, his youth, his freedom

Each one of his brothers went to war and comes back in a black coffin; the old island war; the cold King again Genai the usurper; How many children of the island died in the old war?

The war would take his children too? he alloud himself to think about Davis,noble and carefree Davis, big mouth Davis, the kid with endless energy, the boy who eat every meal as if it would be his last, traitor Davis, hostage Davis.

“Can i speak with him?” he wish to sound less desperate, less concern

“I don't think that would be a good idea” Yamato speak as a friend, still Joe could see Davis blood over his knuckles

Yamato, the one that he had never lost, yet.

Sometimes, in the rainy days when Ken was still a boy and brood around the castle with his black cloak and heavy books Joe usually recall about Yamato; and treats him with the same patient and comfort that he would treat his old friend; in another life when Ken would become enough skill with the sword Joe would send him away to the capital; to train with his best friend, to learn for the masters and be the best swordsman of the land.

In the life that they had lost

“Your Sea Majesty, Jou, Jou!”  his response was slow and confuse “Jou, the king of all land ask you a question”

The King watch him with impatien; it has to be something about the heirs, they where so use to be instantly obey, that make them temperamental, a mistake that Joe made with his own son, and sadly with Iory.

No, he don't want to think about Iory

“Davis said that Iory Hida is prepare to surrender” but since when did he get what he want? “That somehow is his Master who refuse give up, do you know anything about  this master? we don't have to much information about him” Beside been next to him their voices sounds like an ecco

But Joe negate with head, he has no energy to think about Ryo Akiyama; Iory wants to surrender, a marvelous new, the prodigy son could still do the right thing. If they defeat Ryo the children would surrender, and then what?  He look at the blood in the hands of his friend one more time

“We cannot make the same mistake twice” Yamato speak with the hate in his voice answering a question that Joe was afraid to ask “Even if they surrender we cannot forgive them”

“They are children” They are my children

“ They were children, they are men now, men who betrayed you, they attack  the King!” his blue eyes doub for an instand “If we give them the oportunity they are gonna kill you Joe, i will not give them that oportuity”

The silent embrace the room, Joe knows that Yamato only has good intentions and the guilt hit him, he wish that he was willing to stop him, if Yamato where his knight a simple order will be enought. Why Yamato agree to serve Taichi was a mystery for him.

“Do you have any idea where the rebels are hiding?”  Taichi interrump what it feel like a private moment

Ideas? He has plenty of ideas, tousan of theories but just one that make sense “The swarm”

“The swarm!” Yamato recall “of course” and along with him jump over the map that hang out the wall; Taichi look at them in confusion “Is a group of small island in the south; they are many, at least a dozen, but the ground is rocky and infertile, access is dangerous if you do not know the place, but is the perfect hide”

Joe hate the way Yamato talk to the King, as if he was an ignorant child, a sweetness that was unusual in him

“That is the place to which we must move our troops” Taichi celebrated

Joe despise how the King look at his friend, as if he belonged to him, as if he was one of his properties.

“But we must be careful, they must have lookouts on the routes, those are dangerous waters”

The hand of the King travel to his knight shoulder “I'm sure you can manage it” fondly eyes and meaningful smiles, they move together in a synchrony that was ridiculous; again they remind him to his lost children: Ken and Davis use to move like that too.

A thought that make him feel like the most stupid man alive,  a sudden revelation that snap him back to reality, he knew Yamato, he knew his past and his hearth, be the lover of a upper class gentleman was no strange behavior for him, but this…  he cursed the ocean and the sea

He stand out as tall as he was “For how long?”

“Well i hope not to much” Taichi´s smile offended him “i mean.. we want to end this war as soon as possible right?”

But Yamato notice his change of attitude, and for Joe annoyance he put himself between he and the King.

Maybe the revelation wouldn´t hurt that much if it wasn´t for the lies, the hypocrisy, Taichi, the king of the light, the light who persecute and imprison impures...

“Joe what´s wrong?” Yamato try to approach to him but Joe shake and come far from them, he can´t even look at his friend anymore

“Sora knows?” he try to yell “did she?” memories of the dozen of letters he share with his dear friend flash before his eyes, her loneliness, the rumours about her health...

Taichi´s grin broke down “How do you know? i mean.. what are you talking about? “

The smartest thing would have been to keep quiet, keep his suspicions to himself, avoid claims to the most powerful man in the continent “You know very well what i´m talking about Taichi Yagami!” but he has lost his patient too “You are a fraud, you broke the votes you made to your so acclaim god”

Taichi stay stuned by Joe accusations

“You don't even denied, did any law mean anything to you?” Joe try to make sense in his mind, both of his hand rest over the table, “Do you think you own him? that…. that you can use people like him just because you have power over them!”

“He is not using me!” Yamato reacts “Its not like that, please stop!”

Joe turn to him, no longer avoiding his eyes “I expect more from you”

His words hit the Knight more than any sword did before, Yamato clench his teeth and contain the sorrows “Well… that was your mistake”

“who are you to judge him? you…” the king yell at him ” Everything you own has been earning by his hand, he fought for you! he Killed for you! he won for you! you are not alloud to… you  have no right…”

“You have no idea what are you talking about”

“You either,  you think you know him better than me? Do you know that he spent these years pleading  to come to your rescue? he was so sure all of this was too much for you "

Joe take a stept back, was than true? a look at Yamato and he knows  Taichi was right, but the rage has no disappear “You have a wife”

“You too! but if you ask me you see more concern about those ungrateful bastards that you call your children than for your actual family!”

If he could, he would hide behind the table, close the curtains of the windows and demand everyone to leave him alone, Taichi dealt a fatal blow to the little that remained of his emotional stability.

“They are the ones who need to be saved, you do not know mimi, she ... she is an extraordinary woman, I have no doubt that she has the strength to ... to protect our son and herself; and despite everything I trust that Iory will not allow them to hurt her "by saying it out loud, with Yamato and Tai judging him, he realized that he sounded even more foolish than when he repeated it to himself.

A nock of the door force them to calm down, or at least pretend to be

“Sir, I´m so sorry” Kouji enters the room with a small chest between his hands “A letter from the rebels and this” The three of them rush into the package, Taichi took the letter that was address to the Sea King

“They demand that we free the Ikkaku Island and thet we release Davis, a proof that we are serius… what they mean by that?”

Joe open the chest and his world collapse

He lost control, he lost hope, and dear god on the abyss Mimi lost an eye

“We are not gonna surrender, they are blaffing, this is a sig of desperation” Yamato try in vain to encourage him while Taichi make an efford to not trow up.

Ryo finally was showing his cards, this must be his work, Iory was burning the ships, who knows who else would drag him along.

“My son…” he barely speak  before  storm out of the room

“follow him” Taichi order “and Yamato…” he came closer  “make sure he doesn't make or said anything stupid”

.

.

.

Yamato found him on his room, crying and shaking

“I would found them “ Joe look at him, without worried for hiding his tears “I would keep my promise, i would save the queen and the Prince” he sit next to him “you know i will”

“Do i?” a bitter laught “I don't know who you are anymore”

“Or you do” Yamato lay down “ I don't need to tell you anything, you just know…”

“Still it would had been nice if you just told me” but he smile with an apologize between his libs, just as he use to do, and a tiny light of hope ignite inside of him; that was Yamato, his defender, his friend, maybe they could save his family, all of them “What about Iory and Ken?”

“Taichi doesn´t understand your fixation with those kids, Joe… to be honest me either…”

“And i don't understand your fixation with the King, He is... “

But all  hope crumbled as soon as it appeared, three words and Joe knew Yamato would never been in his side again

“I love him” and even worse “And.. i think he loves me”

Such a profound declaration, a much more horrified secret  

“Yamato… this is not right” such a waste of words, Yamato has done so much for others in the name of respect, honor, friendship, but love? he knew, sadly, that Yamato has never feel loved before.

Now there was nothing in the world that Yamato was not able to do for Taichi

He had lost his friend, just like he had lost everything else

“But I understand ” he lied “ I´ll not said anything, i just need to be alone for a while, please, i´m sure that you have a lot of things to get ready before the assault to the swarm”

With a smile Yamato leave him alone, and Joe waits impatien until the door close behind him and he hear his steps go far away for rush to his suitcase, he took his arrow and bow  and carefully, afraid and decided he sneak out of his own castle.

[illbefinealonereads]

Blog tour day! Allow me to tell you more about Husband Material by Emily Belden, as well as share an excerpt from the book.

Husband Material : A Novel Emily Belden On Sale Date: December 30, 2019 9781525805981, 1525805983 Trade Paperback $15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD Fiction / Romance / Romantic Comedy 304 pages

Told in Emily Belden's signature edgy voice, a novel about a young widow's discovery of her late husband's secret and her journey toward hope and second-chance love.

Twenty-nine-year-old Charlotte Rosen has a secret: she’s a widow. Ever since the fateful day that leveled her world, Charlotte has worked hard to move forward. Great job at a hot social media analytics company? Check. Roommate with no knowledge of her past? Check. Adorable dog? Check. All the while, she’s faithfully data-crunched her way through life, calculating the probability of risk—so she can avoid it.

Yet Charlotte’s algorithms could never have predicted that her late husband’s ashes would land squarely on her doorstep five years later. Stunned but determined, Charlotte sets out to find meaning in this sudden twist of fate, even if that includes facing her perfectly coiffed, and perfectly difficult, ex-mother-in-law—and her husband’s best friend, who seems to become a fixture at her side whether she likes it or not.

But soon a shocking secret surfaces, forcing Charlotte to answer questions she never knew to ask and to consider the possibility of forgiveness. And when a chance at new love arises, she’ll have to decide once and for all whether to follow the numbers or trust her heart.

Advance Praise for Husband Material

“Tackling thorny questions of widowhood and dating after trauma, Belden's second novel is witty, full of heart, and blindingly au courant. Packed with pop-culture references, it will appeal to fans of Sophie Kinsella, Rosie Walsh, and Plum Sykes. Belden writes twists and turns to keep readers hooked.” —Booklist

“Charming.” —Publishers Weekly

“Sensitive, thoughtful, and touching.” —Library Journal

“In this touching, witty, and timely book, Emily Belden deftly explores the complexities of human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. By turns heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny, Husband Material beautifully demonstrates that you can't reduce love to a bunch of 1s and 0s.”

—Kristin Rockaway, author of How To Hack a Heartbreak

Buy Links: Harlequin Amazon Barnes & Noble Indie Bound Kobo Google Books

Author Bio: EMILY BELDEN is a journalist, social media marketer, and storyteller. She is the author of the novel Hot Mess and Eightysixed: A Memoir about Unforgettable Men, Mistakes, and Meals. She lives in Chicago. Visit her website at www.emilybelden.com or follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @emilybelden

Genre: Romance, Chick-Lit

Rating: 4/5 stars

Review: This was a very fun read for me. Belden writes in a style that I really enjoy, it feels fresh and light. Though the book tackled some heavy subjects, none of it was felt in the writing. The plot was paced well, and the way it progressed felt natural. The idea behind the book was beautifully executed. The characters were well developed and set up in a way that kept the book dynamic and entertaining. Though the characters aren’t relatable, straying from most books in the romance genre, Husband Material didn’t need to rely on that to make the book as enjoyable as it was. All it needed was the wit that Belden incorporated in it, and that was enough for me.

Excerpt:

Well, that’s a first.

And I’m not talking about the fact that I brought a date to a wedding I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant me a plus-one. I’m talking about grabbing a wedding card that just so happened to say “Congrats, Mr. & Mr.” on my way to cele­brate the nuptials of the most iconic heterosexual couple since George and Amal. This—and a king-sized KitKat bar from the checkout lane—is what I get for rushing through the greet­ing card aisle in Target while my Uber driver waited in the loading zone with his f lashers on.

It’s Monica and Danny’s big day. She’s my coworker, whose gorgeous face is constantly lining the glossy pages of Luxe LA magazine. Not only because she’s one of the leading ladies at Forbes’s new favorite company, The Influencer Firm, but because this socialite-turned-CEO is now married to Dan­iel Jones—head coach of the LA Galaxy, Los Angeles’s pro­fessional soccer team. If you’re thinking he must look like a derivative of an American David Beckham, you’re basicallythere. Let’s just hope their sense of humor is as good as their looks when they see the card I accidentally picked out.

Before I place it on the gift table, I stuff the envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill fresh from the ATM. Side note: I think wedding registries are bullshit. Everybody wants an ice cream maker until you have one and never use it, which is why I spring for cold, hard cash instead. I grab a black Sharpie marker from the guest book table, pop the cap off, and attempt to squeeze in a nondescript s after the second “Mr.,” hoping my makeshift, hand-drawn serif font letter doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I blow on the fresh ink, then hold the pseudo Pinterest-fail an arm’s length away. That’ll do, I think to myself.

I lift a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray as if we cho­reographed the move and check the time on my Apple Watch, which arguably isn’t the most fashionable accessory when dressing for a chic summer wedding. But aside from the fact that it doesn’t quite match my strapless pale yellow cocktail dress, it serves a much greater purpose for me. It keeps my data front and center, right where I want it, not on my phone buried somewhere deep in my purse. Bonus: the band, smack-dab on the middle of my wrist, also covers a tattoo I’ve been meaning to have lasered off.

Other than telling me the time, 7:30 p.m., it also serves up my most recent Tinder notifications. I’ve gotten four new matches since this morning, which isn’t bad for a) a Saturday, since most people do their Tindering while zoning out at work or bored in bed at night; and b) a pushing-thirty New York native whose most recent relationship was the love-hate one with a stubborn last ten pounds. That’s me, by the way. Charlotte Rosen.

Though present and accounted for now, the battle of Tide pen vs. toothpaste stain went on for longer than I intended back at my apartment, causing me to arrive about half an hour late to the cocktail hour. Which means I for sure missed Monica and Dan’s ceremony in its entirety. I, of all people, know that’srude. I’m someone who is hypersensitive to people’s arrival ten­dencies (well, to all measurable tendencies, to be honest; more on that later). But I’m sort of glad I missed the I Dos, as there is still something about witnessing the exchange of vows that makes me a little squeamish. I got married five years ago and, well, I’m not married anymore—let’s put it that way.

The good news is that with time, I can feel it’s definitely getting easier to come to things like this. To believe that the couple really will stay together through it all. To believe that there is such a thing as “the one”—even if it may actually be “the other” that I’m looking for this next go-round.

Late as I may be to the wedding party, there are some perks to my delayed arrival. Namely, the line at the bar has died down enough for me to trade up this mediocre red wine for a decent gin and tonic. Another perk? Several fresh platters of bacon-wrapped dates have just descended like UFOs onto the main floor of the venue, which happens to be a barn from the 1800s. Except this is Los Angeles, and there are no barns from the 1800s. So instead, every creaky floorboard, every corroded piece of siding, and every decrepit roof shingle has been sourced from deep in the countryside of southwest Iowa to create the sense that guests are surrounded by rolling fields, fragrant orchard blossoms, and fruiting trees. The reality being that just outside the wooden walls of the coveted, three-year-long-wait-list Oak Mill Barn stands honking, gridlocked traf­fic on the 405 and an accompanying smog alert.

As I continue to wait for my impromptu wedding date, Chad, to come back from the bathroom, I robotically swipe left on the first three guys who pop up on Bumble, another dating app I’m on, then finally decide to message a guy who looks like a bright-eyed Jason Bateman (you know, pre-Ozark) and is a stockbroker, according to his profile. We end up matching and he asks me for drinks. I vaguely accept. Wel­come to dating in LA.

I’ve conducted some research that has shown that after the age of thirty, it becomes exponentially harder to find your fu­ture husband. What number constitutes exponentially? I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on narrowing in on that because generalities don’t really cut it for me. Thinking through things logically like this centers me, calms me, and resets me—no matter what life throws my way. All that’s to say, I’m officially in my last good year of dating (and my last year of not having to include a night serum in my skin care regimen), and I’m determined not to wind up with my dog, my roommate, and a few low-maintenance houseplants as my sole life partners.

“Sorry that took so long,” says Chad, returning from the men’s room twenty minutes after leaving. “Did you know the bathroom at this place is an actual outhouse? Thank god it was leg day at the gym—I had to squat over the pot. My quads are burning nice now.”

Confession. I didn’t just bring a date to the wedding, I brought a blind date.

No worries, though. Monica knows how serious I am about the path to Mr. Right and supports the fact that I go on my fair share of dates to get me there quicker. Plus, he isn’t a total stranger; she knows him—or, she met him, rather. He attended her work event last week at the LA County Museum of Art and is supposedly this cute, single real estate something or other. Of course he tried to hit on her and, unlike most beau­tiful people in Los Angeles, Monica actually copped to being in a committed relationship with Danny. (Who doesn’t like to brag they’re marrying Mr. Galaxy himself?) So she did the next best thing and gave him her single coworker’s Instagram handle and told him to slide into my DMs. It’s a bold move on her part, but I appreciate her quick thinking and commit­ment to my cause, Operation: Reclassify My Marital Status.

Since Chad first messaged me a week ago, I’ve done my homework on him. And I’m not talking about just your basic cyber stalking. I’m talking about procuring and sifting through real, bona fide data. It’s essentially a version of what I’m paid to do for a living—track down all the “influencers,” people with a lot of fans and followers on the internet, and match them to events we plan for our clients so they can post on so­cial media and boost our clients’ profiles.

Some may think my side-project software, the one that com­putes how much of a match I am with someone, is a bit…much, but I don’t see it that way at all. I’m on the hunt for a man who is a true match for me—one who won’t just up and leave in the blink of an eye. I left things up to fate once and look how that turned out. I’ll be damned if I do it that way again.

While I studied up on Chad, I conducted a hefty “image search,” yielding about a hundred photos of him that have been uploaded across a variety of social platforms over the years. In real life, I’m pleased to say he checks out. Chad is over six feet tall, tanned, and toned, with coiffed Zac Efron hair that’s on the verge of being described as “a bit extra.” From the shoul­ders up, he’s an emoji. A walking, talking emoji. But as I step back and admire him in his expertly tailored suit, he looks like a contestant on The Bachelor. In retrospect, Chad is just the right amount of good-looking to complement my physical appearance, which can be described as a made-for-TV version of an otherwise good-looking actress.

“Something to drink, sir?” one of the caterers asks Chad.

“Yes. A spicy margarita. Unless… Wait. Do you make the margarita mix yourselves? Or is it, like, that sugary store-bought crap?”

Eek. I had forgotten my discovery that Chad is a bit of a…wellness guru. I guess so is everyone in LA, but I can’t help but be taken aback when I hear that there are people who actually care about the scientific makeup of margarita mix.

“Fuck it. Too many calories either way,” Chad announces before giving the waitress a chance to answer his question. “I’ll just take a whiskey.”

“Splash of Coke?”

“God, no. So many empty calories.”

With his drink order in, Chad rolls his neck around and pops bones I never knew existed. Then, one by one, the joints in his fingers. The sound makes me a bit queasy but I’m try­ing to focus on the positive, like his beautiful hazel eyes and the fact that cherry tomatoes and mini mozzarella balls with an injection of balsamic vinegar are the latest and greatest munchie to hit the floor.

Chad turns to me with a smile, his palm connecting with the small of my back. “Should we find our seats? What table are we at?”

Good question, I think to myself. I’m at table six. Chad is…on a fold-up chair we will have to ask a caterer to squeeze between me and Monica’s great-aunt Sally? I kind of forgot to mention to him that I didn’t really get an official okay to bring him tonight.

“Table six,” I say pleasantly with a smile.

“Six is my lucky number. Well, that, and nine, if you know what I mean,” Chad says with a wink accompanied by an ac­tual thumbs-up.

The waitress comes back with his whiskey neat, and he proposes we clink our glasses in a toast to meeting up as we make our way to the table. Still not over the lingering effects of his immature, pervysixty-nine joke, I reluctantly concede to do the cheers with the perpetual high-schooler.

“So, what did you think of Monica’s event?” I say to break the ice as we take our seats at the luckily empty round table.

“Well, I don’t really know what she does for a living, but she is fine as hell. I mean, that’s why I hit on her last week atthe LACMA. Sure, I saw the ring on her finger, but couldn’t resist saying hi to a goddess like her. My god, that woman is something else.”

I nod in agreement. Partly because, yes, Monica Hoang needs her own beauty column in Marie Claire, stat. And partly because I’m too shocked by his crass demeanor to really do or say anything else. Did I say Chad reminded me of a contes­tant on The Bachelor? I think I meant he reminds me of a guy who gets sent home on night one of The Bachelor.

“She said you’re a real estate…attorney, was it?” I awk­wardly segue. “What’s your favorite neighborhood in Los Angeles?”

It sounds like I’m interviewing him for a job, which in a way, I am. But had I known the conversation was going to be like forcefully wringing out a damp rag, just hoping to squeeze out something semidecent, I would have never invited him to join me at the wedding. In fact, I likely wouldn’t have gone through with a date, of any kind, at all. Conversation skills rank high on my list of preferred qualities in a mate. Looks like he’s the exception to the rule that attorneys are good lin­guists, because my app sure as shit didn’t predict this fail.

So how does my software work, then? Well, it’s all about compatibility. My algorithm is programmed to know what I like and what I’m looking for in the long term. So to see if a guy is a match, I comb through his online profiles, enter the facts I find out about him, and generate a report that indi­cates how likely he is to be my future husband or how likely we would be to get a divorce, for example. One of the most helpful stats is how likely we are to go on a second date. I’ve determined that anyone scoring above 70 percent means that chances are good we’d go out again. And, well, a second date is the first step to marriage. You get the point. Anyone below a 70, I ignore and move on. Chad pulled a 74, which is a solidC if you’re using a high school grading system. Not stellar, but certainly passable with room for improvement.

As it’s turning out, there’s a lot of room for improvement.

“Huh? I’m not in real estate,” he says with a confused look on his face.

“Oh, Monica said you were an attorney at Laird & Hutchin­son?”

“Well, yes, that’s the name of our firm. The Laird side is real estate. But they acquired Hutchinson a couple years ago, and that’s the side of the practice I work on.”

“What kind of law is Hutchinson?”

“We’re the ‘Life’s too short, get a divorce!’ guys. You’ve probably seen a few of our company’s billboards.”

Chad slides his business card my way, and as soon as I see the logo, I picture those billboards slathered all over the bus stop benches down Laurel Canyon Drive and feel physically ill. Not only because he’s in the business of making divorce seem cheeky, but also because I’m wondering what other things I might have missed or gotten wrong about Chad.

“Wait. So have you ever been divorced?” The question pops off my tongue involuntarily. As soon as the words come out, I remember he reserves the right to ask me the same question in return and immediately regret posing it. I’m not ready to explain the demise of my first marriage.

“Me? Nah. Never married.”

Luckily, a server reappears to take our dinner order. But let it be known that if Chad had asked, I would have explained that I didn’t give up on my life partner because I was frus­trated he failed to load a dishwasher in any sort of methodical way. I didn’t just get bored and say “screw it,” chalking the whole thing up as just a starter marriage (google it, this is a thing now). In fact, if anyone abruptly left anyone, he aban­doned me out of nowhere.

“Would you like the chicken and veggies or the short rib and scalloped potatoes?” the caterer asks me.

“Short rib and potatoes,” I say, a game-time decision made entirely by my growling stomach.

At that, Chad looks at me like I rolled into the Vatican wear­ing a tube top. “You sure about that, Char? There are so many hidden carbs in potatoes,” he whispers with a hint of disgust.

First off, Char is reserved for people with a little more ten­ure in my life, thankyouverymuch. And secondly—

“Yes, I’m sure. An extra scoop of potatoes if possible,” I say, loud enough for our waitress, who jots down the special instruction.

“Chicken for me. Extra veggies,” my 74 percent match re­quests.

There it is. His wellness obsession flaring up again. I’m racking my brain for what to say next to a guy who screams “dead end” to me.

 Excerpted from Husband Materialby Emily Belden, Copyright ©2019 by Emily Belden. Published by Graydon House Books.