#in season 1 it felt like he was in a slightly different shape in each scene

[mintaikk]

Can we please talk about how good Stolas looks in this episode?

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife reader. Anything at all. Maybe their journey of this season includes Lewis moving to Ferrari, the issue they face at the start of the season and others. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

Racing through transitions

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Peter “Bono” Bonnington

Summary: the story follows Peter "Bono" Bonnington and his wife as they navigate the emotional and professional challenges of the 2023 and 2024 Formula 1 season, marked by Lewis Hamilton's impending move to Ferrari and the bonds within Mercedes _________________________________________________

2023

The life of a Formula 1 race engineer’s spouse isn’t for everyone. It requires patience, understanding, and a deep love that can withstand the pressures of a world where every second counts. You knew what you were signing up for when you married Peter “Bono” Bonnington, the calm, steady voice in Lewis Hamilton’s ear and the man behind so many of Mercedes’ victories. But it wasn’t just the races that shaped your life together; it was the moments in between—the quiet mornings before he left for the factory, the late-night phone calls during race weekends, and the brief but meaningful conversations you shared.

This season felt different from the start. There was an unspoken tension in the air, something that neither of you acknowledged openly, but both felt keenly. You noticed it in the way Bono’s brows furrowed slightly more than usual, in the sighs he let out when he thought you weren’t listening, and in the way he lingered at the door each morning, as if reluctant to leave the sanctuary of home.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the factory, Bono came home and collapsed onto the couch beside you. You had been reading, but when you saw the exhaustion etched on his face, you put the book aside and turned to him.

“Long day?” you asked, your voice gentle.

He nodded, eyes closed as he leaned his head back. “It’s always long, but today was… difficult.”

You waited, knowing he would continue when he was ready. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked at you, his expression a mix of fatigue and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“It’s Lewis,” he said finally. “There’s something off this season. He’s distracted, and I can’t seem to get through to him like I usually do. It’s like… there’s a wall between us.”

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Have you talked to him about it?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I don’t want to push him. He’s got enough on his plate.”

“But you’re his engineer, Bono. If anyone can help him, it’s you. You’ve always had that connection with him, and that’s not something that just disappears overnight.”

He smiled weakly, appreciating your faith in him. “I know. I just… I’m worried about him.”

You scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him in a comforting embrace. “You’re doing everything you can, and that’s all you can do. Lewis knows that too. Sometimes, people just need time to work through things on their own.”

Bono leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Because I know you,” you replied softly. “And I know Lewis. You two will figure it out.”

The bond between you and Bono was strengthened not just by the love you had for each other, but also by the family you had built within the Mercedes team. Toto and Susie Wolff had become more than just colleagues; they were friends, confidants, and the kind of people you could rely on in any situation.

One Saturday afternoon, as Bono was away at the track for practice, you found yourself at the Wolffs’ home. Susie had invited you over for lunch, and it was a welcome distraction from the racing world that sometimes consumed everything.

As you sat in their cozy kitchen, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air, Susie poured you both a glass of wine and smiled warmly. “How’s Bono holding up?” she asked, knowing full well the challenges he was facing this season.

You sighed, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip. “He’s stressed, more than usual. This season has been tough on him, and I think it’s starting to wear him down.”

Susie nodded, understanding in her eyes. “Toto’s been the same. The pressure is immense, and they carry so much of it on their shoulders. Sometimes, I wish there was more we could do to help them.”

“You help just by being there,” you said, smiling at her. “I think that’s all we can do—be there when they need us, listen when they need to talk, and remind them that there’s more to life than racing.”

Susie chuckled. “Easier said than done, though, isn’t it? This sport has a way of taking over everything.”

You both shared a knowing laugh, the kind that only people in your unique situation could truly understand. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, but the underlying concern for your husbands remained, an unspoken thread connecting you.

Later, as you were leaving, Toto arrived home. He greeted you with his usual warm smile and a bear hug, his towering frame making you feel like a child in comparison. “Y/n, it’s good to see you,” he said, his voice full of genuine affection. “How’s Bono?”

You exchanged a look with Susie before replying. “He’s… managing. But I think he could use a little extra support from his team.”

Toto’s expression softened, and he nodded. “I’ll make sure to check in with him more. We’re all feeling the strain, but we can’t forget to take care of each other.”

You left the Wolffs’ home feeling a little lighter, knowing that you weren’t alone in this journey. The Mercedes team was more than just a group of people working together—it was a family, and that made all the difference.

The next time you saw Lewis was at a post-race dinner. Mercedes had secured a podium finish, and despite the stress of the season, there was a celebratory mood in the air. You had always gotten along well with Lewis. He was more than just Bono’s driver; he was a friend, someone you had shared countless meals and conversations with over the years.

As the evening wore on, you noticed Lewis sitting alone at a table, staring into his drink with a pensive look on his face. You glanced at Bono, who was deep in conversation with Toto, and decided to make your way over to Lewis.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, pulling out a chair.

He looked up, a small smile playing on his lips. “Of course not, Y/n. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Lewis. Though I wish it were under better circumstances,” you said, noting the tension in his posture.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s been a tough season. I feel like I’m letting everyone down, especially Bono.”

You reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “You’re not letting anyone down, Lewis. This is just one of those rough patches that happens in life. You and Bono have been through so much together, and you’ve always come out stronger on the other side.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without Bono. He’s been my rock through all of this.”

“And you’ve been his,” you replied gently. “He worries about you, you know. He cares about you more than just as a driver—he cares about you as a friend.”

Lewis nodded, emotion flickering across his face. “I know. I care about him too. I just… I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“You won’t,” you assured him. “Bono believes in you, and so do I. Whatever you’re going through, you’ll get through it. And we’ll all be here to support you, no matter what.”

He smiled, a real one this time, and you could see some of the weight lift from his shoulders. But then, his expression turned serious again, and he hesitated before speaking.

“Y/n, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Something I haven’t told anyone yet. I signed with Ferrari.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt the blood drain from your face. “Ferrari?” you echoed, trying to process what he had just said.

He nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions—regret, guilt, and a touch of sadness. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s been one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. But… I need a change. I need to challenge myself in a different way.”

You were stunned. This wasn’t just a career move; it was the end of an era, and you knew how deeply it would affect Bono. “Lewis… does Bono know?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m going to tell him after the race tomorrow. I wanted to tell you first, though, because I know how much this is going to affect you too.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “He’s going to be devastated, Lewis.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m dreading that conversation more than anything. But I need to be honest with him.”

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “He’s going to be hurt, but he’ll understand. He cares about you too much not to.”

Lewis squeezed your hand back, tears welling up in his eyes. “I hope so. I just… I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, though your own heart was heavy. “He’ll always be there for you, no matter what.”

2024

The revelation of Lewis’s impending move to Ferrari for the 2025 season had shaken the foundation of the Mercedes team. For years, Lewis had been the cornerstone of their success, and Bono’s bond with him was the driving force behind many of their victories. But now, the future was uncertain, and everyone felt it. The 2024 season would be their last together, and the knowledge hung over the team like a shadow, coloring every interaction, every race.

You, Bono, Toto, and Susie had all learned to navigate this new reality, but it wasn’t easy. There was a lingering sadness, an unspoken acknowledgment that an era was coming to an end. Yet, amidst the tension, there was also a determination to make the most of what time they had left with Lewis.

One morning, a week before the season opener, you sat with Bono at the kitchen table, the sunlight streaming through the windows. The house was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the kettle. Bono was deep in thought, his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

“Are you ready for the season?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

He looked up at you, a small, tired smile on his face. “As ready as I’ll ever be. It’s strange, though, knowing this is the last season with Lewis. We’ve been through so much together. It’s hard to imagine the team without him.”

You reached across the table and took his hand in yours. “It’s going to be different, no doubt. But you and Lewis have a bond that goes beyond just racing. That won’t change, no matter what team he’s with.”

He squeezed your hand, his expression softening. “You’re right. It’s just… I want to make this season count. I want to end it on a high note.”

“And you will,” you said with quiet conviction. “You two have always thrived under pressure. This season will be no different. And no matter what happens, you’ll have me, Toto, and Susie to support you.”

His smile widened a bit, and he leaned across the table to kiss your forehead. “What would I do without you?”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied, smiling back.

As the 2024 season progressed, the knowledge of Lewis’s impending departure loomed large, but it didn’t stop the team from putting their all into every race. The camaraderie between Bono and Lewis remained strong, but there was a bittersweet undertone to their interactions. They were still the formidable duo that everyone knew and respected, but there was an added layer of poignancy, a sense that they were savoring each moment, knowing that their time together was finite.

One particularly memorable race weekend was in Monaco. The team had arrived early, and as always, Toto and Susie brought their son Jack along. Monaco was one of the more family-friendly venues, and Susie had asked if you wouldn’t mind watching Jack while the race preparations were in full swing.

You had always loved spending time with Jack. He was a bright, curious little boy with a contagious energy that never failed to lift your spirits. As Bono and Toto were engrossed in race strategy discussions, you found yourself in the paddock with Jack, his small hand clasped firmly in yours.

“Auntie Y/n, can we go see the cars?” Jack asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Of course, little man,” you said, smiling down at him. “But you have to promise me you’ll be on your best behavior. The garage is a busy place.”

“I promise!” Jack exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement.

You led him through the paddock to the Mercedes garage, where the team was making final adjustments to the cars. Jack’s eyes grew even wider as he took in the scene—the sleek silver cars, the engineers in their headsets, and the general hum of activity.

“Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You knelt down beside him, pointing out different parts of the car and explaining what they did. Jack was enthralled, soaking up every word. At one point, Bono looked up from his work and caught sight of the two of you. He smiled, giving you a small wave before turning back to the car.

Later, after the race, which saw Lewis take a hard-fought second place, you, Bono, and Jack found a quiet spot in the paddock to unwind. Jack had fallen asleep in your lap, exhausted from the day’s excitement. Bono sat beside you, his arm draped around your shoulders, watching the little boy with a fond expression.

“You’re a natural with him, you know,” Bono said softly, his eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Jack’s face. “He’s a good kid. Takes after his parents.”

Bono chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “One day, you’ll be an amazing mother.”

The comment caught you off guard, but in a good way. It wasn’t something the two of you had discussed in depth, given the hectic nature of your lives. But now, with Jack sleeping peacefully in your arms, it felt like a natural progression of your life together.

“Maybe one day,” you agreed, leaning into Bono’s embrace. “But for now, I’m happy just being with you, supporting you through this season.”

“And I couldn’t ask for anything more,” he replied, his voice full of love.

As the season wore on, the inevitable drew closer. Lewis’s announcement to the public about his move to Ferrari had sent shockwaves through the F1 community, but inside the Mercedes camp, the atmosphere was one of quiet resilience. There was no animosity, no bitterness—just a shared understanding that change was part of the sport, and that they were all professionals who would face it head-on.

The races were intense, each one carrying the weight of finality. Bono and Lewis’s working relationship remained as strong as ever, though there was a new undercurrent of reflection. Every strategy call, every radio message, seemed to carry a deeper meaning, a recognition that they were nearing the end of an extraordinary chapter.

In the midst of it all, you and Susie grew closer. The bond you shared, forged in the unique crucible of F1 life, was strengthened by your shared experiences. On one particularly warm evening in Suzuka, after a day of practice sessions, the two of you found yourselves sitting on a balcony overlooking the track, a glass of wine in each hand.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Susie said, her voice thoughtful. “Thinking about next season, knowing Lewis won’t be with us.”

You nodded, gazing out at the empty track, the floodlights casting long shadows. “It is. It’s hard to imagine Mercedes without him. But at the same time, I think this season has shown us all how resilient we are. We’ll get through it.”

Susie smiled, her eyes soft with understanding. “We always do, don’t we? We’re a family, and families stick together, no matter what.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the undercurrent of change was always there, a reminder of what was to come. Still, you took comfort in the knowledge that whatever happened, you had each other.

As the 2024 season drew to a close, the team prepared for the final race in Abu Dhabi. It was a bittersweet occasion—while everyone wanted to end the season on a high, there was also a deep sense of loss, knowing this was the last time Lewis would race for Mercedes.

The race itself was a tense affair, with Lewis and the Ferrari drivers battling fiercely for the championship. In the end, Lewis finished second, just behind Charles Leclerc, securing a runner-up position in the drivers’ standings. It wasn’t the fairy-tale ending everyone had hoped for, but it was still a remarkable achievement.

After the race, the team gathered for a private celebration. There were no tears, just smiles, laughter, and a shared sense of accomplishment. Bono and Lewis exchanged a long, heartfelt hug, their friendship and respect for each other palpable to everyone in the room.

You watched from the sidelines, a mixture of pride and sadness swelling in your chest. This chapter was ending, but a new one was about to begin, and you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together—with Bono by your side, and the Wolffs and the rest of the Mercedes team supporting you every step of the way.

As the evening wore on, Bono found you in the crowd, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Thank you,” he whispered in your ear, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” you asked, turning to face him.

“For being my rock through all of this,” he said, his eyes shining. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You smiled, your heart full. “I’ll always be here, Bono. Through every race, every challenge. We’re in this together.”

He pulled you close, kissing you softly. “Together.”

[teallinum]

Lady Tilley Arnold theory

spoilers alert I guess

The main point of my theory is: Lady Tilley Arnold was her own "deceased" husband.

I know I know, but listen to me, the Bridgerton's makers do everything on purpose, every little detail of the clothes, environment, decor etc. And I have a bunch of prooves for my theory.

I don't know if that's a trans situation or just her wanting to be in that particular social role, but let's go.

1. Ok, the thing I noticed the first. Her cleavage zone looks unsual for the show. Her dresses look a little bit different than everyone's else. Less showing. And even when the cleavage aloows to show some boobs, that part of the dress often seems to be a little bit empty (which contrasts with the usual Bridgerton "push-up the boobies as much as possible" style a lot). Like the dress looks like a right shape, but her chest looks flat.

2. Her room. It's dark colors. Green, brown. Do you know which rooms have the same color scheme in this show? Men's rooms. Anthony's cabinet, Colin's cabinet, Colin's bedroom, Lord Fetherington's cabinet and bedroom. Only the red curtains look a little bit too bright/a little bit off, like if someone added them without redecorating the whole room to just slightly change the mood.

3. "I was married. He died." she said. Not "My husband died" or "I'm a widow", but this interesting wording. Sounds a little bit odd and smooth to tell the truth not telling the truth. Like old me died, new me is here right now.

4. When Benedict meets her for the 2nd time, she's looking at the statue. Again, most things on this show are intentional and meaningful. And that scene took to long to be just random. She's looking at the statue, that looks like a Venus statue. And Venus is who? Feminity, all the woman things. If she was ment to be "not so feminine lady" that won't be a first thing to choose for her to stare at, u know. Then why is she looking at it? Because she's glad to be who she always felt she is. Just a suggetion. Or maybe it's connected to the Androgyny of Venus in some statues? Idk, I'm not a Greek mythology pro, but that seemed to be an interesting scene to me

5. "Well, then you have misjudged me. I am all for brute strength. In fact, I much prefer it to aimless talking" she says. Which is interesting too. And right after that their dance happens. And it feels to me that there happens a conversation without words between them. While they're dancing, at some point she takes the male role and leads the dance. Benedict looks condused at first, but accepts it and they dance like this. (all the females are to the right, all the males are to the left, except for them) Was it "an action" instead of "the words" to discuss something?

6. The music while they're dancing. I've seen some complains of the showrunners reusing the music from the season 2. People say like that was the family moment etc. etc. But I rewatched that scene from the 2nd season (during the Bridgerton+Shama ball when no one came and they danced with each other) and it was not about the family. It was about the harmony, the harmony with yourself and being whoever you feels right to be without looking at what is and what is not appropriate for the sosciety. Which suits Lady Tilley and Benedict's dance if my theory is correct pretty nicely.

7. During their making out scene in her bed, her chest is covered with the cloth. Bridgerton show is usually not too shy to show nudity and if they need to not show female body, they prefer to use pretty underwear, but not such trick as cloth. Interesting, that in a promo for the 2nd part of season 3 she's in the bed wearing the drak robe. Which is again not too Bridgerton-y or feminine.

8. While in her bed, Benedict is on the righ side of the bed and she is on the left one. I was rewatching the older season and noticed that every time they show the spouses' bed there's the husband who's on the left side of the bed (Violet Bridgerton, Mondrich, Bassets, Kate+Anthony). Why? Because that's originally her part of the bed since you know... my theory.

9. "You're MY solicitor" she says to a solicitor when Benedict visits her. Usually solicitor works with male only. In the Queen Charlotte spin-off show Lady Danbury even says that solicitor would probably refuse to talk to her, so she decided not to sign her name saying "Better he think I'm an impolite man". And you know what? At the same time there's a person who looks at the inheritance documents and search for the frauds. What if he has questions to her "husbans"'s will papers and now her solicitor has to provide her some better papers to convince the inspector. "I shall retern with things in order" he replies. She also asks Benedict if he came to "overcharge her as well", so she either has a lack of money or she has to pay her solicitor an overcharged sum. What if it's the silence fee?

10. Well, and their first interaction with Benedict was "My apologies, I thought you were a... - A man?". And that's her first line ever in the show is. You may say "C'mon, teal, she's just a lady with male interests", BUT! the only scene that points at it is this one. She's pretty feminine all the other times and everyone of the ton talks to her like she's a lady. No shade. No judjment (like when they speak about Eloise during previous seasons or Anthony joking on Kate being able to shoot). If that was the point there would be more than one moment/line pointing at that.

I hope you enjoyed my little theory. Anyway, the 2nd part of the season is just in a week from now and we'll find out if I'm right or wrong UwU

Thank you for your attention~

[eralisse]

Brothers Conflict: Season 1 LN - Ch16 Repeat, Sec1

This follows right after the scene I last translated, where Iori kisses Ema during the summer festival. Kaname has just left the two of them, and is now regretting everything...

(Splitting this chapter into each of the 3 short scenes, to give myself motivation.)

Brothers Conflict Translations Index

— I stepped out of the grove.

The face with wide eyes full of surprise. And the face with a cool smile overflowing with confidence. I’d pulled those two faces that were so close to each other forcefully apart.

(I am… an idiot.)

Regret filled me.

The one who had invited her here today was me. Recently, many things had happened, and she’d been troubled, so I’d thought this could give her some reprieve.

…However, to speak honestly, that wasn’t the only reason.

I’d wanted to show her the side of me when I was working, that was slightly different from the usual me. I can’t say that I never felt that way.

That led to this happening. The thing I had dreaded happening until now, the thing I had sworn to prevent from happening, I let happen right in front of me.

(... I’m such a fool.)

Anger followed my bitterness.

I curled my fingers tightly into a fist.

Chiaki: “Kana-san… Hey, Kana-san.”

Suddenly, I heard a voice. Returning to my senses, I quickly turned around.

Kaname: “... Mm, what is it?”

Chiaki: “Don’t ‘what is it’ me.”

It was Chiaki, the youngest of my colleagues at the temple, standing there.

Chiaki: “I’ve been calling you for a while now, you haven’t noticed?”

Kaname: “... Ah, is that right, sorry, Chi-chan.”

Chiaki: “No, it’s not me.”

Saying that, he pointed behind him. There, wrapped in a dazzling yukata, was a woman past 30 years old..

(Ah…)

She was a regular client. A career woman who worked hard at a large company. The year before last, she’d lost her father and came to us for advice, and since then, we’d become close acquaintances.

Chiaki: “Huh… I can’t believe this. That kind of customer rarely comes, you know? If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.”

Kaname: “... Chi-chan.”

I turned again toward Chiaki.

Kaname: “Sorry, can you be that parishioner’s partner for me?”

Chiaki: “Huh? What are you saying, Kana-san?”

Chiaki frowned in displeasure.

Chiaki: “I haven’t fallen so low that you need to give me your clients.”

Kaname: “That’s not it. … Just, I’m feeling poorly. I’d like to rest a bit. Fortunately, this parishioner doesn’t have a nomination for today.”

Chiaki: “You’re not feeling well?”

Chiaki snorted.

Chiaki: “You sure? I can seriously take her?”

Kaname: “... Please, Chi-chan.”

I moved to the side past Chiaki, towards the temple kitchens. Even though it was the day of the summer festival, regular people would not be able to enter. As it were, it was a staff only area.

After entering, I could hear the loud voices from the kitchen. It wasn’t just parishioners coming here today, but also a great number of regular people. The kitchens must be busy with food preparations.

I avoided the lively noise, heading to the opposite side of the kitchen. Before long, I was surrounded by the mouth (口)-shaped hallway, and exited out into a small courtyard. There, it was devoid of other human presence.

(...Hah…)

I took a breath, and went down into the courtyard.

Looking up, I saw a dark, motionless sky.

— Overlapping with that sky were Iori’s eyes.

Once again, strong regret welled up in my heart. … Except this time the regret was different from before. It was the regret of not being able to bring the light back into those eyes now drowning in darkness that constricted my heart.

(What should I do…)

[f1united]

Secret - DR3 Imagine

Part 4 to Zoo!

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3

Daniel Ricciardo Imagine

Summary: You share your pregnancy with his family

This contains mentions of pregnancy so please do not read if this is something you may find triggering!

Ever since you and Daniel had taken the digital test, he hadn’t left your side. The confirmation that you were growing a mini Ricciardo inside of you made him smile more than he ever had before, something that you thought was borderline impossible. He had booked a trip for the two of you to spend some time together before he was thrown back into the busy f1 season. It was as though you had just met for the first time, staying up late talking and not being able to keeps your hands off each other wherever you went. When you’d flown back to Australia nothing changed and you felt yourself falling in love with him all over again.

Daniel laid beside you in bed, one arm around your shoulders and the other holding up the precious scan photo of your little baby that had been taken yesterday. Ever since you’d been given it neither one of you could seem to stop looking at it in complete awe. Truth be told there wasn’t too much to see, you weren’t too far along but that didn’t seem to matter.

“Have you thought about how to tell your family today?” you asked, diverting you eyes from the picture to his. Today was the last day Daniel would see his family before you both headed back to Europe to finish preparing for the first race in just two weeks’ time. The annual barbeque had become a tradition and was always a lovely way to say goodbye.

You hadn’t told anyone about your pregnancy yet. You were somewhat scared that if people knew your little secret it would burst this bubble that the two of you had found yourself in. However, you knew that he probably wanted to tell his parents in person, and it was uncertain the next time that would be.

“Not really I just think I’ll know when the times right, they’re going to be so excited” you knew he was right. They would be so excited, and you didn’t have to even doubt for a second that they wouldn’t support the both of you.

“We should probably get up, they’ll be here soon” you didn’t want to move, you could’ve laid like this forever, but you did need to get ready and start the food prep. You slowly lifted yourself up, placing a kiss on Daniel’s forehead as he unwrapped himself from you. It wasn’t until you were on your feet that you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and let out a small gasp.

“Daniel look” his eyes snapped towards you and watched intently as you carefully touched the small bump. You hadn’t started showing much and you were sure that this was just being you hadn’t been to the toilet yet this morning but none the less it all started to feel a bit more real.

“Oh my god” Daniel climbed out of bed and stood behind you, placing his arms and hands over yours to hold the little baby too.

“I suppose I should go and pick out a floaty dress for the day” you smiled. It didn’t take long for everyone to arrive. You had let them all in while Daniel stayed in the garden with his barbeque and his beer. They never came empty handed and you gave them a hand carrying the food through to the dining table outside. His nephew was the first one to greet Daniel, shortly followed by everyone else.

“What does everyone want to drink?” you asked as everyone began to sit down. You figured this way you could pour yourself a soft drink without anyone noticing you weren’t on the alcohol too.

“Another one of these please” Daniel waved his beer can towards you and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’ll have a glass of white wine if you’ve got one please” His mum asked, shortly followed with an agreement of his sister while her husband followed suit.

You turned your attention towards his dad.

“I’ll come in and give you a hand” he replied to which you gratefully accepted.

“Isaac what about you?”

“What have you got” he asked as he ran around the garden.

“Oooooo where do I start, fizzy drinks, fruit shoots”

“Why don’t you go with Auntie Y/N and have a look” His mum suggested to which he nodded his head and ran towards the kitchen while you and Joe followed behind.

You opened the fridge stacked with drinks as Isaac held his hands up for up to lift him up. You placed him on your hip as you went through the different options with him until he decided on some lemonade.

“Now can I trust you to give Uncle Daniel his beer without drinking it before you get there?” you asked. “And then I’ll bring out your drink with mine?” The little boy nodded furiously as you handed him the can and put him down on the floor before watching him run off. You grabbed the lemonade and wine from the fridge and placed it next to the glasses Joe had just got out the cupboard. You felt your chest get warm at the site of Isaac passing Daniel the beer and giving him a hug in response.

“How have you been” Joe asked, snapping you out of your little daydream.

“Good actually” you replied, “Really good”.

“I can tell” he laughed slightly at how smiley you were. “I take it you won’t be having one of these” he nodded towards the wine he has cracked open and started distributing between the glasses. Your evident shock made him laugh once more. “Don’t worry, I got you a wine glass for your lemonade, no one needs to know” he gave you a small wink.

“Is it really that obvious?” You asked him as you finished pouring yours and Isaacs drinks.

“Not at all you just have this unmistakable pregnancy glow, Grace had the same thing when she was pregnant with Daniel. I don’t think anyone else has picked up on it” you breathed a sigh of relief at his honesty.

“We were planning on telling you all today” you admitted

“I knew as soon as he sent us those pictures of you away on holiday, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy. Grace insisted you’d secretly got engaged or eloped” you couldn’t help but laugh at his comment. You were so grateful for the relationship you had with Joe, and so was Daniel.

“I hadn’t even thought about that if I’m honest. We had the first scan yesterday” You pulled open the drawer to the left of you and placed it on the side. You knew you would have needed it close by to show the others at some point this afternoon, you just didn’t realise it would be so soon. His eyes filled up with tears slightly as he brought you in for a hug.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so happy for the both of you”

“I can’t wait to see him become a dad” you admitted as you buried your head in his shoulder in an attempt to reduce the tears.

“What am I missing out on here?” Daniel voice shocked the both of you as you let go of Joe and looked at the Australian walking through the kitchen towards you.

“We were just talking about how great of a dad you’re going to be” Joe smiled at his son as Daniel looked between the two of you slightly confused. “Oh come on she didn’t tell me I can just tell, I don’t know how your mother can’t. It just takes one look at the two of you to know there’s something going on. Plus, the last few times we’ve seen you, you haven’t been able to keep your hands off her belly. Usually they’re on her arse”. You let out a laugh at his comment as he gave Daniel a hug.

“Now lets go and eat, Dan can you carry some of these out?” Joe asked as you watched Dan slide the scan photo into his back pocket.

It wasn’t long before you all tucked into the food and spent the afternoon chatting about old memories and making new ones. A badminton tournament had broken out at one point, then Isaac had decided he wanted to go swimming so hopped into he pool with Daniel for a while.

It wasn’t until the sun started to set that you remembered you had dessert in the fridge.

“Ill come and grab them with you” Daniel stated as he got up from the table and held your hand as you both walked into the kitchen. The second you were out of sight from the others he pulled you in for a kiss. You giggled slightly at the taste of beer on his lips.

“What was the for Ricciardo?” you asked him as he hugged you tightly.

“What I’m not allowed to kiss my girlfriend anymore? The mother of my child?”

“Keep your voice down” you reminded him as he trailed a few kisses down your neck and collar bone. “Seriously what had gotten into you?” You giggled as he looked up to meet your eye, you could see the tipsiness dancing around them. “Your mum brought over some champagne for a toast to you leaving, I was thinking we could open it with dessert and tell them then?” Daniel nodded in front of you, almost immediately appearing to have sobered up as he planted his hands on your belly.

“I love you so much” he told you as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you more” you told him as you shared a kiss once more.

Joe began to fill up the champagne glasses once you’d both returned to the table as you began to cut everyone a slice of the cake you’d brought and it wasn’t long until Grace stood up with her glass in hand.

“I just wanted to raise a toast, to appreciating the time we’ve had with Daniel and to wish him all the best in the new season” Before everyone could cheers, Daniel stood up to and you felt your body become nervous with excitement as he held onto your hand tightly.

“Before we leave we just wanted to say how much we’re going to miss you so we have a picture that we want you to keep while we’re away” Daniel dug into his pocket and handed the image to Isaac first who was sat next to you.

“What is it?” he asked. You point at the small shape in the middle of the image.

“That right there is a picture of Baby Ricciardo” you moved your hands to your stomach and rubbed it slightly. “Who right now is sat in here” Gasps were heard all around the table as Isaac passed the picture to his mum.

“So it’s your baby?” He asked

“Mine and Daniel’s yes, it’s your little cousin” you told him.

“Oh my!” you looked over to Grace who was making her way towards you both with her arms wide open as you got up from your chair to embrace her.

“I’m going to be a nanny again” she cried as the rest of the table got up to congratulate you. “Joe get up your sons going to be a dad”

“Oh I know, she’s been on the lemonade all day” He chuckled. After the evening had come to an end and everyone had said their goodbyes you climbed into bed with Daniel and you both just smiled at one another as you realised that nothing was going to stop the love you both shared and that your baby might just be the most loved person in the entire world.

[brockadoodles]

Let me tell you that I love you (4 +1) - b. boeser

AN: Burn this gif onto my grave honestly. BUT ANYWAYS. Uh decided to write during the Canucks game just in case they gave me pain. And they didn’t, and I finished something. A short sweet little 4+1 for you all. I haven’t written one of these in forever, so i really tried to keep each snippet short. Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 3433

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol briefly 

One 

Brock Boeser was an irremediable fucking romantic. He was the guy who was always more than willing to cozy up on a rainy day with a tragic Nicholas Sparks-esque movie on in the background, never shy at admitting that something as achingly faux romantic as The Notebook could make him weep. He was the guy that all of the cliches were written about, the over sensitive Pisces who stitched his heart on the inside of his left sleeve, ready and eager to give it to someone. That someone, the one who he wanted to give his entire soul to over the last year had become you. 

You were someone he had met by accident, a romantic comedy worthy moment where you both had bonded helplessly at some overly fancy bar where you both had been stood up on dates. He felt stiff in his suit jacket, and you were there in that beautiful navy piece that had him wondering how the stars and planets had aligned in such a way that he was lucky enough to be half enjoying a drink next to you. You had smiled at him, opening the gates for a shitty date turned into a memory he couldn’t wait to tell the story of in twenty five years. One chance meeting had become a date, and more dates after that until over the summer he was bringing you home to meet his parents, where he told you that he loved you for the first time. 

Brock was nervous to take you home but it wasn’t because there was an underlying fear that his family wouldn’t see all of the things in you that he did. He was apprehensive because he knew the backstory of his own life was enough baggage to send someone away, and it had. He had gone through this before, bringing someone home who didn’t want to bear the burden of what life with Brock Boeser actually meant and that loss had shaped his perspective on relationships. Bringing you home was hard, because he wanted so desperately for this to work out, and if you couldn’t take on that baggage, he knew that it wouldn’t. 

Brock felt like he had that nervousness in his chest and stomach for the whole first twenty four hours that you were there. You had flown in late, settling into bed and falling right to sleep next to him. You always found a way to sleep, whereas he was consciously restless late into the witching hour, anxious about the next day where you would be actually meeting his family for the first time. 

He had spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop, that when you got along seamlessly with his dad, he was still uncontrollably on edge. He was watching wordlessly as you sat out on the porch with Duke, a smile on your face as you listened to him, nodding and responding with Easton comfortably playing in your lap. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, seeing his mom with a comforting expression on her face.

“She’s great, Brock. Stop waiting for the bad.” She murmured. Brock turned back to look outside, where you were just reaching a hand to his dad’s wrist and laughing. He felt like the air was exhaling from his lungs the longer he let his mom’s words marinate in his mind. Brock opened the slider door and stepped outside, slowly walking over and pressing a soft kiss to his dad’s cheek, who in return patted his hand reassuringly. He then moved to you, settling into the wicker chair next to you and letting you hand over his nephew who was now reaching for him. As you handed Easton over, it was like everything clicked into place for him. This was what he wanted one day with you, passing over your own child with the sun setting over the lake and family all around. That was the first time he realized that he had finally figured out what love meant, because the feeling struck him harshly. He loved you, and instead of overthinking the feeling, he told you.

“I love you.” He murmured, softly enough that only you could hear it. Your eyes widened and your mouth hung open as if he could see every thought that was stampeding through your mind. He recoiled a bit, diverting his eyes from yours and swallowing back the feelings he had just let escape without thinking about the consequences. You smiled awkwardly, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together. You brought his hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to it, your non verbal way of not reciprocating. It wasn’t until you were alone that you explained to him you just weren’t ready yet, a conversation that felt like a punch to his gut but that he bore with patience and understanding. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple after, reassuring you that he understood what you were saying. You didn’t not love him, you just weren’t there yet, something he could have the patience to wait for. 

Two

The second time that Brock shared with you that he loved you was by accident. It was a classic case of drunk words revealing sober thoughts. Not that his love for you was a secret that he was trying to keep, but instead it was a closely locked away feeling that he was trying to wait to share again until you gave him the go ahead. The wait had been eating him up inside, a small sense of rejection had made a home out of his heart after telling you the first time didn’t go how he envisioned. He loved you, he was so beyond in love with you that he wished for nothing more than to be able to tell you that every second of every day. But you weren’t ready, and his sober self knew that, his wine drunk self, did not.  

It was your birthday and Vancouver had blessed (or cursed, according to most of the people that lived there) you with a dusting of snow. It was nowhere near what Brock was used to from growing up in Minnesota. He was used to long winters where the lake would be a solid sheet of ice that he and his buddies could spend their days skating on, with sometimes over a foot of snow on the ground. 

Vancouver snow was a different story. The small amount was enough to close businesses early, and cause the city to almost shut down until the snow was gone. The mere 5 inches was a lot to people in the pacific northwest, so he watched you with a fond expression as you dragged him down to the park that was near his condo, a pom pom beanie on your head and one of his jackets wrapped around you. 

You both had knocked back almost two bottles of wine, and there was a hazy aura surrounding you as he watched you twirl around with your arms out, catching snowflakes in your hair. Brock grabbed your hand and pulled you into his chest, kissing your forehead and then your nose and cheeks that were cold from the snow. 

“What are you doing?” You giggled, bringing your hand up to rest on his cheek as he looked at you. God, you were his entire fucking world, and once again he didn’t think before opening the box to that thought he had buried in his heart from the summer, the words slipping from his lips before any sense of sobriety could catch up to him. 

“I love you.” He whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips and his eyes searching yours, hoping for a different outcome than the first time just a few months prior. You stepped back from him, bracing your hands on his arms and shifting your gaze away, something that sobered him up completely. 

“I’m not ready.” You mumbled, a sad expression behind your eyes that Brock wished wasn’t there. He tugged you closer into his chest, another soft kiss to your temple as he ran a hand along your back.

“Take as long as you need.” Brock reassured you, more than willing to live by that promise. You were worth any wait that he had to endure.  

Three 

Playoffs were Brock’s favorite part of his job. The rush of the do-or-die series was something that every player loved. He felt like playoffs were the time where his real skills came into view, where he stood on his own as a talented forward instead of in the shadows wondering where his place was. It wasn’t that Brock was insecure per say, he just always felt like he had something to prove, mainly to himself. The Canucks had battled through all of the rounds, knocking out their opponents, leading them here to the Western Conference Finals against Vegas. It was game seven, the last hurdle before playing for the cup, absolutely do-or-die for this season.  

It was everything Brock had been striving towards. It wasn’t a Stanley Cup, but god in that moment it may as well have felt like one. A game seven game winning goal, sending the team to the finals. Every year he had spent plagued with injuries, wondering if he would ever get back to that spot he had been at his rookie year, wondering if he’d ever actually feel like he deserved to be a part of that core that were the faces scattered on the outside of Rogers Arena. He nearly couldn't breathe as the puck passed by Marc Andre Fleury, hitting the back of the net and sounding off the familiar goal horn. Elias and JT were quick to pile on top of him, nearly knocking him backwards into the boards as the rest of the team ran out onto the ice. This was everything he had hoped for, a chance to play for the Stanley Cup and he was in tears knowing it was his goal that sent him there. 

After the game, all he wanted was to find you. He raced out of the locker room, past the press area where thankfully he still had twenty minutes before he needed to sit down for his interviews. He ran out into the tunnel, hair still slightly damp as he searched for you. It didn’t take him long to find you, you were standing near Holly. You turned to face him just as he rounded the corner into your line of view. He watched as you touched Holly’s arm, saying something to her that he wasn’t close enough to read on your lips. You nearly jogged up to him, jumping into his arms hard and sending him backwards as he braced for your impact. 

The two of you stood there for a moment, ignoring the entire commotion around you as some of his other teammates were cheering and coming out. He didn’t care about any of it, he cared about you. You were the one who was there for the worst season of his career, and sharing this win with you was almost more special than the win itself. You grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him hard, peppering kisses after. Brock took this as his moment, another moment where he could share with you just how he felt.

“I love you, I love you, holy shit, I fucking love you.” He mumbled against your lips. You froze slightly in his arms, hesitating before you crashed your lips back into his, hopefully distracting him from the uneasy feeling in your chest.

“I am so proud of you, Brock.” You whispered. He just looked at you and smiled, ignoring the slight feeling of letdown he felt at your lack of reciprocation. You weren’t ready, and he was okay with that. Instead of dwelling he just kissed you one last time to your lips and then your temple, holding you close before he went to answer questions from people he didn’t care to answer to before you all were going to celebrate. The Canucks didn’t win the cup that year, and his first thought after watching the Flyers rush out and hoist the coveted trophy was that maybe the disappointment would fade once he got home to you. 

Four

Brock Boeser was a fucking romantic, and there was nothing more romantic to him than a wedding. It didn’t matter how many he watched in movies, or attended as he got older and his friends and teammates started getting married. No matter who it was, there was something that calmed him about seeing two people so in love and committing to that for their lives. He always pictured his wedding, except it was only ever from his perspective. In his daydreams, he never saw someone walking down the aisle toward him, he only saw himself standing there with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face as he waited for whoever that person was to get to him. It wasn’t until he loved you that the perspective changed, and he saw himself looking at you walking toward him. 

It was Troy and Emma’s wedding, a small gathering just outside of the city and Brock was in a good mood all day. He was humming softly as he drove the two of you there, a smile permanently settled on his lips as the soft sounds of Kodaline came through the speakers of the car. He had one hand secured with yours in your lap and occasionally he glanced over at you, wondering how in the hell he got so lucky to still have you. 

The wedding was beautiful, Troy and Emma both cried softly as they went through their vows, cementing their relationship with that final first kiss as the small group of close friends and families sat in the gazebo in attendance. Brock held your hand the entire time, feeling his chest tighten when you reached up and kissed the back of it just as the vows were being shared. 

He loved weddings, but going to one with you had him tumbling back toward that locked away feeling in his chest. The romantic atmosphere clouded his judgement and dared it to come out for another time to share it with you. Brock made a mental note to stop getting ahead of himself, to stop planning out an entire future with you when you weren’t ready to even say you loved him yet. He tried to push the anxiety away, the feeling that maybe he was the one holding you back, maybe he was too sensitive or putting too much pressure on you to say it back, even though he had only let it slip less than a handful of times. He swore that sometimes he felt it. Sometimes you would look at him just long enough, with your lips pursed and the words sitting right there as he waited, but then you would falter and shake your head a bit, playing the moment off with a smile. He counted so many of those times and they were casting doubt into his chest that maybe he was there planning an entire future with someone who would never realistically be ready, no matter how hard he wanted you to be.  

You could tell that he was in his head, something about the way he was carrying himself through the day had you worried. You watched as his eyes wandered around the reception hall. He was watching everyone carefully and you knew him so well by now that it felt like you were almost inside his head with him. Only instead of letting you hear what was running through his mind, there was a locked door keeping you out. Brock shifted back to face you, grabbing your hand once more and helping you up.

“Dance with me?” He asked. Brock pulled you into his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist as he swayed slowly with you, not paying attention to much around him other than you. He was feeling grateful for a lot of things, grateful that he was able to share such a special day with some of his closest friends, grateful that now the picture of this with you was so clear in his mind, and grateful that you were there with him, dancing slowly around the room. Brock closed his eyes for a moment as you leaned your head into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he moved you around. He pictured all of it, the flower crown you’d probably wear, the smile on your face, and the tears in his own eyes that he would have watching as you came toward him. He pictured every last detail, a vivid dream that he was set on becoming a reality now. 

“I love you.” He hummed, letting his eyes open slowly as you lifted your head. You didn’t even have to say you weren’t ready this time, the slight shift of your eyes had unfortunately become something that Brock was learning all too well. He did what he always did though, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and tucked the box of love back inside, sighing softly to himself and wishing that one day you’d take it.  

Plus One

Brock loved you in all the ways that he ever thought that he could love someone, down to each subtlety of your demeanor and personality. He loved the way you laughed at his bad jokes, the way that you were patient with his dad, and the way you cared so much about the health of the world. But he also loved the bad things, the little annoyances that came with navigating a relationship that was long distance part time, the way you’d sometimes leave a mess at his place, hitting a nerve after a tough loss, he loved all of those things because that’s what made you human and your relationship normal.

This morning wasn’t anything special, there was no event the previous night that had kept you out late. There was no celebration of any kind. You had come over for dinner and stayed, falling asleep tucked under his arm with Coolie and Milo snuggled at your feet. This no doubt was Brock’s favorite way to wake up, and he’d do it for a lifetime as soon as you’d let him. 

Brock always woke up before you, he was often an early riser and whenever you were there he found himself settling in and watching you sleep for just a few moments before he would slowly roll away from you to get up and make coffee. This morning was no different. His fingers drummed along your hip as your eyes fluttered open and his chest filled with the same feeling he only ever imagined existed in an alternate reality. You smiled softly and tucked yourself closer into his chest, a soft and groggy  good morning escaping from your lips. He didn’t have time to think about if you were on his page, he was already writing the rest of the book with you. 

“I love you.” He said. 

He supposed it was just another instance added to the shortlist in his mind of attempts at telling you he loved you. Brock was now zero for four, more than a strikeout on the scoreboard, but Brock was also patient, and didn’t mind a late bottom of the 9th inning comeback if it meant his love was finally reciprocated. He didn’t mind telling you he loved you, because he did, but a small part of his heart cracked each time you smiled and nodded in favor of saying those three words back that he’d do anything to hear. Each kiss to the temple after masking that crack in his chest that was widening, possibly too far to fill in with hope much longer. 

Except this time, your smile wasn’t forced. There wasn’t a nervousness behind your eyes, there was something else. You leaned into him, kissing him softly while your hand tugged at the ends of his hair. Something felt different in this kiss, a calm wave settling into his chest instead of the usual feeling that Brock felt from the previous times he shared this with you. You pulled back, smiling at him brightly. 

“I love you, too.” And those words that fell from your lips didn’t hold a flame to any of the hopeless romances he not so secretly liked to enjoy, he now had the real thing. 

[evienyx]

Hey so uh, sorry that this is kinda a personal question and unrelated to what you usually post but you seem really nice and I was wondering how you figured out that you were ace? I’ve been struggling with this myself for a while now, and was just wondering if you had any advice or something. Please don’t feel obligated to respond or anything, I totally get that this is kinda a weird question and might make you uncomfy, so sorry about that in advance. Thanks!

Well, I’m going to start off by saying that everyone is different. You won’t figure it out the same way I figured it out, just like how I didn’t figure it out the same way any of my friends did. That’s all right. Take all the time that you need.

Additionally, I only really figured this out for myself in the last few years, and one day something may happen that I identify with a different sexuality and that’s also okay. This is not a ‘one-and-done’ kinda thing. It’s all right. This is your thing. Yours.

For me, it was around my freshman year of high school that I started realizing that I had never really gotten to that phase where I started obsessing over anyone. Now, in middle school, even though that was the time when a lot of people around me really started going hard into the dating thing, I never did. I skipped a year in school, though, so it would make sense for me to be about a year or so later than everyone else hopping on the hype train of teenhood, but halfway through my first year of high school, it was still pretty mute.

People around me would joke constantly, say things like “Oh, well, once she gets her first crush, everything will change.” I remember distinctly my cousin asking me if I had a crush on anyone, and then me saying no, and then my grandma patting me on the cheek and saying “You just haven’t found the right boy yet.”

So, for most of freshman year, I sort of just accepted what people around me said, that I was a “late-bloomer” and I would one day fall for someone hard and everything would make sense. 

When the end of freshman year came around, I was quite sure that I was just another straight girl, who would get the whole ‘attraction thing’ soon enough. 

As the months went on, though, I realized a few things.

1. Whatever thing was meant to change, didn’t come to fruition.

2. I was perfectly fine and open to dating someone, but I didn’t care about what they looked like. When friends and cousins and the like would show pictures of actors and talk about how hot the actor was, I’d agree, but almost completely on a baseline objective level.

and 3. I was completely uninterested in the idea of sex. I didn’t seek it out, or care about it. It was barely even spared a thought in my mind.

I started thinking that there might be something wrong with me, or that maybe I had felt sexual attraction toward someone, and I just hadn’t noticed. But the further into the year I got, the more I came to recognize the fact that that was not the case. 

I recall on one specific wet day in the late winter of that year, I was walking my dog on the one day the temperatures were slightly decent, and I was just scrolling through the internet aimlessly when I noticed something that caught my eye. It was a post (which I cannot find) of around two dozen pride flags, each with a name and description of the sexaulity or gender identity it represented.

That day, walking the dog through slush that got melting snow stuck to his paws and mud clinging to my boots, as the temperature prepared to drop below freezing for another week, I learned, for the first time, what Asexuality was.

I had seen the flag before, of course, and heard the term ‘ace,’ but I had never looked into it, thought about it. I didn’t think much of it at that moment, either. I just filed it away and moved on to exhale sharply through my nose at whatever ‘Stonks’ meme came up on my feed next.

Quite a while (as in, literal years) passed, though, and I found myself thinking about the idea of ‘Asexuality’ that I had heard about more and more. 

The one thing that really held me back was the fact that I was fine with the concept of having sex with someone, though I was only really interested in doing it for the experience/intimacy, and possibly in the future to have a child, and I thought to myself, “I can’t be Asexual if I want to have a kid. That’s not how it works.”

Surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly at all), there was one thing that really did it for me in the end, and that was when Muffin ( @muffinlance ) announced on Tumblr (in a post I cannot find) that she was going to be having a baby.

An asexual (married too, so take that grandma!), having a baby. While still being asexual.

I looked into it, discovered the idea of someone being Asexual Sex-Positive, Sex-Neutral, or Sex-Negative. I found out, truly, about the idea of being Demisexual, or Gray Axsexual. The idea of an Asexuality Spectrum was opened up to me, and I realized suddenly that all of my worries, everything that had been holding me back, didn’t matter. 

My Tumblr bio shortly after changed from ‘she/her’ to ‘she/her, ace’ and it was one of the best feelings in the entire world. I don’t quite think I’ll ever be able to describe to someone who never went through the experience of finally feeling like your belong, if only for that one moment.

(also, currently, I’m of the opinion that I am either Biromantic or Panromantic. I’m leaning more towards bi, but I’m completely open still. I also have still not dated a single person ever, so who knows. That’s not what this is about, just thought I’d mention it)

You should take all the time you need, find what fits you. It’s weird to hear, and it’s hard to do, but I’m quite sure that once you find it, you’ll know it.

Last holiday season, while at a gathering with the more intensely religious and traditional side of my family, a cousin of mine sang “I Kissed a Boy,” by Adele, but changed the lyrics to “I Kissed a Girl,” so as not to appear ‘gay’ in any way, shape, or form. 

I noticed a different cousin of mine looking a bit upset while he sang the song, and so I talked to her alone afterward to see if they were all right, and after just a few minutes of speaking about nothing in particular, he came out to me in a hallway at a holiday party when no one else but me was around. And, in return, I did the same and came out to them.

He was the first family member I ever came out to, and that was the first time I truly told someone my sexuality. I told them I was asexual, and they accepted it and we hugged and it was one of the more exhilarating moments of my entire life.

So, in the end, how did I figure out I was ace?

I just sort of did. I feel I could have done more research earlier than I did, but that’s all right. It all worked out. I figured it out, and I promise you will, too. And if you get it wrong a few times before you get it right? That’s perfectly okay, too.

Anyway, one more additional personal thought about something I noticed that I think is kinda weird:

Muffin and her actions and stuff are so weirdly tied to such random core parts of my life. I published the first chapter of Fractures because I was encouraged and inspired when I saw her own stories. I finally figured out my sexuality and felt like I belonged, like one of those flags was mine, because of her. It’s just a bit crazy to me. Thanks, I guess, Muffin.

All right, that’s about it. I hope this helps, at least a bit. 

I wish you the best, anon, in figuring out who you are. You can take as long as you need or want, you don’t need to stick to a choice. This is your identity. This is yours. Not a single person gets a choice in the matter besides you. Good luck, and remember, you’ve always got me in your corner. If anyone ever gives you shit about this kinda thing, send ‘em my way. I did Tae Kwon Do for two-and-a-half years, and I’m also constantly fueled by spite and Twix bars. We’re all here for you. 

That goes for anyone. Don’t be afraid to embrace who you are. I’m proud of you, we’re all proud of you. This is who you are. Enjoy it.

[thefirstknife]

Born of Wrath - Ruins of Wrath

I want to elaborate on this post because I think it's important how the whole boss area is set up.

First of all, the whole Shattered Realm this week feels different. It's just a vibe and some aspects of the whole area. But the boss room is definitely the most interesting.

It's in a Hive warship and the centerpiece of the room is something like an elevated podium from which you have a good view towards the big Taken ball in a strange device hovering in the air. This was shown during the reveal trailer as well.

The rest (with pictures even!) under the read more:

This is the same device located in the Shrine of Oryx:

It almost appears like the one in the Shattered Realm is positioned to look into the Shrine of Oryx from above. This structure, btw, is a communication device that the Hive on the Moon used to talk to Oryx. Now, obviously, no longer used to talk to Oryx and instead, they most likely use it to talk to Xivu Arath. This would also make sense as the Shattered Realm is Xivu's domain. That room is a place from which the Hive in the ascendant plane can communicate with the Hive in the Hellmouth, vice-versa and beyond. Presumably.

And of course, there's the elephant in the room.

A strange dark crystal bound with chains overlooking the Shrine communication device structure. I'm not the only one to be unnerved by this, nor am I the only one to have the thought that this is Osiris' prison. A place where real Osiris is suspended in some sort of hellish Hive version of cryo. The chains are what really sell it to me. If this were bigger, I'd probably say it some sort of a Hive creature being held here for some future boss fight, but the size just doesn't fit.

Furthermore, I've said a few times now, but I am beginning to suspect that Xivu Arath and Savathun are not really the enemies they're trying to tell us they are. It's important to know that the Hive have a very strange and utterly alien social structure. To them, murder and torture are expressions of love. They believe that this is what gives them strength so if you kill someone a lot, it means you love them a lot because you're helping them grow stronger.

Of course, Savathun is legitimately an exile to the Hive. She has practiced heresies. Goes without saying. The problem is that we kinda took her word for a fact that she is being hunted by her sister while not really thinking about how we have no confirmation of this from the other side. We don't know what Xivu thinks. Is she tolerating her sister's heresies for a grander plan? It wouldn't be the first time that Savathun is scheming in order to strengthen the Hive. Xivu knows her sister. I am finding it harder and harder to accept that Xivu would simply hunt her down on behalf of the Black Fleet without thinking it through.

After all, their last known interaction was Savathun preparing Torobatl for Xivu's invasion. They were on good terms. Savathun helped Xivu to obliterate the Cabal. And what was the whole plan with Osiris if not Savathun preparing OUR system for Xivu's invasion? These two are mirrors of each other, but with slightly different execution due to the fact that humanity has something the Cabal do not: Light. So obviously, infiltrating the Guardians required a more careful and insidious plan.

I believe this plan started a long time ago, but was finally fully put in motion, you guessed it, in Immolant. In Immolant, Osiris is exposed to the whispers of Xivu Arath, is drawn out to fight her and is eventually stripped off his Light BUT he is left alive.

There are two points I have to mention that do not align with what we know from Immolant (and Immolant is the most reliable source out of them all):

1. Savathun's speech from week 1 - specifically, the cutscene. Quote: “I found a form more pleasing to your eyes. Osiris was lost. Lightless. I saved him from Xivu Arath and assumed his shape.” This is a lie. Savathun did not save him from Xivu: Sagira did. Sagira's sacrifice is what pushed Xivu's influence away: "Blinding Light erupts from Sagira's core as she splits apart. A wave of Light surges and tears across the chasm. Her sacrifice cleanses every trace of Xivu Arath's presence. The sigil: erased. The cryptolith that supported her projection: destroyed." 2. Page 3 of the new lore book Ripples (still not on Ishtar as of writing this so I'm linking to my post with the relevant bit) - For easier reading:

"Savathun was weak to allow their deaths. To cede ground to the Celebrant; to Guardians." - This is not what happened. Xivu Arath lured Osiris to the Moon, Xivu Arath spoke to Osiris, goaded him into killing everyone and LAUGHED while he did so, because Osiris' rampage gave her tithe. Not only that, but Immolant describes the Celebrant carving a ritual to drain Osiris' Light away and let him die. The Celebrant then leaves. So it wasn't Savathun who ceded any ground.

"The Celebrant steps forward. A massive cleaver dangles from its hand, weightless. The beast carves a rune into the stone on either side of Osiris, its eyes locked with his. It nods to him, and then turns to the sigil.

"All tithes to Xivu Arath. War Dominant. Endless." Its tone is soft rasp and soot."

And:

"The Celebrant drives its sword into the cliffside stone above Osiris's head. The cryptolith erupts in neon flare.

"Die well, Osiris." The Celebrant bows and withdraws from sight into Luna's depths.

Wisps of Light hemorrhage through his skin, trimmed in blood and drawn around the blade embedded above him as if it were a nostepinne spike."

This is very odd. There's a lot of inconsistency and lying going on. Hell, Xivu didn't even take Osiris' Light at all. The attempt was made but Sagira made sure the ritual isn't finished by sacrificing herself. Kelgorath was lied to, both by Savathun AND Xivu Arath to whom he pledged himself (and died for in the first mission during Season of the Lost: Kelgorath was the Wrathborn we fight just before we enter the portal to the Mara & Osiris cutscene).

This, to me, implies that they're in on this together. It's important to note that when it came to the Cabal, everyone thought that Umun'Arath was being influenced by Xivu, but it was actually Savathun doing it on Xivu's behalf. It is possible that all the voices Osiris was hearing were actually also coming from Savathun on Xivu's behalf. But if that was the case, then Kelgorath wouldn't have felt the need to renounce Savathun because she was the one who helped Xivu, instead of "ceding ground" as he claims. This inconsistency makes me believe that Savathun's and Xivu's courts don't really know the full scope and details of their mutual plan. The Hive sisters are literally lying to their own people for the benefit of the plan.

We only have Savathun speaking to us, but never Xivu Arath. What are her thoughts on all of this? What are her thoughts on Savathun? Is she really hunting Savathun at all? Obviously, Xivu would know that Savathun will most likely betray her, but if Savathun lays down the ground work for Xivu's invasion (like on Torobatl), why would she care? She knows her scheming sister well enough. As long as there's war, Xivu will be fed her tithe, making herself stronger and stronger. Savathun's schemes are benefitting her.

Which leads me back to the chained crystal in Shattered Realm.

Savathun's bargaining chip, Osiris. Where is he? Who is looking after this most valuable prisoner while she's trapped in her own crystal? Who would she trust to make sure he stays bound until the time is right? Who has the power to keep him bound while she's playing the game on the other side?

Well, it's Xivu Arath of course. So it would not surprise me for this crystal to really be him, bound and chained in Xivu's domain, under her watchful eye and kept in place by her power.

And, of course, where did we find "Osiris" on the Moon when we went to rescue him? In the Shrine of Oryx. The same place that the chained crystal is located in, on the other side, looking down to the Shrine from the ascendant plane.

I didn't mention it until now, but the post's title is a reference to both Immolant and Shattered Realm. "Born of Wrath" is the name of the first chapter of Immolant pt. 2, where Osiris first encounters the cryptolith, visions and voices of Xivu and gives her tithe. It would be fitting if Osiris' wrath that was "born" in that moment led to his "ruin" and eventual imprisonment in the "Ruins of Wrath."

I am looking WAY too hard into this, but it really isn't a Destiny lore analysis unless I'm a little unhinged. :)

[bakubabes-and-ramble]

Headcanon: The Gundalian culture is based on individualism, the Neathian culture is based on collectivism

Race interpretation part one: Neathia

Summary: The Neathian culture is built on the core values of communities and collective thinking. While conformity within the society is of a high level, they pursue a 'closed gate' diplomacy towards other races - resulting in a 'bubble' phenomenon and becoming vulnerable to losing their sense of belonging. Centralised urban system, with regional reciprocity and redistribution, whereby the Queen plays a coordinator role, and exists as a unifying symbol along with the military.

(Wall-of-text warning ; with block-breaker illustrations, but a huge amount of information ahead.)

Okay, this topic is something I was thinking about for a long time, and I finally hit the point to collect my thoughts and write them down. I've seen a lot of people trying to build up/further and enrich the cultural and social-political features of the alien races we've seen in the series (namely Vestals, Neathians and Gundalians), and I felt some inspiration to put my take on these things into words.

It's not only intriguing to try one's hand on the world-further-building, but I felt, I have to explain how I imagine the build-up of the Neathian and Gundalian culture and society to make the story of the 'Neathian Special Squad' ('NSS') more understandable 'symbolically' and from the aspect of a 'cultural clash'. /For those, who follow the NSS: This is something that definitely happens later on, you just don't know about it yet./

I have to put a small disclaimer here: This entire piece of writing was conspired out of fun and passion towards the series. It was not meant to be a 100% professor approved scientific research, but a seemingly logical untangling of my personal train of thoughts concerning the fantasy creatures of the third season. And this means, there is going to be some personal opinion mixed in as well (especially at the rewriting parts).

I wish the readers to enjoy reading it regardless. You are always free to disagree or not to take it seriously. :) To me, headcanonizing and imagining things always meant to be fun.

Side note: I'll add canon elements as examples or refer to the events of Gundalian Invaders, although I have to admit, I'll do this mostly from memory. So If I get anything wrong, or just remember incorrectly, you are welcome to add-in or correct me! :)

Season: Bakugan: Gundalian Invaders (and Mechtanium Surge)

Language: English dub

Okay, let's go!

Gundalian Invaders - Slightly rewritten

The first and foremost reason I actually started writing this post, is because I had some issues with the characterisation of the Gundalians and Neathians in the third season. One side is depicted blatantly, purposelessly and one-dimensionally evil, while the other is portrayed to be the goodie-two-shoes victims with no backlashes. I wanted to swing over this simplicity and make an attempt at explaining, how I imagined these races to function. These interpretations were explored with the intention of both keeping the main features of the races, staying canon-compliant where possible, but change canon elements/propose ideas to turn the races into interesting (and on a theoretical level functioning) societies.

For these added or assumed ideas to work, some lore elements have to be changed or removed: For example the way Bakugan got to be on the planets. For this explanation see: a further point below.

This post discusses only Neathia for now. (Gundalia will probably get it's own post, as there is much more canon-divergence to be talked about.)

Neathians

1. The beginnings and core values

Due to the power of the Sacred Orb, almost the entire planet have relished in a lush fertility since the beginnings. (And this is why there are huge plants in their jungles. The wildlife also experienced a great upsurge by the life-force of the Orb.) This prosperity quickly enabled the Neathian race to organize into a peaceful and sharing society, because the wars over resources became redundant and unnecessary. The established racial mindset reallocated the focus from the individual needs to the communal efforts, and gives a ground for the Neathian values and collective thinking up to even the days of the season.

Neathians think mainly in groups: Let those be pairs (e.g. Fabia and Jin as fiancés; Linus and Neo Zipperator as brawling partners), teams (Neathian Special Squad; Friendship circles), communities (Castle Knights), and the biggest of them all, their entire race. These are all bigger or smaller communities within communities, and they play a major role in how Neathians perceive the world and themselves. Being in these relationship structures defines their place, grants them their basic mental frame, which they are able to think in, and not only their resources, but also their goals are shared with each other. This kind of goal assimilation is what makes them really efficient team players, and also provides them a strong social support from a mentalhygiene perspective. This important role of the sense of belonging makes Neathians both empowered while being in close social constructs , and extremely susceptible to losing these connections.

Thinking like this, when Fabia lost her fiancè or Linus lost Neo, their grief extended further than their deaths or the traumatic events. Losing strong bonds like these put Neathians in a technical identity crisis, as it is a part of their personal perception and mental frame which were dismantled through these events. We have seen Fabia going to extremes to retrieve Aranaut - and to retrieve that part of her, which was lost with Jin. Just as when Rubanoid was handed to Linus, a new connection was formed to either replace or continue the old one in a different form. Fabia's communal bonds were successfully restored, when she also became a member of the brawlers.

The Neathian society is based on caring and cooperation to achieve a collective well-being. This is why communities play such a major role in their self-perception and world-perception.

2. Open-sources, but enclosed diplomacy

For most part, I've always imagined the Neathian race as an although proud and generous, but closed society. They share commodities with each other - within their society -, but it is very important, that only within it. The outside world (meaning outside of their habited planet) is fundamentally shut out of these transactions.

I often refer to this phenomenon of enclosedeness as the 'Neathian bubble':

Not only their mindset operates in closed communities, but their diplomacy too. They are generally passive towards other races, missing trust and a reason to pick up the communication /Up until the Gundalians came and the war started/. This perspective could be applied to understand, why could they be more insistent on and better at operating defensive mechanisms (layered shield generator), than initiating communication with the rest of the universe (Unlike Gundalians, Neathians have no ships or bigger means of transportation. Yes, teleportation is accessible for them, but I don't think they use it that often outside of Neathia.)

I treat this as an explanation for why Neathia had only asked for outside help after the second shield generator went down - the situation became desperate and already being involved in the conflict, it was time to try and reach out for aid. According to these headcanons, I also think, Serena wasn't putting - or at least shouldn't have put - faith in the Brawlers so easily. The reason they weren't tested to prove their trustworthiness further than one question, is because she trusted Fabia's judgement. Without the support of a Neathian, outlanders are almost automatically dismissed. Their (or their Queen's) empathy and compassion may overwrite this code, but even by then they have to be made certain by proving the cause.

Just as when Fabia accepted Ren, because she had seen how much he tried to prove himself. Winning Neathians’ trust is supposed to be a big and determining moment, because they ‘internalise’ you into their scoiety.

Neathians are capable of empathy and kindness (this is something they actively practice among each other), even towards outsiders, they just need time and proof to accept them. Trust is just not automatic towards them, and even so they keep their distance until they get used to it.

3. Personal paralel counterparts - Night elves and the Highborne of WoW

When I think about Neathians, I often put them into paralel with the Night elves and the Highborne from World of Warcraft. For most part, I use their artistic motives, architecture, fashion and cultural approach as an inspiration for Neathians, as they are recognised as 'The pretty space elves' in my book too.

Beside the above mentioned, what could be imported from their WoW counterparts is a rather matriarchal social apparat. For example, Neathians traditionally having a Queen, and women being present in the military or in higher positions, playing important roles. //Just as by the Night elves leadership, religious and military roles being traditionally occupied by women (priestesses, wardens, sentinels).//

Another elven impression, which is more or less universal, is their sense of pride (I like to say it as the expression of 'Neathian pride '). Highborne in World of Warcraft are a quite prestigious race and are usually said to be a little 'aristocratic'. I can imagine the Neathians being lightly less, but somewhat similar on these terms, when it comes down to interacting with their own or other races: For example being proud of their appearance (Emphasizing their unique V-shaped forehead with adequate clothing and accessories), structuring buildings and constructs based on aesthetic instead of real functionality (using diamond as the main material of construction, structuring buildings with elegant but futuristic shapes), or being confident and showing immovable standing and opinion on things (towards outsiders).

As far as I know, the Warcraft elves used to be similarly passive and uninitiative - even mistrusting - towards other races too. And in this, it played part, that they also had exclusive access to a powerful source of power and prosperity, the Well of Eternity (an almost one-on-one counterpart to the Sacred Orb).

While the half-tribal connections of the Night elves derive from their ancient bonds with nature and druidism, the Neathian society feels more likely being based on a futuristic envisionment of these social relations. A civilisation that perfectly blends technology (teleportation technology, communication devices) with classic fantasy elements (knights), while still remaining tribal in the core (shared communality is just put into a modern environment). /Although I like to lean more into the fantasy setting, the technical advancement is undeniable there./

4. Overall economy

If we wanted to negotiate about their economy, I would say reciprocity and localised redistribution are the dominant mechanisms of it. The basic definition of economy builds on the premise of distribution of scarce resources. In this case, resources are not scarce, in fact, due to the Orb they are very much prosperous and renewing. This accessibility discounts the value of the traditional market trading, and supports the establishment of semi-centralised recollection and redistribution. The semi-centralisation here means regional production and consumption, whereby the accomodation of the population happens mainly territorialy, but these regional centres still have a connection to each other and the capitol. This economy is based on caring and well-being, and the high level of conformity and trust within the collective society results in a lack of currency usage (so, my headcanon is basically, that they don't use money).

5. Urbanisation and territorial layout

The reason we talk about a more physical apsect of the planets, is because the core values of the races both play a role, and mutually affect how I imagine their civilised hubs being developed. Communities form hubs and cities with strong connections - just like their society!

When I mentioned localised redistribution, I was also refering to the urban structure of the Neathian planet. Important to note, that Neathia is not just a city, or a country - just like Gundalia, it's the entire planet. What we've seen in the show is the capital of their urban system - which makes sense to be technically built around / in the immediate enclosure of the Sacred Orb, for it's the source of the relishing power. Assuming this, along the capital there could be a centralised territorial layout with rural areas (cities, villages), and untouched wilderness (due to the overflourishing flora and fauna; the urbanisation doesn't affect the entirety of the planet, there are a lot of uninhabited/uncharted areas).

Here is a simple schematic illustration of the above.

The rural hubs not having physical connection with other centres due to the dangerous and untamable wilderness (see: Giant plants in the show) could have lead to the advancement of the teleportation technology. The cities are connected through this port-system, and also with the capital, which serves as the centre of the network.

6. The role of the queen and the military

The main purpose of the current Queen is an overall governance with the direct help of a council consisting of the local leaders of the hubs. The queen bears not only a political, but a symbolical importance to the people. The concept of the Queen is a unifying symbol, someone who watches over the nation. The Neathians can stand behind her and being represented by her. But it's important to note, that her status is not as glorified as to be a despotic being, and her power is not extending much further than overall policies, diplomatic representation and helping the transactions of the local leaderships. There is much more power and independence shifted into the regional governance, rendering the Queen's position to be an effective coordinator between them and unifier, who keeps the nation together. /Still thinking about the way the queen is chosen/comes to the throne, but I had the idea of the next Queen being elected by the current Queen, so the order of succession is not based on the Queen’s family, nor being a community vote of the people./

The peace-oriented existence in itself doesn't require a military to exists, therefore I treat the Castle Knights as a mainly defensive organisation. This military serves as Neathia's defenders, bearing symbolic and community building purposes. Among the Castle Knights - just as the name itself suggests - the traditional medieval knight values show up primarily, such as loyality, humility, courage, faithfulness and the act of mercy. In their comprehension, being a Castle Knight is an act of service towards their country and the Queen, and is not mainly for warfare reasons. (To some extent, I assume martial arts and other forms of fighting - even brawling - is essentially a spiritual activity, which they pursue in order to keep their inner- and physical balance.)

As we've seen it the show, I assume the Palace also functions as the military's operation base. The head of the military is the current commander (formerly Jin, recently Elright), and under them operate several divisions with captains as division leaders. The separate divisions are Physical Fighting (both with weapon, like those defensive shock-sticks the guards are using - formerly offensive melee weapons until the fall of NSS - and hand-to-hand combat, e.g. used by Fabia), Technical staff (operating the shield generators and overseeing their areas) and Bakugan Brawling (this headcanon part is still under construction, but Elright used to be the former leader of this, and the reason he was promoted to commander after Jin’s death, is because the Neathians' realisation of the war swinging in favor of the Bakugan fights, so it was logical to put him as the next 'general leader'). /There may be other divisions outside of these, I just put out some ideas here./  Every guard receives education to some extent in all of these fields, but they end up specialising in something.

//The Neathian Special Squad (NSS) had it’s own divison under Captain Pyrehart, they were a special strike team with a unusual task: Staggering, forcing back or just divide the Gundalian leadership’s attention from focusing on their assault. Basically poking them with melee weapons until they either go away, or can’t concentrate on helping their Bakugan on the field and their monsters get defeated. According to the story - made up by me of course - after a tragedic mission this unit wasn’t restored, and the war effort shifted onto long-range fighting with Bakugan, Gear and Bakugan Assaults.//

7. So...where are the Bakugan?

They have been mentioned here and there, but I'm sure, whoever made it this far into this theorising information dump, may wonder at this point: 'But what about the Bakugan?'

My simplest answer is, that I firmly want to believe, both Gundalia and Neathia had a civilised and established culture before the Bakugan appeared there.

According to the original lore, Bakugan existed on the planets since almost the beginnings. Now, this is part of those lore bits I would definitively change during a rewrite: I want to believe, Bakugan only appeared in their very recent history, almost as recently, as on Earth and Vestal itself.

Perhaps a Bakugan lore- and GI rewrite explanation deserved it's own post, but for the further understanding allow me to explain here a little: A similar event of raining cards - what the first season started with - occured on Neathia and Gundalia too, caused by the dimensional boom of Michael Gehabich and his transporter. The twist on this - and the effective solution to the problem of possible timeline inconsistencies - is that although the explosion caused this interference at one point in time, across cosmos and universes time flows differently. So technicaly the result of it - the raining cards and Bakugan being transported into the particular worlds - could happen at different point of their relative times - even years earlier or later! On Neathia and Gundalia it could happened a few years before on Earth, which covers most of the questions of the timeline-consistency /such as Ren being assigned to watch over Linehalt as a child etc./

Bakugan coming to these places has only an added effect: Just as on Earth, they are not (yet?) integrated into the society and culture of the planets so deeply to be any kind of pillar of their existence or basic civilisation. There could be a start (as having specialised researches, technology revolving around Bakugan, taking part in the war,..) regarding this internalisation process, but it still runs on the surface, and not in the 'veins' of the culture.

I hope this breakdown made sense in some form or another. I just felt an urge to pour out the content of my head. Looking back,this became longer and more detailed, than I originally intended, while also surely missing things because there is no worldbuilding without holes or further questions. The attempt to lay down the basics was made regardless haha!

As always, feel free to disagree and follow your own visions concerning the races and worldbuilding. :) This post was made to reflect back my personal interpretation of Neathians - just for fun and thinking out loud.

For the very end, I leave a disclamer here, which was supposed to go at the beginning, but it felt redundant to put there, so here it is:

I tried to approach it from a more sociological side, as focusing on a bigger, overall picture, common features, than create exact statements. (I would rather call this a speculation regarding the features of the races themselves, their core values, common attitudes, mindset - and this doesn't mean other questions are fully out of the picture. We are just discussing things, which can be derived from the features of the society itself, and make up a more or less coherent chain of thought for now. Other 'for fun' or miscellaneous headcanons, like fashion or physical traits will be covered another time.)

Thank you for coming to this TED mambling!

[fatefulfaerie]

A Century Apart Part 1/2

Kakariko without the stench of blood in the air was frankly sickening to Zelda’s lungs. 

She had trouble breathing in the air that took so long to clear, that had forgotten the war of a century prior, that was normal to an entire country of people that had become accustomed to a post-apocalyptic Hyrule. 

When she had first arrived here, Link draped as best as she could manage over his horse, she was frankly overwhelmed with nausea, some of it due to her worry at Link collapsing moments after an unanswered question, some of it due to the blood caked on his tunic, and some of it due to her terrible, terrible, stomach twisting guilt for making it here alive. 

It was night now, and the twelve hours that Link spent recuperating in his slumber had felt to Zelda like an entire week. She tossed around a circular slice of orange carrot as she sat with worry twinging her heart. Normally sitting on the floor to eat as the Sheikah were accustomed to would have made her back hurt, but she paid little mind to her back.

Impa cleared her throat, and so Zelda looked up and across the table. The noise was so familiar that she almost expected to see the Impa she knew, in her twenties and incredibly agile.

Yet this Impa had eyes that had aged, eyes that had faded from a red as bright as cranberries to a hazel, a common side effect of Sheikah aging.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Impa said, wrinkles and all, her face more spotted and much more round nowadays. “I know the carrots aren’t your absolute favorite but you always used to love when I made Seafood Rice Balls.”

Zelda nodded, and faked a small smile, although it came off as a simple pursing of her lips.

“Yeah, I…I remember,” she muttered quietly as she tore away her glance, looking back down at her plate. The scientist within her knew that she was, in fact, hungry and needed food to sustain herself, yet the princess with her wasn’t quite ready for such indulgence, for such luxury. 

She began with a carrot.

It was soft, obviously well-cooked as her teeth bit upon food for the first time in a hundred years. It was buttered and salted and spiced with something she didn’t recognize, something they wouldn’t have typically served at the castle.

She almost forgot how to swallow as the chewed-up orange mush threatened to trail down her throat, but she gulped the single slice of carrot down nonetheless. 

It felt strange, eating, and it felt strange that it felt strange.

She could tell Impa was watching her eat, especially as she dove the chopsticks into the Rice Balls that, over a hundred years, she forgot she missed.

“When was the last time Link was in Kakariko?” Zelda asked, reacquainting herself with the texture and taste of the white rice, the seasoned fish on top of it, the leafy seaweed around it. She didn’t dare to meet Impa’s glance.

“About a week ago,” Impa said. “He came to restock, as he does occasionally. It wasn’t a long visit, though. I suppose he had places to be.”

Zelda nodded, using the cloth napkin on her lap to wipe away any stray particles of food from her mouth. It was almost an instinct, the way she was trained to always be proper, the way her back was straight were she sat, the way she refused to let herself be and just put her elbows on the table. Paya obviously had no problem with it when she ate earlier. Zelda envied her casual manner, living decades upon decades away from a kingdom.

Zelda didn’t expect Impa to reach out and grab her hand, and thus she almost ripped her hand away she was so unaccustomed to it. Zelda looked up.

“He is going to be okay,” Impa insisted slowly and calmly with eyes aged with wisdom. Zelda had no choicest to truly trust them. “He pushed himself very hard to save Hyrule and to bring you back. I would wager he hasn’t slept in days…and the injuries he ignored, well, it’s about time they caught up to him.”

“S-sorry to interrupt,” Paya stammered. Zelda didn’t even hear her come back down the stairs. “It…it’s Link.”

“What’s wrong?” Zelda asked standing up completely panicked. “Is he okay?”

“Oh gosh I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” Paya said. “He’s fine, he’s just stirring. You said you wanted to be there when he woke up?”

“Yes,” Zelda said, nodding, her hand lightly fisted at her chest. “Y-yes, of course. Please lead the way.”

He didn’t look any different when Zelda finished the last steps of the stairs, Link coming into view. His face was still terribly scratched up and bruised. The only difference now was that Paya had-and she would have to ask later how a Sheikah could be so stealthy as to wrap a person’s chest without waking them up-dressed Link in bandages to brace his broken ribs. There was a fair amount of blood on the bed from the gash on his leg, but it seemed to be well-sewn up now, the wound cleaned and covered with a fresh bandage. There was also a half-empty bottle of a familiar dark purple elixir, a common painkiller among Hylians. Zelda used to use it for headaches.

She could she the way his blue eyes had begun to shine through eyelids. The room was dark, lighted only with candles that smelled of lavender and honey. It seemed so long ago that they had brought Link in, Zelda suggesting they keep the main lanterns in the room doused so that Link could perhaps sleep sounder.

“Link?” She asked as she stepped forward, the combination of her lack of stealth and her thin brown sandals making the wooden floor creak.

She knelt at his bedside and repeated her query.

“Link,” she said. It was now a whisper, like she was pretending to be the lover she never was to him.

The fatigued hero hummed as he blinked open his eyes lethargically.

“Zelda,” he said, softly in his half-awake state with a small smile. The former princess assumed it was because he knew of her presence before his head rolled over to her and he flipped out with wide eyes. It was as if someone had put smelling salt underneath his nose, the way he bolted upright.

“P-princess! I…” Zelda watched with equal parts awe and glee as he ignored the extremely likely pain in his ribs to fix his messy bedhead. Not to say he was in any way successful. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Link,” Zelda said, in such a soothing way that Link froze immediately. It may have also been because she placed a hand on his cheek. Zelda gently guided him back down to lay on the pillow.

“You look fine,” she assured him. “And you are in no condition to do anything but rest.”

Link’s icy blue eyes pleaded for something Zelda couldn’t place. They looked at her, studied her in a way Zelda wasn’t used to.

“Princess, I…” he began, but his words faltered, as if his intended sentence just walked off a cliff, accidentally ran out of room on the ledge and was now falling and forgotten. “I would like to call you Zelda,” he finally said. “Is that all right?”

Zelda nodded, and had to keep from tearing up.

“Yes,” she said, water making her green eyes shine like emeralds. “I would actually prefer that.”

It looked as if Link had something else to say, and yet he hesitated with a hitched breath. Zelda hesitated too, not what to say, but whether or not it was fair to reveal that she could read him like a book. It was a byproduct of their time together a hundred years ago, a time he may not have any recollection of at all, a time he may even be scared of. It was for those reasons that she demonstrated her patience instead, taking his hand and fooling herself that she was conveying her care with her eyes.

“I remember you, by the way,” Link said.

Zelda shifted slightly. There were so many memories between them and so many things that could be assumed between the memories that she couldn’t help but fear what story he had construed.

“I remember you not liking me,” Link continued, Zelda sighing, opening and closing her eyes with a slight cringe. Of all the things for him to remember. 

But he didn’t stop there.

“I remember you warming up to me and us becoming friends…at least I think.”

Zelda had looked down at her hand, the way her thumb ran up and down his palm.

“Do you remember anything else?” Zelda asked, tilting up her head. Link seemed genuinely out of answers and that’s what broke her heart the most.

“Is there something I should remember?” Link asked. Zelda shook her head.

“No,” Zelda said quietly, detaching her hand from Link’s. “It’s nothing of consequence.”

She moved her hand to his forehead, brushing aside a lock of his dirty blonde bangs. 

“I’m glad you’re recovering well, Link,” she said softly. “I’ll leave you to your rest. We can talk more later if you’d like.”

She stood up to leave but didn’t get far, Link’s hand grabbing her wrist and seizing her heart.

“Wait,” was the word he spoke to explain himself. Zelda turned her head to look over her shoulder. She couldn’t help but be surprised that Link had indeed, meant to grab her, was entreating her with those soulful blue eyes, deep as an ocean and filled to the brim with conflicting emotions.

“There’s more to it than what I remember,” he said. “There’s…well there’s how those memories make me feel.”

“What do you mean?” Zelda said, turning her body but refusing to kneel at his bedside, her cautious heart already shattered enough to not risk being broken even more.

“Whenever I remembered something that happened between us,” Link began. “I would try to draw you, would try to capture your beauty, but the image of you was always fleeting. Sometimes I forgot whether your hair was truly blonde, whether your eyes were brown or green, whether or not freckles dotted upon your nose, your cheeks, what the shape of your face was. But each time I tried to draw you I felt like I was getting both closer to and farther away from perfection.”

“Link,” Zelda said as she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t either at first,” Link continued. “I didn’t understand why I was so enthralled by your beauty, why the sound of your voice twinged my heart, why the thought of your touch made me feel the warmth of my blood.” 

Zelda knew what he was describing, and she knew it well. It was for that reason that she couldn’t believe his words, that she searched within her lungs for the ability to breathe.

“Link,” she said breathlessly, finally kneeling down. “A-are you saying…?

She couldn’t even finish her question but Link nodded nonetheless.

“Once I realized it was a crush,” he said. “I tried to ignore it, telling myself that nothing in my memories indicated anything more than an obligatory friendship, that it was disrespectful to think in such a way of someone who was royalty, but…” He bit his lip. “No cliff was as easy to descend as the one that dictates love. I fell quickly and I fell fast. It felt familiar too, like something was in ruins inside me but this time, it was simple to salvage, to rebuild and to…” Link chuckled. “I can’t think of another word.”

Zelda was speechless, her mouth slightly parted and her eyes frozen. Link didn’t expect his declaration of love to be so paralyzing.

“I-I guess I,” Link said, continuing in the absence of Zelda’s words. “I kind of got the feeling that you also have similar…” Link looked for another word, but it didn’t exist in his brain “…feelings…” He inwardly cringed. “So I figured I would bring up the subject...but maybe I...shouldn’t...have?”

Zelda was quiet, almost too quiet, before she stood and finally said five words, five words that left Link in the dust of such an anticlimactic response.

“You never talked this much,” she said, before shooting him with green eyes filled with conflict and pity and turning around to walk back down the stairs.

[bleulone]

i love your analysis so much! i have a question as well, like, how do you envision polin's sex scenes ? thanks for your answer (:

    Hey! Thank you very much :)) I have no idea if they are that even good but I’m happy you like them. It’s just my brain tending to produce some iNsIGhiTfUL analyses though they usually end up drowned under a huge wave of stupidity and horrid spelling/grammatical mistakes XD. So, about Penelope and Colin’ sex scenes, I guess we’re getting spicy in this house 🌶. I mean, I don’t blame you. Who’s not hot for Polin ?! The steamy Polin hours have already begun and they’re legit challenging my patience. (Be still my Polin heart, be still).

   Okay, without further ado, let’s talk about sex baby, shall we ? It’s a pretty long answer/meta so bear with me.

    I don’t know if you’ve read Romancing Mister Bridgerton, but a quick reminder (for those who haven’t... yet), there are a bunch of iconic steamy scenes that I’m dying to watch on screen. First we have the famous “thank you” scene where Penelope, now a 28 year-old spinster, asks Colin to kiss her because she doesn’t want to die without having been kissed... then ends up thanking him— which happens to be humiliating for our 33 year-old boy because he thinks that she thinks he did it out of pity while he absolutely did not. The man definitely felt butterflies in his stomach... and in other places as well lol. We also have the ICONIC carriage scene where Colin gives Pen’s generous bosoms™ the attention they deserve. This is followed by his proposal. Later on, after the announcement of their engagement, there’s a pretty hot make-out scene on Lady Violet’s sofa. Finally, we have their first time in Colin’s bedroom, after sneaking out of their own engagement party... which leads Colin to push the wedding date forward. At this point, I just love their horniness, especially Colin’s who’s just so freaking amazed by Penelope for more than 300 pages straight (duh! who isn’t ???).

    When you say envision, I suppose you mainly refer to the way those scenes will be filmed right ? I’m afraid I don’t have an advanced knowledge in film-making but let me start by telling you what elements need to be depicted. I would love Shonda and Chris to capture the real essence of our boos’ feelings : the yearning, the love, the respect and the guilt (specifically on Colin’s side) in their eyes. The more we move forward throughout the seasons, the more we see different layers of the perceptions of they have of each other, going from a childish idealization/immature ignorance to a sudden realization. A mature one. Penelope goes beyond the facade of the charming devil-may-care guy to meet the seriousness and temper of her significant other. Meanwhile Colin discovers how confident, powerful and attractive this woman is and always has been. It echoes what I’ve written about the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story in this meta. By the time season 4 hits, man... their heart eyes and eye-fucking will jump OUT XD, all fibers of their beings, burning with need. The fact that this evolution took literally years is very emotionally painful, which is why I find it important to keep the slowness aspect of their relationship before and during their love making. I’m really looking forward a slow build-up toward their intimacy. It would differ from Daphne and Simon who merely shared one hell of a kiss in Lady Trowbridge’s garden then shared their sexy times after they married or Anthony and Siena’s rough sex... In fact, there’s a certain (sweet) ardent tenderness in Polin I like due to the fact that they’re slowly (re)discovering each other, as adults. Since they were both introduced in season 1, the audience will have all the time in the world to notice numerous evidences of the many natures of love they have for one another : from an affectionate and friendly love to a more carnal and enduring one.

    Okay so, in terms of filming, with Netflix’s Bridgerton being a show which promotes the female gaze, it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise watching those sex scenes being shot from Penelope’s perspective, like it was the case with Daphne in the first installment of the series. Most of the time, sex scenes in Historical Romance are not gratuitous. Their presence serve an important purpose in a hero/heroine’s journey. In Penelope’s case, they’re here to help her learn to embrace and love herself. In other words, sexuality is synonym of freedom. I don’t know if they’ll show a lot of skin, but I won’t be complaining considering the fact that we’ll have the chance to get a chief kiss treat on screen : a plus size woman in a major successful Netflix period drama getting a love story as romantic and steamy as other more “fit” female characters. No, your weight doesn’t prevent you from being desirable at all. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t watched a plus-size female character portrayed as an attractive protagonist in a period drama (please if you have, let me know, I can be wrong). Having a beautiful half bare curvy body like Nicola’s being equally filmed like numerous slim actresses will be so inspiring and powerful to watch, especially for (young) women who struggle, like Penelope, to love their body shape which, to them, doesn’t “fit” the “beauty standards”. By showing her female gaze and portraying her as seductive, Pen’s “supposed” imperfections transform themselves into mighty assets, loved and worshipped by our dashing Mister Bridgerton. That’s body positivity at its finest darling ;).

    It will be deliciously erotic watching the undressing process being exquisitely slow, garment by garment, while their gaze are all heated and hungry. Their sex/make-out scenes should be tender and passionate, sweet and raw. The lightning, colored by a dark blood orange yellow or a blue depending the locations^^. Moreover, the depiction of the exploration of Penelope’s desire can translate itself thanks to multiple close ups. For instance, I can imagine a few ones on Pen’s fingers gently roaming over the smooth skin of Colin’s firm chest and back/touching his hair right after he removed his shirt. And a disheveled Colin letting his hands and lips making a journey of their own, mapping, conquering the alluring unknown territory that is her gorgeous voluptuous body... kissing her on the places he knows oh too well will give her pleasure (is this me wanting him to go down on her?— um yeah I sure hope it IS! If he doesn’t, trust me imma riot... AGAIN). Even a close up on her face while Colin is performing his addictively pleasing torment will be a marvelous proof of the female gaze. By the way, why not even adding a post-coital scene after their first time ? I can picture Penelope waking up first and contemplate her handsome soon-to-be husband. She’d bring her hand to his face and let it travel all around his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, his neck and let it rest on his heart— making sure that what she’s just experience was real... obviously, Colin will wake up in the process and he’ll take this as his cue to go for another round of sexy times under the sheets.

   Showing Pen reaction is essential according to me because she was stuck with the idea that she would never experience the luxury of being loved, giving pleasure nor receiving it... she ended up being happily wrong. Throughout her multiple intimate encounters with Colin, I want her to progressively realizes that she can be an active partner. In the carriage, she knew she had an effect on him, but it’s not until their first time that she actually realizes it. Hence the reason why I WANT the mirror’s introduction in one of their sex scenes. Here’s as a little reminder an excerpt from chapter 18 :

“I want to see you sitting up," he groaned, "so I can see them full and lovely and large [about Pen’s breasts]. And then I want to crawl behind you and cup you." His lips found her ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And I want to do it in front of a mirror."

“Now?” she squeaked.

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. "Later," he said, and then repeated it in a rather resolute tone. "Later.”

   It would be such a shame if the show doesn’t use the incredible potential of this object (/kink). I mean, the symbolism is pretty clear. Penelope has always fled her “ugly” reflection but it seems like Colin wants to show the real her, the beauty that holds every single inch her alabaster skin and the effects they have on him. Thus, I would love to watch a scene where Colin just praises the alluring goddess and siren that is Penelope Featherington. Just imagine! Just IMAGINE the power of this scene : a shirtless Colin sitting behind her on a bed, meeting her gaze in the mirror, his lips touching her right ear, biting and licking the lobe sometimes, whispering all kinda of dirty yet poetic words to her while letting his hands caress her thighs, her hips, her arms, her lovely bosoms™... oof. At the same time, a wonderful and harmonic instrumental music will play in the background and match the melodic partition of shudders, breathes and moans let out by our lovers. I can imagine Luke inspiring himself from his performance in the 2019 short film, Youth In Bed. The way he conveyed the awe and the yearning on his face, in his eyes with his mouth slightly open when he knelt before his partner Shun Yin was just captivating and— and so Colin! I cannot help but bring myself to picture Ethan, the character he played in YIB, in a Polin steamy scene. I cannot unsee this anymore jsksk. I mean, all this gifset radiates this book4chapter18!Colin, you cannot tell me otherwise!

    Also, I would love Shonda and Chris to keep Pen and Colin’s cute/emotional pillow talk. One thing I really love in JQ’s books is the concern she gives to her male protagonists about potentially hurting their partner during the act of penetration. Colin is a rake, and what his experience with women taught him is that he needs to be very gentle with the love of his life. It was so adorable seeing him not wanting to harm her and asking her to tell him if he does anything she doesn’t like 🥺. Plus, before actually doing it, Colin and Penelope shared a few kisses and just laid down side by side, confessing their love. Though our boy kept feeling guilty about not returning her love after all these years. He desires nothing but to make up for the lost time and show his love and desire during this special intimate moment. I hope they’ll keep all of chapter 18’s dialogue. It’s just so telling of our boos’ feelings, you see.

    All in all, I can’t wait to watch those Polin steamy scenes. As much as I may sound crazy, I want them after two other seasons of pure pining and yearning in order to have a very good payoff. I’m not an expert on depicting intimacy on screen, but I loved so far what Lizzy Talbot, the intimacy coordinator who worked on the show, have done in season 1. Sex scenes in Bridgerton seem very real and dive you in the intimacy of the moment, leaving you all flustered and hot. So probs to her! I have faith in her work and have no doubts about what her and the directors will serve us in future seasons. Though, in the end, I think it’s mostly up to the actors, Nicola and Luke, to see if they’re comfortable filming sex scenes.

    If you guys have any suggestions or wishes for those steamy polin scenes, please do share them :) by commenting on this post or by sending me asks! I’d love reading your thoughts/take on this very important matter ;)) 

[suckjasmins]

The love story Part 1

A/n soo im rewriting this story lol i just felt like i could do better so yeah and sorry for being gone for so long (if anyone noticed) i didnt and still dont have wifi, I only have it when my sister is home and she works lol so it will take time for me to post

edit: guess who has wifi bitches!!?? this bitch right here!!

Pairings: Bakugou x Reader

Word count: 2069 (nice) words

Warnings: none lol

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Only the sound of the rain and the thunder was the only thing anyone heard. It was one of the few days where it rained and usually would be celebrated. Living in the desert like place, only heat and blinding sun was regular. A rainy day was like a blue moon, and everyone, celebrated it. The kids would play in it, the young adults would party in it, the elders would simply stand in it and converse with one another. Music and laughter would be the only thing anyone heard. This day was the opposite however, and the reason for it? More than half of the village was gone, they were on a hunting trip that should only lasted for a few weeks. It had been a few months now, and everyone was beginning to lose their hope of the hunting group returning. The only ones left were, children and elders and a few adults that had stayed for different reasons.

You were one of the adults that stayed, your reason was that you fell sick right before leaving. It was then decided that it was too dangerous for you to leave the village. It took all of your friends to convince you to stay. And let's say you were furious that you had stayed, especially now that the group were now gone. But you were not the only one who's heart were filled with rage and sorrow.

The warriors and the dragons had left to hunt the orcs who had dangerously been inching in close to the village. The whole village thought that if they could get rid of the orcs now. All would be safer, and the orcs didn't have the recourses to go to war now, so why wait until the orcs can?

You sat on the floor at the opening of the tent. Watching the puddle, you thought about how hot it still was when it was raining. You thought about your friends, and what you would be doing if they were here. You probably would be dancing and partying in the rain. And nobody would be able to hear the siren over the music, unlike right now when it was going off. The siren that only was used to important things, to signal when a new season started or when someone returned home-

When someone was returning home after war or after a long time...

You looked up, towards the mountains and right there, in the middle of the mountains. A group of people were walking towards the village. They were too far away to be able to see who they were, but everyone knew. It was them.. Getting up, you started to run towards to the group of people, standing and watching them. You pushed your way to the front and your vision started to blur from tears. Even though it was still raining, even though it was still dark from all the clouds. It felt like the sun was shining, like the rain now was a sweet reminder of the parties that usually held place here.

The group were closer now, and you could clearly see how hurt they all were. The few dragons by the humans was transformed to their human shapes. Almost everyone were limping, and helping each. other to walk. Finally you could not hold yourself back and you broke out of the crowd. A few kids following you, you made you way to the group. The first person you saw were Mina, your long time best friend. And by her side were Eijiro, one of his wings were bandaged.

"Mina! Eijiro!" you screamed out as you neared them. You stopped a step from them and you went to hug them when you realized that that wouldn't be the best.

"Are you guys ok..? Is it ok if I hug you or..?" you fidgeted around, only you three stood there, everyone walking around you.

Mina chuckled and leaned forward, hugging you. You hugged back, squeezing her hard until she slightly winced. It felt like you hugged each other for hours, rambling about different things. Like how much you missed each other.

"Hey.. when is it my turn for a hug?" Eijiro whined behind Mina, crossing his arms and playfully pouted.

"Now's your turn" you let go of Mina and turned to him. "Come here big guy" you squeezed him just like Mina. You two also stood forever and rambled about things. Just like when you were younger, he always felt like home. You also would stand there forever if Mina hadn't interrupted the two of you.

"The Bakugous is about to start their speech, let's get over there, then can you two continue your hugging party." she nodded towards the scene where Mitsuki Bakugou, the village leader, or queen, was about to start her speech. Walking towards her, you blended into the crowd already there. Mitsuki Bakugou stood in the middle of the scene, her husband, Masaru Bakugou stood slightly behind her, a supporting hand on her shoulder. On her other side stood Katsuki Bakugou with his usual scowl on his face. Mitsuki exchanged a few words with Masaru before turning her attention forward.

"Everyone... We'er finally back from the hunting trip that were only supposed to last a few weeks. It was hard but I'm glad to tell you the exiting news. When we arrived to the last sighting of orcs, we saw that there were a few who had made camp there. We fought them off our land and got information on where the main camp was. When we arrived, we were shocked to say the at least. There were a lot more than we thought there were going to be. We had to make camp and discuss our new battle plans. But then we were ready, and we fought. And... even though it was a big possibility that we would lose a few soldiers... WE LOST NONE!" a big cheer broke out and people started to almost party right there and then. Mitsuki with only her hand silenced and calmed down the crowd. "We fought bravely, many of us were hurt and are going to be treated shortly after this speech. We have now gotten rid of the orcs that harmed and threatened our land. And luckily... the mating season has not started yet. It will begin in a 2 short weeks along with spring. I feel like this year is extra special, and we will treat it like it. Now just a few words from my husband and from my soon then you can continue to reunite with your close and loved ones" she finished her speech and stepped to the side. Her husband and her switching their places. He cleared his throat and started with his speech.

"Even though my wife has said almost everything there is to say, I have a few words. I want to say thank you, for every brave soul that followed us to fight the evil. It is only with their help that we could defeat the enemy without losing one of our own. And for anyone wondering... the harvest has been good this year. And along with the animals we hunted on our way back. We have more than enough food to relax without the need to hunt. We will celebrate the beginning of spring with a feast so big it will last for days!" he laughed and the crowd cheered again. The thought of being able to properly relax and the thought of food, making everyone happy. Mitsuki then pushed her son, Katsuki, to the front. It was then you noticed his arm were wrapped and hung around his neck. It was clearly broken, you looked around and noticed a lot of people had broken something. But thankfully Mina or Eijiro hadn't broken anything. Eijiro was only bleeding from his wing but otherwise was okay.

"I would like to say... It was brave of everyone to follow on this trip, to risk their life for each other. And now we can celebrate it" his words were short and you could hear how he didn't mean any of that. Or maybe he did but was too tired to say it. Everyone clapped and Mitsuki clapped Katsukis shoulder. She whispered something to him and he scowled. The Bakugou family left the stage and almost the whole crowd turned to the direction of the medical tent. You walked with Mina, Eijiro had left to find Katsuki Bakugou, his dear friend.

"So Mina, are you excited about the mating season?" you asked her, as you walked together.

"Ah... I don't know actually... I mean Eijiro competed for me last year and well, I don't know if he's going to do it again" she answered, she stared ahead at nothing. You got a brilliant idea, almost like a lightbulb went off in your head.

"Why don't you compete for him? I mean it's tradition that couples compete every year and imagine how happy he would be!" your eyes shined as you awaited for her answer.

"Omg... Y/n I love you!" she grabbed your shoulders and shook you back and fort before hugging you. "And it can be a surprise too!" you laughed along with her.

"I'm really happy for you, you know? I don't think your or Eijiro could fins a better match" you smiled warmly while Mina gave you a cute pout.

"That's so sweet... I have to do something for you now!" she gasped and pulled you with her. "What if... I help you find someone to compete for you or someone for you to compete for?!"

"Ah... Mina, there isn't really anyone I'm interested in.." you sighed, you never really thought about dating or anything like that. But it wasn't the first time someone told you to get a date.

"I know I know... but if there's someone who would be a great match for you? It would be Bakugou!" she almost yelled out, which resulted in you covering her mouth with your hand.

"Shush! You can't just yell that!" you shushed her, she only giggled in response. "And.. Bakugou..?" you slightly blushed.

"Yes yes! I was with him a lot during this trip and you'er perfect for each other!"

"But I don't really know him? Like at all?" that was a lie, you did know Bakugou. Or at least you knew him when you were younger. You and Bakugou were thick as thieves when you were children.

It was only after he started to really bully Midoryia that you had told him to stop. Before that you would also tease Midoryia, call him Deku and laugh along with Bakugou. When you became 5 you got close with Midoryia, and started to be his friend too. And at the same time Bakugou only bothered Midroyia more. You would try to protect Midoryia but would always run after Bakugou, laughing and playing with him. Until you stayed, and told Bakugou to stop. It was the first time you were deadly serious and Bakugou only let out a tch before leaving. After that day Bakugou started to ignore you, and would bully Midoryia as much as you could.

But now, you had grown up and you pretended that you didn't know Bakugou. Like you never talked to him at all. A lot of the elders knew of your friendship, but never discussed it. The people your age didn't know, mostly because they weren't there when you were younger. It was like your friendship with Bakugou was in an another life time.

When you and Mina arrived at the tent, you saw a long line of people waiting. You let out a sigh and turned to her. You scanned her up and down and tilted your head. She wasn't really hurt, only scrapes and dirt on her skin. She didn't limp or act like anything hurt.

"Mina, are you hurt? Or why are we here?" you asked, not knowing what her answer would be.

"Oh not really... But I have a nasty cut on my back that need to be cleaned" she shrugged, and turned to stand in line. You lit up.

"That's great!" you exclaimed, before wincing. "I don't mean it's great you have a cut but I have stuff at my place. I could patch you up there!" you smiled.

"Oh really? Great! Let's go" she turned swiftly around, already heading to your tent.

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance

Here it is!!!!! First chapter of my first fic on my new AO3! This is a multi-chapter, slow burn work. Please let me know what you think, I welcome screaming and incoherent asks about our fave special agent in my inbox. Full text under the cut, or you can find it through the AO3 link below.

AO3 link

Summary:  You're the BAU's newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 1, Coffee Stains and Neckties

Words: 2388

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Warnings: Not much for this chapter specifically, but let’s just assume general gore and murder stuff, explicit language, and sexual content are fair game form here on out.

Enjoy! I’ll try to update weekly, if not more often. I’ll let you know when I have a more defined schedule!

“Fucking SHIT!”

You cursed as you felt the (very, very) hot coffee soak your new skirt. Grabbing as many paper towels as you could with one hand, you tried to sop up the mess on the floor. The stain on your outfit? A shame, but nothing compared to marring the assuredly expensive cream color of the BAU’s breakroom carpet.

A low chuckle sounded off behind you, and you froze.

For the love of god, please don’t be…

“Morgan! Please tell me you have carpet cleaner, oh my god. I don’t even know how that happened.”

Morgan grinned, as he typically did, sauntering into the breakroom with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, the janitor's got it later. I was looking for you, team meeting in five. You all good? You look a little - ” he paused, probably searching for a descriptor that wouldn’t sting too bad, “ - rushed.”

You stood up, sighing. He was right, after all. You had stayed up late last night poring over psychology textbooks and only just woken up in time to leave your apartment. As the BAU’s newest profiling intern - whatever the hell that actually meant - the pressure of performing to seasoned profilers’ standards manifested in spending practically all your free time buried in research. Hence why your hair was coated in unbelievable amounts of dry shampoo, you were wearing your unflatteringly oversized glasses instead of your usual contacts, and why your frantic attempt at pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you got into work had resulted in the giant wet spot currently soaking your skirt.

At least the skirt was black.

“You’re right. Late night,” you said, rolling your eyes at Morgan’s suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Not like that, I wish. Just trying to catch up. Don’t really want to repeat last week’s disaster,” you mumbled, referring to the first time you actually got to question a suspect, which had ended up with a wad of saliva hawked in your face. It was only your third week in the position, but damn, if that hadn’t let the wind out of your sails a bit.

“Hey, what did I tell you then?” Morgan asked, as you walked out of the breakroom together. “You’re not a true profiler until you get assaulted by a serial killer!”

“I’m not a true profiler until I finish the year long training program,” you pointed out, “so I think I could do without the spit in the meantime.”

Morgan laughed, opening the door of the team’s briefing room for you. “Well if we’d known you were gonna be so picky, we might have gone with someone else.”

“Who’s picky?” asked Emily, looking up from her seat.

While Morgan laughed and launched into a dramatic retelling of the event as if the entire team hadn’t already fucking seen it in real time, you took your seat at the table. Reid nodded in acknowledgment, and you returned it with a small smile. Damn if he wasn’t handsome, and ridiculously smart to boot, but you were pretty sure your chances with him withered and died when you asked him what he was doing after work last Friday and he answered with, “Reading.” Point taken.

Hotch swiveled in his chair to face the table and you suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a mess you probably looked. It’s not that you cared about his opinion regarding your general appearance beyond the basic standard of professional attire, but his always-intense gaze and stony expression had a way of making you second guess even your most confidently held opinions.

“Sit,” he said, his voice cutting through the rest of the team’s animated chatter.

It would have been hard not to notice how quickly they obliged, not out of fear, but rather a respect and deference so deeply ingrained that it almost gave you goosebumps. You’d never thought of yourself as a follower, per say, but if Hotch was what a leader looked like, you certainly didn’t fit into that category either.

He scanned the table, stopping on you. “New glasses?” he asked, with a single, slightly raised eyebrow.

“I, um, not really, just didn’t have time to put my contacts in,” you stammered.

“Hm,” Hotch said, “They look nice.”

Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, and you thanked him quickly, looking down at your shoes to conceal the pink that was probably spreading across your face. Hotch had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like the absolute truth, which was probably why such an innocuous little compliment had disarmed you so much.

Still though, jesus christ. Get it the fuck together. You’re not Reid; you’re not smart enough to be this awkward.

Hotch, blessedly ignoring how painful you just made that interaction, addressed the team while JJ passed out files. “We have a new case. Three bodies, all found completely drained of blood in various woods, off hiking trails. Cause of death appears to be blood loss from severed carotid arteries, meaning they were likely strung up and drained before being moved to where they were discovered.”

Reid spoke up first. “Erm, what exactly do you mean by various woods?”

“That’s the unusual thing,” Hotch said, pulling up a map of the southwestern United States on the screen behind him. "Each body was found in a different state, one here, one here, and one here,” pointing to spots in California, Arizona, and Nevada. “However, local police discovered the bodies within hours of each other due to anonymous tip offs, and medical examiners estimate approximately the same time of death for all three.”

Morgan whistled lowly. “So what you’re saying is, this guy kills three victims around the same time and takes a road trip to hide their bodies in places he knows won't be discovered until he calls in.”

“That’s how it appears, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Rossi shook his head, twirling a pen that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. “So, how are we splitting this up?”

You whipped your head in his direction. Splitting up? Of course, you should have known it’d only make sense considering the ground to be covered, but your quick mental calculations told you that there were six of them, evenly split into three groups of two, and one odd man out, both in skill and number - you.

“So, who’s getting stuck with me?” you asked, trying to beat everyone to the punch. Not that any of them would voice it, but if you couldn’t project confidence, you figured self-awareness would do.

When you entered the internship as a recent college grad around a month ago, you knew you’d be in way over your head. Everyone else on the team was a seasoned expert, and you were a 20-something with a degree in psychology who somehow managed to charm her way through the interviews of the BAU’s flagship internship program. It’s not that you weren’t smart, you were, of course, but comparatively? You were pretty sure this was shaping up to be a glorified babysitting program, and you were the baby.

“Oh, hush,” JJ said, smiling and shaking her head. You smiled back. JJ had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, which you were unspeakably grateful for. Between her and Morgan, you sometimes felt like maybe when this year was done, you could actually belong on this team.

Hotch interrupted your pity party. “Rossi, you’re with Reid in Phoenix. JJ and Emily, you’re going to Vegas. Morgan, you and I are going to San Diego.”

He turned to you. “You’re coming with me.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. You knew he had the most to teach you, and you could observe him coordinating the entire investigation from San Diego, but the idea of your performance being directly scrutinized by your boss in such a small group made you more nauseous than excited.

“Please be aware,” he continued, “Garcia is going to have to deal with three times the inquiries as normal. I recommend you only contact her if the information you’re searching for is genuinely too difficult to find yourself.” He gave Morgan a pointed look, to which Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“We’ll drop teams off as we go,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

____________

As you settled into your seat on the plane, your mind spun, trying to review every piece of psychology knowledge you’d ever encountered. This wasn’t your first case, but it was the first one you got to travel for, which made it feel much more real.

The hours ticked by as the team reviewed the case. You contributed - not much, and nothing they wouldn’t have thought of without you - but it was something. Narcissist, craves attention and spotlight, physically confident enough to detain and murder three women at the same time. The method was throwing the team for a loop, however. Bleeding the victims out was clinical, relatively painless - uncharacteristic of the sexual injuries found on the corpses and the bravado with which the killer executed the rest of the crime.

When you, Hotch, and Morgan trudged off the plane in San Diego, you had been going at the potential profile for hours and even Morgan’s patience was wearing thin.

“Look, Hotch, let’s hold off on speculation until we see the crime scene in person, alright?”

Hotch nodded, and took that as a cue to head straight to the crime scene. You groaned internally - having barely showered this morning and spent half the day on a plane, your greasy hair and coffee-stained skirt would have greatly benefited from a stop at the hotel to freshen up.

It’s not like you have to look good to go stare at a patch of dirt where a dead body used to to be though, right?

____________

Turns out the aforementioned patch of dirt was actually a wooded grove off a hiking trail leading to a nude beach, much to Morgan’s delight. The site itself was uninteresting except for the way the body had been buried - covered up very securely, implying remorse, another characteristic that didn’t make sense with the initial profile.

This commonality between all three crime scenes was hotly debated on the video conference between the entire team when you got back to the hotel. Cross legged on the bed in Hotch’s hotel room, you listened to Reid and Rossi snipe back and forth on the laptop about what the burial method could mean for ten-plus minutes (“It’s clearly just a functional tool to properly hide the body, Reid.” “But you don’t know that, the significance of burial practices can tell us so much more beyond function, it can even tell us about his religious upbringing…”) before Hotch put a stop to it.

“What do you think?” Hotch asked you, turning and looking directly into your gaze. You were suddenly hyperware of the proximity between you two - sitting close enough on the edge of the bed that your thighs were almost touching. Morgan had abandoned his position on the other side of you to stretch out in the armchair by the window halfway through Rossi and Reid’s debate. Hotch’s eyes boring into yours from only a few feet away and the expectant silence of the other team members on the video call spiked your heart rate, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I… agree with Dr. Reid. I think it means something. The position of the hands, they were crossed across the chest, right? He didn’t need to do that. I don’t know if it means he was remorseful, but it was on purpose. I think.”

Hotch nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Let's move forward with that theory.” He turned back to the laptop. “Let me know how interviews with the loved ones go tomorrow. Let’s find the connection between the victims. Call me if you need anything.” After shutting the laptop, he turned to you and Morgan. “Let’s call it for tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 7 tomorrow.”

Having been excused, you and Morgan made your way to your hotel rooms next to Hotch’s. Morgan wished you goodnight, and you unlocked your door and practically sprinted into your shower.

After you got out, you looked around the room, towel drying your hair. It was nice, much nicer than anywhere you’d ever stayed. The abstract art on the walls and the modern, clean white lines of the furniture were lit by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the ocean. You poured yourself a glass of wine from the minibar (a reimbursable travel expense, right?) and stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the ocean air.

“Nice night, hm?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink down your front for the second time in less than 24 hours. Hotch was sitting in a chair on his balcony to the left of yours, reclining with his hands behind his head. Despite wearing nothing but your thin hotel robe, you felt the urge to avert your eyes from him. His suit jacket was shucked, tie undone and hanging around his neck, and the top two buttons of his white, collared shirt were unbuttoned. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have, like the cold stoniness of his exterior had shifted just slightly and allowed you a glimpse underneath.

It’s just a couple buttons, calm down. You’re the one who’s barely clothed in front of your fucking boss.

“It is. Shame we can’t go to the beach,” you replied, keeping your eyes forward.

Oh my god, three women were murdered and I just complained to my boss about not being able to go to the beach.

“You’re welcome to get up early and go tomorrow; might be a bit cold,” Hotch replied. You could tell from his voice he was smiling.

You mumbled in affirmation, continuing to avoid glancing in his direction. “Well, I just wanted to see the view, um, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight, Agent Hotchner!” You ducked back into your room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle before you slid the door shut.

After getting ready, beating yourself up mentally for your complete social incompetence, and tucking in under the plush, white duvet, you drifted off to sleep.

[impaladolan]

Capture - Grayson Dolan [1/-]

summary: a typical morning run leads to a new life of monstrous things you’d never want to speak of in front of your own mother.. ;)

warnings: not exactly smut— but some bdsm elements, swearing, and a kinda short little chapter for this soon-to-be series!

YOUR rapid breaths aligned with the pattern of your feet created a musical rhythm for your excessively beating heart to follow, your lips muttering numbers that you really didn't know why you were counting. You could see your breath in the shallow light that cascades from each lamp-fixture littered with moths and flys that linger still in the early midst of the morning. The exuberating feeling of the cool air entering and exiting your lungs each moment was what you lived for. Though it was the very first task of the day, it was all around your favorite. To wake up around four in the morning and run a couple miles before six o'clock made you feel on top of the world. And it never feels better than it does in the fall season, where the autumn leaves decorate the ground beneath you and the air frigid but nice against your rosy cheeks. You always dread when the winter came, needless to say that you've fell a time or two on the slippery sidewalks of New Jersey in the middle of January. But that didn't stop you, though your tailbone suffered for a month or two.

But this morning's air felt different.

You couldn't necessarily put a finger on it, but it just had an off-putting feeling that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise.  Maybe it was the obnoxiously loud barking dog yanking on it's bound chains or the screeching pussy cat settled in a tin garbage can, it all just felt eerie and ominous.

Subconsciously, you decided to take a breather break and have a seat on a nearby bench. Your chest rose and fell at a quick pace, much like your running, as you sat yourself down, soon to study the area around you. Tame Impala soothingly played through the earphones engulfed by your ears, a soft humming of the lyrics coming from your own mouth as your breaths began to steady. It was incredibly nice out, with barely any wind and a chilled atmosphere surrounding your active body was the perfect mixture for the start of a day. It felt almost too nice..

Yes, you appreciated the lyrics and productions of Tame Impala's songs, but if it weren't for those soft rhythms, you would've heard the obvious crackle of a broken, stepped on stick not too far behind you. You would've heard the soft breaths that heaved and hoed around you. Even the ever so quiet chuckle of a presumable man's presence hidden in the creeping darkness. So when this dark figure approached your sound persona, you had no clue. It came to you as a surprise when the sudden pressure of a cloth clashed against both of you airways. Only out of fright did you largely inhale the calming scent that made your eyelids droop. You faded in and out of consciousness, remembering the little details you could grasp at the few times your eyes were open. One moment you felt as though you were quite a bit taller, maybe thrown over a giants shoulder. And another, where the cushiony seats of a fine smelling vehicle wrapped you in a warmth you didn't know your body needed. But after hearing the faint click of a seatbelt, your body was limp and useless, so your eyes permanently shut out of fatigue and tiredness.

-

It feels like a dream, it has to be a dream.

To wake up in such a beautifully furnished room surrounded by a puffy duvet and comfy pillows laid beneath your head was far from what you last remembered—which wasn't much at all. You remember waking up, getting dressed and heading out for a run, as usual, but the rest was too foggy and it made your overbearing headache worsen. So instead of focusing on how you may have gotten in such a lovely room, you exchanged your thoughts to where your are in the meantime. It was no secret that you were definitely settled in someone else's bed, distinguishably a man's since the colors of the room were neutral and gray. Tall glass windows that cover the entirety of the wall on your left where showcasing the glimmering rise of the sun, but it wasn't very bright considering the drowsy overcast that hung around.

It kinda fit your mood, actually.

But nonetheless you needed to figure out how to exactly leave the nice comfort of the mattress you were sprawled across. Though, the attempt to leave was absurd. Your limbs ached as much as your head does, which is a great amount, and it felt near impossible to even lift your head in the slightest. So with a sigh of defeat, you retire back to your former position, except this time there was the view of the unmoving ceiling.

Contrary to your aches and pains, your body jolted upward when the loud, intrusive sound of a heavy door opening invaded the large space around you. You didn't dare look to your right, towards what could be the reason you were in such a place. The spaced out footsteps that smacked against the marble flooring, due to lack of footwear, became near and you just couldn't resist the slight opening of your eyes.

Low and behold, an angel of a man stood before you, with a sheepish grin and a button nose. He was shirtless, thankfully, but his lower half was covered by a pair of dark sweatpants that nicely shaped his long legs for him. His chiseled abs and biceps that were proudly on display almost seemed like a magazine cover, even his narrow jawline contributed to beauty. You suddenly felt your eyes widen and your body heat rise extremely quick. Oh god, his glossy hazel eyes that scoured your sleep-ridden face made your core almost want to explode. Your cheeks turned red by the immediate aroused thoughts that clouded your brain. Never did you ever think you'd find a capturer so handsome..

"Morning, sweetheart.." And his voice, ooh, it cut the air with a deep masculinity that you weren't even sure if you could handle any more of it. It took a second before you could finally come to your senses and realize that this man could possibly be the one that had taken you when you were off guard and oblivious to the plans of someone or some man.

You briefly coughed before announcing, "I'm not your sweetheart, sir.." It felt weird talking, almost foreign. Your throat was dry and scratchy while your mouth was the same, it was hard to even move your tongue, but you managed your sassy remark. "Not sir, Daddy." He corrected with a stern look. In an instant your entire face was engulfed by a dark red that made your eyes water with surprise and shock.

Daddy?

You've never thought to call anybody this absurd name, not even did you call your own father daddy. It never occurred to your liking, but this struck different. The way his lips formed the word and how his voice rasped made your body fall into a spell of tinglings and your core had never ached so bad— you were in need to at least touch it, or relieve the consuming pain it withheld. "Excuse me?" Your shivery voice belted, though it contrasted against your lingering thoughts and bodily needs. "You heard me, sweetheart. If I hear you call me anything but Daddy, you'll be ruined and punished. Understand?" He was stern and sexy at the exact same time, and your head was in a whirlwind. While one part of your wanted to bolt up and slap him, the other majority wanted to test him, maybe actually make him punish you.

"Oh, but sir? I'm not exactly sure if I do understand.." Oh god, the fury that came across his face when the lack of a name was present in your little sentence. You almost thought he'd kill you right then and there, but the tightness in his jaw slacked and a smirk rose on his lips. A scream was caught in your throat when you felt his large hands lift you out of the overwhelming comfort of the duvet, and sprawl you across his knees with your ass fixed high up in the air. At that moment, you noticed the black, silky nightgown you've never seen or purchased before, that clings to your body quite nicely. But the thought vanished when the same pair of hands lifted the ends of the gown and scrunched it all the to your chest. You gasped when his fingers lightly touched your regrettably soaked folds before he pulled the matching black silk thong down your slightly shaking legs.

"It's clear as fucking daylight. Maybe you need a lesson on how to actually fucking listen to instruction, yeah?" He growled while his hand clutches your right ass cheek with a firm grip. His anger had only increased the slippery mess that your core withheld, but you could never admit to that. "I'm quite sure I know how to take fucking instructions S—A-aah!" The pain of an uncalled smack against your ass silenced you from any snood remark you could muster. "Better shut that loud fuckin' mouth of yours before it gets you in some more trouble." He seethed, repeating his actions, but the harmful truth to it was that you, in fact, enjoy the pleasureful pain he was proceeding with, one slap at a time until both of your cheeks were a rosy red and your nipples were sharpened to their farthest extent. God, you never wanted to be fucked more than you do in this moment.

But he had other plans.

Although, the plans didn't exactly involve you. He roughly picked you up and laid you back onto the bed, the sight of your hazy eyes and the longing look on your face almost made him want to fuck you right then and there, but he sadly restrained. He swiftly walked away, to where he presumably came from in the first place, but he stopped mid-step to turn around and demand one last thing.

"Don't you dare fucking touch yourself, sweetheart. Or you'll be sorry you even came by those flimsy fingers of yours." His last words had you feeling worse than before and made you want to "break the rules," because whatever he would do to you would be ten times better if he were mad, right?

to be continued...

(masterlist)

[ultrahpfan5blog]

Reflecting on Superman and Lois season 1

Now that the season is over, its interesting to look back at a very stop start season. Its very difficult for a show to hold your interest with the type of scheduling problems this show had, and in its very first season. When the show was announced, I wasn't terribly surprised but I was also not overly excited. There has been a lot of Superman and Superman adjacent material that has come out before and after the announcement so I did wonder about what they could do new. In addition, while I certainly liked Tyler in his guest appearances in Supergirl, in Elseworlds, and in Crisis, he did feel like the inferior Superman in Crisis when he was opposite Brandon Routh's Superman who really looked and felt like Superman, even better than he did in Superman Returns. However, once the trailer dropped, I was sold. It was clear that the show was going for something a lot more cinematic and a lot more grounded than the previous Arrowverse shows. I did have some apprehensiveness over the teenage boys angle because teenagers can become very stereotypically irritating in shows and given that a good chunk of time was going to be dedicated to them, it was going to be vital for them not be so.

Having finished the season, I have to say that the execs and the writers have pulled off an excellent first season. I don't think I would call it the best season 1 in the Arrowverse. I still love The Flash season 1 over any other Arrowverse season and while I haven't seen it in a while, I love Arrow season 1 as well. This may come at 2nd or 3rd place based on further reflection. I do think its has some issues when it comes to the villain storyline and with the big action set pieces, but the film's heart is set at the right place and the characters are all very likable and you want to see conversations between the characters. That's when you know that the writers are doing a good job when you almost feel that the show should go back to the character moments.

Firstly, the idea of a matured Superman is what works wonderfully well. There is something wonderful about seeing Clark and Lois as a couple who have known and loved each other for over a decade. Closer to two decades I guess. Characters don't quite look their age tbh. Lois would have to be in her early 40's at least. But I can honestly overlook that. Bitsie and Tyler were already a very likable couple in Elseworlds and the show has just used that natural chemistry to brilliant effect. But the big relief was that Jordan Elsass and Alex Garfin are excellent as Jonathan and Jordan. I was initially a little worried that Jordan could be a little much, but both of them were excellent and one of the highlights of the season was the bond between the two brothers. Jordan and Jonathan have conflicts but they are brothers and they love and support each other unconditionally.

Jonathan could have so easily been the douchey, jealous brother but Elsass is honestly one of the mvp's of the season. You really care for Jonathan, even though he arguably has a slightly less meaty role in the story. I think Bitsie Tulloch is outstanding all season. She has shot up very high among all my favorite Lois Lanes. She's very different from the other versions and that makes her stand out. One of my favorite episodes was episode 8, which deals with Lois dealing with memories of her miscarriage along with almost losing Jonathan. She is excellent in that episode as is Elsass. Tyler is wonderful throughout. He's a strong Superman but his Clark is even more endearing. Little things like him being so psyched for the Harvest Festival, how he plays young Clark in flashbacks as someone distinctly different, him meeting Lois and working with her for the first time, the adorable "my mom made it" moment when Superman first saves a kid etc... He just embodies everything you know and love from the character. Wole Parks is another terrific addition. Initially you think he's an alternate version of Lex Luthor but it was genius idea to have him actually be John Henry Irons. There was something innately likable about him even when he was fighting Superman and we thought he was Lex. I loved how they handled the dynamic of being Lois' husband in another world and having a daughter. It makes for an interesting dynamic but it never gets into problematic territory because he is mature enough to know that this Lois isn't his Lois, but they also show his difficulty in dealing with that. I liked the bond he seemed to be forming with Jonathan. And I liked how he came along to be an ally with Superman.

The Cushings are ok. They play an important part in the season with Sarah Cushing being Jordan's love interest and Kyle being a big part of the how the villain story begins, with Lana also being a major character in the story. All three actors are excellent but Kyle does have the stereotypical doucheyness which was a little annoying for the first 10 episodes, however he does redeem himself in the final arc. I hope Lana gets to be a bit more active in the show because she does feel like a bit passive as a character. However, I did find that Sarah and Jordan romance actually pretty cute. Both actors did a nice job making them feel like awkward teenagers, dancing around their feelings for each other. Sam Lane is another character who starts out pretty unlikable but I warmed up to him by the end.

Where I think the show doesn't really work at full strength is the superheroic aspect of the show. The character drama in the show is great. I think it works gangbusters. The superhero plot of it all is a little meh. While Adam Rayner is perfectly fine as Edge/Tal-Rho, as a character he's just not that interesting. There is an interesting perspective there that he's sort of a mirror image to Clark where he got mistreated by people when he landed on Earth and that is how his worldview shaped that way, and he longed for family, but there isn't enough done on a character level with him. As a result, the last third of the season was a little iffy. The whole, build Krypton on Earth felt like a variation of Zod's plot in Man of Steel. The method is different but the eventual outcome is the same. I also don't know why all Kryptonians, apart from Lara, are homicidal maniacs, when they are said to be a peaceful race. The arc also becomes repetitive because there are like three climaxes. And I feel the finale was the weakest climax of the lot. Episode 10 or 12 would have served as better finales with a little tweaking. If I remember correctly, the original order was for 13 episodes and it got extended to 15, so this might be an explanation to why it feels this way. The action is fairly by the numbers. While it looks like there is clearly more money on display here than say for Supergirl or The Flash, the action scenes aren't particularly exciting or inventive.

While I am not super high on the finale, I am mostly happy with how things wrapped up. I think they should have had Tal-Rho die tragically because I really don't think he's interesting enough to be brought back again. The arrival of Natalie Irons will surely be a source of some emotionally charged scenes. i hope there is some character bonding between the her and the brothers. Jonathan seemed pretty interested in meeting her when he saw videos of her. I do wonder how the show will continue to incorporate Smallville as a setting. Season 1 obviously had a very specific plot based reason to be in Smallville, given Edge's plot was based in Smallville. But I can't imagine every big bad will have Smallville based plot. But the characters are all settled in Smallville, with the Cushings and Lois buy half the Gazette and running it with Christy. So that's going to be an interesting balancing act that they have to do. I hope they can bring in some traditional superheroics as well because Superman rogues gallery is rich enough. Out of the episodes, I think 6-8 were my favorites, and the flashbacks in episode 11 were incredibly charming. While the season is not flawless I don't think it completely nailed the superheroic heights that it was aiming for, it was a really entertaining season of tv. An 8/10 for me.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Sakura Blossom (Pt 5 of Torin’s Story)

(A/N: Yay! Torin gets a baff, a shave, and a haircut! This is a sort of intermission chapter where Torin starts to drag himself out of the dark place he’s been locked in, physically and mentally, by refreshing his body. That sounds...weird. But yeah lots of descriptions of wet shaving as I warned yesterday. 

It’s not the most well received idea, but I’m solid on that Torin’s new haircut is the same Late Season 3!Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I promise I’m not giving him a man bun. Just a fresh new look and feeling. Anyway, cheers!)

 Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // PART 5 // TBC

~~~

The tight quarters of the bathroom didn’t leave much room to maneuver. Twice Torin nearly fell face first into the frosted glass of the tiny shower stall as he peeled off his grimy prison greys, tripping on the hem of the pants before he caught himself on the sink’s counter. Once fully undressed he opened the door and adjusted the shower’s temperature before gingerly stepping inside and clicking the stall shut behind him.

The sensation of warm water flowing over his skin felt almost foreign. Torin tilted his face upwards to catch the spray, relishing in the tendrils of heat that drained back from his forehead and over his scalp.  

The Ward Captain had either left in a hurry, or the bathroom had been stocked before he was brought to his new room. A bottle each of shampoo and conditioner sat on the shower caddy, with a bar of the standard issue strong soap that everyone received in their hygiene kits nestled on a folded washcloth on the shelf beneath. 

The runoff from the shampoo stung as Torin splashed another handful of water on his hair to lather it more deeply. The sores scattered across his body protested, the cracked and gashed surfaces of his knuckles screaming as the soap infiltrated every crevice that the injuries created. Instead of avoiding the wounds, Torin took his time with them, ferreting out the embedded grit and scrubbing out damaged and dying tissue to give them a fresh chance to heal in this new, clean environment. Months of dirt, sweat, and blood washed away, leaving his body feeling almost raw in its refreshed state. 

A new start, vulnerable as it was. 

Wrapped in a towel, Torin stepped out with a billow of steam. The collection of clothes in the dresser was indeed quite varied, from jeans and clean prisoner uniforms to cargo pants, T-shirts, and sport shorts. Feeling overheated from the shower, the young man dressed in only a pair of clean underclothes and shorts before returning to the bathroom.

Tendrils of steam still curled lazily from the open shower door, caressing the ceiling before trickling out into the bedroom. The currents they created bloomed small patches of fog on the mirror, the gentle ebb and flow having drawn Torin’s attention. Curious, yet almost fearful of what he would see, the young man reached out with a dry cloth and wiped down the mirror. 

Dark eyes stared back at him, ringed and sunken. His damp hair was still wild and jumbled, matching the rough two inches of snarled beard that covered his lower face. Torin ran his fingers through the scraggled mess of facial hair, tugging on it as if to ensure it was real. 

He had never grown a beard outside of prison, and even inside it was managed for minimal hygiene’s sake. Every three months the guards would take him out to shower, then strap him to a chair in the back of the base’s barbershop. A gruff, mute master sergeant would then shave his face and trim his hair till it was just at regulation length before shoving Torin out into the waiting hands of his guards and slamming the door behind him. The whole process was reminiscent of the first two hours of his arrival at Gil’ead as a forced recruit, a whirlwind of activity and movement where he had no choice of where he was going nor when he went there.

The guards hadn’t done any of that the last two cycles though, only gave him a large bucket of cold, mildly soapy water and a rag to wash up in his cell. Too much to deal with concerning the war than to worry about prisoners facing the possibility of lice. 

Torin scratched at the tangled bristles that obscured his face, frowning. He could barely feel his cheek through it. It looked awful, like an angry mess of thick, curly boar bristles slapped onto his skin. 

The beard would have to go. 

A little rummaging in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror produced more than what he needed. He found a half-full tin of medicated ointment, which he gently dabbed on his knuckles before bandaging them with the plasters tucked beside it. On a lower shelf was a standard shaving kit, complete with spare blades, scissors and a comb for trimming hair to regimented lengths, and what Torin assumed had been the Captain’s rather fine badger hair brush. A puck of dimly scented shaving soap rested in a mug on the counter, a piece of tape boldly reminding the former owner that it was for ‘SHAVING ONLY.’

As the soap and brush soaked in the filling sink, Torin busied himself swapping out the old blade in the kit’s safety razor before the young man turned back to the mirror with scissors in hand. With a wince of pulled skin, he seized a clump of beard, pulled it away from his face as best he could, and slid the scissors in. 

The slow snick as the strands were severed, followed by the chunk of damp hair releasing its hold, was oddly satisfying. Torin settled into a rhythm, slipping his fingers under the tangled mess to move it away from his skin before clipping it. As the pieces came away, scattering across the counter before being swept into the tiny wastebin, something almost recognizable began to take shape. As the final clump fell, Torin raised his gaze to meet that of the man in the mirror.  

He had lost weight. His cheeks, still mostly covered by the now close cropped beard, reflected the years of meager meals served in his cell, so different from the slight softness of his teen years. He reached up and gently felt along the ridge of his cheekbone, feeling for the wire-like scar there. As he did, the changes to his body became more apparent. His muscles had been lean before, but were now almost etched under his skin. His collarbones and shoulders bore the brunt of the sores from his dirty uniform, the rough patches raw from where sweat collected and irritated the tiny scratches left from the sand and grime embedded in the coarse cloth. More scattered across his chest and back, where he rested between fits of tossing and turning in restless sleep on that cold steel cot and concrete floor.    

Torin swallowed. Maybe recognizing the man in the mirror wasn’t a wholly good thing in his current state. He closed his eyes and breathed deep of the humid air, trying to calm the tremors in his hands.

As the shaking eased, Torin retrieved the wet brush, warmed razor and slick soap from the sink. A shave would help him, he was sure of it. It was an unexpectedly skilled task, one that required concentration to be done correctly and safely, never mind done well. The act had always served as a calming start to his day before it all happened, a ritual carried out by men across the whole of Alagaësia that he shared. 

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Torin flung the excess water from the brush and began to swirl it over the puck of soap. Each turn loaded the fine hairs with light froth, building up as the moisture was absorbed. He stopped twice to drizzle the puck with droplets of water, and continued the smooth turning of his wrist until, by feel of the resistance and the sound of the brush alone, Torin knew the foam was instead a thickened paste of froth. 

A sprinkle of water into the mug and he began the long art of building a proper lather. The act brought a tiny smile to his face, the slap of the brush as it circled the mug in quick succession reminding him of long past mornings watching his father shave. Once the lather formed peaks, Torin began working the rich foam into the cropped bristles across his face. Light strokes painted everything white, soft and airy on his damp skin. 

Outside the room, Torin heard Naela speaking to someone. There was movement and a clattering jangle of objects being settled on the desk, but he paid it no mind as he picked up the razor. This was not a time to be distracted. A steady hand was needed now, and for once his did not tremble. 

Tilting his head slightly, Torin set one of the edges of the safety razor against his cheek, right above the gentle ridge the foam created over the start of his trimmed beard. The angle was muscle memory, as was the feather light pressure he applied as he guided the blade with short strokes downwards. After so long, a second pass going against the grain would probably be in order, but for now Torin followed his father’s advice to follow the grain first. It wouldn’t do to have a sloppy shave if the Queen of the Elves were to visit again, no sir.

Every few strokes saw him flip the razor to utilize both sides before swishing the whole thing in the warm water of the sink. It was not long before the first pass was complete, and with a quick reapplication of the still-activated brush, white foam covered his face and neck again.

Moving more carefully now, Torin began the second pass, going against the grain and removing any stray hairs that remained. He could feel the familiar smooth, almost slick texture of the skin that was revealed with each stroke under his fingers as he pulled the awkward sections taut. It felt...good. Felt like normalcy.  

With one last stroke, the final patch of soap was removed. Torin set the blade aside and drained the sudsy water from the sink, wiping the stray flecks of foam away with a hand towel as he watched the dregs slide down the drain. Two cupped handfuls of cool water splashed across his face saw the ritual completed in its entirety, soothing the minor irritation that always came with a close shave. He checked the mirror one last time as he ran his hand over his now smooth chin, feeling for any missed spots.

If it weren’t for the haunted look of his eyes and the wild length of his hair, Torin could have sworn the scrawny young man looking back was him on the first day of bootcamp. His face had matured somewhat since then, but the skinny frame and baby smooth cheeks called him back to those first few days of his forced service. 

He picked up the scissors and rinsed them in the sink before awkwardly pulling a strip of his hair down. This would be a tad more difficult than a shave.

“You look much younger without your beard. Would you like help with your hair?”

Torin jerked, whirling to face Naela where she stood at the doorway to the bathroom. She tilted her head slightly, hands clasped behind her back. “My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.” 

“I-it’s fine.” The young man looked back to his reflection, contemplating his still-damp locks. “...A bit of help would be appreciated. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Naela took the scissors from his hand and led him to the desk chair, which she dragged to the rough center of the room. “Is there any particular way you would like it?”

Torin paused. Part of him simply wished for a return to his previous style, to be able to look in the mirror and forget that anything had happened. To believe that the last years were simply a dream. 

But no. To cast aside the time spent in Gil’ead’s cells would be to cast aside the changes he had gone through, changes that were integral to his sense of self. It would also feel like...a disrespect to the elf woman who set in motion Torin’s new path in life those years ago. 

A thought occurred to him. “One of the Queen’s guards...I think his name was...Macil? D-do you think you could cut my hair like his?”

The smile that graced Naela’s face could be heard in her words. “I think that is going to suit you very well. I will do my best, Aldsson.”

“Thank you.” Torin smiled as well. The elf’s warmth was infectious. “And Naela? You can just call me Torin.” 

The room fell to comfortable silence but for the rasping sound of the scissors through Torin’s hair. The feeling of the comb gently running over his scalp was surprisingly calming. It was nice to just sit for a moment, free from fear.

As the minutes passed, a question drifted into Torin’s mind. “Naela?”

“Yes, Torin?” The elf returned from retrieving a small hairband from her pack, where it leaned against the outer door frame. 

The young man chose his words carefully. “When...when I was a guard, there was an elf woman here.” Naela’s hands, gathering up sections of his hair, paused for the briefest of moments, a stop so short that it was little more than a twitch. “Did you know her?”

Naela gently snapped the elastic around the small ponytail she had made and began trimming down the back of his head. “I cannot say. I heard about her, but do not know much.” She checked the length of her cut and used the comb to even it out. 

“Oh.” Torin hadn’t considered that. It occurred to him that he had no idea just how many elves there were left after the Rider’s Fall. Were there hundreds? Thousands? It was foolish to think that a single elf out of their entire species would be, just by chance, known by his new guard. “...I never even got her name.” Even if Naela hadn’t taken that moment to tilt his head forward for a better angle, Torin would have hung it in shame. “It’s strange, but...I’ve always wanted to know what happened to her. It’s like her face is burned into my memory.”

Naela didn’t respond, engrossed in her work. Torin left it at that, but the questions still swirled in his mind.

It was only a handful of minutes more before Naela gave a soft hum and used a hand towel to brush the stray hairs from Torin’s back and shoulders. “Finished. Let me know if you would like me to try something else.”

Torin moved to the bathroom to see the elf’s work, peering into the mirror. 

He couldn’t help but smile as he ran his hand over the soft three quarters of an inch left at the sides and back of his head. The remainder of his hair, gathered in a tufted ponytail, would hang at the edge of his jaw when released.

It felt clean. New. A true fresh start.

“Thank you, Naela.” He turned back to the summer-eyed woman, beaming with a long forgotten smile. “It’s perfect.”

Not long after, Torin found himself seated at the former Captain’s desk with a bowl of warmed stew and a slab of bread. He did his best to not look like a feral beast as he ate, forcing himself to take a single spoonful at a time and a bite of the thick bread after. It was the first real, filling food the young man had eaten in years, and he would savor it. 

Torin finished off the final dregs of the stew and rinsed the dishes in the tiny bathroom’s sink. Once done he wandered back out to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling drained.

Out of habit the young man looked up to the wall to judge the time by the glimmer of the moon and stars. It took him a moment to remember that the Captain’s room was more central than the wards and had no window.

“It is nearly midnight.” Naela commented from the door. “Would you like the light off?”

Moments after Torin confirmed that he did, his head hit the pillow. He sank into sleep, mind abuzz with the turns his life had taken.

~~~

The morning brought a breakfast of overnight oats and fruit, a delicacy Torin had nearly forgotten existed. As he slowly peeled each segment from the last orange at his disposal, the young man mulled over what to do in the coming hours till the Queen came to him again. 

There were no books in the room. Naela was reading a novel, but when she offered Torin one of the two others she had in her pack he was dismayed to find that they were in a script that he did not understand. Most of the drawers of the desk were empty besides a few pieces of the thick, cotton-based stationary the Captain used for official correspondence. No pencils or pens rattled about, and beyond a dusty chewing tobacco tin filled with paper clips that had fallen between the desk and the wall, nothing else of note could be found. 

The last segment disappearing between his lips, Torin quietly got up and rinsed the oats bowl in the bathroom sink and disposed of the strawberry tops and orange peel in the small wastebasket. 

Naela looked up as he moved. “Would you like anything else, Torin?” She smiled, sliding a thin wooden tab into the book on her lap. “There is plenty more food if you are still hungry.”

As always, her kindness made the edges of Torin’s lips tilt up in a returned grin. “No, thank you.” 

A jolt suddenly shot through his mind. The conversation the night before. Naela’s uncertainty surrounding the elf he had met those years ago. His shame at never even learning the woman’s name. 

“Actually, Naela. Do you happen to have a pencil?”

He didn’t know her name. But he would never forget her face.

~~

Torin shifted his grip on the pencil, feeling the gentle rasp of the graphite against the paper’s texture as he defined the edge of the scar that interrupted the woman’s right eyebrow. That one had been old, he was sure. He refused to add any of the scars she had gained in Gil’ead, trying to capture the person she was away from the prison’s influence. 

It had been hours since Naela handed off the pencil to him. She occasionally peered over his shoulder and praised his unusually steady hands but otherwise let him work in comfortable silence. Torin let the world melt around him, everything else a blur. 

A sudden shuffle alerted him to a change outside his cone of focus, but he paid it no mind. He was almost finished, added the last flecks to the eyes, and sat back with a crackling pop as his hunched spine straightened. 

The elf he had met before stared back at him. As always, there was fire in her eyes. 

“It is customary to rise when a guest enters.”

Torin strangled a yelp. Queen Islanzadí stood in the doorway, Naela at an eased attention just outside. 

“M-ma’am!” Torin put the pencil down and scrambled from the desk, nearly knocking over the chair in his hurry. A long buried instinct told him to snap to attention and salute, but at the last moment he stifled the urge and hastily bowed. “I-I’m s-sorry, I didn’t hear you c-come in. I beg your f-forgiveness.” Torin kept his head low, unsure if he should rise from the kowtowed position. 

He could feel Islanzadí’s golden eyes roving over him. “That is quite enough.” Torin straightened, somewhat relieved. The Queen turned to Naela with a short, “Thank you. You are dismissed. Return in three hours.” before returning her attention to the young man before her. 

Torin felt his fingers digging into his skin where his hands hung at his sides. Naela was a balm to his anxiety, and part of him wanted to ask if she could stay. The departing elf gave him a warm smile over Islanzadí’s shoulder and subtly nodded towards the hall door as she left. 

The knot of tension in Torin’s stomach eased slightly. Naela would not be far. 

“Tell me. What had you so absorbed that you forgot the world, Aldsson?” Torin snapped his gaze back to the Queen just as her own gaze fell on the desk. 

A bolt of lightning seemed to shock through Islanzadí’s expression. It was there for the barest measure of a second before it was gone, replaced with a sudden tightness in her voice. “What is this?” 

Torin felt himself shrink at the sharpness in her tone, but something inside him held firm. He drew himself up, and lifted the sketch from the desk with steady hands. “Ma’am. I don’t know the woman’s name, but I can remember her face clearly.” He offered the drawing to the Queen, a nagging urge to please flitting in the back of his mind as she accepted it. “I...I wanted to know if she made it. Naela did not know but–”

Islanzadí held up a hand, halting the rush of words in Torin’s throat. She studied the drawing intently, eyes gliding over the details Torin had included. The young man swore he saw a hint of warm softness color the chill of the Elven Queen’s countenance. 

What felt like an eternity ticked by. Cautious, curious, Torin risked a quiet question that had been burning in him since waking that morning.

“Did...did Your Majesty know her?”

Islanzadí did not look up. Instead she breezed by him to the desk and picked up the discarded pencil. Torin felt a jolt of protectiveness over the drawing, surged forward to stop her from destroying it, before Islanzadí’s sharp glare stopped him in his tracks. 

Torin could only watch, first in dread and then in relief as the Queen wrote out four human runes at the base of the picture. 

She turned back and held the sketch out to him. “Arya.”

The former guard’s mouth went dry, heart pounding in his chest at the single uttered word as he carefully took the offered page. “A-Arya?” He dropped his gaze to the drawing. 

“Yes. Her name.” When Torin did not move, frozen in place, the Queen pointed to the bed. “Sit.”

Body numb with the new information, emotions roiling through his skull, Torin obeyed. He sat on the edge of the simple bed and finally managed to tear his eyes away from the name elegantly scrawled below the face that had haunted him all these years. One question answered, another took its place. “What ha–”

“Now is not the time.” Islanzadí’s statement snapped his mouth shut again. Regal even now, the Elven Queen turned the desk chair and sat to face him. She had taken on the cool demeanor once again, the deadly hawk still debating on whether to end this little field mouse or let him live. 

“Tell me more of your story, Aldsson.”

~~

Sakura Blossom: Renewal