#but also I found it to be such a profoundly helpful summary that I really wanted to make it available to everyone

[utilitycaster]

(well, my feelings on Laudna are documented but I do think Imogen is a great character)

Oh! I found your blog rather recently but did you write Laudna meta early on? Or did you mean when the recent Delilah stuff went down?

I do not want to go too far into it and I suspect some of it is untagged (I have to find a way to tag for myself and not for the main character tags when writing crit) but in short: Laudna just...isn't a well thought out character. At every single Q&A panel and 4SD Marisha's summary boils down to "I wanted to make someone creepy, and then I thought 'what about a sun tree corpse, and what if her patron was Delilah'" and it it kind of stops there. When you couple it with the fact that Imogen was terrified of having any conflict with her until it became the only option, it really was like...I know Delilah was a big part of her backstory but Laudna did very little with her until episode 77 of the campaign. Like, for reference, Fjord had already helped fulfill 2/3rds of what his patron wanted and then broken his pact, gone without powers for almost 4 episodes, and found a new patron by pretty much exactly that point. There was almost no engagement with what it means to be a sorcerer (which Imogen covers skillfully even with all the new stuff that was thrown at Laura) and it was very little with an anticlimatic payoff for warlock (which, see Fjord, but also I'm not a big fan of Yu and at least they covered that concept adeptly).

Like...I remember at an early panel Marisha said "I don't want to think anymore" and the thing is like...it shows. Made a nonromanceable character and then said yes when romance came up. Didn't initially plan to take more warlock levels (already undercutting the idea of Delilah having much of a hold on her). Envisioned her character would be over her trauma and then extremely wasn't.

There's PCs I've disliked far more, or had more trouble with - Laudna's never been unlikeable. But she's always been just...profoundly disappointing until I gave up on her not being disappointing and decided she'd be there and do some cool things occasionally and never contribute a lot in the way of story.

For what it's worth, and this ties back to some of my thoughts on Campaign 3 generally, I do think that the CR cast could do another campaign in D&D in Exandria and it could achieve the heights of (pick C1 or C2 depending on personal preference; mine is C2 but I respect a C1 answer). But it requires a real session zero. I think the cast counts their mini playtests as a session zero, and I get it, because with the main cast there's not that same need to set personal boundaries or lines and veils because they know each other. But there isn't that same full-group planning. They've been releasing their Candela and Daggerheart session zeroes and just put out their Moonward one as well, and they talked extensively about the Calamity and Downfall planning sessions, and it's just...again, it shows. I think C1 and C2 work because, as I said in my post just now about Marquet, the characters sort of set the world and the campaign came from them. Once you have a more set plot in a more solidified world, I think you need to have that kind of group discussion, and they didn't, and Laudna especially feels indicative of that because I think a few pointed questions and Marisha would have realized there needed to be more to work with.

[variety-fangirl]

I have a fic request if you’re taking them! You’re the fem dancer who performs the rain duet in the Magic Mike show in London and your lovely Moon boys go to watch your show as the supportive boyfriends they are. What happens when you get home?

Rain Dance / Moon Boys x fem!reader

Summary: You're a professional dancer helping Mike with his final surprise performance at The Rattigan, the money was just too good to refuse. Of course, you had prepared and pre-warned your boyfriends about the sensual and intimate nature of the dance being performed but they had been supportive of your role and wanted to come watch the final product of your hard work. After witnessing the dance you head home with your boyfriends, only to be in for a surprise of your own.

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS SHOO. Descriptive sexual words and sentences, mentions of intimate, sexual, sensual, and consensual dance, jealousy and possessiveness, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!dom moon boys, spanking, choking, marking, female oral, praise kink) lmk if I missed anything.

Authors note: (SPOILERS! For the new Magic Mike Last Dance film). Absolutely 😍 oh I love this idea! I actually just finished watching Magic Mike Last Dance and loved it, so this idea is *mwah*. That scene was spicy and beautiful! 🥵😍 Thank you so much for requesting, it means a lot! 😁🥰 I hope that you like it and it turned out the way you wanted it to. Sorry it took so long, life and writers block have been kicking my ass fp 😅 Thank you for reading and enjoy! Liking, reblogging, and commenting really helps me out. Thank you.

Word count: 2.2k

Never in your life did you think you would be performing a dance of this nature, something so raw, sensual, and intimate. It was something you never thought would happen outside of a relationship, minus the fact of having clothes on, being so up close and personal in someone's personal space and they you. But there was a part of you that wanted to prove to yourself, that you could do something like this and walk out a new woman who genuinely did something that mattered. And that was by helping Mike, so that he could prove himself and Maxandra also. Did it feel a little weird that she and your boyfriends would be watching you and Mike basically dance fuck with your clothes on? Yes, yes it did. But when it came down to it, it was just a job to you both.

The lead-up to the final dance was chaotic and stressful, with so many ups and downs but you all got there in the end. Granted you had come in last minute with little time to prep but Mike had his vision sorted and ready to go, you just needed to learn the choreography. With all your years of dance, you had found it profoundly difficult, having never done something so obscene and sexual before in dance but honestly? You were so excited about it. It was a new wonderful challenge to say you had overcome. And seeing the final product of what you had all achieved was spectacular and you couldn't wait for others to witness the greatness Mike had created.

When it came to the day of the performance, you were pent up with energy and nerves about the outcome and how your boyfriends would react. You were sure they would be proud of you and your ability as a performer but the dance itself? You weren't so sure. You were just hoping they wouldn't take it to heart. That they could see past the sexual aspect and understand how beautiful and artistic it truly was. You would be thinking of your boyfriends the whole time anyway. Not anyone else, because they were the desire of your dreams and life itself.

When the time for your performance was steadily yet quickly approaching, it was a lot to take in, you were nervous beyond belief. But your main goal was to make your loved ones proud of you, so whilst backstage, you rehearsed and prepped your dance as much as possible. You wanted everything to be flawless and beautiful, so mesmerising to watch that you couldn't take your eyes away. As you were stretching to loosen up your body for dancing, Mike came over. "You ready?" he asked with a cheeky smile that helped calm your nerves ever so slightly, you nodded with a smile.

As you approached the stage to begin, you felt your heart leap out of your chest. It always did before each performance, no matter how many you had done over the years. You spring into action, dancing methodically and passionately, putting all your feelings into each movement. You worked with Mike, not against him, letting each other guide the flow. Your bodies moved so naturally, with so much grace and beauty that you felt the overwhelming emotions that poured out of you. It reflected in your movements, in everything you did in that moment, and it truly made all the difference for the impact. You imagined your beloved, amazing boyfriends the whole time, envisioning the amazing passionate nights you spent between the sheets together. All the love and desire you felt for them, the way they made your body feel.

You kept your eyes on Mike the entire time, not wanting to break focus for even a second, too afraid of ruining the intensity of the performance. Each thrusting, pushing, flowing movement felt so raw and powerful, and yet vulnerable all at the same time. Your emotions and movements were in sync, working as one as well as with each other, it was a team effort. You felt the music flow through you as you transferred to the water part of your dance, the most sexual part. The dance was a mix between ballet, erotica, and freestyle dance. You could feel the audience holding their breaths as they watched you and Mike grind, touch, dance, and push at each other.

Each sultry touch of your bodies, each sensual movement, each intimate body part that ground against one another, enticed and pulled the raw emotions you wanted the crowd to feel. As if they were the lookers observing and assessing the voyeuristic lovemaking of a couple for all to see. It was perfect, every part and every moment, was something to marvel at and savour. You felt beautiful as you moved, hips and head tuned in with your sexual desires, you were lost in the passion.

When you came to, it took you a moment to realise it was over, that you were standing and walking from the stage. As soon as you were away from looking eyes, you finally felt like you could breathe again. As if breathing would have disrupt the dance and distract the audience from it. "Holy fuck! That was awesome, you did amazing!" Mike complimented with a large smile as you both walked into the dressing room. You smiled wide, "It was, wasn't it? You did so amazingly!" you felt unlike anything you ever had, it was hard to explain. You felt... beyond. You both laughed happily as you separated to dry off and get changed for the end of the show.

When you re-emerged, you looked for your boyfriends, not immediately seeing them. In your search, you noticed Mike and Maxandra had finally made up and were kissing. It made you smile, you were happy it had worked, that she seemed proud. And thankfully, not at all angry or unhappy. You noticed a dark figure to the side of Mike and smiled, immediately running towards them. "Hi," You whispered in his ear as you wrapped your arms tightly around your boyfriends. "Babe, you were amazing up there, was hard not to get jealous," Marc spoke huskily into your ear, placing a gentle kiss below your ear. You moan softly, "I was thinking of you three the whole time anyway, honey." you leant up and bit Marc's earlobe gently, earning you a delicious groan. His hand smacks your ass, leading you toward the exit. You smile, already knowing what was about to happen.

It didn't take you both long to get home, the drive was short and filled with many compliments that Marc relayed from your other two favourite men. You were blushing furiously and your panties were utterly drenched by the time you walked through the door. The anticipation was killing you, and the need for your boyfriends was insatiable. The second the door closed and the lock clicked, you were roughly pushed against it, a gasp managing to escape before Marc's lips were on yours. You both moan as your tongues explore one another's mouths, fighting for dominance.

You make quick work of removing each other's clothing, breathless gasps mingling between your only just separated lips, never too far from each other. Once naked, Marc picked you up one-handed and pressed you against the hard wooden door, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist to secure yourself. Tongues battled for dominance as Marc's hands grabbed at your ass, needing the soft plush skin in his hands. His hips ground into yours, cock rubbing perfectly through your dripping slit, allowing him to move so much easier. "Fuck baby, you are so wet already and I haven't even touched you yet." you moaned at his words, both listening to the obscene sounds of your wetness filling the quiet room.

"You're such a good girl for us love, you were amazing up there." you smiled, wondering whether you would see your other boyfriends tonight. "Steven" you breathlessly say as his mouth travels down to your neck. Your body was on fire, so pent up and got with the need built up in your body, you felt you could burst at any second. Especially with the way their cock was grinding oh so perfectly against your clit every time he thrust forward. You felt your back being removed from the stability of the door and landed on the soft duvet of your bed. You gasp at the soft impact, looking up at Steven whilst biting your lip, waiting for whatever they were willing to give you. "I'm going to show you just how jealous we were tonight my love," Steven announces with a seriousness you hadn't expected to come from him, it made you a little nervous but you trusted all three of them with your life.

"Have at it, sir," you smirk, knowing that name got Steven fired up. For Marc it was just his name, he didn't have a kink name that he liked to be called. Although, you did experimentally call him 'daddy' once and that really got him riled up. Jake liked to be called Pappi, naturally. It made it more fun in the bedroom, for each of them to have individual sexual preferences. Steven growled and latched his lips onto yours, kissing you as if it would be your last ever kiss. It made you completely breathless when he pulled away, and more so when you saw the look in his eyes. Pure lust and adoration, like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes upon. You watched as Steven moved lower, moving to your breasts, placing his mouth around your nipple as he played with the other in his hand.

You moan and writhe against the soft cotton duvet, gasps intermingling between as his lips continued to travel lower, down to where you needed them most. His hands glide across your skin as they follow his mouth, savouring every inch as if you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. The second Steven's tongue licked your clit, you were a goner, completely consumed with pleasure. "Oh, fuck, Steven." you gasp, head thrown back and eyes rolling. Your body takes a mind of its own, your hips thrusting gently into Steven's face, trying to desperately chase your high. Needing that sweet release more than air itself.

You could feel your high quickly approaching from Steven's tongue alone. He was that good. He knew exactly how to please you and what to do, all from your body alone. As soon as Steven added two fingers into you, you were done, coming hard. You cried out as your head threw back once again, eyes rolling back into your head as Steven rode you through the pleasure of your high. He kept going even after you had finished and had been licked clean, overstimulating you to sensitivity. You giggle with a gasp as your body spasmed, gently pushing his head away. You look behind you to see the mirror pointed to face the bed, knowing Marc and Jake are watching you intently, probably with large smirks on their faces as they spoke to Steven.

You smirk, biting your lip, "Enjoy the show boys?" you question breathlessly, a teasing tone to your voice as you turn back to look at Steven. "We absolutely did princesa." Jake groaned as you pulled him down to press your lips to his, your hand tracing slowly down his body until you landed on his cock. You stroked his cock slowly, wanting to please them the way that Steven had pleased you. Jake groaned loudly, mouth open against yours, both breathing deeply. "Fuck, baby." Jake moaned before kissing you passionately.

Jake pushes your hand away gently and lines himself with your entrance. He slowly drags the head of his cock back and forth your slit, spreading your wetness around. Jake made sure to bump your clit every time he dragged his cock up, enjoying watching you gasp and twitch from sensitivity. After teasing you for a bit, Jake got fed up and gently entered you without warning. He kept slowly entering you until he was flush inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and the familiar stretch.

"Jesús bebé, te sientes tan bien" Jake groaned as he started moving, quickly building a steady pace that had you moaning in seconds. As Jake thrust into you, his hand wrapped around your neck, applying just enough pressure. "You're mine," Jake paused, looked to the mirror and rolled his eyes, "ours." He corrected with a grunt. "Yours." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist, wanting them as close as possible.

You felt Jake stiffen and hear Marc's voice take over, making you smile. "Fuck baby, you feel too good." Marc's lips attached to your neck, kissing and sucking the delicate skin, no doubt leaving marks in his path. There was an odd sense of joy you got out of your boys feeling jealous and slightly possessive, it made for the sex to be all the more amazing. Suddenly Marc pulls out of you, flips you over and directs you to go on all fours, facing the mirror perfectly. You both moan loudly as he re-enters you without issue, fucking you slowly to begin.

Marc without wanting begins to fuck you, hard, into the mattress. You gasp while moaning, mouth open wide as he enters you nice and deep, hitting that sweet spot inside you that had that familiar knot tightening in moments. Marc's palm collides with your ass, one on each side, "that's our girl." he groans. The bed rocks with the force of his thrusts, mixed with the obscene and wet noises you were both making. You feel yourself getting close, "That's it, come for me, baby. Give them a show." Marc whispers against your ear before giving you the fucking of your life.

You scream in ecstasy as your high hits you like a train, the pleasure so intense that your arms gave out and you flopped onto the bed. Marc came seconds later, stilling as he released his seed inside of you. He collapsed next to you, both breathing heavily and feeling like jello. You turn to face Marc with a sleepy smile on your face, your hand gently pushing his loose damp curls off his forehead. "I should make you guys jealous more often if I get fucked like that." you joked with a giggle, leaning in to kiss him. Suddenly you were on your back again and your boyfriends hard dick poked into your stomach, "good thing then because we aren't done with you yet." Steven's voice alerted, making you squeal.

[skzhocomments]

THE WHITE LILY (Mafia Book #1 - Bang Chan) - Chapter 15 - I was never there

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

General masterlist

Chapter 14 | Chapter 16

Let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist for this story or on the general taglist!

---

Chapter 15 - I was never there

chapter word count: 2.8k words

~third person POV~

"Sky, can you hear me?!"

"I think Minho's mic works, guys!" Seungmin shouted to Jeongin and Han, turning his eyes to the big computer screen in the van and turning off his headphones, putting Minho on speaker.

"Minho?!" Han spoke.

"Connect me to Chan right now!" the boy shouted through the earpiece. "I did it! Fuck, but there's a BIG problem."

"We hear you, Lee Know."Chan spoke, signaling to Changbin and Momo to retreat to the cars outside.

"I killed him!"

"So he came to Tunnel A, after all, like Shade thought." Seungmin affirmed.

"There's a big problem here, fuck. Jeongin, prepare the medical kit immediately! I'm coming with Felix and Hyo!"

"Minho, calm down, what's wrong with them?"

"They've been shot! Shade... shot them both."

~

"What the fuck happened?!" Chan opened the van's door and helped Minho carry Hyo and Felix inside. "Hyo, you were there with Shade the whole time... fill us in."

"I... Channie... I'm so sorry. Shade... no, Emilia. She... betrayed us. I don't know what happened, I really thought we were friends!" Hyo looked like a mess, crying her eyes out and bleeding profoundly from her leg.

"What... do you mean to say, Hyo...?" Chan asked with hesitation.

"When we were alone, the earpieces suddenly stopped working, and... she pulled out the gun on me... Told me she hates my guts, hopes I die and that she'll make it look like an accident! But then... Lixie opened the door... he tried to stop her, so she opened fire!" she cried.

"No... it can't be..." Chan shook his head. "That's impossible... she would never..."

"She kicked my gun from my hand when I tried to shoot back and then she shot me in the leg! Fuck, this hurts like a bitch!"

"It's impossible..." Chan continued to deny.

"OPEN YOUR GODDAMN EYES!" Minho shouted. "You have proof right here!"

"And there's more-" Hyo continued, barely speaking through the tears. "She must've been hand in hand with them the whole time... her room... still looked the same..."

"I- no..." Chan couldn't believe his ears. "But Lee Know killed their boss, so how..."

"I saw it too..." Minho nodded. "There were pics of her on the walls..."

"I told you... the baby with the rose mark on his back... wasn't a coincidence..." Hyo kept insisting.

Despite her messed up appearance, she was burning with happiness that she planted that seed a few months ago. It all fell into place, as Chan seemed to doubt Shade more and more.

Minho also bit the bait, much to her surprise, which only made things better for her. She was glad that she had the brilliant thought to shoot her leg and make it look like Shade did it.

It was so satisfying, she barely held in her smile.

Minho pat Chan on the back. "She probably thought that I wouldn't be able to take him down on my own... I know you love her, but... Lixie might not make it, Chris! And Hyo is also badly hurt! Because of her!"

"So... where is she, then?" Chan continued asking Hyo, not knowing what to think. Was Hyo telling the truth? How could she not, when she herself was bleeding so much?

"I don't know, Chris!" She cried out. "She ran away!"

"Look, we have some cameras outside, don't we? Seungmin can check if she left the Manor." Minho kept his calm, even though he was burning with rage inside. He also noticed that Chan wasn't completely rational, and when it came to hierarchy in SKZ, he was the next in line. It was time to help and take charge.

"Mhm, I found her... she headed towards the garage and left with a car just a few minutes ago. I'm trying to make out the plate number."

"Chris, we must... we must not let her get away." Hyo said. "What she's done to me... to Felix..."

"We won't." Lee Know placed his hand on Hyo's shoulder, comforting her. "We will find her and bring her back..."

Jeongin tried his hardest to tend to Felix and remove the bullets from his chest so he can stop the bleeding, being unable to process what the others were saying. His Emi would never do that. He was sure of that. 

However, seeing Chan's gaze darken, his blood ran cold. He felt that his leader's feelings for Emilia were disappearing with every word Hyo said, and hearing how determined Lee Know was to find her, he imagined the worst.

Emi, stay away... he pleaded in his mind. It would be better that way.

~

Emilia took a car and started driving towards the side of the house where Jeongin, Jisung and Seungmin should've been stationed. However, no one was there when she arrived.

This can't be... Am I too late? she cried, hoping that the boys found Felix and took him back to the house.

It was only one way to find out, so she drove as best as she could, forcing herself to stay awake. The loss of blood was getting to her head, and the pain was almost unbearable, which forced her to take many stops on the long drive back to Stray Kids' house.

Tears were uncontrollably falling down her face, her vision blurry.

How did things get this fucked? She wondered, cursing herself for pushing down the uneasiness she felt about this night... that feeling of calm before the storm.

After almost three hours, she reached the house and stumbled inside.

She was able to hear voices in the kitchen, so she ran as fast as she could, in her wounded state, towards them.

Around the table, Chan, Hyo and Jeongin looked somberly.

"Emilia?!" Jeongin exclaimed and got up, coming to embrace the girl. He was quick to notice the blood coming from her abdomen, but before he could say or do anything, Chan got up and pushed him aside.

"Chan, how's Felix?!" the girl asked worriedly.

"Shade... bold of you to walk in here like this."

Shade? Why is he calling me Shade? Emilia quivered. He hasn't acted so cold ever since the baby incident...

"I don't know what you-"

"I'm barely holding myself together right now" Chan exhaled angrily. "... please, tell me... what the fuck did you do to Felix and Hyo?"

"I- I didn't do anything! Hyo, she's the one-"

"She's lying!" Hyo screamed at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her face once again. "After what you've done to us, you dare to come back here?! How could you shoot me and Felix?"

"What?! I didn't- Chan, you have to believe me. Look, she-" Emilia tried to defend herself, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears, as Chan got angrier the more she spoke.

"Get out." He spat.

"Wh.. what?" she looked at him puzzled. He surely wasn't telling her what she was hearing... was he?

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of here and never come back."

"But- but Chris-" she tried touching his face, wanting to speak some sense into him, but he already seemed to have his mind set.

"Don't fucking touch me." He replied emotionlessly.

Seeing that she wouldn't back down angered him even more, so he took it out on her with a powerful slap on her face.

The hit didn't seem to register, however, as she tried coming next to him again, touching his face, her hands shaking.

"I said, DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" he pushed her as hard as he could, making her body hit the wall behind. She fell on her knees weak, powerless.

Why was this happening to her?

"Chan-" Jeongin tried to intervene, but he was quickly shut down as well.

"Go check on Felix, will you?" his leader commanded.

Huh, so Felix is alive, that's good... Emilia thought, feeling relieved that at least her friend was alright.

"For what you've done, I should kill you right here and now. You somehow managed to make me fall for you. How stupid was I?!" Chan continued angrily pulling out his gun and pointing it to his former lover as soon as Jeongin reluctantly left the room. "How could you betray them, hm?! How could you betray me?!"

"I never-" she tried to talk, but the blood in her mouth from the slap made her cough.

"You look so pathetic." Chan laughed lowly. "And you are worthless. It wouldn't even be fun killing you at this point."

He came closer to her and grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to look at him. His gaze was so cold, it made her freeze, for she never saw him like that, not even in the first night she came to kill him.

In her head, especially since becoming his lover, she never connected Chris, the love of her life, to Chris, the heartless mafia leader.

"I'm gonna give you some time to pull yourself together... and when your world's sweetest, I'll hunt you down with everything I have. You hear me? This shall be fun. We can even put your pretty head on display somewhere in the garden when the time comes, why not? That's what rats deserve."

Emilia stood on the ground, silent.

"Not gonna say anything, doll? Then get the fuck out of my house already, will you? You fucking traitor." He let go of her hair pushing her, and turned around.

Nonchalant, he grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped off the blood on his hands – hers – then headed towards the door, signalling to Hyo to follow him.

Hyo took one last glance at Emilia before exiting the room in crutches. Seeing her like this was even more satisfying than if she managed to kill her earlier. 

God, what a good feeling! she smirked, turning around.

~

(Song: The Weekend - I was never there)

(quick A/N: I recommend listening to this while you read the next part, as it's been an inspiration for this chapter)

~

Emilia stood on the ground bleeding for what felt like hours. After having her whole life taken away from her by the man she loved most, she was completely empty.

It never mattered that she would've never betrayed Chan, that she would always be on his side, because it seems he was never on hers.

Otherwise, why would he turn his back on her so easily? How could he not even listen to a single word she tried to say?

He took Hyo's words at face value once again and didn't even doubt for a second that things could've happened differently.

Channelling all the force left in her body, she used the wall behind her to stand up. She slowly made her way out of the house, leaving a trail of blood behind her, and she walked through the now-so-familiar gardens of the manor, out on the empty streets, so dizzy she didn't even notice where she was headed.

However, her feet seemed to have a location memorized, as they brought her there without her mind to it.

The Overpass.

This shall be her grave.

Seems fitting. She thought, leaning against the old bridge's wall and letting herself fall down to the ground, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

Her vision was blurry enough either way, so why not just close them and listen to the world around her? After all, the last senses you lose when you die are hearing and touching, and so her hearing was as sharp as ever. Even sharper, perhaps.

Hearing the water's flow beautifully in front of her, she wished she could just be one of the fishes swimming without a care in the world in there.

Ah, if only I was a fish! She thought, bringing a smile to her face.

But no, I always wanted more. Too much.

Thinking of him hurts...

Fuck.

Why was I so stupid?

I can't believe I got myself tricked so easily.

Did I bring my own demise?

I must've, right?

It's all my fault things turned out this way.

Somewhere from her left side, heavy footsteps were closing in. She pulled out her gun, pointing it towards the dark figure that was approaching, and pulled the trigger. 

Of course, nothing happened. The gun was as empty as it was earlier when Hyo stabbed her.

She couldn't help but let out a bitter chuckle.

„You lost a lot of blood." a quiet voice spoke next to her. She quickly felt herself being picked up from the ground.

She let herself indulge in this last gesture of care and placed her head on this person's shoulder. It felt different from Chan's.

Opening her eyes slowly, she was unable to see anything but a dark silhouette.

"San...? why are you here...?" Emilia asked weakly. "You died... did I... also... die...?"

"Shh. Don't speak. I'm here to repay the favour. I'll be your guardian angel this time." The voice said, making no sense in the girl's head, for the boy was not her former partner, but her Shadow.

"I'm gonna fix you. Everything will be alright." Jeongin spoke again, trying more to assure himself than to assure her.

"I will take care of you... I will never leave you alone..."

His voice was growing distant, as Emilia slipped in and out of consciousness.

~

She woke up a few days later in an unfamiliar room.

"Argh." She tried to stand up, the pain in her abdomen stopping her.

"You're awake! Thank God!" Jeongin rushed near the bed. "I was afraid you're gonna wake up when I'm not here."

"Felix... how is Felix?" Emilia asked anxiously, as she suddenly remembered all the events that took place before she passed out.

"He's stable for now, but... we still aren't sure if he'll make it... he has yet to wake up." Jeongin looked down for a brief moment, before sitting on the bed next to Emilia and grabbing her hands.

"I'm so glad you're awake, though. You have no idea."

"Jeongin... you shouldn't be here, Foxie..." she looked away. "I'm a traitor in Chan's eyes... he will kill you if he found out..."

"Emi, I know you would've never harmed Felix or Hyo... She is lying, isn't she?"

Hearing that question brought back all the feelings she tried to bury. She started crying uncontrollably, letting herself be embraced and soothed by Jeongin.

"Shh, it's okay."

"But it's not! Chan, he- fuck, Jeongin, I messed up!"

"If Felix wakes up, this whole misunderstanding will be solved..." Jeongin started.

"No, you're missing the point. I messed up because I let myself fall so in love with him, it hurts! I didn't care about how fast and hard I fell for him. Why didn't I know how dangerous that was, hm?!" She started sobbing, feeling all the pain inflicted on her soul by her former lover.

How little regard did he have for her and their relationship, she wondered? Why was it so easy to push her away, to not even care about what she had to say?

Wasn't he supposed to love her? To be on her side?

Or were those just lies?

Her feelings for Chan were suicide, only you couldn't see the ropes.

The boy held her tighter.

"I was simply... oblivious that his kisses were poison to me. How couldn't I notice it was too good to be true?!" she cried and cried, holding onto Jeongin for dear life.

However, this time he pulled away and wiped the tears off her face.

"Emi... it's not your fault. What other people do is not up to you..."

"You're right, but you know what the sad thing is? Even if I knew, it probably wouldn't have mattered. As long as it was him... I would've... gladly... drunk any poison." She smiled genuinely.

Jeongin didn't say anything in response, waiting for the girl to finish.

"The only mistake I made... was to not realise that he wouldn't do the same for me."

I would've taken a bullet for him to prove how much I loved him, but as it turned out... all this time, he was the one holding the gun.

"How ironic... Why did things happen like this?" she continued smiling.

After all, nothing hurts more in this world than a heart left wondering why. 

She didn't know what to do with herself, so she simply had to turn off everything around her. She had to grow numb, and her smile in these circumstances only proved so further.

"Jeongin, even if Felix wakes up, which I pray to God will happen, I can never go back there. Chris... I don't want to see him ever again."

The boy nodded.

"I always thought... white lilies represent a new you, a Rebirth... but you know, Innie?"

"I'm not sure I follow..." he replied, confused, unaware of the painting in Hyunjin's greenhouse.

"The truth is, they have a double meaning. They represent the dead... And that's what I want to be for him, do you understand?"

"Emi-"

"You will go out and dig a grave for me... and if he ever asks..."

"... I understand. And I promise you that I will do just as you asked me."

"Thank you, Innie." The girl smiled shily. "Truly. You're the only one I can still trust."

"Emi... how about this? We'll wait for a few more days until you are a bit better, you lost so much blood... and after that, let's leave this shithole behind, together. Let's run far away for good." 

Jeongin grabbed Emilia's face and looked deeply into her eyes. 

"I'll make you forget all about him."

With no warning, he pressed their lips together.

Let this be... the last time we see each other, Innie. Emilia thought and indulged in the kiss. 

The first time they met, she gave him the gift of life, saving him. This shall be her farewell present, then. 

---

Chapter 14 | Chapter 16

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 18: The Reach

CHAPTER SUMMARY: A blatant proximity trope. That's what fan fics are for, right?!?!

This is one of my favorite chapters :) Because I am always here for a good proximity trope. If you think about it, the entire Rogue One movie is a forced proximity trope...Tony Gilroy and Gareth Edwards, I thank you.

In this chapter, Cassian says something in Kenari. I did some research about the language and I read that it's a mix of Spanish and Hungarian. Sadly, I don't know anything about Hungarian, but I learned a smattering of Mexican Spanish when I was in high school. So, I decided my version of Kenari would just be Spanish (firstly because I don't speak Hungarian and secondly because I wanted to show Diego respect). Thank you to my dear friend Adela for double checking my translation and helping me make it more accurate. (It's a small moment, but there's more to come in future chapters.)

I hope you enjoy!

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 18: THE REACH

“One way out! One way out!”

Prisoners were pushing past him by the dozen, shouting their freedom chant as they jumped from the platform to the waves below. The crowd’s momentum pulled him backward, inch by inch getting closer to the edge. He stretched out his hand, reaching through the bodies. “Come on!” he shouted.

Jyn, dressed in the dehumanizing Narkina 5 uniform, cowered, pressing against the prisoners behind her. “I can’t,” she said shaking her head.

He could see she was terrified but this was their only chance. If they didn’t jump now, they’d be prisoners forever. “Jyn, take my hand! We have to go!”

She began to collapse to the ground. “I can’t swim.”

A large figure appeared at his side. He turned and found himself face to face with a man who preyed upon his memory. Kino Loy’s eyes were hard and filled with fury, his hulking body crowding Andor back until he teetered on the platform edge. Paralyzed by fear, the rebel’s own eyes widened with horror; he only had time for his gaze to shift from Kino to Jyn and back before the huge man brutally shoved him overboard. Jyn disappeared as the prison’s exterior wall rushed by. The fall lasted long enough to panic, but the plummet was so sickening Cassian couldn’t even scream. Instead of hitting icy water, he smashed into a durasteal beam, bouncing until he landed on a metal grate inside a citadel tower, every bone in his body bursting like stardust…

…Cassian’s eyelids dragged open.

He lay still for a long time, face down in his bunk, letting his heartrate and breathing return to normal before he allowed himself to move.

This one had felt real.

He hated vivid dreams.

His experience on Narkina 5 was so profoundly dark it had burned its memories into his bones. The prison’s clean orderliness had been a veneer barely masking a system that was so sinister, so hopeless, so deeply futile that it haunted Cassian to this day. Kino Loy, a man who commanded respect and led hundreds of men to a freedom he could never share, was one of Cassian’s deepest regrets. If he could go back and change one thing about his past, he would grab Kino and drag him to safety.

But it hadn’t been possible.

Cassian shivered as he realized he’d left Jyn on that platform just like he’d left Kino.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the metal bulkhead.

He knew what it all meant; the nightmares weren’t exactly subtle. He was afraid of missing his chance, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or in the right place at the right time and messing it up, or making a stupid mistake that killed someone he cared about.

But he also knew he couldn’t control any of that. Which ultimately meant the dream was about living with fear, accepting it, facing it, thriving in spite of it.

Cassian rubbed his hands across his face. “I need coffee,” he grumbled.

What he really needed was a solid night’s rest that didn’t include nightmares of Jyn screaming, bleeding, or crying. Tarkin’s torture had pried open a level of vulnerability Cassian wasn’t sure how to heal. His nerves felt raw, like his past was fighting with the present. Everything Jyn said to him the night before lingered in his mind, battling with a lifetime of insignificance. He had grown up the outsider, the selfish taker, the lost boy. He’d been aimless, careless, and angry. But ever since he’d joined the Rebel Alliance, all that pent up emotion was directed into something meaningful. Even so, Jyn had been right; deep down, in spite of his efforts, Cassian thought he was living on borrowed time. He couldn’t imagine himself as an old man, couldn’t even picture where he’d be in a year, and he always assumed that meant he wouldn’t live to be very old. He’d survived by mere chance so many times that he figured one day fate would catch up and want him to pay his dues. After Jyn said she was proud of him, for the first time in his life Cassian began to wonder if he’d survived all the horror for a reason. Perhaps fate had spared him because he was, in fact, trying to give others the freedom and safety he’d never known.

His brow pulled together as an uncharacteristically buoyant idea crept into his mind. He thought of Jyn, of all the moments that, when you added them up, equaled something undeniable; tackling him to protect him from a grenade on Jedha, supporting his injured body on Scarif, rescuing him from Tarkin, sitting by his bedside holding his hand while he recovered in the medical ward. He hadn’t just survived; he’d been protected. Perhaps they weren’t living on borrowed time; perhaps his time with Jyn was a gift, an opportunity for something neither of them had ever dared accept.

The idea almost scared him.

He loved her; he could finally admit that to himself.

But loving someone meant you had something worth losing.

And that vulnerability terrified him.

Cassian had already lost too much.

Could he risk losing her?

That’s just love. Nothing you can do about that.

Maarva’s words made him catch his breath; he could not think of his mother without also feeling the dull blade of grief.

But he relaxed and closed his eyes, letting the feelings have their way. Cassian lay back, tucking his hands behind his head, and turned inward.

“OK, Mom,” he whispered.

——————–

Rogue One gathered in the bunk room again that evening for another round of sabacc. No one had any money to gamble, so for credits Bodhi purchased several boxes of horrendously sour candy in the ship’s exchange. Whenever someone won a hand, they were required to eat a candy. Jyn currently had tears streaming down her face as she stomped her boot on the floor. “You bastard!” she shouted as the others laughed. She went to crunch the candy in half but they all protested.

“No, no, no!” Cassian cried, grabbing her shoulder. “You can’t cheat!”

“You know the rules!” Bodhi guffawed.

Baze was wheezing so hard he couldn’t speak. No one had ever seen him laugh like that.

Chirrut was beaming, basking in the ebullience created by his friends in the Force.

“I’m literally sweating!” Jyn squawked. “What kind of monster are you?” she pointed at Bodhi. The pilot was in stitches, hugging himself while he laughed. “This candy is evil! Why are you punishing us for winning?”

They had never laughed so hard as a group. And they knew it. An air of awareness hung over them, each realizing what a relief it was to feel joy.

“All the blood has drained from your face,” Cassian burst out, bending forward over his knees as he lost control again.

She gently shoved him and smiled, holding the candy between her teeth. “Just wait ��til it’s your turn, Andor!” Finally, the sweets dissolved and Jyn gasped for air, wiping sweat from her brow. “You absolute bastard!” she glared at Bodhi. “You look all innocent and mild on the outside, but deep down you’re a fiend.”

“Keeps the playing field even,” Bodhi chuckled.

The group threw more candy in the table’s center for an ante.

“I never want to win again,” Jyn said wiping her eyes.

They played for a long time, but, despite his best efforts, Cassian began fading quickly. When the game paused while Chirrut and Baze went in search of drinks, Jyn turned to him and spoke quietly. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You can hardly keep your eyes open.”

He rubbed his face hard before pushing his hands up into his hair. “I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“Is it odd being in a different place? A new ship, a new room?”

A grimace turned up the corner of his mouth. “No, I can sleep anywhere; on the ground, on a ship, in a prison, tied to a chair. I can do it all.”

She forced herself to smile.

“Is that joke too dark?” he teased.

Jyn rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

He sighed and let his head droop forward.

“Bad dreams?” she asked, her voice serious again but still hushed.

He nodded.

She leaned toward him, her body pressing against his shoulder as she gently touched the fading bruise on his forehead. “No injuries today?” She brushed a rogue lock of hair off his brow.

Cassian turned.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment neither of them could breathe.

“It’s too quiet in my quarters,” he finally said, not breaking eye contact.

“Lets the bad dreams in?”

“I think so.”

She could hear Bodhi rummaging in his footlocker nearby. The members of Rogue One were not fools; Jyn suspected they all assumed something existed between her and Cassian, but she still didn’t like the idea of anyone examining her behavior, no matter what evidence they were looking for. Even so, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from Cassian’s. “What would help you sleep?”

He glanced down at her lips.

She could see that his breathing had deepened.

Suddenly, all Jyn wanted was to push her fingers through Cassian’s hair and close her lips over his. Instead, she swallowed thickly before saying, “Maybe you should try sleeping somewhere noisy.”

Bodhi slammed his locker shut just as Baze and Chirrut arrived with a bottle and glasses.

Cassian blinked and Jyn turned back to the group as Chirrut handed them drinks. “This should get the taste of those awful candies out of your mouth,” the guardian said with a smile.

“You’re a true hero, Chirrut,” Cassian said dryly before tossing the amber liquid down his throat in one go.

“I help where I can,” the guardian responded warmly.

They gathered around the table and shuffled out the cards again, but it wasn’t long before Cassian began to fall asleep sitting up.

“Perhaps I gave you too much,” Chirrut offered as Andor’s head dipped forward before jerking back.

“I’m a lightweight these days,” Cassian replied with a slightly drunken smile.

“I appreciate a cheap date,” the guardian snorted.

“Do you mind if I just lay down for a little?” he asked the group. His eyes shifted to Jyn’s. “I don’t mean to invade your personal space…”

She smiled and gestured with her head that she didn’t mind in the least.

Cassian crawled behind her, stretching out on his back.

“Do you want us to be quiet?” Bodhi asked.

“No,” Cassian replied, his eyes already closed. “I like the noise.”

The bunk was muffled and cozy. His friends continued their game as dark sleep crept around his consciousness. Cassian hadn’t felt this safe in a long time, Jyn sitting by his side, Chirrut laughing, Bodhi shuffling cards, Baze telling jokes. The noise was good. He tucked an arm behind his head, stuffing the pillow into a more comfortable position. His last thought before drifting off was that the soft fabric near his cheek smelled like Jyn.

——————–

When the card game broke up about an hour later, Cassian was deep in sleep. So deep, in fact, that Jyn couldn’t wake him. She shook his shoulder and said his name but received no response. She leaned closer and spoke louder. “Cass.” His left eyebrow pulled up for a second before going slack again. Jyn looked at Bodhi who hovered by her side. “I don’t know what to do.”

The pilot gave her a pathetic noncommittal look before saying, “Nothing you really can do.”

The overhead lights flashed, indicating lights out in five minutes.

“Shit!” Jyn grumbled, throwing up her hands. “Where am I supposed to sleep? I have an early meeting with Draven tomorrow. I need to get some rest.”

“Just get in there next to him,” Baze said, leaning down from his bunk above Jyn’s. “You can fit.”

The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but she stooped in and found that she could squeeze in by the inside wall.

“If an officer sees you both, you’ll get in trouble,” Bodhi warned.

“I’m an officer, and so is he,” she said hiking her thumb at the unconscious Andor. “If you have a better suggestion, I’m happy to hear it.”

“You didn’t try very hard to wake him up.”

“Be my guest.”

Bodhi took a timid step forward before leaning into Jyn’s bunk. “Cassian,” he said loudly, shaking the commander by both shoulders. A small grunt came from the back of the sleeping man’s throat but other than that, he didn’t budge. Bodhi turned back to Jyn. “Yeah, he’s not waking up.”

“Thanks for your help,” she muttered sarcastically as the pilot retreated to his own bunk. The overhead lights flashed out and orange running lights came on along the floor. Jyn sighed and made up her mind. She grabbed hold of the rack above hers and climbed over Cassian’s body, careful not to jostle him. She pulled shut the long, black privacy curtain then settled against the inside wall. The bunks were incredibly narrow, and since Cassian was flat on his back taking up most of the room, she had to prop up on her right side. Jyn didn’t mind; she’d slept in worse conditions.

A thin line of orange light peeked through the curtain’s edge, backlighting Cassian’s features. Before drifting off she watched him, listened to his steady breathing, felt his weight on the mattress. Her last thought before falling asleep was that seeing him so peaceful was worth getting in trouble.

Hours passed and the room eventually settled and grew silent, apart from the usual sounds aboard a star freighter and the occasional snore.

In the night’s deepest hour Cassian became restless, his arms and legs contracting so much that it shook Jyn awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, unsure what had roused her, but when she heard his panicked breathing she knew he was in the throes of a nightmare. At first, she wasn’t sure what to do; anyone startled from a bad dream could accidentally lash out. The last thing she needed was for Cassian to flail around in these close quarters and break her nose.

Eventually, she settled on trying to calm him without waking him, so she ran her hand across his chest and gently stroked her fingers along his collarbone. She tried to send calming, comforting energy through her palm into his heart.

Without warning he rolled onto his side toward her, bringing them so close together she could feel his breath on her cheek.

He sighed deeply.

She could sense he had awakened.

“Jyn?” he asked too loudly.

“Shhh,” she whispered.

“It’s so dark I can’t see.” he whispered back. “Did I fall asleep in your rack?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

He was quiet for a long time. She couldn’t see his face anymore since his shoulders now blocked the light coming in around the curtain’s edge.

He didn’t move to leave.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he finally asked, still keeping his voice quiet.

“I tried and so did Bodhi.” She shrugged in the darkness.

“But now what am I supposed to do?” She could hear the smile in his voice; he was teasing her. “What if someone sees me crawl out of your bunk?”

“Who cares?”

She could feel that his face had moved slightly closer to hers. “You don’t care?”

“No.”

“You don’t care how it looks?”

“I’ve never cared what other people think of me. It only matters what I think of me.”

Once again, they both fell silent. She could feel that he was breathing harder, just like her.

Jyn would be lying if she said this was an unpleasant predicament. Cassian’s friendship, their unspoken devotion, was a lovely, meaningful thing. But she could not deny that she found him absolutely and completely attractive. He was handsome to be sure, intelligent and disarming, but his good looks were magnified by far more important traits. No other man could both challenge and uplift her as he did. He was independent, confident, but not too proud to admit when he was wrong. He laughed with her, spoke to her as an equal, treated her with respect even when they first met and he wasn’t sure he could trust her.

Now that they were only inches apart, rolled together in a narrow ship rack in a room with fifty-nine other people, the rest of the galaxy seemed to disintegrate.

Cassian suddenly pulled her into his arms, breathing her name as he nuzzled against her, their lips brushing together. She cupped his face in her hands and gently traced his jaw, his cheek, his lips. He smelled like clear, fresh water warmed by the sun; she found him intoxicating. His fingers slipped up her neck and disappeared in her hair, pulling her even closer against him. Their eagerness was palpable, but they didn’t kiss. Instead, they clung to each other, as though Scarif’s scars demanded they finally come full circle, holding each other as they had on that deadly beach. Their breath came in shuddering gasps as an untenable dam of emotions threatened to break. Pleasure and pain and loss and joy surged to Cassian and Jyn’s surface. These two people, haunted by wrongs they could not right and misfortunes they could not repair, had finally reached for each other. That feat alone was a massive leap of faith, letting their guard down long enough to not just admit their desire, but to act on it.

She hooked her leg over his and completely closed the distance between their bodies. “Cassian,” she sighed, pulling his lips nearer.

His thumb gently played across her mouth. “Te quiero besar,” he whispered in a language he knew she didn’t understand.

She could feel his breath on her tongue.

Just as he was about to press his lips to hers, the bunk above them creaked and Baze grunted down the rack ladder, his foot shifting on the wrung mere inches from Cassian’s head on the other side of the curtain. Cassian froze, both he and Jyn instantly snapping back to reality. He listened wide-eyed as the guardian’s steps hit the floor and shuffled toward the bathroom.

He refocused on Jyn. “I should go. If I get caught here, we’ll both end up in the brig.”

She nodded.

They were disappointed by the interruption but energized by the wall that had suddenly come down between them. Cassian smiled and quickly pressed his cheek to hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear. He drew back, one final caress sliding over her neck before rolling under the curtain. She couldn’t hear his steps as he walked away. Still a spy, she smiled to herself and pulled the blanket over her head.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE HOLOGRAM” - Jyn finally learns why she wasn't put on leave. She is not a happy camper. Brace for impact.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 “The Rogues”

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 "The Reach"

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[palabraasinnecesarias]

if you stay i would even wait all night or until my heart explodes

ao3 | ff.net ship: ranma/akane rating: T+ words: 3,545

summary:

If there was anything Akane knew better than anyone in this world, it would have to be that Ranma’s insensitivity wasn’t on purpose. And it wasn’t that she wanted to justify the fool, she just felt that she had a better judgment when it came to pinpointing all his flaws, especially the ones that made him a jerk. Crushing on your childhood friend should be fine, as long as you don't act upon it, right? What happens when you do?

fair warning: it gets a bit smutty

God, he knew Akane was pretty, but right about now she looked so damn sexy.  

Ranma’s gaze lingered at the way Akane was now filling up the kettle with tap water, her flustered cheeks’ blush overlying towards her conspicuous nose as she continued to spew senseless words out of her mouth, although her voice muffled in his ears. She wasn’t looking at him, concentrating on the task in hand as she continued talking about that idiot from earlier, riling him up in a way that it shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t be...jealous? Is this what that was? He wanted her to shut up about him, strip him out of her thoughts, push him as far away as possible from her radius.  

His eyes scanned her curvaceous figure, relishing at the way her tight dress wrapped around, easily noticing her sleeve wasn't draped over her shoulder as it should have, slipping down, offering less to the imagination. He found himself concentrating on the very revealing skin of her back, making him wonder if she was as soft and silky as she seemed.  

And he knew that this was Akane of all people, understood that she wasn’t some girl, but he wanted to touch her so bad. She was only centimeters away and all he needed to do was reach out and pull her towards him.  

Ha hadn’t allowed himself to think twice at the idea of being so close to Akane, he didn't hesitate to shift towards her as though she was a gravitational pull he could no longer resist against. It wasn’t a struggle whatsoever. The young man was now standing behind her, hovering his hands over her upper arms, not quite touching her yet. The way she stiffened made him consider stopping – and maybe he would have if she had said so. 

Her scent was glorious, her add on fragrance not helping his case, as her usual aroma already bewitched him effortlessly. Her hands had stopped moving, the half-filled kettle left abandoned along with all the other dishes, and he wished she’d say something, anything really. Even if it was to question his motives, demand that he step away, or else she’d smack him senselessly. But she didn’t speak a word, catching the way she hitched her breath in her throat, scrunching her eyes tight shut. He was also scared shitless about stepping over their boundary, knowing there was no going back. But what if he didn’t want to go back?  

She wanted this, too, right?  

His heavy hands went to rest on her shoulders, wincing at the way they tensed, observing how the nape of her neck scrunched in her nervousness. He could feel his hands flaring, each fingertip pressing onto her skin through the sheer sleeves of the dress. Ranma leaned down slowly – allowing her some time to push him away – but when she didn’t, he took the liberty to nuzzle at the back of her head, nudging his nose into her hair and inhaling so deeply it was audible.  

She gasped softly, his hands trailing down her arm to settle at her elbows as he dragged his face towards the nape of her long neck, lazily skimming her skin with his lips, trying to control the urge of wanting to kiss her frenzy. She was warm, and soft like he knew she’d be.  

“Akane,” he said to her, taking pleasure in the way her name rolled out his tongue through his gruff voice, finding himself nudging against the spot right behind her ear, his nose continuing to take in her scent profoundly. His palms were now dragging themselves about her body, leisurely over her belly and at the side of her hips, like a child with a treasure map in search of the world’s greatest riches.  

She smelled delicious, mouthwatering, and God, did he want her.  

He gently pressed himself against her, making it known that he was hard for her.  

Akane gasped breathlessly at the way he positioned himself behind her, his erection compressed against her ass, indiscreet even through their layers of clothing. He pressed a kiss where her head met her shoulder, smirking nimbly at the way she shivered within his hold.  

“R-Ranma,” Akane called bashfully, her voice a squeak and embarrassed, quiet as she bit down onto her lower lip when he lightly shoved himself against her. He loved the way she spoke his name, sounding righteous with each syllable, suddenly desperate to hear her say it again. And so, he reached for her earlobe, clasping it tenderly in between his teeth as he strengthened his grip around the young woman when her wobbly stance almost collapsed completely, her throat uttering a light whine. She needed to calm down, take a deep breath and relax.  

“It’s okay,” he smirked knowingly, “I’ve got you.” Now, and forever, if she were to allow him to take care of her like he wanted to.  

She nodded slowly, wanting to shake off her nerves to relish at how good his body felt against hers.  

“Say my name again, ‘Kane,” he commanded her through his own strained voice, thrusting his hips against her ass once again, a stifle whimper escaping through her gritted teeth. Oh, God. 

And when she didn’t obey right away, he shoved himself once more; this time she did moan, trying to quiet herself down, but her mind was turning into mush, her brain a slop of nothing but raging desire of what Ranma offered underneath his pants.  

“Say it,” Ranma growled, desperate, his voice crisp and clear against her ear, ignoring the way she gasped when his hands began to tug at the hem of her dress until it scrunched up around her belly. His imprint was plenty more perceivable as he was now pressing against only her panties. His large hands roamed about her thighs, wincing from the searing pain provided by the drag of the tip of his fingertips against such sensitive areas.  

“Ah,” she gasped again, not knowing if her beating heart would give out any moment now, but she submitted and called his name softly, hoarse, “Ranma...”  

“Again,” he grunted, spreading his scorching palms about her ass a few times before he reached for the swell of her bum and squeezed. 

She hitched a breath, “Ranma…” 

“F-fuck,” Ranma huffed as he softly pressed her down, adjusting her body to lean forward against the counter, and without a coherent thought he pulled out his dick, fully erect and really hurting. He took a moment to admire the pale color on the pattern of her underwear as he pressed himself against her, never considering her to be the type to wear cutesy undergarments to begin with.  

She was moaning a lot louder now, giving in completely as she willingly bent further, feeling the way Ranma’s hands took a sturdy hold of her hips, his nails digging deep as he gripped her tightly. 

Even if he wasn’t inside her, she felt herself begin to tingle all around, her toes curling and her eyes rolling, embracing herself unable to stop herself from lifting her own ass.  

He was reaching his end, he could feel it, thrusting against her as though he was actually fucking her, “’K-’Kane,” he grunted, loudly and desperately. He lowered his head and peppered wet kisses all about her back, smiling against her skin when she moaned softly, jolting her head back in mere pleasure. “I-I don’t think, ugh...I can hold it…” he huffed. 

Her body shivered at the way Ranma’s shove began making her see colors through a hazy vision.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!”  

“Ranma!” She breathed loudly, “Ranma! Ranma!”  

continue reading in my ao3 or ff.net account

[mediaevalmusereads]

The Children of Men. By PD James. Vintage Books, 1992.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: science fiction, dystopia

Series: N/A

Summary: Told with P. D. James's trademark suspense, insightful characterization, and riveting storytelling, The Children of Men is a story of a world with no children and no future. The human race has become infertile, and the last generation to be born is now adult. Civilization itself is crumbling as suicide and despair become commonplace. Oxford historian Theodore Faron, apathetic toward a future without a future, spends most of his time reminiscing. Then he is approached by Julian, a bright, attractive woman who wants him to help get her an audience with his cousin, the powerful Warden of England. She and her band of unlikely revolutionaries may just awaken his desire to live . . . and they may also hold the key to survival for the human race.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: suicide, blood, pus, child death, prison abuse

OVERVIEW: This book has been on my TBR list for ages. I've seen the film adaptation and I have a friend who occasionally teaches it in college literature courses, so I figured I'd pick it up and see how it went. Overall, I liked this book way more than I thought I would. It played with a lot of interesting ideas and meditated on things like nationalism, justice, futurity, etc. in ways I found deeply compelling. Though the style might not be to every reader's taste, I feel like I could talk about this book for ages, so for that reason, it gets 4.5 stars from me.

WRITING: James's prose is fairly descriptive, feeling more what you'd expect out of literary fiction or older sci fi than out of 21st century dystopia. I really liked the descriptiveness, however, as it allowed James to dig deeply into the themes holding this story together.

And what themes they are! There is so much going on in this book and the ideas are deployed in such interesting ways. I loved discussions of power and how people are willing to look the other way on atrocity so long as they are comfortable. I loved the subtle commentary on immigration and the prison system/crime. I loved the way James thought about the generational differences between most British people and the Omegas as well as their relationship to the world. Even if a reader sees some of these themes as problematic, you have to agree that this book provokes some intense discussion, which makes it a masterpiece, in my opinion.

PLOT: The plot of this book follows Theo Faron, a fifty-something year old man who finds himself entangled with the activities of a small resistance group twenty-five years after humanity has become infertile. This book is divided into two parts: part one gets the reader familiar with the dystopic landscape of Britain. Theo's cousin, Xan, has become the Warden of England, and a resistance group made up of 5 individuals decides to use Theo to attempt to get Xan to enact some reform. Part two primarily follows Theo as he becomes more entangled with the 5, and the stakes are raised when it is revealed that one of them, a woman named Julian, is pregnant.

I really liked this story for the way it thought about justice. In Theo's world, the government is responsible for much brutality, but it is tolerated in part because it makes the lives of "lawful" citizens more comfortable. The first part of this book therefore asks what the value of justice is when there is no hope for the future, while also prompting consideration of things like nationalism, the preservation of culture, etc.

I also really liked the way James thought about what effects infertility would have on the world (especially England). The competing religious ideologies were fascinating as well as shifting attitudes towards sex and pleasure kept my attention rapt, and I was profoundly interested in how the world continued to be built up.

If I had any criticisms, I would say that there are parts of this book that drag a little bit. But because the novel is so short, it doesn't really hold the story back much.

CHARACTERS: Theo, our protagonist, is hard to like, but because he changes over the course of the novel, he's always fairly interesting. At the beginning, Theo is rather cynical and resists being responsible for anyone and anything. He's also fairly sexist and has some rather callous attitudes regarding his ex-wife and daughter. But his flaws are made interesting when he encounters Julian and the others, as they constantly challenge him and drag him into their affairs. By the end of the book, you can see Theo's evolution from someone who is cold and cut off from the world to someone who feels and cares. I also particularly liked James's use of Theo's love for history as a way for exploring the use and misuse of the past, and the digs at his backwards-looking attitudes were genius.

Xan, the antagonist and Warden of England, was also interesting in that he was a charismatic tyrant. He was presented as someone who will do whatever he must to hold onto power, but because we primarily see him through Theo's eyes, his image is distorted by Theo's affection. Theo has fond memories of their childhood together and has absolutely faith that Xan is a reasonable person; but the more we read, the more we realize that Xan is anything but benevolent.

Julian, one of the "rebels" and the woman who becomes pregnant, is fairly interesting on account of the way her optimism and religious views interact with Theo's cynicism and atheism. The only thing I didn't quite like was the way Theo felt something like romantic attraction to her - it didn't make much sense to me and both characters would have worked just fine without that element.

The rest of the resistance crew is just fine. Miriam, the midwife, is valuable for her skills and her compassion, though I do wish James had explored her experiences as a black woman more. Rolf, Julian's husband, is notable for the way he craves power, and his ambitions really make you think about the difference between his goals and Xan's. Luke, the priest, is the most underdeveloped, and given his significance in the plot, it might have been interesting to have him fleshed out a little more.

TL;DR: The Children of Men is perhaps less interesting for its story than it is for the ideas it beings up when telling it. The fascinating worldbuilding combined with a cynical protagonist who evolves into someone who cares is set against thoughtful prompts regarding tyranny, comfort, justice, etc. and even if you don't enjoy the plot, it's hard to deny that this book makes you think carefully about the nature of power.

[astrabear]

if you have the spoons, could you offer any recs or guide to superblackmarket fic? i keep seeing them on ppl's lists but idk the subjects seem kind of intense and i kinda wish they were better tagged... please and thank you for any help :)

I love this ask so much I want to marry it! You are correct that the subjects are frequently intense, and that the tags and summaries don't always make it clear what you're getting into. So here are some you might like to start with:

Flight - this is, appropriately, probably the lightest one. No dark goings-on. There's balloons, and fucking, and fucking in balloons.

Ere Babylon Was Dust - existential angst, love, and Mary Shelley. Very lovely in a melancholy way. No dark goings-on here either.

The Sunny Side of the Street - just Joe, Nicky, and Nile spending time together and getting to know each other.

Superblackmarket has an interesting take on Booker and his relationships with Joe and Nicky. It can be a little uncomfortable. If you would like to explore that, check out Ars Poetica, The Enemy Within, and As the World Falls Down (this last one deals directly with Afghanistan under the Taliban.)

I know some people who found Leave the Window Open very upsetting and under-tagged; it includes a reference to sexualized violence (ask me for more details if you need to.)

For the most part, the fics that place them at difficult historical moments focus on the mental and emotional effects - so like the one set in WW2 (Nessun Dorma) doesn't have a lot of violence, and doesn't delve into the larger issues of the war, and is really a very personal kind of story.

A lot of writers in this fandom use these characters to explore emotional situations that are meaningful to the writers themselves, and therefore have them think and act in ways that are more like a modern young adult than an ancient immortal. And that makes sense! None of us knows what it's like to be thousands of years old! Superblackmarket is, in my opinion, absolutely the best Old Guard writer at really making me feel like these people are as old as they are and have lived through the things they've lived through. I also find the movie, and the concept of immortality itself, profoundly melancholy but still full of hope and love. And their fics are like that too. These aren't fics you read when you want something to soothe you or cheer you up; this is what you read when you want to sit and stare into the distance for a while as you experience a kaleidoscope of emotions you don't have names for.

[psychics4unet]

Hello, I hope you are doing well! Would I please be able to request a reading? If you are comfortable with it, I would like to ask if you would be able to channel any messages from my future spouse. I’ve been feeling quite down lately, and would love to hear any message of comfort or encouragement from them, but I’m open to hearing anything that they would like to say. I just would like to feel their love, and to feel connected to them. Thank you! ☺️

(Also, can I just say that I came across the reading you did for someone else about a struggling bird, and I found the whole post so heartfelt and touching— that someone would hold so much gentle compassion towards a bird, and that someone else would then take the time to provide insight into the wellbeing of the bird. It was really beautiful.)

Free Psychic Reading By Egyptian Sand! (7$ PAID READINGS ARE ALSO OPENED!) 💖✨🌟

I focused on your request to channel messages from your future spouse, and here's what the sand patterns revealed:

The first symbol I saw was a heart shape. ❤️ This represents love, warmth, and deep emotional connection. Your future spouse is sending you a message filled with affection. They want you to know that love surrounds you, even during tough times. This symbol encourages you to open your heart to self-love and acceptance, as your future spouse deeply cares for you and is already supporting you from afar.

Next, I noticed a flowing river shape. 🌊 This signifies movement and the passage of time. It suggests that your future spouse understands the ups and downs you're experiencing and wants to remind you that these feelings will pass. They want you to trust the journey and know that brighter days are ahead. Just as the river flows, so too will your emotions, and your future together is on the horizon.

Finally, I observed a sun shape radiating outward. ���️ This symbolizes positivity, clarity, and enlightenment. Your future spouse wants to reassure you that they are a source of light in your life. They encourage you to seek joy and happiness, even in small moments. This symbol serves as a reminder to focus on the things that bring you peace and joy, as your future spouse will be a partner who amplifies that light in your life.

In summary, your future spouse is sending you messages of love, support, and encouragement. They want you to know that brighter days are coming and to embrace the journey with an open heart. Trust that your connection is already strong, and soon you will feel their presence even more profoundly! 🌈💞✨

---

Regarding the person with the bird, i also dreamed at night about this bird eating food, so i can assure you that the bird is doing fine!

---

Got questions or need some insight into your life? I'm here to help with personal psychic readings! For just $7, you can get answers to up to 7 questions! More info at:

In case anyone else here on tumblr would like a free psychic reading, Click the link and follow the instructions (I answer only to those who follow the instructions, thank you):

[thetldrplace]

Sicily: An Island at the Crossroads of History. Ch. 17- The Second World War

This will be the last chapter in my review/notes of the book.  

Germany invaded Poland in 1939. Mussolini declared support for Hitler, but knew Italy wasn't ready to enter the war yet. But in 1940, Mussolini sent over a force to Libya to cross into Egypt and attack the British forces there. Despite being greatly outnumbered, the British held their own.  

Mussolini's missteps in Ethiopia, Greece in 1940, and the Balkans had all been disastrous, and by 1943, the Italians had had enough. In July '43, the allies launched an invasion through Sicily. The Americans used a set of Sicilian-American mafiosi to help them navigate the island and make sure their way was cleared.  

Churchill was convinced that getting Italy out of the war was the first objective. Sicily became a prime objective. Once the Allies held Sicily, they could establish supply and airbases from which to attack the Nazis. 

Both the American general Patton, and the British general Montgomery invaded Sicily jointly. These two men hated each other's guts. The island was supposed to have been defended by 300,000 axis troops, but most were Italians who, fed up with the Fascist regime, had little stomach for the fight by now. They surrendered in droves as the Allied armies encountered them, and the deluge of prisoners ended up causing huge problems. 

Mussolini was dismissed in July 1943, then promptly arrested. Italian crowds were jubilant, but on Sicily, the American and English armies were dealing with exhaustion, heat, dengue, sandfly and Malta fevers... and then malaria, which killed over 20 thousand soldiers in the combined armies. 

The armies were welcomed in Sicily as a relief from the dictatorship; plus they brought food and drugs to combat malaria. The Mafia had benefited as well from their cooperation with the American intelligence. As a reward, they were appointed to primary positions in the new Sicilian government positions.  

In 1944, the Allies handed Sicily back over to the Italian authorities. Italy finally granted Sicily a large degree of autonomy, hoping it would give the Sicilians a new sense of political responsibility. Sicily had its own cabinet of ministers, and near complete control over industry, agriculture and mining, as well as considerable control over public order and communications. Italy also finally recognized Sicily could not continue as the disgrace it had been for so long, and voted it a substantial subsidy. This essentially ended all the separatist talk. The Mafia, on the other hand, continued as it always had. 

There is a summary chapter in the book, but I won't bother to recap that since it really adds nothing more to the actual history of Sicily. For my own part, I found myself wishing there were more about Sicily in Sicilian history. But since for nearly all its history, decisions about the island have been made by people ruling from afar, much of Sicily's history is wrapped up in events that don't tell us much about Sicily itself. I am looking forward to several other books on Sicilian history, and maybe there I'll find more about what was happening on the island itself. But it also has to be acknowledged that things that were happening on Sicily were profoundly affected by those external decisions, so any history of what was happening on the island has to reference them. 

[shitpostingfromthebarricade]

Les Misérables is written about three or four different time periods depending on the given chapter and the level on which you're reading it (literally versus historically versus philosophically, etc.). I don't think I appreciated until episode 7.13 of Mike Duncan's Revolutions podcast when he broke down how intensely all of the political factions involved in the 1848 revolutions were influenced by their opinions of the French Revolution, however, how much Les Mis talks about 1848.

I'm gonna be making a post later with a theory about Hugo's characters and structure they pertain to this history and these factions and most especially Cosette's future, but in the meantime, I've transcribed from around 13:10 to nearly the end of the episode so that you all can also appreciate how many levels were involved and have it in writing to refer to and research as you like, because I think it also summarizes pretty well the non-Bonapartist political forces in play at any point in the bricc.

(I also cannot recommend this podcast highly enough for jumping into not just the world of French Revolutions but also Western Revolutions in general.)

So at one end of the spectrum, we have those who looked back at the French Revolution with nothing but horror and disgust and who believed that above all and no matter what the cost, Europe must be kept free of the menace of revolution.  But this category of anti-revolutionaries divided up into three broad groups who agreed on practically nothing but the fact that revolution was abhorrent.

First and most obviously, we had the conservative absolutists who returned to power after the Congress of Vienna. The chief leading light of this group was Metternich, and the spectre of the French Revolution haunted no man so much as Metternich. Men like Metternich were so opposed to revolution that they were even opposed to reform. King Louis XVI had invited reform in 1789, and look what had happened to him. So across Europe in 1848 there were conservative writers and members of the clergy and major landowners who believed that you could not even let three guys sit down for a drink or they'd start plotting revolution. You certainly couldn't have a free press. You had to be stubborn, unfair, and ruthless. It was simply too dangerous to be anything less. And this extended to things even as seemingly banal as allowing a kingdom to have a nominal constitution, because in the conservative mind, once you granted the premise that rights came up from the people, rather than down from God through the king, you could just kiss the whole thing goodbye. These conservatives still pined for the days before 1789, and they hated the memory of even the most moderate of French revolutionaries, whose seemingly innocent and earnest appeals for reform had simply been the thin end of the wedge.

But absolutist conservatives were not the only ones who recoiled at the memory of the French Revolution and who wanted to do everything in their power from ever letting it happen again. So this second group of anti-revolutionaries were constitutional liberals who worshiped the rule of law and for whom revolution was anathema to everything they held dear. In France, we would put both Louis Philippe and François Guizot into this category, even if they had oh-so-ironically come to power thanks to the July Revolution [of 1830]. Both men admired the principles that had animated the men of 1789 but who had nonetheless concluded, no less than Metternich, that acquiescing to reform was only the beginning of a very slippery slope. Guizot himself had written a history of France and believed that the king's concessions in the early days of the Estates-General had led directly to the Reign of Terror — and remember, Guizot's father had perished in the Terror, as had King Louis Philippe's [Louis Philippe II, Philippe Égalité]. By the mid-1840s, both men had become stubbornly convinced that everything that needed to be achieved had been achieved and that any further reform would invite that slip into radicalism and the return of Madame la Guillotine. This kind of thinking could also be detected in the minds of rulers over in [modern-day] Germany, where we've discussed that there were these constitutional regimes — Ludwig in Bavaria, Leopold of Baden, and Frederick Augustus in Saxony. Those constitutions existed more as a stopper to prevent revolution than any kind of liberal expressionism.

Finally, there was a third group that cringed at the idea of the French Revolution but who drew the opposite conclusion from Guizot and Metternich: where Guizot and Metternich thought that reform was an invitation to revolution, they felt that reform was a necessary release valve to prevent revolution.  So in this category you would find Odilon Barrot and the dynastic left in France who wanted to save the monarchy by reforming the monarchy.  You would also find in here a guy like Alexis de Tocqueville, who would go on to write his own book on the French Revolution where he would argue that all of the quote-unquote “gains” of the French Revolution had already started under the Ancien Régime and that basically you didn’t need revolution to change society, you just needed continuous, gradual improvement.  We’ve also discussed so far two massively influential reformers in [modern-day] Italy and Hungary who fit this same basic mold.  In Italy, we talked about the Count of Cavour in episode 7.09, and in episode 7.08 I introduced István Széchenyi.  Both of these guys have broad, sweeping visions for the futures of their respective countries.  They believed in liberal constitutional government, economic modernization and social improvement, they simply did not believe revolution was the means of achieving their ends; in fact, this was the very lesson they had drawn from the French Revolution, that the ends had been just, but the means counterproductive.  The attempt to cram a century’s worth of work into a single year had not just had disastrous consequences, but they had upset the whole project of reform.  I would also throw into this group of anti-revolutionary reformers all of the Austrian liberals in Vienna, who we also talked about in episode 7.08. They believed that the stubborn brittleness of Metternich’s government was inviting a revolutionary upheaval that could be headed off by intelligent and necessary reform.

So those are the guys who desperately wanted to avoid another French Revolution, who instantly shuddered at the idea of ever having something like that happen again. But is that how everyone felt? Oh my goodness, no. There were those who had picked up the thesis of Adolphe Thiers and believed that the revolution of 1789 had been a good thing, a project launched for noble reasons and in fact launched because the existing regime was simply too stubborn to change without revolutionary energy. In this telling, men like Lafayette and Mirabeau were heroes to be emulated while you kept on constant guard against villains like Robespierre and Saint-Just. As you can imagine, this was a very attractive thesis among liberals in Germany and the Austrian empire who saw their own situation as analogous to the Ancien Régime of 1789. Their kingdoms were reeling from an economic crisis, their governments were financially shaky, their natural rights were trampled on by tyrants. So the French Revolutionary project that unfolded between 1789 and 1792 was absolutely a model to be emulated. Bring the liberal, educated intellectuals of the country together and force the kings to grant them a constitution and to guarantee basic civil rights. If they were going to be denied a constitutional place in government, if their local assemblies were going to be neutered, if they were not allowed to vote, if the government was unresponsive, then it was perfectly acceptable to look to 1789 and say, “Yes, we want that too. A moment when men of good will and conscience join together to define the rights of man and the citizen.” Now of course, these neo-1789ers knew the lesson of history well, and they knew that they would need to guard against the villains of 1792, but they did not believe that the Reign of Terror was necessarily inevitable. It had simply happened that way in France thanks to a variety of coincidences, mistakes, and bad luck, so liberals across Europe believed that they could forge constitutional governments that defined civil rights and popular sovereignty without falling prey to the Reign of Terror. Thus, the spectre of the French Revolution would loom very large indeed in the minds of these liberal revolutionaries as the course of 1848 rapidly progressed faster than they could keep up with. As we will see, they will all hit a moment of truth where they have to decide whether to keep pushing and join with more radical forces or quit the whole project, reconcile with the old conservative order, and fight against those radical forces that might lead to the new Reign of Terror.

But there were also those who rejected this whole contrived moralizing of the “good” revolution of 1789 and the “bad” revolution of 1792.  They did not recoil from the insurrection of August the 10th, the First French Republic, or the Jacobin Committee of Public Safety.  They idolized not the buffoon Lafayette and hypocritical traitor Mirabeau, but rather, the steely resolve of men like Danton and Robespierre and Saint-Just and Marat.  These had been men who saw the tyrants of Europe for what they were and knew that one must stand up when the going got tough, not go hide in the corner.  These more radical republicans further believed that there was just as much injustice perpetrated by comfortable liberals as conservative absolutists, so they saw the Revolution of 1789 as merely the precursor for the much more important, much more glorious, and much more necessary Revolution of 1792.  So though they were enemies of each other, these radicals actually agreed with Metternich that reform really was just the thin edge of the wedge, that it would lead to a greater revolution that would overthrow the despotic monarchies of Europe.  In their minds, the widespread slandering of the First French Republic and even the portrayal of the Reign of Terror as the most terrible crime in the history of the world was the nefarious propaganda of the comfortable classes, whether of conservative or liberal stripe.  Their propaganda emphasized the dramatic horror of the guillotine in order to cover up the horrors the common people of Europe lived with every day, and the best summation of this argument actually comes from A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Mark Twain. 

Now the book wasn’t published until 1889, but in it, Twain writes a passage that would have had a lot of radicals nodding their heads in 1848.  He wrote, “There were two reigns of terror, if we would but remember and consider it.  The one wrought murder in hot passion, the other in heartless cold blood.  The one lasted mere months, the other had lasted a thousand years.  The one inflicted death upon ten thousand persons; the other, upon a hundred million.  But our shudders are all for the horrors of the minor terror, the momentary terror so to speak; whereas, what is the horror of the swift ax compared with lifelong death from cold, hunger, insult, cruelty, and heartbreak?  What is swift death by lightning compared with death by slow fire at the stake?  A city cemetery could contain the coffins filled by that brief terror, which we have all been so diligently taught to shiver at and mourn over.  But all France could hardly contain the coffins filled by that older and real terror, that unspeakably bitter and awful terror, which none of us has been taught to see in its vastness or pity as it deserves.” 

(Sounds an awful lot like like a certain conversation our favorite bishop has with a certain conventionist, no?)

Now granted, I don’t think many of these radicals were actively pursuing a new Reign of Terror, but they were also not planning to settle for a constitutional monarchy bought by and for the richest families of their country.  And as we’ve already seen in France, these guys were not going to let the blood of patriots be spilled simply so they could swap one Bourbon for another and give another hundred thousand bankers and industrialists the right to vote.  What in that represented the nation?  Where in that were the people?  Where was liberty leading the people?  Oh right, that painting was locked now in the attic so it did not offend the forces of order.  In Italy, these radical republican forces who celebrated 1792 rallied around Giuseppe Mazzini and later Garibaldi; in Hungary they would rally around Lajos Kossuth, and when I get back from the book tour, I will introduce you to the radical leaders in Germany, who would not be satisfied by the mere token reforms promised by men who celebrated 1789 but feared 1792, men like Friedrich Hecker, Robert Blum, and Gustav Struve.  Everywhere, they would find their support not solely in the salons and cafés but among artisans and workers and students.  Those who would mount the barricades not just for the right to publish an article or to mildly criticize the government or the right to vote if you made a gargantuan amount of money: they fought to topple the king and to bring power to the people — all of the people.

So, so far we have men who idolize the conservatives of 1788, men who idolize the liberal nobles of 1789, and men who idolize the Jacobin republicans of 1792.  Well, there was also in 1848 also [sic] now emerging a small clique of men for whom even 1792 was not enough.  These guys believed that 1789 had been merely a step to 1792, but also believed that 1792 was simply a step to something greater.  So where did these guys look?  That’s right: they looked to 1796.  “1796?” you say.  “  What are you talking about?  The Directory?  Surely not.  Nobody says, ‘Ah, yes, the good old days of the French Directory, let’s definitely go back to that.’”  And no, of course I’m not talking about the directory, I’m talking about Gracchus Babeuf and the Conspiracy of Equals.  With the small but ever-growing, increasingly influential spirit of socialism and communism beginning to take root, men like Louis Blanc and Karl Marx looked to Babeuf and his gang as the first example of what the force of history was aiming to make of humanity.  Communities and nations that shared not just political rights but the wealth of the nation.  How indeed are you going to sit back and say, “Ah, yes, the declaration of the rights of man and the citizen, and one citizen should have one vote,” and then call it a day when so few had so much and so many had so little?  The vote was nothing to an entire family — dad, mom, children, who were all stuck working eighteen hours a day for starvation wages.  It was thus not the spirit of 1789 or the spirit of ‘92 that moved them, but the spirit of 1796; and it was not the name Robespierre that got their hearts thumping, but rather Babeuf.  Babeuf had been among the very first of the socialist revolutionaries who had not stopped short at merely answering the political question, but who wanted to answer the social question as well.  And as we’ll see as we move further down the road on 1848, that the memory of Gracchus Babeuf was not simply a matter of picking some obscure hero out of the historical record: there was actually a direct line of revolutionary succession, because one of Babeuf’s fellow conspirators in the Conspiracy of Equals was an Italian revolutionary socialist named Phillipe Buonarroti [Filippo Buonarroti].  Buonarroti was in prison but later released and would then go onto a long and active career inside the revolutionary secret societies that sprang up after the Congress of Vienna, and we’re gonna talk more about the role that Buonarroti played in kindling and spreading this revolutionary socialism, but for his small cadre of disciples, the revolutions of 1848 would be a chance not to complete the work of Lafayette in 1789 or Robespierre in 1792, but the work of Babeuf in 1796.

[cauliflowertree]

sirius black—until i found you. part one.

summary: sirius escapes from azkaban and journeys to find you. -> loosely based on the song ‘until i found you’ by stephen sanchez.

word count: 1.2k

fanfic no. 019

he had waited for this day for twelve excruciatingly insufferable years, had anticipated every response under the sun with which you could have possibly greeted him. from dawn until night he thought of only you: your face, your smile lines, the turn of your neck, how soft your skin felt to his calloused fingertips, and how much softer it would be after all this time.

though he promised himself never to doubt your love, he did find himself occasionally wondering whether you believed in the lie so many had fallen for. the carefully crafted crime peter pettigrew had left him to take the fall for. would his reuniting with you mean nothing but an escaped convict's deranged fantasy? but he could never think that way for too long, or he really would've turned out as insane as the rest of them trapped in the heavily guarded prison. you were the only thing keeping him from surrendering himself to azkaban's guards.

over the treacherous waters, fleeing the dementors and hiding in far away towns just hoping to hear word of someone he once knew, praying he would find you before he was caught again, sirius finally caught news—godrics hollow, you had never left. he should have known, should have expected that with almost everyone gone, you would cling to the last place where you had all been truly happy.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

"rem, i'm just popping to the shops, we're out of milk!" you shouted up the stairs.

"alright!" came his muffled response.

fastening the buttons on your coat and reaching for your bag, you unlocked the front door and stepped onto the narrow, cold path that you and remus were forced to call a garden. you were about to lock the door when remus forced it open again, sticking his head out to ask you for some more tea biscuits.

"yes alright," you laughed. "almost had me screaming in your face then."

"sorry," he smiled sheepishly, shivering slightly before heading back inside the house.

there weren't many shops open this late on a sunday, in fact the only one that was, happened to be at the edge of the village. you'd bought a house on a particular street that meant you rarely ever had to walk past the ruin of the house you'd once shared so many happy memories within, but tonight you'd have to face it again. you never knew whether to stop and look and reminisce, or carry on and pretend it wasn't there.

during the daytime, you tried not to look if you had to walk past, too pained by the memories, by the knowledge of what happened there and the loss it caused you. but also that someone undesirable might catch you looking. however, you were alone tonight, and you couldn't help but stop at its front gate and peer into the broken windows, the shards of glass still faint with yours and your friends’ joyous, ghostly reflections. and yet, the house was now violated with dark magic.

"i miss you," you whispered quietly, tentatively reaching out to touch the gate voldemort himself might have laid hands on once. but instead of thinking of the darkness, you tried to remember all the times you had pushed open that gate, the times lily and james, sirius and remus, and even baby harry had pushed open that little gate.

sirius. perhaps after all this time, that was really the deepest pain you felt so profoundly. though each day you tried to put on a face of stoisicm, you could not neglect to remember that lily and james were dead, at peace, but sirius was alive, suffering, and not knowing whether the only two people he had left in the world believed him, fought for him, or even thought of him.

remus still woke you from nightmares sometimes. the nightmares all started like dreams—you and sirius happy, smiling, innocent as you once had been. and then they became distorted, twisted and warped and there was nothing you could do to stop it, nor was there anything you could have done to have prevented it.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

sirius watched you from afar. he had followed you from your house you shared with remus, wondering if he had come twelve years too late but was so caught up in the relief of finally finding you that it didn't matter. after all this time, torment and pain, having a small part of you was better than having none of you at all.

he wondered now, as you stood before the potter's house, if you still thought of him, if you were thinking of him now. or if he had become obsolete in your life after his years of absence.

it was not out of the norm to see unusual things in godrics hollow, for it was largely a wizards' dwelling, but something felt off the more you stood before the cursed house. someone was watching you.

as your heart began to pound against your chest, you squinted through the darkness, trying to find a hint of a shadow that shouldn't have been there. you clutched your wand in your pocket and began to walk. the sound of your footsteps, your breathing, your heartbeat, it was driving you mad. you could probably apparate without causing much suspicion or outrage, but it was too risky coming up to the church.

and that's when you heard it, claws against the cobbled street, as if a dog was catching up to its owner. turning around, your instincts had been correct, but there was no owner around, nor a collar on the dog as far as you could tell from this distance.

but that dog...

sirius knew his cover was blown. he could tell by the way you were standing, just watching him with that curious expression. the one that people had when they couldn't quite recognise someone, or something, but were sure they knew it from somewhere. now was as good a time as any, he supposed, to expose himself and simply hope you had trusted him enough in your youth to believe him today.

right before your eyes, and perhaps other's, the dog transformed into a sullen, worn, human form, prison clothes dangling from his body and hair just as messy as his animagus'. he had nothing to lose and the promise of everything to gain.

"good godric," you choked, feeling the oxygen in your constricting lungs dissipate.

if it weren't't for the sheer panic that sirius would be caught, you'd have surely fallen to your knees. but your heart was in your throat and your stomach had plummeted and all you could think about was getting away from this public street where anyone could see him.

you began running down the path, holding your breath, clutching your chest. the closer you got, the faster the tears formed in your eyes; he looked so sickly, a phantom of the man he once was.

"y/n," sirius mumbled, a weak smile on his face as he looked down at you. it was as if he was in a dream.

with trembling hands you reached for his face, his sullen cheeks, pressing your palms against his winter-worn skin. your laboured breaths hung in the air around you, the white smoke blending into his complexion. was he a ghost? someone you were imagining?

"y/n," he muttered again, forcing the butterflies in your stomach out of their hibernation.

but your attention was quickly captured by unknown voices down the street, and you snatched sirius' arm, pressed his head to your shoulder, walked a few paces down the road where the street lights didn't illuminate and vanished with a snap!

🏷 @imabee-oralizard @sw34terw34ther @applebittenn @cherrystrees @mad-elia @velvetcloxds @natashxromanovf @masivechaos @ell0ra-br3kk3r @garfieldsladybird @flesh--amnesiac

[thebibliosphere]

I’m really sorry if you’ve answered this before, but I’m on my fourth day in a row of horrible IBS pain (therefore have no brain cells) and I wanted to know if you have any tips for trying to get all of your different specialty doctors to sit in a room and compare notes with each other because re-explaining the pain you’ve been having for a decade to a new person each time makes it tricky to remember all of the symptoms.

Aw, friend. I’m sorry to hear that. And unfortunately, you’re never going to get all your doctors in one room—not unless you somehow orchestrate it by trapping them in an elevator with you. (Wasn’t that an episode of House? It feels like it should be.)

I see a lot of specialists, and it’s very frustrating how little they seem to talk to each other. Sadly a lot of the onus falls on us to advocate for ourselves and it's profoundly exhausting.

I’ve found a partial work around for doctors not communicating between departments by keeping detailed diaries so I can track symptoms, and bring them up at relevant appointments. I am indeed the patient who shows up to appointments with my own printouts. Some doctors are annoyed by this, if they are, find a new doctor. The good ones like patients who are prepared and take an active part in their healthcare.

Also if a doctor is dismissive of you, ask them to note in your file Why they are dismissing your concerns and for a referal to someone else. A lot of them become a lot more helpful after that.

You are also allowed to bring an advocate with you into appointments. This can be a supportive friend, relative or partner who is there to help you, not talk over you.

I often joke to doctors that @mothman-etd is my memory, because often when I’m at appointments I get overwhelmed and forget things. Prior to appointments I sit him down and tell him what I NEED to discuss, and have sometimes even given him a written summary to check in case I miss anything. That way when a doctor says “anything else?” and I blank, there is someone else in the room who can speak up and say, “remember you wanted to talk about X” and enables me to carry on the conversation.

After that, it's just an ungodly amount of dogged persistence and switching doctors if necessary.

I hope things improve for you soon. Good luck.

[writersblog20]

First Christmas

Tom Hiddleston x reader

Summary:  It was around Christmas time and you and Tom got ready for Christmas.

Warnings: homesickness, brief mention of a passed loved one. 

Teeth rotting Christmas fluff

Words: 2,8K

A/N: Zawe is in this story for a short second but I mean no disrespect towards her or Tom ( just thought to put it out there.) Also, I feel like I have a writers block, so I’m currently not so happy with my stories but I want to keep going.

First Christmas

It was around Christmas time and this would be the first time celebrating with your boyfriend Tom. Yes the Tom Hiddleston. You didn’t know how this happened but you were glad that it did. You met because you work at a livestream service, and because of the pandemic this was a great way for people to attend events. It wasn’t the same but it was something. A theater asked you to livestream a play that they were doing, Betrayal. You knew Tom was playing in it because you were a huge fan. The company you worked for, and colleagues, send you to do the job because they knew you were a big fan.

Anyways you had to do a livestream every night for about 5 days. Because it was nicer for the actors to see some people in the crowd, we sat people down from the crew. But every night, you were the one Tom looked at. His eyes fixating on you when he had to do a scene towards the crowd. You would of course get flustered profoundly. You were tested at doing your job at that point and you nailed it.

The last night, they were having a drink to end it. only the actors and some crew members and Tom asked you nervously to join them. You talked to Zawe before their performance and you could see her nod expressional. You smiled and said yes. That night turned out to be the greatest one yet. Tom had walked you home like the gentleman he was, carrying some of your stuff, and asked you out on a date. And that was how it started.  

You currently had a Christmas vacation because it wasn’t going well with the pandemic and you knew the livestreams would pick up and you needed energy for that. Tom took a break as well so you could spend time together.

“Darling? Why don’t we go and search for a nice tree?” Tom softly asked in your ear as he stood behind you, rubbing your arms. You smiled and turned around to be met with a loving smile. “I’d love that.” You told him and gave him a kiss.

Tom knew you were having a hard time right now, more then you showed. This would be the first Christmas without your mom and it hasn’t even been a year ago that your godfather had passed so you really felt for your godmother. Tom knew you were having a rough time with that and you dealt with it through writing. Which you were doing a lot lately. He loved your stories and motivated you to write a book. So that was what you were doing.

You got your stuff so you could go. You grabbed a warm coat, scarf, gloves and a beanie. You were packed since it was so cold in London. Tom smiled at you and grabbed your hand. You drove towards the location and looked around with Tom for the perfect tree for the both of you. Once found, Tom immediately agreed and took that one.

And not even an hour later Tom placed it in the right spot, in the corner, by the window and fireplace. Tom got the decorations from the attic. You helped him as he stood on the ladder, handing you the boxes. Tom got downstairs and you put some music on. You unpacked the boxes and found the decoration for the tree. Tom smiled at you and put on the fireplace. You started to decorated together and as you looked outside, you could see it snow. You tapped on Tom’s arm, grabbing his attention. He looked at you and then outside. His smile grew wider “Do you want to go outside once were done darling?” he asked you. “yes please!” he chuckled and walked up to you, pulling you in a big embrace. He kissed the top of your head “Of course we can darling. Everything for you.” you looked up at the tall man and stood on your tippy toes to give him a kiss

You gave him some Christmas balls to hang on his side. He would always give you a kiss when you did that. You were almost done when the doorbell went off. You and Tom looked at each other in confusion because you weren’t expecting any visitors today. You placed the ornaments down and opened the door to see the mother of Tom, Diana. “Hey sweetheart,” she told you kind. Diana loved you and made sure you knew it. she was such a kind woman, you saw where Tom got his kindness from. You smiled and gave her a big hug, ushering her inside because of the cold.

She walked to Tom to give him a kiss. You smiled at the sight but felt a crack in your heart, missing your own mom right now. you felt yourself getting a little teary and turned around quick to make some tea for her. She walked in the kitchen “I made you some cookies and a red velvet cake. I hope that’s okay.” You smiled at her kindness. “Oh Diana, you didn’t have to! Thank you so much!” you told her as she handed you the cake. Which you immediately put in the refrigerator.

You gave her the tea and placed the cookies on the table. At this point Diana was more interested in you than Tom. She loved talking to you and found you very well spoken. It made Tom laugh every time she wanted to talk to you. She would always tell Tom, before she left. that you were a keeper and that he wouldn’t dare to break up with you because he wouldn’t get any better than he had now. It always made you smile so bright.

You drank your tea and ate some of her delicious cookies. “It’s so goo Diana, if you could teach me one day that would be lovely.” She got excited and agreed to your plan. After an hour of chatting she left and you finished the Christmas tree with Tom. Of course he noticed that you had a hard time when Diana came in. you were an open book for him.

The Christmas tree was done and you both looked proudly at it while he held you close to his side. “I love it.” you told Tom who looked with love in his eyes your way. “And I love you.” you felt flustered again and hugged him a little closer “I love you too Tom, so much.” He placed his finger underneath your chin and made you look at him so he could give you a loving kiss.

You decorated the rest of the house, which didn’t took long. You looked outside at the snow. Tom walked up to you and gave you a hug from behind. His head rested on your shoulder. “Do you want to go outside love?” you smiled at him “Yes please” you gave him a smile. He already had your coat in his hands and helped you in it. He placed the beanie on your head, giving you a kiss on your nose. You got the scarf as he got Bobby on the leash and put your gloves on. You got your camera with you in case you wanted to take some pictures.

You walked out the door hand in hand with Tom. You were always a big fan of snow, it made you feel so happy and safe and that was exactly what you needed right now. Bobby was so happy, he jumped around in the snow and wanted to run back and forth making you and Tom laugh at his antics. You strolled through the snow and you found so many beautiful things to photograph and of course Tom couldn’t be missed. He got the camera for a while, while you played with Bobby, unknown of Tom, who was now taking pictures of you.

After a hour and a half you started to freeze and decided to head back home. Once in Tom immediately started the fireplace again and lit up the Christmas tree. Tom wanted to cook his spaghetti for you tonight while you had a nice warm bath. You took a book with you so you could read.

After a while Tom walked upstairs towards the bathroom and knocked before walking in. He smiled at the sight in front of him and kneeled down next to the bath. He rested his head on his arm and with his other hand he stroked your hair. You sight in relaxation and leaned into his soft touch. Tom looked at you with a loving look. “I hate to disturb you like this but dinner is ready love.” He told you softly and you smiled, keeping your eyes closed. “You never disturb me Tom.” He smiled and gave you a passionate kiss before holding up the towel. Once you got out he wrapped it around your body and dried your body off with care.

You got into some sweats of Tom and a sweater and walked downstairs with him. he prepared the table with candles and a rose. You smiled “Tom, this looks perfect. How did I get this lucky.” He smiled “Believe me, I’m the lucky one. I’ll do everything for you darling.” He pulled the chair out for you and shoved you carefully closer to the table.

You enjoyed dinner and of course, Tom had cooked amazingly.  After dinner you both did the dishes with some music playing in the background. You got the red velvet cake out and placed it on the plates until you felt a soft hand touching yours. You looked up and Tom pulled you towards him for a dance. You giggled because you’ve never been treated like this before. Tom really treads you like the queen that you are.

You waltzed towards the living room. You started to slow dance and you rested your head against his chest. “words don’t even describe how much I love you.” you told Tom. He started to dance a little slower, not stopping entirely. “Love I feel the same way. I would do absolutely anything for you, and I mean that.” He told you looking sincerely into your eyes. He softly rested his thumb and finger underneath your chin and pulled you closer for a kiss. He pulled you closer towards him so there was no space left between your body’s.

After the little dance you got the cake and tea and walked back. plopping on the couch. “Why don’t we facetime your mom?” Tom asked careful. You thought about it and decided that would be very nice. You called her and she picked up. Tom softly rubbed your back the entire time you were on the phone with her. Of course you missed her but this was really helping and at least you had Tom with you. After an hour of talking to your mom you hang up and immediately felt a sort of calmness flowing through you. “Thank you” you told Tom he smiled as he pulled your body closer and kissed the side of your head. “Of course my love.”

You sat there cuddling for a while before you got an idea. “why don’t we play a board game or card game?” you looked up at Tom, knowing he loved games. He smiled “I’ll get the cards, you get the hot chocolate milk.” You chuckled and stood up to make the chocolate milk. You heard a lot of things and knew he wasn’t only getting the cards. You chuckled and embraced yourself before walking back into the living room.

Tom had his Loki smile on, waiting for your reaction. He had placed all the pillows and blankets on the floor next to the Christmas tree and fireplace. You chuckled and smiled at the romantic gesture. “Okay I love it.” you giggled making him chuckle as well. “Come on, what did you expect?” he asked you in his Loki voice. You giggled and felt flustered. He noticed and laughed walking up to you. “Like I said. I would do anything for you.” he kissed your forehead, nose, cheeks and eventually your lips.

He let you to the blankets and helped you sit down as a gentleman. You laid down on your stomach and Tom laid down on his side with the cards in his hands. Bobby took a place next to you and curled up against you. Tom was hustling the cards and you looked outside. Everything was covered in snow and you smiled, feeling at peace.

You started to play the card game for at least two hours and you both laughed a lot. You heard your favorite song come up. “Ahh I love this song!” Tom immediately got up, helping you stand up as well. He started to dance with you again but this was more an upbeat song so the dance was faster as normal and you both got a fit of chuckles and giggles. He twirled you around and picked you up very quick to spin you around making you laugh louder.

When the song ended you both fell on the soft blankets and pillows. You tried to catch your breath as Tom laid next to you. You rested your head on his chest as you both stared at the ceiling still chuckling. Once you calmed down a bit you turned to your side, facing Tom. You placed kisses on his cheek, making him smile again. You leaned on your elbow and tilted yourself up so you could give him a passionate kiss. You felt his tongue slip in and you gracefully accepted him. His hand found it’s way to your cheek as he the other placed some hair behind your ear. He placed his head back on the pillow, his hands still in place as he looked at you with adoration in his eyes.

You placed your hand on his chest and rested your head on your hand. You went with your hands through his hair, massaging his scull and playing with his hair. He got the blanket and placed it over you so you kept warm. Tom played with your hair as well and just wanted to touch you in general at this moment. You felt Tom relax underneath your touch.

You laid down on your back and Tom looked quizzingly at you, why you moved in the first place. you tapped on your chest, letting him know that he can cuddle you. You loved to get cuddled by Tom but you also loved to give him cuddles.

He laid his head down on your chest and your hands found his hair immediately and you held his head close to you. Your other hand rested on his back and you held him tightly, giving gentle strokes on his back. He placed his arms around your waist and one of his legs was placed over yours. You laid there for a while and you could feel Tom’s breathing come more relaxed. You kept playing with his hair and closed your eyes for a while.

You woke up from an ache in your back because of the ground. Tom laid almost on top of you. “Tom, love, wake up. We need to go to bed.” you whispered but said it loud enough for him to get out of the slumber. He grumbled. “My back hurts from the floor.” He rubbed his face and sat up. “I’m sorry love, let’s get to bed.” he stood up and helped you up.

“Tomorrow I’ll massage your back.” you smiled at him. “Thank you Tom. Now let’s get to bed.” he nodded and you both walked up the stairs and brushed your teeth and got freshened up for bed. Tom had made the bed and you couldn’t wait to crawl into the clean sheets. Tom laid next to you and pulled you closer with ease. You giggled at him. you were like his personal teddy bear. You both laid on your sides. Your head was tucked underneath his chin and his arms were wrapped around you. “Good night darling.” He whispered. “Good night Tom”. You just couldn’t wait for the next days with Tom, you had so many Christmas plans for the both of you. You fell into a deep slumber thinking about the days ahead.

[wizkiddx]

Heey, first of all yeeah to 500 followers!! You deserve them 🎉 I was wondering if you still do the celebration and could write something for #2 neck kisses with Tom. Thanks and have an awesome day 😊

so sorry but i completely lost this in my inbox so sorry its so late!!!! also this is kinda a Father’s Day one too (except im half a week too late but hey ho)

summary: soon to be dad!tom predicts your babies gender

kissing prompts 2 = neck kisses

///////////////////////

Your day had been a pretty mundane one. Just a typical Saturday of getting shit done - involving cleaning the bathrooms and then putting a wash on. It was a set of jobs you'd normally share with your fiance, except he had been out golfing all day.

To be fair, he had earned himself the day off. Ever since you'd found out you were pregnant - the boy had barely let you lift a finger. Especially after you'd passed the 24 weeks landmark, now that the baby bump wasn't so much a bump, and more a fucking volcano sprouting out your belly.

For once the British weather was actually pretty decent, meaning you opened all the patio windows to allow the ribbons of golden light to stream into your living room. In your own little world, you stood by the table and hung up baby grows on the airer. Yes, it was a bit early to be laundering the baby's clothes, but both you and Tom couldn't help yourselves. Last week, when you went shopping for Nikki's birthday - instead the both of you had got distracted by the newborn section.

Tom made a quiet entrance into the house, so much so you hadn't noticed the door open as you softly hummed an old Beatles tune whilst reaching for the following soft grey striped onepiece.

He hadn't been in the best mood when walking through the door. The round had not gone his way, he'd ended up 6 shots above his standard handicap whilst Harry had got his PB. Pissed was an understatement - Tom had turned down the pub after, which meant he was absolutely fuming. Instead, he just wanted to come home and have a shower and forget about everything.

All of that kind of melted away though, when he rounded the corner of the hallway - the sight stopping him dead in his tracks.

You, standing side on, your outline a silhouette to the evening sun filtering through the doors. The light effect made you look ethereal, as well as exaggerating your bump evermore. And then you were holding up this tiny looking babygrow in front of you. It was inexplicable but, at that moment, literally nothing else mattered to Tom.

Of course, you eventually caught him staring, a soft smile growing on your face after you'd turned to pick another baby grow up. All it took was that one look for all the tension in his body to fizzle away. Immediately Tom took the steps towards you, hugging you from the back and propping his chin on your shoulder, whilst his hands slipped under your bump.

"Thought you said it was too early to get the baby stuff ready?"? He whisper- chuckled, making you roll your eyes. Because it was his puppy dog eyes begging you to let him by the 12 babygrows the other weekend.

"Shhhhh would you just look how small they are!" You gestured as you shook out another damp babygrow in front of him.

"Just imagine…" Tom spoke very quietly as he reached round you to take the little onsie out of your hands. He then lifted up the hem of your cotton vest top, laying the outfit on your exposed belly. "Someday soon they'll be outside your stomach like this."

The action, of him holding the cotton fabric over your belly, had everything feeling a lot more real all of a sudden. You were seriously going to have a baby.

It made you let out a little gasp, which Tom only chuckled at, pressing himself closer against your back. "You only just realised that love?"

"No I- ooh" You were about to violently defend yourself from Tom's laughter, except you were distracted by a slightly uncomfortable pressure on your stomach. Instantly you moved your hand over Tom's and pressed down on the area, so Tom could feel the little butterfly kicking through the babygrow.

"I think baby likes her outfit" You giggled, whilst now it was Tom's turn to hold in an unconscious breath. He slowly pressed around the outline of the protruding limb, which your baby kept returning as if high-fiving him.

"Oh my god she just fist-bumped me!"

"Or he!!!" You laughed, shaking your head against the top of his.

"Nah it's a girl I can sense it." He whispered, though very much not concentrating on anything except the little game he played with the baby in your stomach.

"Spidey sense?"

"Nope… special dad instincts." This time he spoke against your jaw, before peppering your bone with short pecks. "Mhm…." Tom spoke as he worked his way downward, poking his nose in the crook of your neck "I love my girls so much."

"Or boy!" You indignantly interjected, earning you a huff from Tom as he stayed softly nipping the sensitive skin just above your collarbone.

He was attempting to get you lost in the feeling, and boy was it also it working. Letting your head loll to the side to give him better access, you exhaled deeply, bringing your right hand round the back of both of you to trail through his brown curls. He was still a little sweaty from spending all evening in the summer sun- which reminded you.

"How was golf, by the way?" All you received was a mumbled 'doesn't matter' back, which in itself answered your question very well.

"That means you lost?" Giggling at his schoolboy attitude to defeat, Tom groaned, then even harder when you spun in his hold, so now you were facing each other - his hands still holding the baby grow on your bump between the both of you. This way you could see him, and he wasn't ever able to hide anything when your innocent gaze was on him.

"-sn't my fault" He pouted, big brown eyes looking so profoundly at you that some might even find the intensity scary. "My club broke anyway, so it wasn't a fair game."

That made you cock your head to the side. Really? A club just spontaneously breaking? You'd seen the bank statements; you knew how bloody much Tom invested into his club collection. They definitely shouldn't e flimsy and snapping spontaneously at their price point.

"The club broke orrr you broke the club?"

"The club was involved in an unfortunate accident; a tree collided with it."

You had to laugh at how Tom explained how he had taken his anger out on a tree. Tom returned your humour with an eye roll - not much enjoying being caught out.

It didn't last long, though, as and harsh jab interrupted you with an 'ooof'. It came from inside you and even Tom winced at how hard the little munchkin inside you kicked your side, right over where Tom's hands were resting.

"I think that's baby's way of telling you off for having a temper tantrum." Once recovered, you had to grin again, rubbing the skin with Tom's hand to ease the subsiding ache.

"Is it not too early for her to realise exactly who's in charge?" He grumbled, referring to the fact that you both knew Tom was wrapped around yours and soon to be babies fingers.

"Or him!".

To shut you up, Tom finally gave you the welcome home kiss, still with his hands holding the babygrow on your bump. Excited, if terrified, to be yours and your baby's bitch boy for the rest of his life.

~~~~let me know what you think, recently been finding acc writing v difficult so sorry if this aint great~~~~~~

taglist: @crossyourpeter@euphorichxlland@hallecarey1@hollandfanficlove@hollandlover19@hunnybunimdun@lovehollandy12@msmimimerton@pandaxnienke@fernandasantana @thegirlwiththeimpala

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (2)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: mentions of violence (hunting), mentions of sex this chapter is really tame but it’s set up so yeah

Summary: In the aftermath of your presentation, you recollect on some the dreams that had been visited by the alpha you have met to meet. What happens when he makes good on his promise and finds you?

A/N: OKAY SO I REALLY FEEL LIKE THIS SUCKS, BUT HEY, THIS GIF APPLIES TO THIS CHAPTER IF YOU SQUINT! Let me know if you guys like this and I will write more. If not, I can always just leave this where it is (which is fine, but alpha koo is so cool to write omg)

part 1  part 3  part 4  part 5  part 6  part 7 part 8 part 9

By the time that you’ve finished scrubbing away the evidence signaling your growth into maturity, the soiled sheets containing such proof had been stripped from your bed to be replaced with new, freshly laundered ones. To keep the essence of you there would firstly be unsanitary, but it was also a means of caution put in place to keep unwanted alphas from attempting to lay their claim on an unmated omega before one could be presented to all the available potential candidates. Part of you wonders if your alpha had caught your scent in all the bustle that surely was going on, for you surely had caught his even if you didn’t know what he looked like even what his name was.

 Dark hair colored like the earth’s floor surfaces through your mind as you peer down at the article of clothing your grandmother must have laid out for you while you’d been bathing, a wave of excitement falling over you as you quickly set about putting it on. You fasten it with practiced ease after many years of helping your own omegean friends into their own unique pre-ceremonial dress.

  It is a custom of your pack that, on the eve of the Offering Ceremony, newly presented omegas wear clothing that pays respect to the moon that guides the shifting, hunting and gathering of the wolves while also paying homage to the celestial system that, in the ancient legends, would selectively steer the most compatible of hearts towards one another in the tales of soulmates that would lead their pack into prosperity for generations to come.

 It was said that the truest of a pair would complete each other in body and mind, their wolves complementing each other like the yin and yang of peace that was so desired amongst your kind.

 As you pull your arms through the black lace that covers a fine silk of the same color, you can’t help but to notice the way the underlying material shimmers in the sunny light that glints off it in the small constellation of silvery spritzes to the silk that mirror the stars that, in the dark color of the body of the dress, perfectly recaptures the night sky. In the modestly cut ‘V’ style of the bodice, the trim on each side eventually intersects where the skirt begins and is colored a rich chrome color after the moon.

  It matches with the thin band that crosses horizontally over your stomach to hold the bodice closed. Below that, your skirt is fitted just enough that it doesn’t hug your skin, but it is open enough to let air trail between your legs as it stops just along the underside of your knees. You make sure to tie a thick matching silk choker over your neck to nearly cover it in its entirety in effort to complete your ensemble, for it is another custom that newly presented omegas must partake in that you have to obey.

 Such was put in place to lessen the temptation of alphas to try to scent an omega, for the show of skin in such an intimate place for wolves that were unmarked was a declaration of intent. To walk around without such a covering was dangerous, for it often would ensue fights between alphas and betas over the omega that had been unheedful of such consequences.

 You did not want to be involved in attention like that, for you had always been a quiet, shy presence throughout your years on the compound. What your heart did long for, however, was to find its equal and thus to bask in the notice of he who had visited you in your fantasy, of he who had promised to find you. You truthfully had no idea who he was, but he was no stranger to your dreams. Well, he hadn’t been since the eclipse, anyway.

 The first time you’d seen him, he’d been laying on his back while staring at the stars you enjoyed connecting the constellations of within the middle of a forest clearing, the silvery moonlight illuminating him in an ethereal light that had him glowing in radiance.

 You’d been tentative to encroach on him and, in your timidity, had tried sinking back into the shadows only to snap a twig under your feet. He’d sat up quicker than lightning, his muscles tensed and ready to pounce as brilliant golden irises darted to the source of the sound only to pierce your own as you’d sucked in a breath at how deep and beautiful his eyes were despite how profoundly they dug interestedly into your own, effectively halting you were you stood as he rose from his place on the forest floor.

 Your legs had been rooted in place under his commanding gaze and he’d cocked his head to the side like the wolf he was while he’d appraised you, your heart racing as you watched his brows knit together in confusion the picture of his ideal mate paired with the concoction of smells that coalesced into something that was uniquely your own yet had him drawn like a magnet in how deliciously your aroma swirled under his nostrils, his own pulse quickening as he instinctively lowered his head as you tilted yours back in silent submission that pulled at every fiber of your being in the presence of such a strong, handsome alpha.

 It had been instant. His eyes widened when he’d daringly nudged at exposed your scent gland, his irises growing in size at the poignantly tempting aroma of you that clung salaciously to his lungs and very being. In turn, you gasped when the strong headiness of him insistently prodded at you until you were overtaken by its delicious amalgamation of smells, your muscles relaxing at the same time his did a turn of events that you did not understand for you believed it was all just a dream.

 The second time you’d seen him, he’d found you next to a steady, crystalline stream with the moon as your light source and upon offering you his hand with some coaxing, he had led you through a field of flowers colored after every hue in the rainbow as he told you how you’d enchanted him with your beauty and scent that had so begun to saturate his every thought, his adulations rapidly bolstering your confidence in the sureness with which he declared them.

 The third time, he’d followed you to a creek and had watched you dip your feet into the cool water that was such a balm to the hot air of the night only to step further into the body of water and be embraced by it still clothed in the dress that made you shine brighter than the moon in his eyes. It was you who had eventually asked him to join you after reddened cheeks and stuttered breaths upon realizing he’d been looking at nothing but you the entire time with brightened, enlarged irises.

 Somehow, his competitive nature had stoked your playful side and before long, you were splashing each other with water and laughing heartily until your foot had caught on a sharp rock and you’d yelped in pain. Concern had been quick to shift his expression, not that you could that under the mop of hair that had veiled the upper part of his face, but you could hear the emotion in his voice as he reassured you that it would be okay before, to your surprise, he’d wrapped one arm around your back and another under your legs to carry you like some kind of bride before you setting you down on a rock to rip at the edge of his shirt in a show of strength that had your insides turning to mush as he promptly wrapped it around your foot while asking if you were alright and if you were in pain.

 An irrational need to clear the worry away from him filled you and before you’d let yourself think about it, you’d laid your hand over his to thank him, not thinking too much on the way his skin was so hot to the touch. As if your words were the medicine he needed, the emotion drained away while you both had stared at each other. You hadn’t realized you’d been leaning forward until you nearly collapsed on top of him, lost as you had been in those expressive eyes of his.

 The fourth time, you’d been incapable of resisting his call of howls only to find him thrashing in a cave growling for you. It was as if someone was hurting him from the inside in the pitch of his sounds, but you didn’t have any idea what to do. His shirt had been torn all over and in the dim light that reached into the cave, you thought you could make out the etchings of the extensive muscles that lined his chest, your mouth watering at the sight and yet you’d blamed on being in need of water in your inexperience to know what your body was doing.

 You had stayed by his side regardless to bring him water and edible plants that you’d gathered in his lack of exiting the confined space, fondness for him swelling within you in your want to take away whatever pain was wracking him. You’d not been aware of what he wanted and the fact that neither of you had exchanged names made it difficult to console him since you were simply the girl from his dreams to him (or so you thought).

 The fifth time, it had been you who had been sequestered to a grassy, woody den in the forest. Your body had quivered with need for something that you had yet to ascertain, but your companion had stayed true to you just as you had to him. Compassion shined in those golden irises as you’d wailed, your arms crossing over your stomach as you rolled back and forth irrationally in the tremors that violently shook your body. When you’d needed new foliage to lay on, he’d gotten it for you. When you’d wanted the cool creek water to be poured over your burning skin, he’d done that, too.

 And when you’d asked for some meat to eat, it had taken all but five minutes for him to secure five rabbits that you ate the majority of in your insatiable hunger that only seemed to stretch on the more that you drank him in.

 All had preceded the fantasy you’d had last night and you try to piece them together in what they could possibly mean as you grab what your thin arms can carry between pillar candles and tea-lights. You don’t stop stuffing them between your arms until you’re sure you can’t possibly carry any more, and every omega that passes by the storage closet in the omegean den where you currently are makes sure to congratulate as they pass much to the reddening of your cheeks at some overly obscene remarks of what is likely to come. It’s all so new and thrilling to you.

 You’re honestly a little surprised that they all already know that you’d woken to the taint of your essence lathered all over you, but such is the way of things in that news spreads like wildfire amidst the close comraderies of omegas.

 It should make you feel uncomfortable, but such monumental events are looked at as blessings amongst your pack and in the bustle of energy that the sudden ceremony has sparked in everyone, you can only feel the excited surges of anticipation as you and you alone begin to set about the preparations for the event at the break of dawn since you’d been the final omega in your rank and age group to present.

 Through it all, you never lose the subtle trail of him, his scent lingering just enough for you to find yourself trying to move toward its origin, but never thick enough to pinpoint him completely despite your wolf urging you to continually to go to him, to find him.

 You wonder what your alpha could be doing right now and what he might be thinking as you make your way through the green grasses that open up to frame the circular wooden stage that is overlooked by the timbered den of the elders. It is an impressive structure in how very imposing and tall it stands and the stage itself is longer, you are sure, than five meters across and back.

 There are already stone braziers set strategically next to the stage that are used for annual selections for unbonded pairs of wolves and initiations of pups, but you can’t deny your favorite use for it would be the dance performances that are put on to celebrate each event.

 Amongst the alphas in your pack, Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok and Kim Taehyung are among the three bachelors that woo all of the omegas and betas in the compound with the calculated ways they move their bodies that successfully has everyone, even you, swooning.

 However, can’t say they hold a candle to the one alpha, in particular, that some believe to be an apparition in how little he is seen despite the fact that every time you catch his shadow, he’s always stolen away your breath and ability to think straight. The way that this alpha moves, in specific, demands your attention in how expressively calculated he is in his artistic movements that combine modern and old dance into a style that is completely his own.

 You have only seen him perform twice, but by the moon above, you would never forget it. Each time, you swear his golden irises have shot through the whole crowd of screaming women and even men straight into you only to sink deliciously into you as he dances. It has set your blood alight each time, your pulse quickening in exhilaration at the prospect of that he may have noticed you.

 You had noticed him first for this and, hungrily wanting to learn more about the enigmatic figure that could disappear without a trace for months on end without being seen or heard from, you had come to find out through utterances of longing by many omegeans that he was the pack alpha’s son, which made him next in line for assuming control over the entire compound.

 You had also come to discover that, among his looks that were crafted by the gods, he came from a pedigree only of purebreds. This meant that he was one among the seven alphas- including the three bachelors already fawned over amongst the compound-in your pack that were gifted with bolstered speed, strength and abilities of which the majority of alphas today did not possess. Such made them extremely desirable to many of the omegas and betas, but for the life of you, you couldn’t see how they were any different from a regular alpha.

 As you set out the tealights along the edges of the stage, you can’t help but to ponder why the alpha that had anchored himself to your thoughts long before your dreams is coming to your mind now and it’s when you’ve placed a pillar candle from under your arm onto the mounted holder, that’s when your thoughts are halted.

 In the distance, you can discern the pervasively pungent stench of alphas and that’s when your eyes widen. You had forgotten that because of the Offering Ceremony, it was tradition for alphas to go on a hunt at the crack of dawn in effort to make a show of their prowess and ability to provide. This was done in effort to please or attract potential mates in the kills they would secure and gift to their selected omega or beta. You chastise yourself for taking too long, for an unmated omega was not supposed to be in the vicinity of an unbonded alpha due to the pheromones that could cause a premature heat. Your body is unstable right and now and that’s why-

 Amongst the flurry of odors that pervade your sensitive nose, there is one that you pick up on, one that wafts deliciously like fresh cookies under your nostrils and around you before caressing your skin with the gentle wind that carries it to you. It is gently insistent in the way it encourages you to turn, to move. You’ve smelled this scent before, you know that you have.

 Distantly, in the back of your mind, something tries to poke at your consciousness, but you pay it no mind as you try to complete your task futilely as the aroma whisks itself over you like whipped cream as it inches closer and closer, the soft crunching sound of grass underneath feet growing louder as it does.

 You try to take deep breaths and regulate the shallow rise and fall of your chest that is not aided by the hope that twists heavily in your gut and when you clumsily try to make it appear as if you’re doing something constructive, you manage to knock the white pillar candle off of its place so that it lands on the ground with a thud.

 Without thinking, you turn only to for you to hitch your breath as the solid planes of a golden and salaciously chiseled chest take up your vision. Your mouth goes dry when your irises dip downward at how obscenely low his ebony shirt dips with one side crossed over the other in a style that isn’t entirely different from the bodice you now wear save for the fact that it is a darker shade of black and is held together by a thicker band that circles a slim, hourglass shaped waist.

 The lapels of his garment fold over each other and are accentuated by the charcoal colored pelt that lines his shoulders and trail lengthily down his body to cease around calves covered by dark black trousers that hug his corded thighs lewdly and you have to shut your mouth to stifle the sound of appreciation your body had traitorously wanted to release. If you had spit, you probably would lick your lips, but you don’t. Instead, you settle for trying to swallow the sudden lump in your throat, which is also non-yielding of the result you’d wanted. 

 “You know, I heard you omegas weren’t supposed to be near us big, bad alphas so soon,” he rumbles amusedly as your heart stutters at the familiar voice, “So, what are you doing out here all alone, pretty?”

 You gulp animatedly, your irises refusing to move from the canvas of his chest because you know where you’ve heard that voice before, you realize as your skin pebbles in response to the same deep voice that drips deliciously atop it as your wolf cries for you to answer, to submit.

 “I-I… I was setting up for the c-ceremony, that’s all.” You stutter as the alpha in front of you chuckles, the sound making your blood sing in response to the melodious sound as his golden irises inspect your familiar features, surety setting in for him that you really are her, the girl from his dream.

 “Ah, so you are.” He muses as he cocks his head interestedly at you.

 He had chosen to lead the alphas to a different hunting location today because he believed a new area would be a rich hunting ground, but he’d also come this way for another reason. As a purebred alpha, his nose was far better than any average alpha. Therefore, despite the clothes that you wear of which the threads of your dress have been dipped into oils that mask your own potent pheromones he knows to be on overdrive since your presentation, they are still ineffective in putting off his strong nostrils in how easy it had been to detect and find you like he’d wanted to.

 His lips curl up when you fidget in a way exactly like she had, your hands clasping nervously together along your front and he’s struck with the irrational want to have you feel less distressed in his presence, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable around him.

 The more pressing thing though is to look upon those eyes of yours that he’s been so bewitched by, for he hasn’t yet looked up those entrancing irises that had belonged to her and has to make sure, his wolf clawing at him now to find out as his deep voice fills the space between you, your own wolf preening under the attention as he says, “Come now, pretty omega, won’t you look at me? I won’t bite.”

 With way that his velvety voice envelops you, you really can’t bring yourself to do anything but obey as your slowly trail your gaze along his Adam’s apple that is so defined it makes you want to salivate before continuing your ascent up to perfectly plump, soft lips crafted by the stars themselves. Those same lips had done so much to you in your dreams and images of it flash through your mind as you take a shaky breath that he mirrors in the anticipation that is nearly palpable in how heavy it settles over you both. When you finally settle your gaze on those golden irises that had taken up such a permanent residence in your thoughts, that’s when he utters, “Well, would you look at that...I always knew it would be you, but I never would’ve thought this would happen.”

 At the same time that you had peered into his eyes while he gazed curiously at you, your irises had changed from the silver of the moon he had always been bewildered by to the gold of the sun like his own. In the exact moment, you’d witnessed his own do the same, his eyes changing to the color of your own.

Jungkook has always taken pride in his abilities as a purebred. They’d never steered him wrong before and they hadn’t now, either. It is why he hadn’t doubted the magnetizing pull that had brought him here as encouraged by his nose that could track anything. It is also why his very being is colored with entertainment at your cute reaction that he’d had some inkling of some time ago.  

What is a pleasant surprise, however, is the fact that the moon itself has chosen you as his mate in the gift it had bestowed on the two of you. And as his eyes rove over you, he can’t help but grin. He’d always had his eye set on you, anyway. 

 You gasp in incredulity when you realize what’s just happened and to whom it has happened with as you fall back against the stage, completely floored by the howling of your wolf to go to him and accept it. 

 You’re just supposed to accept the fact that the alpha you’ve pined so badly for has been selected for you by the moon itself in the legendary soulmate’s gift of sight, which allows two fated wolves to see their eyes in the mate that completes them. You’re just supposed to casually accept that your fated mate is the alpha that everyone wants, including you. You’re just meant to easily believe that the alpha you begged to be claimed by while he had his cock rammed inside you within your fantasy is Jeon fucking Jungkook and that he’s your alpha.

 As you splutter and try to find anything to say in the shock that will soon leave your legs trembling, the alpha just smirks as he cards a hand through his hair in a display that has you licking at your lips despite everything as he flicks a brow, “What’s wrong, pretty? Cat got your tongue?”

[ssson-of-sparda]

Fathers Do Cry (DMC Vergil one shot)

Summary: Vergil remembers his last Father's Day with Sparda and doesn't really realise how similar to him he has become.

Tags: Father's Day special / DADGIL! / Vergil acting like a dad to Nero

Author’s note: I woke up this morning suddenly inspired. Doesn't happen very often so enjoy ;) ps: I just love Dadgil!

***

His big blue eyes staring without blinking, the child was observing his father sitting by the fireplace in the parlour. Full of admiration, he was detailing all the features of his serious face, all the details of his confident posture and all the different luxurious fabrics that made his purple finery and as he did, he repeated to himself, wished, prayed, that someday, one day, he would grow up to be just like him.          “Aren’t you going to speak, Vergil?” The father’s powerful voice asked as he finally acknowledged the boy’s presence with a small amused smile, wondering what brilliant thoughts were occupying his eldest son’s sharp mind this time.            “I made this for you, father.” With a solemnity that didn’t suit a five-years-old but that somehow fitted Vergil’s young yet wise spirit and his will to be perfect son in the eyes of Sparda, the boy handed a paper sheet to his father.         “ And what would that be?” The man said as he took his son’s gift. “It’s father’s day so … I made you a poem… or tried to.” The adorable embarrassment tensing the child’s traits in funny grimaces made the father's smile wider but Vergil, suddenly too preoccupied with the blue paint stuck under his fingernails, didn’t notice it as he didn’t notice the paternal pride and the love shining in his eyes.               “I thought your mother wanted you and your brother to make a gift together this year.” “ You know Dante” Vergil sighed. “He has no artistic talent whatsoever. He wanted to make you a wooden sword to play with us.”    “ That’s actually a very good idea.”  Vergil frowned; suddenly worried that Sparda would not like his gift and preferred Dante’s – if he had made one of course. “Except when the sword looks like two twigs glued together. You should have seen this, father. It looked ri.di.cu.lous.” Sparda laughed at his son’s attitude, finding amusement in this sibling rivalry. “Why don’t you read me your poem then?”              “ I learnt it by heart actually. The paper is for you to remember this day by … and also because I wanted to illustrate it. Look.” Vergil approached his father, seized the poem from his big hands and climbed on his lap to show him the delicate aquarelle he had painted around the lines. “Impressive. Did your mother help you with this?” Vergil shook his head. “No, I did it on my own. I used a book I saw in that old man’s house I often go to as a reference.”       “ The old academic that lives down the hill? I thought you found him boring.” Vergil shook his head again, furiously this time and with a serious frown. “That’s Dante. Me, I really like him. He teaches me a lot of things. And he has lots of books. It’s incredible.”

Sparda ruffled his son’s silver hair whose hairdo was always made in order to somehow mimic his, thinking what a promising young boy Vergil was. Maybe more promising than Dante to be honest – though he knew he shouldn’t think that.   But there was something that Vergil had that Dante lacked. Perhaps rationality beyond his age … or some kind of maturity … wisdom maybe? He couldn’t really pinpoint what it was exactly. All he knew is that it was something unique and special, just like his son, something that made Sparda certain that one day his eldest would grow up to be a great man, a man greater than him, a man worthy of the Yamato and capable of handling its burdening power.

“Can I recite my poem now?” Sparda smiled at the sparkle in Vergil’s eyes. “Sure.” The boy quickly took back his previous position in front his father, cleared his throat, put his hands behind his back and stuck out his chest.

Sparda listened to every word, fascinated and amazed by his little one’s talent and profoundly moved by all the love, all the meticulousness and the time he put in each line and in each word. “Oh Vergil. The world is not yet ready for someone like you.” The father said as he let a tear roll down his cheek. “Why are you crying, father?” Vergil worried. “Because fathers cry, my son.”

That day was the last time Vergil truly celebrated Father’s day for a few weeks later he had no father, no one to make poems to, no one to admire by the fireplace. Just a memory that he feared would sooner or later fade but that he would cling to dearly for as long as he could.

“Why don’t we bring flowers to Daddy’s statue in the park today?” Eva asked when Vergil was six, when Vergil was seven, when Vergil was eight only to be welcome by a heavy silence that was no longer hiding brilliant thoughts but a painful sadness. But each time he did as Eva suggested, maybe more for her than for him, maybe because he still loved and admired Sparda even if he had left him, maybe because he thought that his father might see him and smile from wherever he was now, the same way he had smiled when he had read him his poem on his last father’s day.

And that’s certainly why, more than three decades later, he was back in this park, on this very special day with a bouquet of purple peonies he had bought on his way here and a memory that never faded. A memory he could still recite.

"Whether the sun shines or the sky cries,                 Whether the day breaks or the night wakes,       My father always as a rampart stands Protecting my house with his bare hands.

He is strong, he is brave                 And the day he always saves.     A knight in cockroach armor     To scare my terror away."

Vergil scoffed at the lines, at the way they rolled off his tongue, finding them funny and childish and not worthy of a Blake or a Fielding at all unlike what he thought when he wrote them as a child. The over-confidence of youth probably.

“Did you just come up with that?” Vergil turned around to see Nero walking towards him with a smirk. A surprise but not a bad one. “Cause the rhyming sucks a little. I expected more of you.”                “ And I suppose you’re an expert in poetry now?”         “ I may read have read one of your books.” He said as he tapped the pocket of his marine blue coat hiding Vergil's most sacred book with pride. “You still have it I see.”     “Hey! It’s a real page turner! Can’t get my nose out of it.” Vergil had a crooked smile, understanding perfectly what his son meant.

Son? Even a year after this reveal he still couldn’t believe this boy before him, the one he had lived such a terrifying yet incredible adventure with, was his own flesh and blood.

A sigh almost escaped Vergil’s lips. How did he make such a fine young man? Someone so selfless, so generous, so loving when he was nothing like that.              “ What are you doing here, Nero?” He asked, trying not to think more about this.      “ Well it’s father’s day, no? So … I made you something… or tried to.” The embarrassed grimace Nero suddenly made made Vergil’s smile grew larger but Nero, too worried to keep the gift covered with the pieces of newspapers he had taped together, didn’t see it as he didn’t see the paternal pride and the love shining in his father’s blue eyes. The same paternal pride Sparda had displayed when Vergil was a little child with a small paper in his hands.  “Thank you Nero.” The man said as he gently took the present from his son's hands, wondering what it was even though the long shape didn’t leave much place for imagination.

He cautiously unwrapped the thing, already feeling a happiness he hadn’t felt in years warming his heart. And when he saw a katana-like wooden sword that purposely looked like Yamato he couldn’t help but smile and let a tiny drop of water blur his blue eyes. “It was Dante’s idea. Though he might have suggested gluing two sticks together.” Nero said as he scratched his head. “It looks amazing.” Vergil’s honesty was like a knife in Nero’s chest but in a good way. It was as if all the stress and all the stupid fear he had felt while making this toy sword had been stabbed away. He felt relieved, joyful even that his always so stern father was genuinely grateful and seemed to appreciate his gift. “That way, you won’t have to tear my arm apart again cause look, you have two now.” Nero tried to joke but his words just erased the smile on Vergil’s face.

“There is not a single day I don't regret what I did to you.” This was Vergil’s way to say he was sorry. Nero was certain of it. He didn’t need to know his father that well to know it. After all, he was somewhat the same. “Hey, it’s in the past. Plus it grew back, so no harm done.” He winked, trying to ease the atmosphere with a bad pun worthy of Dante even though there was a time he would have ripped Vergil’s chest open for what he had done. And a part of him knew he would never forget and maybe never fully forgive what happened.               But right now he was just happy to have a family, to have a father and to finally be able to celebrate a day he has so long hated.  “ This world doesn’t deserve you, son.” Vergil solemnly declared. He had never called Nero that way and that name felt strange yet beautiful to both of them. It made the son and the father smile in ways they never thought they would smile at each other. “ Damn, are you crying old man? I thought devils never cry.” Nero suddenly harrumphed when he finally noticed the water growing in his father's eyes.                   “ Well, fathers do cry." Vergil declared as he allowed a tear of joy and pride to fall along his pale cheek. The first in a very very long time but one he will never regret or brush away. "Father do cry.” He repeated with a glance at the statue of his father behind him.