#note: dropped in 16th hall

[lotro-tooltips-daily]

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Separate Worlds, Chapter Three ⭑

Main masterlist

Pairing: Michael Gavey x Popular!rich!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, mentions of alcohol, michael being a horny virgin, michael being desparate, reader being thirsty, mastrubation.

Summary: Living two completely separate lives you and Michael had never really crossed paths and you’ve never really looked at him before. But when your worlds collide, affections arise.

Word count: 1.2k

Saturday, 15th October 2006

You awoke with an awful headache, you didn’t think you had enough to drink to even get hungover but it had been a while since you last had any alcohol. Your mind flashed back to last night, the argument, running in your heels after Michael, breaking into the library, the dusty attic with the starry night sky, and- him of course. His breathtaking eyes, big nose, sharp jaw and chiselled chin. Your mind started to wander, his veiny arms and most importantly his veiny hands, thick fingers, broad shoulders and just his hair that looked so graspable- Christ. Get a grip. 

You got out of bed as the stinging headache and a wave of nausea hit you. A good shower would fix you, maybe today would be a self care day, just to energise for the week. But even in the shower your mind started to wander, and they got even worse- all you could think about was what his cock looked like, how his big hands would look grabbing your hips as you rode him. And with that image you finished. When you had gotten ready for the day, well at least dressed. You decided to get some food and coffee. 

Once in the main courtyard you ran into Farleigh, Maisie and Eloise. “Hey, you okay? You stormed out on your own birthday last night.” Maisie asked, a bit concerned. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just had too much to drink and it had gotten to my head. But I’m fine now. You guys want to grab some coffee with me?” They stopped questioning you at that and you all hit the nearest Starbucks. 

Sunday, October 16th 2006

You made your way to the library, heart pounding in your chest. All day yesterday you thought about him, after the shower you had to relieve yourself once more when you climbed into bed that night. You didn’t even need to study, but you hoped so badly he would be there. You entered the library with a beaming smile on your face, expecting to see him. He wasn’t there? What?

A sigh left your lips and you turned on your heel. No reason for coming here then. You decided to head to your friend's dorm instead. 

Monday, October 17th 2006

Finally! You felt like Monday couldn’t come fast enough, at last you were able to see him again. Even though it had only been two days since your last encounter, it felt like a week. You knew the second you saw him in class you would bring him the box of crunchies with your phone number and email taped onto it as well as a funny maths pun t-shirt you bought while getting coffee on Saturday. You used your calculator Saturday night and the bastard was right. So of course you had to reward him.

You didn’t even meet up with Eloise like usual before maths, instead you put on your cutest outfit, showered before and wore your strongest and nicest perfume. Surely this would grab his attention. But when you got there a message dinged on your phone. 

Eloise Sinclair: please don't kill me im fucking sick and i cant get out of bed :(((  8:56

(You): No worries, just rest ok? Want me to bring you something after maths?  8:57

Eloise Sinclair: no maisie just got here with supplies. thanks though xxx  8:57

(You): Ok I’ll visit later xx  8:57

Maybe it was the universe sending you signs because when you stepped in the lecture hall you spotted Michael, with empty seats next to him. You almost jogged down the stairs with a huge grin and dropped the box with crunchies, the t-shirt and the note on his tiny desk. He looked at you in surprise as you sat at the desk right next to him. Was he dreaming? “Morning, you were right. You are a genius. So here are the crunchies as promised and also a funny t-shirt I saw when I was out, made me think of you.” You smiled as you nudged the box towards him. 

Michael however was still stunned. Did his dream girl who was way out of his league dump her friends to sit next to him? Did she buy him his favourite treat? Did she think of him while she was out? And most important of all…she called him a genius. Fuck. He was actually hard right now, how pathetic. How does a guy get hard from just some gifts and a compliment? How did- “Helloooo? Earth to Michael?” You snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, it’s pretty early- uhm- thank you I really appreciate it.” He smiled, and for the first time he smiled properly, showing off his cute teeth. And holy shit did that make you fall harder.  Luckily for him, you hadn’t noticed his boner, he swiftly moved the sweater that was hanging from his shoulders to his lap. You wanted to talk to him more and tell him you left your info in the box too but the professor was starting and somehow, sitting next to Michael Gavey made it so much less boring.

The lecture seemed to fly by and the end was near. After the professor made you do some practice assignments she spoke up. “Before next monday I have a little project that I want you to complete, this project will require you to partner up with someone. The project information itself will be handed out before you leave, you can now choose your partner.” The class immediately started to mingle and you turned to Michael. 

“So since you’re next to me anyway, want to partner up?” He looked unsure and turned more towards you. “Uhm, usually I prefer to work alone.” Oh. But when your face dropped he continued. “But I don’t think we really have a choice and I would rather work with you than anyone else here.” He rambled. That made you smile again, the professor handed out the information you needed and you agreed to meet up the following morning since you both had a free period at the same time. 

The second Michael got back to his dorm room he threw the sweater he held discreetly in front of him on his desk chair and quickly moved on his bed. His cock was straining in his pants and he never had needed relief this badly. Your perfume was still lingering in his nose, the way your tits were almost out with that top you wore, the skirt that showed off your silky smooth thighs. It was all too much. He quickly grabbed his laptop that was still on his bed and went to his saved porn, all girls that looked like you with guys that looked like him.

The video started to play and he opened his pants so he could finally relieve his aching cock. He almost came in record time as he released all over his veiny hand, cumming with a loud groan he had to muffle.

Tag list (also want to be tagged in chapters? message me): @sepherinaspoppies

[bronzecats]

National Rainbow Week of Action in Canada

In this post I have compiled all the information I could find regarding upcoming events for the Rainbow Week of Action. There are two online events, and dozens on in-person events across the country.

"Within the Rainbow Week of Action, we are pushing governments and elected officials at every level to take action for Rainbow Equality and address rising anti-2SLGBTQIA+ hate. As such, we have identified calls to action for every level of government. These calls to action can be reviewed here."

Event list below:

Events are listed in date order, provinces in general west-to-east order. I have included as much detail as possible, please reference the links at the bottom of the post. At this time, there are no events in N.W.T. and Nova Scotia. Last updated: May 14th, 9:53pm PDT. Please note that I am not officially affiliated with / an organizer of these events, I have simply compiled all the dates to share on tumblr. Original post content.

B.C. EVENTS:

15th: Fernie; Fernie Seniors Drop-In Centre, 572 3rd Avenue, 6:00PM. (Letter writing and Potluck)

17th: Vancouver; šxʷƛ̓ənəq Xwtl'e7énḵ Square - Vancouver Art Gallery North Plaza, 750 Hornby St, 5:30PM. (Rally)

19th, Sunday: Abbotsford; Jubilee Park, 5:00PM. (Rally)

ALBERTA EVENTS:

15th: Lethbridge; McKillop United Church, 2329 15th Ave S, 12:00-1:00PM (letter writing)

17th, Friday: Calgary; Central Memorial Park, 1221 2 St SW, 5:30PM. (Rally)

17th: Edmonton; Wilbert McIntyre Park, 8331 104 St NW, 6:00PM. (Rally)

SASKATCHEWAN EVENTS:

17th: Saskatoon; Vimy Memorial Park, 500 Spadina Crescent E, 5:30PM. (Rally)

17th: Regina; Legislative Grounds, 2405 Legislative Dr, 6:30PM. (Rally)

May 18th: Saskatoon; Grovenor Park United Church, 407 Cumberland Ave S, 6:00PM. (Art event)

MANITOBA EVENTS:

16th: Carman; Paul's Place, 20 1 Ave SW, 7:00-9:00PM. (Letter writing)

19th: Winnipeg; Manitoba Legislature, 450 Broadway, 12:00PM. (Rally)

ONTARIO EVENTS:

15th: Barrie; UPlift Black, 12 Dunlop St E, 6:00-7:30PM. (Letter writing)

15th: Chatham; CK Gay Pride Association, 48 Centre St, 5:00-6:30PM. (Letter writing)

15th: Peterborough; Trinity Community Centre, 360 Reid St, 12:00-3:00PM. (Letter writing)

16th: Midland; Midland Public Library, 4:30-7:30PM. (Letter writing and pizza)

16th: Ottawa; Impact Hub, 123 Slater Street, 2:00PM. (Letter writing)

16th: Toronto; Barbara Hall Park, 519 Church St, 11:30AM. (Rally)

17th, Friday: Barrie; City Hall, 70 Collier St, 6:00PM. (Rally)

17th: Cornwall; 167 Pitt St, 5:30PM. (Rally)

17th: Essex; St. Paul's Anglican Church, 92 St. Paul St, 6:00-8:00PM. (Letter writing and pizza)

17th: Hamilton; City Hall, 71 Main St W, 6:00PM. (Rally)

17th: Kitchener; City Hall, 200 King St W, 6:00PM. (Rally)

17th: London; City Hall, 300 Dufferin Ave, 6:00PM. (Rally)

17th: Sarnia; City Hall, 255 Christina St N, 1:00PM. (Rally)

17th: Sault Ste Marie; City Hall, 99 Foster Dr, 11:30AM. (Rally)

17th: Ottawa; Confederation Park, Elgin St, 5:30PM. (Rally)

22nd: Renfrew; 161 Raglan St. South, 7:00PM. (Letter writing, fashion and makeup event, and pizza)

QUEBEC EVENTS:

May 15th: Lachute; CDC Lachute, 57, rue Harriet, 12:30PM. (Letter writing event)

NEW BRUNSWICK EVENTS:

17th: Woodstock; Citizen's Square, Chapel St, Next to the L.P. Fisher Public Library, 12:00-1:00PM. (rally)

17th: Saint John; City Hall, 15 Market Square, 12:30PM. (Rally, flag raising)

18th, Saturday: Fredericton; Legislative Grounds, 706 Queen Street, 1:00PM. (Rally)

NOVA SCOTIA EVENTS:

May 17th: Middleton; NSCC AVC RM 121, 6:30-8:30PM (letter writing and pizza)

P.E.I. EVENTS:

May 15th: Charlottetown; Peers Alliance Office, 250B Queen Street, 6:00-8:00PM. (Adult drop-in)

May 16th: Charlottetown, Peers Alliance Office, 250B Queen Street, 6:00-7:00PM.

May 17th: Charlottetown; PEI Legislative Assembly, 165 Richmond St, 12:00PM. (Rally)

YUKON EVENTS:

16th: Whitehorse; The Cache, 4230 4 Ave, 2:00-7:00PM. (Letter writing)

NUNAVUT EVENTS:

May 16th, Thursday: Iqaluit; Four Corners, 922 Niaqunngusiariaq St, 5:00PM. (Letter writing)

Reference links:

About the Rainbow Week of Action.

Website letter writing events list (does not include all events)

General events website list (does not include all events)

Instagram general events image list

Instagram letter writing / pizza party image list

[thehaladrielfancollective]

Hello everyone!

We return from the Halls of Waiting with a winter gift exchange in celebration of the new season of Rings of Power!

This is event is open to the entire Haladriel community and anyone can participate. Gifts can come in the form of fics (min. 2k words), fanart, fanvids, music, etc,. All prompts and ratings are accepted.

The Schedule:

September 16th: Sign-ups Open. September 30th: Sign-ups Close. October 1st-3rd: Assignments go out. October 11th: 1st Check-in. October 25th: 2nd Check-in. November 8th: 3rd Check-in. November 22nd: 4th Check-in. December 1st: All assignments are due. December 25th: Gifts revealed!

-> Sign-up Form -> Prompts List (if you need inspiration!) Have a question? Ask it here or send us a DM!

Notes About the Event:

We have carefully worded the questions on the sign-up sheet to take individual preferences regarding content/triggers/ratings etc,. into consideration. When you receive your assignment, please be mindful and respect the request of your recipients. Failure to do so will result in disqualification from future events. If you have any questions, please reach out to a mod - either @thrillofhope or @scriberated

This event does require communication with at least one of the Mods of the event. Failure to communicate effectively may result in disqualification.

Because we want this event to be as inclusive as possible, and we are aware of some uncomfortable dynamics within the fandom, we have included a question on the sign-up sheet to address this and ensure that anyone who wants to participate may do so safely, and have fun.

All gifts are due on December 1st. All gifts will be revealed on December 25th.

If you need to drop out of the exchange for any reason, please let the mods know as soon as possible. While we have allocated time within the event for pinch-hitters to make additional gifts as needed, the sooner we know the better.

Participants are not required to reveal themselves at the end of the event. If they wish to post their gift as Anonymous, they may do so.

[crow-stars]

❝WET CLOTHES, WET HAIR, WARM SMILES❞

❦summary; just because it's raining outside doesn't mean you can't have fun. it only makes it better when there's a friend joining in too. ♪the characters in this story; gn!reader, epel felmier ✎word count; 847 ❀what do the ghosts say?; platonic, playing in the rain, epel gets in trouble, just having a grand old time ☛the author's notes; tomorrow is a rest day! so nothing will be posted on that day. actually have a rest day every 7 (or 8 i think it is??) days, so the next ones will be on the 16th & 24th! ☪look at the catalogue?

It was raining again today. It was the third day in a row.  Epel sighed as he stared out the window, lips formed in an almost pout. His cheek pressed against the cool glass, perhaps the only good thing out of this incessant downpour. Epel loved the rain, always loved jumping around in puddles and playing in the mud since he was a kid, but he couldn’t do that now, not under the watchful gaze of Vil. 

Epel sighs again. He feels like he’ll begin to lose air from how much he’s sighing. 

“Monsieur Crabapple, why are you so sad?” Rook came up next to Epel suddenly, that all knowing smile on his lips that unnerved pretty much everyone. “Could it be the rain that has brought upon such a dreary look upon your delicate features?” 

Epel groaned and rolled his eyes, pushing away from the window and towards one of the couches in the lounge. If there was one thing that Epel was glad for, it was how soft the couches in Pomefiore were. He could hear Rook move over to Epel’s side, the hunter’s hands lightly poking at the freshman’s side. 

“Will ya stop that?! I ain’t in the mood for this...” Epel groaned out, slapping Rook’s hand away before plopping his face back into the cushions. Having Rook bother him on top of the despair of not being able to go out into the rain and have fun only made Epel’s mood sour. Thankfully, Rook’s footsteps leave Epel alone in the lounge and he’s left to his self wallowing.

After a few minutes of lamenting to himself, he heard his phone ring in his pocket. Epel lifted his chin as he turned on the device, seeing that he received a message. From you specifically. 

Do you wanna go play in the rain? 

A second message came in after that. 

I can sneak you out ;D

Epel sat up, eyebrows raising in interest. He took a look at the clock. Vil wouldn’t be coming back to the dorm for a while. A grin came over his lips and he practically jumped to get his raincoat, putting it on over his dorm uniform and rushing outside the dorm. Epel could already feel the rain droplets on his head the moment he steps out, the air pleasantly cool on his skin. 

He meets you in the hall of mirrors, also wearing a raincoat of your own. You were smiling almost as widely as Epel was, taking his hand and racing outside together. The first drops of water against Epel’s face felt like heaven, cold and fresh and better than staying inside his dorm. The two of you were running around in the rain soaked school grounds, jumping in whatever puddles the two of you happened across. 

Epel’s suddenly hand suddenly left your as he slipped on a puddle, yelping in surprise as the impact of his fall causes a large splash around the two of you. The feeling of water permeates through Epel’s coat, the droplets of water soaking his dorm uniform uncomfortably. Some of it even wets his hair, making the pale purple locks stick to Epel’s skin in a way he didn’t wish. Before he could even begin cursing out his frustrations, you laughed, a big, loud boisterous laugh that got Epel giggling as well. 

Epel manages to stand with your aid, letting the hood of his coat fall off his head. It made the rain begin to drench Epel’s hair, yet he didn’t mind, how could he when you both were enjoying the feeling of the rain against your skins. 

The cold shivers that Epel felt did nothing to put a damper on his fun, chest filled with glee that never diminished as the two of you frolicked and played in the rain as if you were children again. 

Your play continued all the way up until Rook and Vil interrupted it, Rook holding an umbrella over Vil’s head while he wore a raincoat. By that time, Epel looked absolutely messy, mud smeared on his cheeks, wet hair sticking to his forehead, dorm uniform muddied and dripping with rainwater. 

Vil was like an angry mother as he approached Epel, delicate fingers taking Epel’s ear and pinching it. Epel yelped and rubbed at his ear to soothe it. “Look at you,  you’re so messy. And your uniform─” Vil heaves a disappointed sigh and pinches his nose with his free hand, shifting his hand to grab Epel by the back of his uniform. “Come on. I’m taking you back to the dorm. Rolling around in the mud...”  

Epel protested as Vil dragged him back to the dorm, only managing to wave goodbye to you as he was swiftly taken away. Rook also waved goodbye to you, leaving with a pleasant smile. 

Epel was ‘grounded’ by Vil, forbidding him from going outside and playing in the rain ever again. It left Epel sulking about it, but it was only to be expected with how badly he messed up his uniform. 

But hey, at least he had fun.

[scotianostra]

On 19th August 1560 the Scottish scholar and poet, James Crichton, was born.

Soldier, scholar, poet and athlete, he was a graduate of St Andrews University and a tutor of King James VI. James Crichton, known as the Admirable Crichton, was a Scottish polymath, a latin term that translates to “universal man”, basically he was good at everything!

Crichton wasnoted for his extraordinary accomplishments in languages, the arts, and sciences. One of the most gifted individuals of the 16th century, James Crichton of Clunie Perthshire, was the son of Robert Crichton of Eliok, Lord Advocate of Scotland, and Elizabeth Stewart, from whose line James could claim Royal descent.

At the age of eight Crichton’s eloquence in his native vernacular was compared with that of Demosthenes and Cicero. By fifteen he knew “perfectly” Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, and Syriac; and commanded native conversational fluency in Spanish, French, Italian, “Dutch”, Flemish, and, oh, “Sclavonian”, don’t worry I looked it up for us, it’s basically Slovenian.

That was the mere beginning of Crichton’s admirableness. He was also a champion athlete, a horseman, a fencer, a dancer, a singer of rare voice, and the master of most known wind and string instruments. His St. Andrews professor, Rutherford, a noted commentator, judged him to be one of the leading philosophers of the era.

After sucking all the available education to him in Scotland, it was only natural he should start on mainland Europe, he studied in France at the College of Navarre at the University of Paris. Here the young Scotsman cut a broad swath, though according to his jealous fellows his arenas of greatest activity were the tavernia’s and the whorehouses, rather than the lecture hall. Young Crichton did like the ladies, who in turn found him most–admirable.

He may have been liked by the ladies, but nobody likes a big heid, and that is how Crichton must have come across to many, nowadays he would have been one of the Chasers, or an Egghead on our TV screens, but back in the 16th century there were no such outlets for Crichton to show his big heid off, so he had posters printed up declaring that on a day six weeks hence, at nine in the morning, in the main hall of the College of Navarre, he intended to present himself to dispute with all comers all questions put to him regarding any subject. He had these put up on all the appropriate notice boards and church doors, before disappearing into the red light district to prepare himself for the contest. His adversaries had to quit laughing when on the appointed day Crichton appeared as advertised and bested the greatest local experts in grammar, mathematics, geometry, music, astronomy, logic, and theology.

The Crichton Show, having conquered Paris, moved next to the Italian peninsula. The young Scot performed memorable feats of academic disputation first in Rome and then in Venice. There he became fast friends with the famous scholar-printer Aldus Munitius, who is a credible witness to some of his more amazing intellectual performances. One of his ways of showing off was giving off the cuff instances of Comedic verse, a sort of Stand Up routine, but with that Crichton twist, the odes he told were in Latin!

Tradition has it on the street in Mantua one night he was accosted by four swordsmen, with superb sword play Crichton disarmed them all and forced them to show their faces. One of them, their leader indeed, turned out to be one of his pupils and prodigy, Vincenzo Gonzaga who was the son of The Duke of Mantua. Crichton was in the Duke’s employ and the youngster was jealous of the Scot, Crichton was also romantically linked to Vicenzo’s ex mistress. On seeing Vincenzo, Crichton instantly dropped to one knee and presented his sword, hilt first, to the prince, his master’s son. Vincenzo took the blade and with it stabbed Crichton cruelly through the heart, killing him instantly. James Crichton of Cluny was then in his twenty-second year.

There have been many accounts of Crichton in literature through the years since, mostly fictional but with hints of the story, the most famous is arguably the J M Barrie play, but the title of the play is the only semblance to the story of the Scottish Polymath.

[gagemordrake]

GAGE THE GHOUL

1. The vary beginning.

...Vault 59...

Gage had been wondering the wastes for what felt like forever. And for all he knew it probably was as he treaded through swamp and overgrown forest. He watched countless sunrises and sunsets in the irritated sky as he sat upon piles of bones and ruin. Wondering what the whole point was. The heat was unbearable as sweat dripped down his face, trailing streaks of bloody mud down with them. In the beginning he lived in a vault that wasn't all that large in comparison to some others he learned of. It was only about five floors all together. The weaponry and door up at the top and the resources filling the middle floors. He was born and raised there shortly after the bombs dropped. His mother was a prewar surface dweller and his only parent that he knew of. She often kept a close tab on him when he wasn't in classes or training to sharpen his skills. And even then, she would send him messages on his Pipboy to check in. He learned of animals and plants that the world no longer had. But he figured it was still really cool and often kept many notes in a black leather book. Young Gage never thought much of his life other than it seemed extremely dull and lacked realism. The tight blue jumpsuit was not his favorite and would intentionally take it off and favor a black shirt with black pants with no shoes. The other dwellers always found him strange and never talked to him. Which honestly was fine with him most days. They were dull and seemed like over-uppity robots most of the time. He often got in trouble for sneaking off and staying hidden from his responsibilities. But the day after his 16th birthday, he was snatched from his bed and dragged down the cold metal hall quickly. He screamed and fought against the men, but they were much too strong. He punched and kicked and even bit down on one of the men's arms. He yelled and quickly punched Gage across his mouth. sending blood spurting out and stars exploding in his mind. They slammed him onto A long steel table and quickly strapped his arms and legs down. He began to struggle with all his might once again, trying desperately to break free. The straps cut deep into his wrists and ancles. He cried at the sheer horror of the room. Jars full of body parts and unrecognizable creatures filled the shelves on the walls. He had never been in this room. They always shooed him away every time. And right then a flash of his mother came back to him. She just looked at him with an expression that just said she knew what would happen. They led her into this room. And after that he never saw her again. That was a couple years ago and since then he had lived alone with some help from the overseer. They just kept telling him that she was on an important mission. And soon she would come back for him. That day never came, and he never knew why. They kept everything from him. keeping him blind his whole life. But now he knew that this place was some sick experiment. preying on the oblivious. They quickly got to work and stuck him in every part of his body with long, thick needles. The pain was excruciating as they dug deep into his flesh. The scientists flipped a switch and soon a glowing green liquid traveled through the tubes and into his body. He immediately felt a hell fire burn all through his limbs and veins. He screamed as his back arched in agony. Everything began to fade away after that. He couldn't move or speak. Just lie there helplessly and they poked and prodded him daily. At some point he could faintly remember them cutting parts of his flesh off and taking away to who knows where. They eventually jammed a feeding tube down his throat to keep him alive. Over time the pain faded, and he could no longer cry or fight. Maybe it was the crap they were pumping into him or his brain simply trying to protect itself. Through the haze of his mind, he could hear the men talking as they brought around a screen on a stand. They placed the screen right in his face as it flipped through images. They said they have finally succeeded at their mission. Whatever the hell that was.

One day there was a huge explosion that rocked the room. Sending jars and machines everywhere. The scientist yelled and panicked as they scrambled around. Jars broke on the floor, releasing their horrible contents everywhere. The lights flickered and a blaring alarm rang in the air. Gage lied there for some time more before being able to sit up. The machines pumping him with drugs and chemicals must have lost power. And the straps loosened. His head was spinning with a horrible fog and pain as he tried to adjust. Soon he could make out a body on the floor, smashed under a vent that fell from the ceiling. Next, he felt the tube running down his throat and to his stomach. He began slowly pulling it out and it made his eyes water in agony. He just had to rip it out and when he did, a disgusting mix of blood and whatever "food" he was being fed spilled out. He gagged and vomited slightly. Everything hurt so bad as he set to ripping the needles out. Once he was completely free of the machines, He hopped down from the table and cried out in pain as broken glass buried itself deep into the bottoms of his bare feet. Gage fell back into a nearby chair and lifted one food to examine the damage. The glass shards were huge as he pulled them out. Blood gushing from the wounds and mixing with the other liquids on the floor. His shredded feet began to heal right before his eyes. The red tissue fusing back together. He stared wide eyed at the sight. He knew this wasn't right. Humans did not heal that fast. What have they done to him? What did they do to his mother? And all the people before him. He had to get some clothes on and quickly decided to grab what he could from the smashed scientist. His upper half was completely flat so all Gage could grab was his shoes and pants. But that is definitely better than just being in this skimpy underwear he was put into.

He needed to find more supplies or else it was going to be one hell of a time later. There was a room next to the one he had been held captive in. He never knew exactly what was in there but quickly went inside as soon as he slipped the shoes on. The room seemed more like a common room. Filled with tables and chairs and refrigerators. Kind of a polar opposite compared to the Dr. Frankenstein room he had been stuck in for well...he didn't really know. His conciseness was stuck in limbo for so long. Soon he found a backpack and began to stuff it to the brim with food and anything else he could. The fires continued to rage, and even more explosions rumbled the air. His time was running out. It was now or never. He didn't know what these sick bastards were really up to, but he wasn't going to be a part of it anymore. Right before he ran out of the room with his hoard, he caught a glance of himself in a nearby mirror. He didn't even recognize himself. He was much older looking and even had some white hair. His black hair a huge, knotted mess on his head. But that wasn't all. His eyes were black except for red iris's. His teeth were all sharp like a sharks. He began to panic and grab at his face in horror. He looked like a monster. Dark veins crept up his neck and all over his upper half. He was skinny and unhealthy looking. Eyes sinking deep into dark pools in his skull. Gage quickly grabs the bag and runs out of the room and down the halls. The fires and alarms hilling the air as other dwellers run by screaming for their life's. He soon runs into three vault guards down the hall who turn and immediately open fire on him. A white

-hot pain courses through him as the lasers tear through his body. He hits the ground hard, contents of the borrowed backpack spewing onto the floor. One of the guard's power walks up to him and points his gun right at the lab rat's head. He thinks it's over now. But before he could have another coherent thought, he is overtaken by this primal hunger and rage, tearing into the man's neck. Ripping red flesh from the bone. The quick attack takes the guard down fast. He screams and fights against the creature but soon gives into death from blood loss. Gage raises his head from the carnage as he remembers the other men. They have long since left, deciding it wasn't worth losing their lives. Gage slowly stands up next to the shredded pile of a man. Blood soaking his face, chest and arms. He looks at his hands which are clawed at the ends. He is strong and after swallowing a couple of chunks of the guard, his body heals completely. He can feel his flesh mend back into place. Large round circles of scar tissue cover the areas he was shot. But the holes are completely gone now. Whatever they did to him was working in his favor. At least for now it was. The fallen guard was a great opportunity. Gage quickly grabbed his laser gun and anything else he could off of him which was pretty much everything. He sprinted down the hall towards the vault door room. Other dwellers screamed and passed him as they clamored to find a safe place. He reached the room and ran into a man and woman with their back to him. He soon realized that the man was the overseer. A sick and twisted man that needed to be put down. "Open the fucking door! Now, bitch!" he screamed at her. The overseer turned quickly when he heard commotion behind him and put his gun to the sobbing womans head, threatening to kill her. Gage immediately recognized his mother in the overseer's tight grip. She was crying and cut and bruised. "The Beast From room 59. Pleasure finely seeing you at your full potential." The Overseer smiled wildly with a hell fire in his eyes. Gage bared his teeth and aimed. Before Gage could fire, the overseer blasts the woman away in his tight grip. He then sets his pistol on Gage, but he is so much faster. The laser gun completely severs the overseer's arm which is holding the gun. He screams as his arm clunks to the metal floor. He tries to grab the fallen gun again with his remaining hand. But the beast is already upon him. Leaping at him and tearing him down to the ground. Claws and teeth tear into the mortal man as he screams and cries in agony. Blood splattering everywhere as he fights for his life, punching and kicking with all his might. Gage starts with his legs and tears his way up. Making sure that his death is slow and vary painful. He can feel nothing but animalistic rage and hunger as he growls and continues to rip every part of him away. The room grows silent after a while. The overseer laid out on his back, eyes stuck open wide with fear and pain. Gage slowly stood up, completely covered in carnage. His breath heavy but soon he began to calm down and found his mother's body nearby. She had her Pipboy. His was taken when he was imprisoned as a lab experiment. He unlatched it from her wrist and placed it on his own bloody arm. He had no idea where his was. He did not know why the overseer did not have his own pipboy but it didn't matter now. It took a while to figure out how to open the vault door but he soon figured out that the cord on top fits into the control panel. The clear plastic cover over a large red button flicked up. He staired at the glowing red button for a long moment. Knowing that this would be a whole new life for him. But it couldn't possibly be worse than the pure hell that he lived his whole life through. He pushed the buttons and an alarmed blared. The giant gear shaped door rolled to the side slowly. A cool breeze rolled in and through his messy black hair. He stepped out into the night of the wastes under the bright moon. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

THE SUN AFTER THE RAIN.

Gage had found out that it had only been roughly about 33 years after the war tore the world apart. Over time he ran into survivors and overheard their conversations. He could never make an appearance and he quickly learned this. He looked like a monster and people quickly would turn on him. They would grab anything for a weapon and scream in horror. He took a couple of lives in the vault but only in self-defense. And his mother.... well, she was gone forever now. He figured there was only one thing to do and that was to set out and start a new life, wherever that could possibly be. The air was thick and blistering hot all around as he walked through scraps of metal and mud. Most places were flooded, and he had to go around large areas just to make in through. Sometimes hopping from car top to car top on washed out streets. He crossed highways and empty fields where buildings once stood. The blast site was close to the vault, and he learned that the radiation had pierced the earth and destroyed the life support to his vault, causing it to eventually fail in the years he was a prisoner. The sky was this horrible green and orange color with the occasional lighting strike ringing through. He sighed out of exhaustion as he came to the remains of a neighborhood. He walked slowly and with caution. It had been about a week since he escaped Vault 59 but the horrors still rang in his ears. Over the last couple of nights, his dreams were filled with blood and screaming. He could see those horrible images they pumped into his head. They turned him into something he couldn't understand. He would often awaken, drenched in sweat. His palms dripping with his own blood from him clenching his claws into his palms.

As he walked deep into the dark, he could make out a large oak tree that definitely died from the blast and radiation. It was burned and filled with a bunch of metal which seemed to have gotten blown into it from one of the houses nearby. Gage stopped and stared up at it for a moment and decided this probably will be the best opportunity he has at the moment. He hadn't really seen any animals or people except for a few humans before. But he knew that he would never be excepted by anyone in his current condition. And with that he dug his claws into the bark of the tree and climbed his way up to a secure spot where he could sit. The view was amazing as he could see all the way down to where he city once stood. Only metal skeletons stood there now. He learned in school that one of the bombs was dropped there. It was definitely not that far off and even after 30 something years later, the staticky heat from the blast can still be felt in the air. And even with all of that, the nights were absolutely freezing.

He began moving the sheets of metal around to create more of a house-like structure that he could stay in for a good while. Moving from one spot to the next, hiding in the dark and dirt wasn't necessarily one of his most favorite things to do. Eventually he had four walls and a stable floor that he could kind of walk on, but it often threatened to give. He already fell out of the tree one time and landed right on his back. He thought he might die but his back snapped back, and he got right up again. It always hurt like hell but never seemed to slow him down for long. After that mishap he decided it was time to explore the neighborhood in search of more materials to make his treehouse sturdier and more comfortable. He still branded the laser rifle and a hand-length pocketknife which served him well the past couple days. but luckily since the terror of the vault, he hasn't had to really defend himself all that much. The earth was still so very scorched and barren. As he went from house to house, he wondered when life would return.

[pilalaguna]

Don Felizardo de Rivera, Founder of Pila

Don Felizardo de Rivera y Evangelista (1755-1810) was the eldest of the three Rivera brothers, Don Felizardo, Don Miguel and Don Rafael. They were the owners of the estate Hacienda de Sta. Clara. They were the sons of Don Juan de Rivera, who had inherited the estate from the Spanish noble family, the Thenorios, and passed it on to his sons.

In the 18th century, due to flooding from its original location near the Laguna de Bay, the original town of Pila and its Church needed to be located to higher ground. So the Riveras planned to move it, just like their ancestor the Datu of Pila, Datu Maguinto, did in the 13th century.

However, a long, heated and controversial dispute rose between two prominent families at the time: The Riveras and the Relovas ("Pros" and "Antis". Don Regino Relova y San Antonio wanted the relocation on his land. Don Felizardo Rivera insisted that the town and church be moved to his hacienda in Sta. Clara.

Don Felizardo won after a long battle (starting October 14, 1794 and ending on July 13, 1803) after made an agreement with the parish priest: If the church was relocated to his estate, he pledged "the spiritual and material support of the Riveras to the church of St. Anthony in perpetuum up to the last of their line." The parish priest agreed.

Don Felizardo donated his lands to the church and to the municipal government but he also retained ownership of the lots surrounding what was to be the town plaza. He became the architect of the town's design, following Spanish colonial layout. He even built a kiln for manufacturing bricks and tiles for rebuilding the church, which was "transferred stone by stone" from its old location. The the ancestral houses were built around the plaza and the town municipio (municipal hall) was built opposite the church. With the assistance of the prominent families of Oca, Ruiz, and de Castro, he rebuilt the town of Pila ("Nuevo Pila") as it is to this day.

Don Felizardo served as gobernadorcillo in 1805, 1807, and 1809. He died on October 13, 1810 at the age of 55. He asked that "he be robed in the Franciscan habit upon his death and that a funeral mass be celebrated with him facing the altar of the newly-built church prior to his burial in the church crypt." His will (currently in the possession of the Rivera Family) was notarized by the town mayor at the time. At the time of his death, both pros and antis came to pay their respects and drop the long feud (the families later intermarried.) Don Felizardo's son Jose de Rivera later took over the gobernadorcillo post in 1811.

Don Felizardo de Rivera is the recognized founder of (Nuevo Pila) present-day Pila, Laguna, and the ancestor of the four main prominent families in Pila: Rivera, Relova, Agra and Alava.

WHEN A TOWN HAS TO MOVE: HOW PILA (LAGUNA) TRANSFERRED TO ITS PRESENT SITE (1794-1811) Luciano P.R. Santiago Philippine Quarterly of Culture and Society, Vol. 11, No. 2/3 (June/September 1983), pp. 93-106 (14 pages) https://www.jstor.org/stable/29791789

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

During the 16th and 17th centuries, one of the earliest known leaders of Pila under Spanish Colonial Period was Don Antonio Maglilo (1696-1712), who governed Pila like his father Don Francisco Maglilo (1599), (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 11), the descendant of datu Maguinto.

In 1728, Don Maglilo’s descendant, Don Juan de Rivera, the founder of one of Pila’s most prominent families, the Rivera clan, became mayor of Pila. The Rivera’s were a “major branch of the Maglilo(s)” and changed their surname to “Rivera”, the “Taga-ilog”, or “People of the River”. (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 17).

Don Juan de Rivera married Doña Josepha Thenorio, who descended from Spanish nobility from Extremadura, Spain. The Thenorio family matriarch was Doña Maria Cortés de Monroy, the sister of Spanish Conquistador Hernán Cortés (1485-1547). (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 16). (Writer’s Note: Cortes had relations and a child with the Aztec princess Doña Isabel Moctezuma (born Tecuichpoch Ixcaxochitzin; 1509/1510 – 1550/1551), a daughter of the Aztec ruler Moctezuma II, and Cortes’s sister Doña Maria’s descendants married the descendants of a Philippine Pre-Hispanic king.)

Don Juan's descendant, Don Felizardo de Rivera (1755-1810), was at first a town executive from 1792 to 1793. He was governor of Pila in 1792. During the town move, he had drawn up grid plans (Cuadricula) in 1790 for the new site (where Pila was to be moved) based on the classical Spanish system of 'church-plaza-town hall complex' as originally prescribed by the 'Laws of the Indies (1573)' (laws issued by the Spanish Crown for town planning). He had become a self-taught architect. When the transfer was officially sanctioned (approved), he implemented his plans by serving as gobernadorcillo (governor) in 1805, 1807, and 1809 (he died in 1810). Because of his orderly design (of the town), Don Felizardo is considered the founder of 'Nuevo Pila (New Pila).' Don Felizardo retained all the residential lots around the rectangular plaza between the church and the town hall for the ancestral houses. The principal street is christened 'Rivera', which connects (the town) 'like a long umbilical cord' (back to) Pagalangan. (Santiago, Ancient Pila, pg 25). All the lots around the town plaza were given by Don Felizardo to his heirs, and the ancestral houses now stand on those lots.

Pila was moved again due to flooding from the lake, to Don Felizardo’s Hacienda in Santa Clara, Laguna. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pgs 9, 10). On May 20, 1804, Pila Church was also moved to land at the hacienda. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pgs 10, 11, 13) Today, the 200-plus year-old church is now called the San Antonio de Padua church, which was declared the National Shrine of San Antonio de Padua, contains a relic of the saint and is one of the oldest churches in the Philippines. The ruins of the original church are still standing at Pagalangan and have a historical marker as the site of the original church of Pila.

Don Felizardo is considered the founder of the present-day town of "Nueva Pila" ("New Pila") and the town’s designer and architect in the Spanish colonial grid style of city planning. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pg 12). The Pila Municipal Hall was later built in June 1931, across from the Church, on land previously owned by Doña Corazon Rivera de Del Mundo, daughter of Don Luis Rivera. (Santiago, The Roots of Pila, Laguna, pg 20).

In his 1810 Last Will and Testament, Don Felizardo identifies himself as “Taong Tunai at Maguinoo” (a true maginoo). The document is with the Rivera family of Pila, Laguna.

[atotaltaitaitale]

.

Oh the irony…. “Together Let’s Keep Paris Clean”

In case you haven’t seen it on the news… the frenchies are mad and are on strikes.

Not only transport (metros, trains, flights) are affected but we have a serious problem with garbage removal.

Districts in Paris are not affected the same. We live at the junction of the 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th arrondissement and while 1st, 3rd & 4th have their garbage collected, the 2nd doesn’t, so depending on which streets I take to go do my errands I can really see the differences.

The Socialist mayor of Paris, who supports the strikers, found herself in a bind. City Hall refused orders to get the trucks out, saying it’s not their job. Police Chief Laurent Nunez then ordered garages unblocked and ordered 674 sanitation personnel and 206 garbage trucks back to work to provide a minimal service (known as "requisition") . As of Monday, waste collection remained disrupted, but local authorities noted an improvement in the amount of garbage collected on Paris' streets - dropping from approximately 10,000 tonnes to about 9,300.  NB: Municipal services provide collection in the 2nd, 5th, 6th, 8th, 9th, 12th, 14th, 16th, 17th and 20th arrondissements. Other arrondissements have their garbage collection serviced by private companies rather than public employees

[kithtaehyung]

ugh f*ck (m) | myg

— “who you belong to.”

title: UGH F*CK parts: one by @kookskingdom​, two by @yoon2k​​ pairing: yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader rating/genre: m ; smut ; boxer au ; boxer!yoongi , ring girl!reader summary: you tend to yoongi’s wounds after a match, even though you damn well know that someone is coming to pick you up. very, very soon. warnings: pwp, swearing, dirty talk, infidelity (that turns out to be consensual it’ll all make sense!!), fingering, penetration, unprotected (pls be safe), voyeurism, exhibitionism, consent wbk, rough sex, choking, degradation, humiliation, dom!jin, clit slapping, overstimulation, crying, daddy kink, touch of aftercare, sl*t/wh*re mentions, creampie, begging, orgasm denial, breast play, boxer yoongi??, rich suited up seokjin???, feelings??, just a yoonjin pwp idk what else to say note: this is a last-second surprise for @sugakookitty​!! dee, the theme is purely for you I CANT DO THIS AGAIN!! no more! and i have no excuses other than i was coerced by four people, and two of them are min yoongi and kim seokjin (whom i heard you were thirsting hard for lately!) lastly, ty to my brain for actually allowing this fic to happen note 2: umm.. this is also for the yoonjin stans lol also it’s p unedited so apologies! total word count: 6k drop date: december 16th, 2021, 1:22am est

Like every other time, Yoongi left the ring a champion. 

In fact, everything that happened today was as predictable as the changing of seasons. You got to work, prepped for the matches, turned down many drunken suitors, and wrapped everything up when the crowds filed out. 

The only thing you didn’t predict this time was how banged up Yoongi got during his fight. 

Are bloody noses and black eyes considerably normal for fighters? Absolutely. Which attests to Yoongi’s adept and efficient fighting style, really, since the man rarely garners anything worse than a few bruises. 

But this time? When you watched the big screens, it was hard to miss the busted lip, cut eyebrow, and multiple scratches on his face—injuries you knew he could feel and taste. You couldn’t express your concern while out in the stadium since you upheld professionalism, but as soon as you could catch him backstage you were at his side. 

“You should wash those out.” 

Yoongi waves you off as he walks further down the hall. “Don’t tell me what to do, doll. I got a press conference.” 

“They’ll get infected if you don’t,” you insist over the surrounding commotion, bare legs trotting to keep up and maneuver the corridor. “I’ve seen it before and it’s gross.”

A look is cast over his shoulder. Instead of listening to your attempts, he simply offers through a smirk, “If you’re such a pro, why don’t you do it then?” 

“What? Me?” 

“Yeah.” Yoongi adjusts the towel on his shoulders before stopping in front of solid double doors. “Be a good girl and wait in my room.”  

“But”–you pause, wondering if you should tell him that you need to leave on time today–“I don’t know if I–”

“You can,” he says with confidence. Adjusting your body so that you face the hallway again, he slaps your ass before ordering, “Now go, brat. I’m already late.” 

Checking your phone for any new messages, you cock a brow when nothing graces your lock screen. Odd. He’s supposed to be coming soon. 

But you still wait like the good girl you are. The good girl that deserves jail time. 

Laid out on the leather sofa that sits in Yoongi’s room, you start playing with the seams of your shorts, thinking about nothing and everything. The time he cornered you in your dressing room, the time you practiced with him and Hoseok and Namjoon… 

You should feel ashamed. Do you? You really should. Because what would h—

The swing of a door hits your ears. 

Jolting from the couch, you feel the intense aura Yoongi brings into the room, its magnetism and fire gravitating you to his form. Even while he’s on his phone, typing away, your reaction to his entrance is visceral. Foolish. That damned combination of confidence and aloofness is what always gets you, and you can see them both in the way he pockets his device and dumps himself where you were just lying.

Ass. He doesn’t need to slump his arms over the back of the sofa like a bored king.

“Well?”

Blinking at his already impatient tone, you reply, “What do you mean, well?”

Yoongi simply points to his sarcastic as fuck expression. “Get to it, miss nurse.”

With a roll of your eyes, you sigh, going over to him with heated steps. In a bout of pettiness, you yank the white towel from one side of his neck before strutting away to his sink, cheeks warming when you hear a gravelly laugh nudge your back. 

“If they ever change those uniforms, I’m retiring.” 

“You’ll never retire,” you retort, dousing the fabric in cold water. “Not as long as you’re making bank and fucking ring girls for free.”

Another puff of mirth erupts. “Read me like a fucking book.” 

“I assure you your book is like, two lines long.” When you’re done wringing the towel, you rummage through a nearby medicine cabinet for rubbing alcohol before making your way back. 

It’s not the silence that gives you pause, but the way Yoongi stares at you—a shrouded expression that you’ve seen grace his face more often lately. Swallowing your thoughts, you remind yourself that you really don’t have time to screw around—literally—so you need to make this quick. 

The plan was to sit next to him while cleaning his face. 

But the wide spread of his legs doesn’t make that possible.

“Can you move? I need to sit.” 

Yoongi’s smile is lopsided, and you absolutely abhor the fact that it’s even hotter while sporting a cut. He takes no arms off the back of the sofa, only prodding a cheek with his tongue before mentioning, “Got a seat for you right here, ring girl.” 

“Ugh, stop,” you plead, “I gotta go soon!”

“Then you better hurry up, huh?”

Huffing one last time, you wordlessly straddle his white sweats, already plotting revenge on his cockiness and entitlement. “Screw you, Min Yoongi,” you hiss to his shameless face checking out your bunched shorts and exaggerated cleavage. 

“Yes, please.”

When you feel a hand snake around to cup your ass, you swat it away. “No funny business. I’m just cleaning you up and heading out.” 

“Uh huh,” the boxer responds, obviously unconvinced.

The wounds on Yoongi’s face are already dried. Seeing his otherwise unblemished skin, still coated with a light sheen, you find it harder and harder to concentrate. 

Why the fuck does he have to be so attractive? And why the hell can’t you contain yourself around him anymore? Damn that stupid dressing room incident. And damn this man licking his lips while looking at yours. 

“Tick tock, doll.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, embarrassment drenching you when Yoongi grins in pride. “Okay, stay still.”

At first, you solely concentrate on cleaning and wiping the dried blood out of his cuts. Having seen this done dozens of times before, you already semi-knew what to do, making sure to get them ready for the antiseptic. 

But over time, your pinched brows and bitten lip slowly relaxed, giving away to a different expression. Surprisingly, cleaning someone’s injuries is quite intimate. And it doesn’t help that you’re straddling this particular patient, nor does it help that at some point, his eyes had also softened and his arms had wrapped around your waist. 

You’re completely silent when you stop wiping Yoongi down, not saying anything as you put alcohol on the towel. When you finally speak, your voice comes out as a whisper, “This part might hurt.” 

He only flicks his eyebrows up once in wordless reply, his eyes still staring at your tongue darting out to wet your lips. Strange. Usually he has a cheeky answer ready to fire. 

You get through the next part of cleaning without a hitch, trying your best to ignore the way Yoongi started rubbing his thumbs on your lower back. His phone even vibrated a couple times and he completely ignored it, which never happens—unless he’s rearranging someone’s stomach or is jammed into their throat. 

“That should do it,” you conclude, using the other side of the long towel to wipe him dry. “And now I really have to go.” 

“Kiss me.”

Your brain grinds to a halt. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Did you accidentally rub alcohol on his brain? What’s with him? You both know the only things you’re capable of are quick flings, though even those are crossing the line for you. He’s never once asked for something so simple. “Yoongi, I—”

“Just one.” He squeezes his veiny arms around you, licking the lips you just swiped clean. “Come on, pretty girl. Think of it as a thank you.”

“Fine,” you surrender, chucking the towel as close to the nearest bin as possible. “Entitled ass.”

“You love it.”

Staring at his face, perfect except for the dust of cuts and other wounds, you find him wildly attractive in the moment. Scarily attractive. Almost enough to make you—

His lips meet yours and cut your train of thought short. 

Already smothered in Yoongi’s embrace, you lean into his touch without any further coercion, slinging your arms around his sweaty neck and pulling at the ends of his hair. Fuck, you wanted to do this ever since he got in the ring. You want to do this every time he’s within two feet of your beating heart. 

He tugs your bottom lip before releasing it with a pop. “What did I just say,” he asks, voice deep and laden with cockiness. 

“Just shut up.” You smash your lips back onto his, rolling your hips like you’re more angry with him than anything. 

Because you are. Goddamn it, you are. Angry with him, with the man that gave him those wounds in the first place, with yourself–you aren’t quite sure. But you start to flex your thighs on his again and again and again, enough for a mischievous laugh to rumble from his chest.  

You know you don’t have a lot of time–no time, frankly–and yet you can’t force yourself away. Not in the slightest. Willpower has no meaning, especially when you start to feel evidence of his own lust building under your core. 

“Don’t seem rushed to leave now, do you? All it takes is getting you on my lap?” Yoongi swats your asscheek before grabbing it in his veiny hands. “Too easy.” 

“No, I…” You pepper kisses along his stupid face, careful to miss his injuries but careless with your words between each peck. “I need to go. He’s waiting for me. I shouldn’t be here.” 

Yoongi’s eyes remain lidded while you lather his face in your love. When you see them widen slightly at something behind you, no time is given for you to escape his death grip and sudden rough kiss to your puffy lips. 

What’s—

Light and sound burst into the room when the door opens, and your entire heart slams to the ground when you hear a very, horrifyingly familiar voice, 

“Yoongi! What’s up, my bro?” 

Holy fuck. 

Is that Jin?

Jin. Seokjin. Your boyfriend, Seokjin? 

Nothing can describe the outright dread you feel in your center, creeping down your limbs like sinister molasses and rendering you powerless. Life with Seokjin flashes before your eyes, second after second unraveling and pricking your heart until it bleeds out. 

You’re fully situated on Yoongi’s hard-on; Jin is standing in the doorway; Yoongi’s greeting him as if they’ve known each other for years.

“Sup, idiot.”  

“You didn’t see my texts?” Your nightmare slowly walks over with his hands in his suit pockets, hollow clinks echoing from under his high-end shoes. Mortified, you stay still—unblinking in your compromising position and feeling a burning sensation in the corners of your eyes. “Just left work early to pick up someone that needed a ride.”

It’s when he finishes his explanation that he finally looks down at your shock, features unmoving when he plainly greets, “Hi, angel.” 

You choke on an empty sob, biting your lip to keep it from quivering. It’s too late to make it seem like anything else, too late to dismount from Yoongi’s warmth. But instead of mentioning a breakup or vowing severe punishment, your boyfriend simply walks off to grab a chair, twisting it toward you and settling in. 

…What the fuck. 

What the fuck? 

What’s happening? What’s he doing? Shouldn’t this situation be a textbook example of how a relationship ends? You’re literally straddling another man’s thighs—panties and shorts soaked through and lips puffed and smeared—and your boyfriend grabs a goddamn seat?

And why did he come in only to say hi so casually to Yoongi? 

Your haze is sliced with words, considerate in meaning but cold in tone, “Don’t let me distract you.” 

Your eyes widen to the point of pain. “What?”

Seokjin simply dusts a speck of nothing off his thigh. “You’re clearly in the middle of something, sweetheart.” 

“But… I…” You strain your neck to keep your eyes on his lax form behind you, turning to briefly face Yoongi’s bored expression before swerving around again. “You’re not… Upset?” 

A chilling laugh bubbles from your boyfriend’s throat. It’s enough to cast goosebumps on your arms, and you can only sit there in complete awe. When he speaks, you turn into ice.

“You think I don’t already know?” 

Another devilish sound pierces you through. “Oh, doll… You have no idea, do you?” 

The sudden reveal throws you for a thousand loops, twisting your brain and dissolving it into mush. 

Jin knows? What does that mean? What does he know about? When you stare at Yoongi, taking in his fiendish smile and curved eyes, you can’t think of a single coherent thought. Your legs are suddenly both jelly and lead, unmoving when you try to yank yourself upward. 

“Go on then, sweetheart,” you boyfriend goads, “Your cunt’s already wet, isn’t it? I bet it’s throbbing just from getting caught, huh?” 

Why the fuck is he so right! 

A small whimper escapes you as Yoongi tugs you down onto his clothed cock, his eyes narrowed and glinting. “Answer him.” 

“Yes—”

“Louder.” 

“Yes!” you squeak out, whining when Yoongi lifts you and forces your deadened legs to cooperate in keeping you upright. As you stand limp before him, confused, he cocks his head. 

“If you wanna be a dirty whore so bad, show him then, princess.” 

You’re completely conflicted right now. On one hand, you’re hyper aware of your feelings regarding both of the men watching you, and the realization that they both know about each other still hasn’t quite processed in your brain. On the other hand, you really don’t know if your boyfriend is okay with what’s happening. Does he really not mind? Is he really okay with sharing? 

Turning to face him, you watch his dark expression when you ask, “Is this really okay?” 

“Now you wanna ask?” 

Your heart flatlines.

“What about all those other times, angel? Did you feel like asking me then?” 

His relentless onslaught is valid and destructive. You feel incredibly sick to your stomach, all the times you’ve gone behind his back now laughing at you with disdain. Without much prelude, tears start rolling down your cheeks and you feel a hollowness in your throat. “Baby, I—”

Jin’s already out of his chair, going to you and encasing you in his familiar cologne. When he brings a hand up, it’s only to softly cup your chin, his lips claiming yours in a deep, tender kiss right after. He’s uncaring about the way your lipstick smeared, or the way you must taste metallic, which further serves to confuse you. 

When Seokjin slowly pulls away, you meet his lidded eyes like he holds your entire existence in his palms. Rubbing your cheek with a thumb, he whispers, “It’s okay. I don’t mind, sweetheart.” 

As his hand falls away and his warmth leaves your chest, you breathe, “You don’t?” 

“With the way you always look at me? Even now? I know you know who you belong to.” Mocking contemplation, he leers at you while rubbing his chin.

And at his sudden drop in tone, you fear him more than Death itself. 

“I just need to see how you’re getting fucked behind my back, that’s all.”  

Oh, fuck. 

You are so fucked. 

“You heard your man, baby girl,” Yoongi finally growls, grabbing your hips and forcing you to fall back onto his lap. Roughly grabbing your face to squish it, he has you look straight at your boyfriend alongside him. “Let’s give him a show.” 

Jin’s already back in his seat, glaring as Yoongi drags your top downward to release your breasts. As you yelp, he cups your throat and snaps the band of your shorts. “Take these off. Hurry up.” 

Air supply cut short, you watch your boyfriend’s expression as you shakily tug down your uniform bottoms, lifting your ass off Yoongi’s legs to slide them off fully. Strings of your slick taper from your cunt as the garments hit the floor, and you can feel more than see the change in Jin’s eyes. 

Yoongi’s voice is deeper than trenches when he commands, “Spread those fucking legs. Wider.” 

You push your lips together as you obey, splayed out on Yoongi’s all-white tracksuit, drenched cunt facing your silent boyfriend. Your head rests heavily on his collarbone, but you can’t bring yourself to move. 

“You see that, hyung,” Yoongi questions from behind as he brings a hand down to open your lips further. “Knew she couldn’t wait to get caught. Dirty whore.” 

He gives your clit a quick slap before releasing your throat to get his dick out, and you gasp for precious oxygen while reeling from the pleasurable sting. 

The fact that Seokjin is actually fine with all of this happening intrigues you and turns you on tenfold, your highest fantasy being this exact scenario unfolding right now. How did you get so lucky? It’s like they both knew exactly what you needed, wanted, craved before anything else.

Yoongi was on his phone when he came into the room initially. Was Seokjin the one he was texting? This is all too much to take in. But they’re both here, both acutely aware of everything you do, devouring you with their eyes. 

Despite this ridiculous miracle, something is missing. You feel it in your bones. 

Is it the fact that you want to be… rightfully punished for this? For your sins? It can’t be that. It can’t be how you truly feel. 

But when Yoongi growls his next words, you banish all of those thoughts at once. 

“You should be fuckin’ ashamed.” 

What you feel against your back is his cock—solid as a rock; what you feel against your front is his fingers seizing a nipple and pulling hard. You cry out at the pain, whimpering when his hand slips down to tease your clit. 

“Deepthroating us behind his back. Getting a train run on you. Telling him nothing.” 

Two fingers plunge into your cunt, curling upward to hit exactly where you want them to. You’re temporarily blinded and screaming out indecipherable syllables. 

“Finger-fucked while he’s right in front of you. Can’t believe he still wants to fuck this cunt. You don’t deserve him.” 

“I don’t,” you agree wholeheartedly as your body fucks long fingers, eyes shooting lust right into the ceiling. “I don’t.” 

“Lift your ass up. You’re gonna take this dick like the ungrateful slut you are.” 

Shit, did you just hear Jin groan? 

Teeth nick your ear before pouring more and more filth inside. Abruptly, soaked fingers are removed from your core with another quick slap, skirting around your hips to lube a throbbing cock behind you. As your vision descends back to your boyfriend, your lower back feels just how wet you got Yoongi’s digits. 

“I said lift this ass up.” When rough hands grip your hips, you feel your asscheeks grind up Yoongi’s jacket, sweat and desire causing your skin to slide and heat up to a thousand degrees.

Immediately, you’re speared by Yoongi’s girth, arching your back and crying out when your cunt pulses wildly against its wide head. Your legs shake on impact, straining every muscle to keep yourself upright. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s right, princess,” he grits into your neck, thrusting up into you without a shred of hesitation. “Keep saying who you really belong to.” 

Jin’s low voice darts across the room in an instant, “Watch it.” 

You’re absolutely certain Yoongi’s grinning back in response behind your mussed hair and bouncing chest, and being the object of both their desires in the moment flings you into another universe of ecstasy. Hands make their way to both of your breasts, groping them hard before pinching your nipples. 

“Fuck!” Your breath is next to gone, lost to moans and whines as you’re being wrecked between your legs. 

“You like that?” Both of Yoongi’s arms tug you down, slamming you right to the base of his cock and holding you there to take his fast movements. He completely revels in your cries when he laughs, “Of course you do. Dirty fucking whore.” 

It hurts so good. Your walls are being spread again and again and again, and you have to relax them to allow Yoongi more room to intrude. “Oh, my god,” you gasp out, “Yoongi, please!” 

He has to know your legs are giving out. That your thighs are blocks of exhausted muscle—nothing more. But even if he does, Yoongi doesn’t care in the slightest, ramming his cock inside you so deep that your stomach will walk away with the same bruises on his face. 

“Your girl feels so good around my cock, hyung,” he taunts, his hot breath rolling down your sweat-slicked chest. “It’s like she doesn’t want me to leave.” 

When you listen for a reply, you only get silence. And that seems to delight the younger man in the room, his dark chuckles assaulting your earlobe. 

Damn him and his laughs. You can help but clench around his dick, and his reaction to that is to burst in higher pitched glee. “That’s right, baby girl. You know you’re really mine.” 

The scraping of metal chair legs grinds your ears, and you snap your eyes to where your boyfriend is leaving his seat. 

Oh, fuck. Is he leaving? No no no he can’t leave. Is he really mad now? Fuck, he’s livid. He doesn’t want you anymore. 

“Baby!” you suddenly plead, “Come here—” 

“Save it.” 

Fuck! He didn’t even address you by any names. Fuck fuck fuck!

Tears are rolling down your face, taking your makeup with them. “Jinnie—” 

“Jinnie’s not concerned with a slut like you,” Yoongi sneers, thrusting up into you and making you see stars. You’re so damn conflicted, feeling euphoric in this state and in an outright panic in your gut. Why the hell do you feel this way? “Fuck, Jin, she’s clenching around me so fucking hard. This your girl?” 

“I am,” you cry out. Pulling all your strength from your center, your lips quiver when you finally address Jin how you want to, how you’ve never addressed him anywhere else outside his lavish penthouse.

“Daddy, please—” 

Yoongi stops.

Jin straightens. 

When your boyfriend stalks forward, it’s not anger or fury embedded in his features. No. Not at all. 

Seokjin is hunger incarnate. 

His eyes may as well be bleeding black all the way through, and you forget any strain you feel in your muscles at the sight of them. When you dart your gaze down, the angry bulge in his pants makes you wetter than you’ve ever been, and you look at him with pure shock. 

It seems that even Yoongi feels the shift in the room when you say it. You never said it during his competition with Hoseok and Namjoon. Only the latter implied that you did when you were fucking him. 

But now, after hearing that fly out of your mouth, something in him snaps because he transforms  into another beast entirely. Seokjin doesn’t even make it all the way to you before your arms are held back at their elbows, arching you forward and allowing next to no movement. A strangled whine leaves your mouth as your face is tilted to the ceiling. 

And all you see is your boyfriend staring down at your naked, restricted form, fully dressed in the designer suit he left work in.

Fuck, he is so goddamn fine.

Undisturbed by your pussy getting reamed, he simply brushes a thumb against your mouth. “Does my greedy girl want daddy? Want his generous dick in her mouth while she gets fucked?” 

“Yes!” Your brows pinch in desperation. “Fuck yes, daddy.” 

Immediately, Seokjin inserts a finger in you instead, leering down at your batting eyelashes. “I didn’t hear you,” he lies. 

You’re about to shout louder when he inserts more, jamming his long digits in until you’re filled and moaning around him. 

Holy shit. You’re going to hell. Just the feeling of Jin’s fingers in your mouth while Yoongi thrusts up into you is enough to get one foot over the edge. As your boyfriend regards you with a bored expression that can burn cities, your pussy wrestles Yoongi in a vice grip. 

“Oh, fuck,” you hear him groan behind you, snaking a wet hand around your throat to cut off your air supply even more. You damn near blackout from the sensation of suffering at both their thick, veiny hands. 

But Jin can sense it because he promptly yanks his fingers out, roughly patting your cheek with your saliva before tutting, “Guess that’s a no. Too bad.” 

Fuck! Frustrated, you loll your head forward. You’ve been denied from so many things while being granted a million. 

But he’s still here. Jin’s still here. Voluntarily watching you get split in two by a world-renowned boxer. 

And you cannot describe how turned on that makes you. 

Your pussy desperately aches for release around Yoongi, your high being so close from having Jin’s fully clothed form right in front of your debauchery. From being degraded, shamed, and spoiled all at once.

It seems that both men know your body well. 

As soon as your breath hitches profusely, Yoongi bucks you forward and releases you entirely, making your spent form fumble to the ground on all fours. You’re lucky to get one hand planted correctly, your forearm and knees not as fortunate.  

But no rest for the fucked. “Get up. Get on the couch.” 

Your body barely cooperates as you strain to lift yourself. A three ton weight of exhaustion and shame pushes you down, biceps and thighs burning with betrayal. Turning your head to see Jin unphased, you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, something carnal and sinful. 

And you feel like the dirtiest and most wanted woman on the planet. 

Yoongi leans down and grips your chin, snapping your face to his. “You good?”

The sudden question causes your brain to reset. “Yeah,” you blurt, confused. 

“Bet.” Your limbs are softly pulled upward, and the fighter dumps you onto his couch with a grunt. Immediately swallowing your naked form in his unzipped jacket, he positions his cock at your entrance while murmuring, “Thought you hit the floor kinda hard.” 

You almost don’t know how to respond to this Yoongi. Is he really acting… concerned? “I did,” you admit, “But not too bad.” 

“Good girl.” 

His dark bangs stick to his forehead, and you find yourself swelling with something dangerous. Whether it’s from his turn of character, or just seeing his face again, you aren’t sure and you don’t know how to feel about it. 

You’ve been facing Jin that entire time. Why did your heart flutter either way? 

Sweat drips onto your cheeks as Yoongi whispers, “Eyes on me.” 

As you flick your gaze upward at the command, he pushes himself back inside your throbbing cunt, the pair of you groaning at the connection. Overwhelmed by multiple emotions, your heart starts to bang the walls of your chest, as if being charmed by Yoongi’s spell. 

Because what was that? What did you feel just then? There existed something in the pair of eyes above you, something you didn’t want to address.

“Always so fucking tight,” Yoongi grits, fully sheathing himself before increasing his pace faster and faster. “Too tight for a slut.” 

And just like that, the spell dissipates, and you’re a shaking mess under his attack. Thrust after thrust after deep thrust shoves you into the arm of the sofa, and your finally freed hands grab onto his sleeves for support. “Yoongi, fuck!”

“Just like that, doll,” he growls with purpose, “Say my name again.”

“Yoongi—” 

He shoves his cock so far into you that you taste him on your tongue. “Louder.”

Eyes squeezed tight, you rip his name out of your throat, gasping when he sets a relentless pace, the ridges of his dick rubbing so well against your walls that you feel your high approaching fast again. “Oh, my god!”

Yoongi then grabs your outside leg to lift over his shoulder, his brows furrowing in focus as he leans further into you. “You gonna come for me, angel? I feel it. You can’t hide from me.”

“I wanna,” you wheeze out, body limp and thrumming all over with pleasure. “So bad.”

“Then come. Come for me, you dirty whore.”

You feel a fire flare inside your chest. 

Because there’s a single, astute truth that you can’t escape. An understanding that you’ve solidified into fact. 

And the only other person that knows this about you is sitting right across the room. 

You sense his lips curve in pride, his confidence drowning the room from floor to chipped ceiling. When you turn your head, he’s already standing, hands planted on his hips and slightly lifting the ends of his jacket. 

“Daddy,” you call out to him, ignoring Yoongi’s stare completely. When Seokjin tilts his head, you finish the sentence you always request in his presence without fail, “Can I?”

And ever his favorite answer, he denies, “No.” 

“Please, I—” Turning back to Yoongi, you moan as he continues to plunge into you, strokes getting rougher as he plants a frustrated hand on the back of the couch. Staring right into the fighter’s eyes, you admit to Jin, “It feels so good.” 

Yoongi groans above you while you hear a scoff. “Why should I let you, sweetheart?” 

“Because… I… Fuck!” It’s when you’re speaking that Yoongi decides to lift your other leg up, hoisting them both over your body to fold you tight. Your words become unintelligible as you keep pleading to him, to Yoongi, to anyone. It’s all too much to handle. Your pussy is reaching its breaking point and you need release. Now. 

But ever patient, Jin simply asks again, “Because what, angel?” 

Hot tears are quick to form in your eyes, rolling down into your ears as Yoongi continues to stroke at a torturous pace. Your coil is winding and winding and you don’t know if anyone on Earth would be able to stop it now. Stomach squished and face burning, you cry out, “I’ll be good! I’ll do anything! Just, please!” 

“Not good enough.” 

What the fucking hell! Seokjin knows you need release. He knows how much you’re burning from the inside. He knows how sorry you are even though he knew everything. 

Dry sobs destroy your throat, the stimulation coming from everywhere—inside and outside, Yoongi and Seokjin—overwhelming and driving you over an edge you’ve never reached before. The coil twists and winds and curves into itself terrifyingly taut. Tighter and tighter and too fucking tight.  

“I need it!” you choke out, as if you’ll never say another word again. “I’ll do whatever you want! Please!” 

Finally—finally—Jin drags you to paradise.

“Then go ahead, sweetheart. Come like you do for daddy.” 

Like a dam crumbling, you come violently around Yoongi at his words, trembling and shaking and throwing your head all the way back. Waves crash against your body as your limbs lock at hard angles, pummeling you all the way to your proverbial shore. 

Above you, Yoongi releases a guttural moan, stuttering his hips when you milk him impossibly hard. “What the fuck!” With an erratic pace, he spills inside of you, string after molten string painting your walls white. Sweat from his cut brow drips onto your face, and the skin you can see under his white clothing is flushed as red as the robe he wears into the ring. 

Your legs fall back straight. 

One breath. Then another. 

Seconds later, it feels like centuries have passed. You’re a limp mess on the sofa, molding with its damp leather as you lie completely still. 

In a slightly better state, Yoongi pulls out and spreads your numb thighs, letting one of your legs dangle off the furniture. “Look at you,” he sneers with no heat behind it, “Dripping out another man’s cum in front of daddy.” 

You can only whimper under his lustful gaze, knowing both of them are focused on the same thing.

The boxer tucks his cock back inside his pants, adjusting the band on his hips. Drinking up your splayed out form one more time, he praises in a low tone, “Fuck, Jin, she’s perfect.” 

“I know.” 

Crouching, Yoongi takes his fingers to slowly shove some of his essence back inside your cunt, making you clench again way too soon. “You’re gonna keep all this in you for later, princess,” he commands in a voice only you can hear.

Which confuses you because you can’t find a reason why. It’s not like he’ll get another chance anytime soon, especially when Jin is walking toward you the way he is now. 

When he reaches your exhausted heap, you finally see the glint of a belt buckle in front of your eyes. A belt buckle you recognize to the point of drooling at the very sight. 

Your eyes follow his as he lowers himself to face-level. “Did you enjoy that, angel?” he asks, wiping a comforting thumb across your forehead. 

“I did,” you croak, voice rasp and eternally thankful.

Seokjin is silent for a moment before he breathes from his nose. “So did I,” he admits, “I like when my baby gets to have fun.” 

“I should’ve told you,” you whisper, eyes getting much too heavy to keep open. “About before.” 

“You should have. You’re right.” Another caress of your hair. When he turns to his side, he grabs the clothes that Yoongi brought over, though you don’t have the energy to question why. “But I’m not mad.” 

“Okay,” you reply, smaller than a whisper. “Love you, Jinnie.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.” He slips an arm under your tired bones, lifting you slightly and urging you to stay awake just a bit longer. “Dress up and we can go home.” 

“K.” 

It takes you much longer than it should to put four pieces of clothing back on, but your present company doesn’t pay you any mind, their voices filling another part of the room. You don’t know exactly what the topic of conversation is, though you can throw in a guess. Give or take a few. 

All you know for sure is that you’re going to need a weeks’ worth of time to process what just happened. 

Truthfully, it all feels like a fever dream. From the moment Jin walked through that door, your mind had nestled itself inside another plane of existence, floating above the clouds at unreachable heights. 

But once you finally realize—days from now—that it was all true, you know you’re going to be faced with a multitude of emotions and feelings that need sorting out. Especially the few that sparked between you and the man talking to your boyfriend.

Regardless, that’s for another time. Now, you need to thank Seokjin for everything under the Sun, revolve around him endlessly like an infatuated moon.

“I’m ready,” you rasp out, causing both men to turn back to you. 

Jin comes to your side immediately, with Yoongi strolling behind, hands deep in his pockets. With a sure hand on your back, your boyfriend kisses your forehead before leading you towards the exit. Once there, he lightly lets you past the threshold before turning behind him. 

“And Yoongi?” 

Intrigued, you pop your head around his wide chest before the fighter eloquently responds. 

“What.” 

Seokjin’s tone is playful when he taunts, “It’s cute. How you think she’s yours.” 

Your face reaches high temperatures in immediate embarrassment. Or is it pride? You don’t know for sure. 

Yoongi simply rubs his bottom lip, smirking more at you than his addresser. 

“You always forget, hyung.” He huffs out a laugh, teeth shining with confidence and the knowledge that his cum is still inside you. “I never lose.”

-

-

-

A/N: dsljkfnsdljkfh soooo.. i know this is super sudden.. but a burst of inspiration and the power of friendship is a lethal fic-writing combo. anyways, hope you all like it despite the themes sdklfjd dee you better know how much ily bc i can’t write infidelity without sobbing AHH i can’t do this again!!  ++ feedback box (new!): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist 

[how-do-i-delete-this-acc]

happy birthday, kenma.

kenma x gn reader

warnings: post timeskip, reader and kenma live together and share finances

a/n: I LOVE KENMA HE'S BEEN MY FAV SINCE DAY ONE IM SO EXCITED

"y/n?" kenma called out. why were all the shades down? it was kind of creepy.

he turned on the bedroom light and walked out to the hall, and then to the living room, flipping light switches as he walked.

this is kind of weird. kenma thought as he walked into the kitchen. maybe they just went out?

he flipped the kitchen light switch.

"SURPRISE!" y/n yelled.

"AH!" kenma yelped, startled by the sudden noise. when he realized what was going on, he immediately bounced into his usual, calm expression, but this time with a small smile.

on the kitchen table, there were a couple wrapped boxes, some balloons, and an apple pie instead of a cake. "what's all this?"

"happy birthday kenma!" y/n said, a cheery grin on their face as they ran up to him and gave him a big hug.

oh. "it's my birthday today?" kenma asked. if he was being honest, he had no idea what the date was.

their heart dropped. "i-is it not today? your birthday's october 16th, right?"

"oh. i guess so. i forgot that that was today."

y/n let out a small sigh of relief and smiled. "that's another year. love you, kenma." they gave him a peck to the cheek.

he smiled. "love you too, y/n."

they gestured to the boxes on the table. "open your presents!"

he opened the first one. a small one. he tore the red wrapping paper off to reveal a box containing a couple of red hair clips, one with a pudding charm, and the other with a heart charm. he smiled. he had complained to them last week that his hair was always getting into his face, and it meant a lot to him that they took note of that and gave him this cute gift.

"well?" y/n asked. "do you like it?"

'yeah," kenma replied, pressing a kiss to their forehead. "i do."

"i knew i had to get these when i saw the pudding one, you pudding head." y/n teased, to which kenma rolled his eyes playfully.

"open the next one!" y/n said, their eyes eager and excited.

kenma tore off the wrapping paper of and opened a slightly larger box to reveal a picture frame. inside the frame was one of his favorite photos of both of them together, which was a photo kuroo had taken and sent to him. it was a picture of him and y/n on the couch, cuddling and watching a movie. except not actually watching it because they had both fallen fast asleep.

he smiled. he would put this near his gaming setup, he decided. it would remind him of the love of his life everyday, and he was very happy with it.

"i love it. it's cute." kenma said, pressing another peck onto y/n's forehead.

"open the last one!" y/n said, a grin stuck permanently on their face.

the last one was big. really big. "i hope that you didn't spend too much money on this one." seeing as how they shared finances and he made a handsome salary off of his company and gaming career, money wasn't too much of an issue, but he still didn't want them spending too much on his birthday. birthdays were never THAT important to him, after all.

"don't worry." y/n said, excitement clear in their eyes. "just open it!"

kenma ripped off the wrapping paper and opened up the box.

"a.. pet bed? and a litter box? what's this, a crate, or carrier or something? and a.. scratching post? huh?" that wasn't all. there was also an automatic wet cat food dispenser, a pet water fountain, some cat toys, a brush and comb, premium wet cat food, a blanket, a cute red cat collar, a large bag of litter, and an envelope.

"y/n what is all this?" kenma was honestly genuinely confused. in the back of his mind, he had a little panic attack thinking that his s/o might be a furry.

"just open the envelope!" y/n said, shoving it into his hands.

he pulled out a piece of paper and tossed the envelope to the side before reading the contents of the paper. it was the confirmation of an adoption fee. the adoption fee of a calico cat. a female, 8-pound, 2 year old calico cat.

he looked back at y/n. "is this.. our cat?"

they smiled. "im picking her up tomorrow if you want to come. i've already met her, and she's very friendly."

kenma was.. so happy. he had always wanted a cat, ever since he was a kid. he didn't know what to say. he simply pulled y/n into a big hug, holder them tight. "of course. i love you. thanks for.. all this."

the two spent the rest of the day playing games, watching shows, eating the apple pie, and opening gifts he had gotten from friends.

kenma was never very good with words. he didn't really know what to say whenever he was presented with really any situation that he couldn't script. but that was ok. because even if his only words to y/n's efforts were "i love you" or "thank you," y/n knew very well just how grateful he was.

and that was enough.

happy birthday to you. happy birthday to you. happy birthday dear kenma! happy birthday to you!

love you sm kenma <33 u have always been my fav muah muah

-luvsoji

happy kenma day!

[toaverse]

Disney modern AU: Sleeping Beauty

So, I really fell in love with the ideas @ghostbrother30 had for this AU, and decided to write it out!

Note: While I'm referring to the original animated Disney movie, I dropped it at a cliffhanger, so we will see if the story takes the route of the Maleficent movies :)

Enjoy!

In France, in the city Marseille, a business man named Stefan had it all. A well payed and respectful business career, a nice big house, and a good friend who's always there for him named Hubert.

Hubert was a fellow business man who lived in the city, happily married to his wife. But tragedy would later strike when his wife passed away in childbirth. Hubert was distraught, now having to raise his son all by himself...

Eventually, Stefan fell in love with Leah, a waitress who worked at a restaurant near the company building Stefan worked at and frequently visited to eat dinner.

The couple started dating, married 3 years later, and were expecting a child shortly after the wedding. The two couldn’t be happier.

On January 29, their daughter was born, who they named Aurora.

Everything was perfect for the small family. Except, well, they forgot about one thing. Or rather, one person…

Maleficent, Stefan’s ex-girlfriend, was a nurse and got assigned to care for the newborn baby in the hospital. Many years ago, she and Stefan were in a relationship that seemed to be serious, until he broke up with her because he had his eyes on some other woman, that waitress from the restaurant…

So, finding out that the newborn she cared for was her ex’s and his new wife’s daughter, Maleficent poisoned the baby that would give her health issues growing up, as a means to hurt Stefan.

As a result, baby Aurora did indeed become sick, her health going up and down unexpectedly on certain days, sometimes to a critical condition.

Stefan and Leah both threw themselves into their work, trying to find a way to cure their sick daughter. But while doing so, they couldn’t find any time to bond with Aurora, so Stefan asked three family friends of his, Flora, Fauna and Merryweather, to care for her, as the three were living together. Luckily, the triplet sisters happily agreed.

Flora, the oldest triplet, worked as a tailor, making and putting dresses on display in clothing stores. She would teach Aurora to be confident and love herself.

Fauna, the middle triplet, was a baker at one of Marseille’s local bakeries, often making all kinds of cakes. After taking in Aurora, Fauna would cut some of her work work hours to care for the baby. She would teach Aurora to sing, cook, and look on the bright side of things.

Merryweather (also nicknamed "Merry", the youngest triplet, worked as a cleaner in a hospital, sweeping the halls and rooms at certain hours. She’d teach Aurora how to clean and doing chores around the house.

But something Stefan and Leah didn't know, was that Maleficent was the triplets' neighbor, living right next door to them.

When she wasn't at work at the hospital, Maleficent lived alone, her only company being her pet raven named Diablo.

When the triplets took in Aurora, Maleficent was quite shocked. What the-?! now she had to live right next to that brat?!

But as the girl grew up, Maleficent slowly came to love Aurora as a daughter, and came to regret her decision of poisoning the child. Because of her regret, Maleficent tried to find a cure to make up for her mistake, and to heal the girl.

Aurora grew up, and she was really happy with her life. She had three amazing aunts, a loving mother-figure who lived next door, a best friend she had met in elementary school named Cinderella (also nicknamed "Ella"), and good grades in high school.

Three months before her 16th birthday, Aurora met Phillip in her biology class, and the two quickly fell in love and got together.

Phillip was living with his father, Hubert, in the city Marseille. His mother passed away the day he was born, which he sometimes felt guilty of, but his dad would always reassure him that it wasn't his fault. It was sometimes hard without a mother in his life, but Phillip managed. At least he still had his father and his pet dog Samson.

But tragedy struck when Aurora's health declined severely, on her 16th birthday no less, and had to be rushed to the hospital...

Flora, Fauna and Merry were absolutely devastated. Phillip and Cinderella were worried, wanting Aurora to be okay. And Maleficent felt extremely guilty, wishing she hadn't poisoned the girl as a newborn...

In the end, the girl had to be put in a coma, and the only chance for her to survive is through an organ donation...

[reidyoulikeabook]

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading  you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.” 

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

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[thisnoodlewritesao3]

AAA HI IM HERE FOR THE LATE EVENT😙😙 COULD PLS HAVE KAGEYAMA + WITH THE AU WHERE "Everyone is born with a unique number only they and their soulmates have" + ANGST TO FLUFF PLS 🥺🥺 THAK YOU FOR LETTING ME DO THIS LATE I APPRECIATE YOU AND LOVE YOU MWAH HAVE A GOOD DAY DARLING

Okay, so, I sort of went on a wild one with this one. And I hope you like this because ya know, it is definitely angst and there is some fluff, but it was getting so long and it’s already like nearly 2k words i think. lemme check. yeah, 1.7k words. omg. i did love this little story i made so i hope you do skjfhdskjfhsdfsdkf

----

Life, for you, was perfect.

In a world of soulmates, you were one of the lucky few that had actually managed to meet your destined other half. 

You met Fujinaga Souta when you were 8 years old - barely a second year in elementary school - you’d transferred to his school a few weeks into the year, when friend groups had been established and you were left to try and find a place where you could be.

It wasn’t like you were sitting in the seat next to him, and he picked up a pen you’d drop on the ground. It actually wouldn’t be until you were 10 years old that you’d ever talk to him.

Because Fujinaga Souta felt like he was a thousand miles ahead of you, so close yet so out of reach in everything he did. He played volleyball so beautifully, setting with ease and wonder that you couldn’t help but be captivated by him. You had a crush with a boy who didn’t know you existed, and back then it felt okay, because you could always imagine what it felt like to hold hands with him. When his blue eyes found yours, you’d melt, and feel the warm spread to your cheeks before turning away. Black hair that dangled in front of his eyes.

A small group - including him and you - were talking one day, and he started complaining about the way his hair fell in front of his eyes. Being the person you were, you offered a clip to keep it out of his eyes. Being the person he is, he accepted.

It was at that moment he finally paid attention to the numbers that traced along your jaw. 539268. The ones that matched his own perfectly. He almost screamed, pushing your head to the side so he could get a closer look and ensure he wasn’t reading it wrong (you’d complain later in life that this is where your neck problems came from, but you both knew it was from your posture). After he was done pointing and rambling, he pulled down his sock to reveal the numbers on his ankle. 539268.

You almost fainted. It was strange. Your friends exclaimed how lucky you were - because he was a popular boy, loved by so many.

You were 11 when you found out he was your soulmate.

When you told your mother, she immediately set up a celebration; you couldn’t have been more embarrassed, but Souta made it feel like the most normal thing in the world.

Souta was your world. That’s why when he started to get sick, you were by his side as often as you could be. Each day at school would be filled with messages you’d send to him about things you would do when he got out of the hospital.

Only he never got out of the hospital.

On February 16th, 2012, Souta passed away.

Ripped from your arms before you’d gotten a chance to live.

You spent so many months locked away in your room, crying and screaming from the physical pain losing him had caused you. Your only solace was the pile of shirts his mother had let you have because she recognised how painful it was to lose someone who would be the one to know you better than you knew yourself.

The first time you visited his grave made your soul weaker and you could only cry as you clawed at the dirt.

The first day at your high school - which you started months later than most - was like hell. Everyone had heard of you, of the girl who lost her soulmate. They offered empty condolences that you had to pretend made things better.

The first friend you made - a sweet girl named Yachi Hitoka - didn’t pretend she knew what it felt like. In fact, she didn’t even make you talk about Souta at all (for that, you were grateful). She filled up your world with notes and studying, a pleasant distraction from a world outside of your own.

Your friendship with Yachi remained in the classroom, but that was fine by you. She had her own worries and troubles.

A few months in, and you weren’t crying as much anymore. Your heart still yearned for his touch, but you found some love in visiting his grave and telling him about your days, hoping that, by some miracle, he could still hear you.

The first time you see someone that looks so much like him, you’re sure you’re hallucinating that it sends you back into a spiral.

Kageyama Tobio. That was his name. The one you’d silently curse when you saw him in the halls; the one that made you move further away from Yachi when you learnt she’d been tutoring him; the one that looked so much like your soulmate it opened up the tear in your heart.

It wasn’t like you had to interact with him, you didn’t, he wasn’t in your class, wasn’t in your club, you didn’t have anything in common with him. Not until you walked to the vending machine one lunch and stood for too long trying to work out what to get and heard his gruff voice, “can you hurry up?” He grumbled.

You didn’t even take the time to glare over your shoulder before you chose milk, just because it was easier - that, and it was the last carton and something about the blue on it made you think of Souta again. How were you supposed to know that milk just happened to be this boy's favourite drink? You weren’t.

That wasn’t the last run in you would have with Kageyama Tobio - much to your demise - it only got worse through your second and third years, where your visits to Souta’s grave became more filled with anxiety about your future.

It isn’t until one Summer day during your second year that you seem an all too familiar face standing next to Souta’s grave (or the one next to it).

You try your best to ignore Kageyama as you kneel down in front of your soulmate's grave, but his eyes seem to find you immediately. “Do you mind if I talk?” You ask, not looking up at him for fear you might break. He didn’t answer, so you took matters into your own hands.

You talked to Souta about this week. About how you visited his family the day before and how his mom said you were growing to be a lovely young woman. About how you hadn’t cried this week, and you were proud of yourself. You told him that nothing exciting had happened since he was gone, and that the world seemed to lose more colour with each passing day.

You were talking without realising you had someone actually listening.

“Does that help?” He asked without thinking. Maybe he made a mistake, because the light in your eyes seemed to flutter out, but you answered him nonetheless.

“I guess so, although I’m not doing it to help.” You sighed, brushing your fingers over the petals on the flowers placed there by someone. “I’m doing it because I love him, and he deserves to hear this. To talk to me. Ya know?” And he nodded as if he understood - but you knew he didn't.

That was the start of a small arrangement with Kageyama Tobio. Once a week, he’d show up at the graveyard (not just because you were there, but also because that was where his grandfather was buried). You’d both talk to your respective people, and it was nice.

You stopped seeing Kageyama as a wrong version of Souta and started seeing him for himself.

One day, near the end of your third year, you somehow end up arguing with Kageyama. “Yeah, well, you hated me for no reason all throughout my first year.” He bit back at a comment you made and you shoved your hands into your hair gripping the roots (why is the only thing you can think is how your Souta would never act like this).

“I didn’t hate you!” You cried back.

“Then what was it?” He hissed.

You wanted to explode, everything hurt all over again.

“You reminded me of him. Of Souta.” You said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for an explanation.

“But I’m not him, so how?”

That was enough for you to realise that Kageyama had never seen what Souta looked like. He wasn’t aware of the fact that he was the spitting image of your soulmate. So, as you’re rummaging through your bag for a picture you kept on you, you start explaining to him. “Because Souta was sweet, and kind, and considerate, and loving.” You say, and you can tell he’s confused. “And you’re sweet but blind, kind but dense. Not quite as considerate and loving, but you try even when it doesn’t look like you are.” You sigh, ignoring the pang of pain in your heart. “You play volleyball - a setter - and you play it so effortlessly. You remind me of him in every single way without knowing it, but I know it and it hurt me. It still hurts me. Because how am I meant to feel when I look up at you and somehow stopped seeing him and started seeing you?” You ask, though you aren’t really asking him. It’s a general question.

You manage to find the picture and pass it to him. His reaction speaks a thousand words, the way his eyes widen because this boy does look like the spitting image of him and he can see why you were hurt by him.

He explains that he didn’t understand what the big deal about soulmates was until he met you. That the reason he’d never really cared about that was because he was born without a soulmate mark (you traced the numbers on your jaw); he had to be like the many who just had to make their own soulmates, but he’d never even have the option to meet a soulmate. You almost felt ashamed. He told you you didn't need to feel ashamed.

That night, as you sat watching a movie to forget about the argument, you’d experience your first kiss with a boy that wasn’t your soulmate. You didn’t feel any guilt about it. Because you knew Souta would want you to be happy.

You and Kageyama had a rocky friendship; your relationship wasn’t any easier. But you made it work. Because soulmates normally don’t get to meet, but you can make soulmates with enough time and care. And, luckily for you, Kageyama was willing to give all the time in the world to you (as long as you didn't get in the way of volleyball, but you normally didn’t).

----

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[scotianostra]

July 3rd 1582 James Crichton of Eliock, the original "Admirable Crichton", died in a brawl in Mantua.

Soldier, scholar, poet and athlete, he was a graduate of St Andrews University and a tutor of King James VI. James Crichton, known as the Admirable Crichton, was a Scottish polymath, a latin term that translates to “universal man”, basically he was good at everything!

Crichton wasnoted for his extraordinary accomplishments in languages, the arts, and sciences. One of the most gifted individuals of the 16th century, James Crichton of Clunie Perthshire, was the son of Robert Crichton of Eliok, Lord Advocate of Scotland, and Elizabeth Stewart, from whose line James could claim Royal descent.

At the age of eight Crichton’s eloquence in his native vernacular was compared with that of Demosthenes and Cicero. By fifteen he knew “perfectly” Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, and Syriac; and commanded native conversational fluency in Spanish, French, Italian, “Dutch”, Flemish, and, oh, “Sclavonian”, don’t worry I looked it up for us, it’s basically Slovenian.

That was the mere beginning of Crichton’s admirableness. He was also a champion athlete, a horseman, a fencer, a dancer, a singer of rare voice, and the master of most known wind and string instruments. His St. Andrews professor, Rutherford, a noted commentator, judged him to be one of the leading philosophers of the era.

After sucking all the available education to him in Scotland, it was only natural he should start on mainland Europe, he studied in France at the College of Navarre at the University of Paris. Here the young Scotsman cut a broad swath, though according to his jealous fellows his arenas of greatest activity were the tavernia’s and the whorehouses, rather than the lecture hall. Young Crichton did like the ladies, who in turn found him most–admirable.

He may have been liked by the ladies, but nobody likes a big heid, and that is how Crichton must have come across to many, nowadays he would have been one of the Chasers, or an Egghead on our TV screens, but back in the 16th century there were no such outlets for Crichton to show his big heid off, so he had posters printed up declaring that on a day six weeks hence, at nine in the morning, in the main hall of the College of Navarre, he intended to present himself to dispute with all comers all questions put to him regarding any subject. He had these put up on all the appropriate notice boards and church doors, before disappearing into the red light district to prepare himself for the contest. His adversaries had to quit laughing when on the appointed day Crichton appeared as advertised and bested the greatest local experts in grammar, mathematics, geometry, music, astronomy, logic, and theology.

The Crichton Show, having conquered Paris, moved next to the Italian peninsula. The young Scot performed memorable feats of academic disputation first in Rome and then in Venice. There he became fast friends with the famous scholar-printer Aldus Munitius, who is a credible witness to some of his more amazing intellectual performances. One of his ways of showing off was giving off the cuff instances of Comedic verse, a sort of Stand Up routine, but with that Crichton twist, the odes he told were in Latin!

Tradition has it on the street in Mantua one night he was accosted by four swordsmen, with superb sword play Crichton disarmed them all and forced them to show their faces. One of them, their leader indeed, turned out to be one of his pupils and prodigy, Vincenzo Gonzaga who was the son of The Duke of Mantua. Crichton was in the Duke’s employ and the youngster was jealous of the Scot, Crichton was also romantically linked to Vicenzo’s ex mistress. On seeing Vincenzo, Crichton instantly dropped to one knee and presented his sword, hilt first, to the prince, his master’s son. Vincenzo took the blade and with it stabbed Crichton cruelly through the heart, killing him instantly. James Crichton of Cluny was then in his twenty-second year.

There have been many accounts of Crichton in literature through the years since, mostly fictional but with hints of the story, the most famous is arguably the J M Barrie play, but the title of the play is the only semblance to the story of the Scottish Polymath.

[shadowofahope]

Don't Tell Me What You See

TEASER

Warnings: NOTHING. Just slight angst, so far...

Pairing: ??? BTS x reader

Author's notes: Any guesses on who her soulmate could be?

Some people are lucky to have been given a soulmate by the cosmos. These people have a matching tattoo connecting them to each other. However, it’s not until these two people meet and go through what they call their ‘soul journey’, where their souls establish the bond and intimately connect. Soulmate tattoos were common, most of the population had them.

Some people are not so lucky, they never receive a soulmate mark. A reason behind this had never been discovered. However, on multiple occasions, these people have been known to receive their tattoos later, either from a bond being rejected or by 1 of the pair passing into the cosmos. They receive their tattoo and the other party's tattoo changes to match. This was very rare.

On the rarest of occasions, some people meet their twin flame. A soul to mirror your own. The cosmos almost completely stopped creating twin flames, in the last 80 years, they had dropped down to 10,000 bonds globally. No mark or tattoo was given, just the intimate warmth of the other person's soul.

Y/N was considered one of the lucky ones. Soulmate tattoo appearing on their 16th birthday. However, life has a way of making a blessing by the cosmos feel like a curse; One they witnessed first hand. Losing their older brother because of a bond gone wrong. Forever promising themselves, that if their soulmate wanted to fully reject the bond, they would let them.

It was never your intention to stand out. You chose when to fade into the background and when to attract attention. That’s why it's so easy for you to move around Bighit unnoticed.

You started working as a new producer 3 months ago, but you chose to remain invisible unless in the studio. The studio was where you took control, demanded to be listened to and refused to back down. You were fully true to yourself there; it was your comfort place. And thankfully Bighit became a second home to you, moving quietly through the halls with ease; side stepping artists and other coworkers to only focus on the artists you were trusted to.

However, in the past months you had only worked with the other producers; giving input on their track, helping with lyrics or melodies, never actually working with an artist directly. Or that was… until last week when a certain someone came across a track set you had been working on.