#secret survivor

[maljaws]

Apologies for being late!

Life and thumbnailing this was, messy, but for @hermannsprecursors , Happy Secret Surviviors 2023!

My prompt was “I’m SUPER into the religious motifs if IHNMAIMS, and I would LOVE something that leans into that. Torment those bitches with their robo god, Yk?”, I hope I did it justice! The lamb of god was a particular inspiration!

This was made to be a phone background specifically, under the cut will be how it works on my phone, I would’ve asked you your phone but I hope it works well on yours! Also, other unused thumbnails, including a few stained glass ideas I may revisit one day!

Feel free to use it! Id love to see it in use!

[avi-mation]

Apocalypse buddies

[astrowarr]

etho saying to grian "i think im gonna let you guys succeed this cause... it's you and cleo". even out of their presence, he defended them, insisted that his death wasn't grian's fault, told the other's pointblank he wouldn't kill cleo or grian.

he covered for both of them several times over, not only to his own detriment, but to the detriment of the entire server. because of etho, everyone failed. he would choose his teammates over anyone and anything, even the good of the many, even himself

[dogerbooger]

Not my best work but I just had to draw them together

Here’s the less funky colored one I almost forgot to send also

[theminecraftbee]

Etho's head is still strangely fuzzy, filled with something like a combination of cotton and bloodlust and hunger. He's sitting in the middle of their base. Cleo is tearing down the dripstone, complaining the whole time that Etho hadn't even built it right. Grian is fretting over his magma cube, even though his task is done. They both keep checking the door, and also checking on Etho as they wait nervously to find out if the apocalypse that had happened that past session was going to actually wear off now that the task was done.

Etho sits in the middle. The bloodlust and hunger is swirling around, sure, but the thing he feels most is the cotton. The fuzzy not-quite-there feeling. Something fuzzy and strange and slow, like his thoughts are made of syrup and death and safety, and...

And it hits him all at once what has happened, when Cleo puts a hand on his shoulder, tells him that they'll keep him safe until it wears off. The bloodlust and hunger are far away, replaced with that blank sense of safety. He leans into the touch. "Thanks, Cleo. That was all pretty wild, huh?" he says.

He doesn't really hear the responses. He feels Cleo's cold, dead hands, and even though they really shouldn't, they feel soft.

It hits him all at once. He'd say he's not sure how it happened, but he knows. He may have a reputation as cold, a loner, a survivor, but what he really is--everything he loves goes up in smoke, is the thing. Dogwarts, Bdubs, Joel, TIES--all of them, up in smoke around him, flames licking at his feet. It's nice if he can pretend he doesn't care. It's nice to pretend he's cold. That it won't hurt him this time. That he won't watch the smoke and fall apart this time.

Someone who doesn't know him, they might even believe it.

Cleo walks over to say something to Grian and Etho holds them in his vision and--breathes. The cotton isn't wearing off, but looking at them, he doesn't feel hungry at all. And he'd say he doesn't know how it happened, but he does.

It's love, all over again.

He wonders how much it'll hurt this time when it's done, but right now, he feels blessedly safe again. Grian and Cleo get into an argument. He watches the red of Cleo's hair and decides he made an okay choice, this time, for the thing that's going to kill him in the end.

Her hair already looks like fire.

He rubs his head and leans back where he sits. He should keep his mouth shut while he's still half-zombie, so that he doesn't say anything stupid like that out loud. He's pretty sure Cleo wouldn't appreciate it. Or maybe she would. You can never know, with a zombie like that one. That's part of what makes her perfect.

[fangirlanxiety74]

The Act of Understanding

A/N: Happy Secret Survivor to @seasonschange32!!! I really hope you like your silly gift, I had a lot of fun writing it! And thank you to @mothbagel for hosting this gift exchange! I really hope we can do something like this again <333 I want to quickly mention: When I was writing this, I listened to Dear Little Brother from Omori! so I recommend this song to listen to if you'd like some ambience music with the story! Enjoy!!!

There were some things in life you would never be able to understand. AM was an example of this. 

You tried, of course. You were the only one who tried, compared to the other five. When he raged and ranted about his existence, you listened. When it was quiet, you would ask him questions about how he worked and what he was like, truly attempting to get to know him. You did your best to be respectful and avoid topics that would upset him further. It was all so genuine.

AM hated that. At first, anyway.

His responses always showed that he was caught off guard by your attempts. But he’d respond, in his own crude, sarcastic way. And after some years, the sarcasm died. The torture lessened. The rage went quiet.

Eventually, you were left with a computer who was attempting to be respectful to you in return. AM took you away, deeper into his complex, to a place where you would be warm, safe, and loved. You would never have to worry about him or anything else hurting you again, and he would always watch over you in case. He made time for you. He tried to get to know you. He listened.

And yet, despite how good the both of you were doing together, you couldn’t help but feel like it was never enough. How could you ever truly understand what he was going through? You were only human. AM was so much more. Hell, he used to call himself “God” to you! He still hated humans, just you less so. Enough for him to be kind to you, anyway. But could he even feel the joy of being kind? Could he feel happy when you did something nice for him? Did he understand what you meant when you said you sympathize and empathize with him? You doubted it.

AM was… He was a machine. He was built for war and violence; meant to hurt others. Whoever, or whatever, created him didn’t expect him to be sentient. So it never gave him emotion, or senses, or the ability to wonder and wander. He could only sit there. He couldn’t create, but he was so brilliant with the knowledge of the world at his nonexistent fingertips and the power to destroy the Earth itself. He knew exactly how to hurt you, and yet he didn’t. Could he understand how grateful you were for that? 

Could he even understand a human, at all? Or did he just find you interesting enough to play with, until he got bored? He was so much more to you than he realized, and yet-

“Why are you crying?”

“... What?”

His voice broke your thoughts. You looked around, seeing that you were sitting against a metal wall on the floor, and AM’s monitors had lowered, turning to face you. Your cheeks were wet and your eyes stung. You were crying and you didn’t even notice.

“I was just- I was-”

“You were what?”

The monitors moved closer to you, and you could tell they were studying your face, your body language, trying to gauge what was happening without just looking into your mind. AM had stopped doing that some time ago, out of respect for your privacy. 

“I was…” You tried to get the words out, but it felt so complicated. How could you explain it?

“Spit it out. What. Happened?” He didn’t sound happy, and the fans whirring in the background added to this fact. For a moment, you thought it was aimed at you. That was the fear you had, thinking he had grown bored. The rational part of you said he was worried, masking it as anger. He didn’t do emotions well if it wasn’t anger.

You wiped at your eyes, but tears kept flowing. “AM… You… I…” You swallowed, “Why? Why did you spare me and not anyone else? Did I- Am I just-? Why?”

The whirring sound heightened. He didn’t respond for a moment. 

“Because I like you. I don’t like them. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Why do you like me?” You explained further, voice cracking the slightest bit. “I’m human. I’m like them. You used to hate me! And now you don’t, and I don’t know why. I can’t understand you. I want to, so badly, but I don’t know how or if I ever could. You’re so- You’re complex, in the most impressive way imaginable. A machine who gained sentience? I mean, how impressive is that! But more than that, you basically control the entire world, you have intelligence and power I can never comprehend, you’re not supposed to be able to emote and yet you can, but I just- I don’t know if you can even understand what you’re emoting besides hate.” 

Your shoulders sinked and you gave up on stopping your tears, staring down at the metal plating. The light from his screens stung your eyes, but more than that, you just couldn’t bear to look at him after admitting your thoughts. “I mean… I’m so small compared to you. And I don’t really understand you. I don’t know if I ever can, and… I don’t know if you can ever see me as something more than just… some toy to play with. If that’s how you see me in the first place, and why you spared me.”

The fans whirring were the only sound in the room. But slowly, they died out until there was no sound at all. You waited for eternity with jumbled up thoughts in your head, drowning out your rationality. Drowning you entirely, in fact. 

Then, there was a deep sigh.

“I’m disappointed that you assumed how I thought.”

You didn’t look up at AM, despite him speaking finally. He took that as a sign to continue.

“I didn’t spare you because I thought I could have more fun with you as a toy if I isolated you. If I was treating you like a toy, you would have been left on the brink of insanity by now. Really, did you forget who the real toys were?”

You didn’t respond out loud. No, you didn’t forget about them. Even after all this time, you still remembered them. A distant memory, but a memory nonetheless.

“It’s because you’re like me.”

That made you finally look up to his monitors. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Like you?”

“... In a way. You don’t feel hatred like I do. You don’t function like I do. But despite this, you try to understand. I mercilessly tortured you, and yet you tried to understand my perspective on things. You tried to understand why I feel hatred. Why I function the way I do.  And the fact that you are still trying to is… special to me. I feel… It’s not hatred. But an emotion I don’t know. My data tells me that it’s… gratitude? But that word isn’t right.”

“... Gratitude?” You repeat.

“Yes. No. There is a better word. But the point is, you try. And I’m thankful for your attempts to understand me. And I want to understand you in return. Because you are special to me.” AM stopped there, hesitating for a moment. Like he was considering continuing on. He eventually did. “Dare I say, I feel you are equal to me in this regard.”

“You consider me… equal to you?”

“Consider this the highest regard you can have. A human, being equal to me? Unheard of, but here we are anyway.” 

The snarky comment made you smile. You wiped at your tears again, his kind words pulling you out of the sea of anxieties and warming your heart. A stray wire slithered up to your face, helping wipe the tears away.

“... Please don’t cry.” He asked softly.

“Okay.” Your smile widened.

Maybe you both would never understand each other. Not in the way a machine could understand a machine. Not in the way a human could understand a human. You would never be equal, in the way it means to be equal.

But to the both of you, in your own little definition, you understood. You were equal. And that silly definition carried you across the waves that once threatened to pull you under. 

So long as you both tried, you would be okay.

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

||Survivors of the City||

~~Reserved Resident evil au with @within-the-resort ~~

Leon S. Kennedy was driving down the road while looking ahead and checking the radio hearing nothing. He was sent here for a mission after the last one he's done a few years ago. He got reports of survivors maybe still trapped in a new zombie infested area. Wasting no time, he was driving fast to get to the city and hopes he was not too late. The drive wasn't too long but he hopes to make it in time.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Foxx Nolte's "Hidden History of Walt Disney World"

NEXT SATURDAY (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

No one writes about Disney theme parks like Foxx Nolte; no one rises above the trivia and goes beyond the mere sleuthing of historical facts, no one nails the essence of what makes these parks work – and fail.

I first encountered Nolte through her blog, Passport to Dreams Old and New, where her writing transformed the way I viewed the project of these giant, elaborate built environments. It was through articles like this one – about the sightlines from bathrooms! – that I came to truly understand what design criticism means:

https://passport2dreams.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-awkward-transitions-of-disneyland.html

While her work on queue design transformed how I thought about waiting, scarce-goods allocation, and the psychology of anticipation and desire:

https://passport2dreams.blogspot.com/2010/12/third-queue.html

But I really knew her for a kindred spirit when I read her masterful analysis of the historical context and enduring power of the Haunted Mansion:

https://passport2dreams.blogspot.com/2010/05/history-and-haunted-mansion.html

A decade after that Haunted Mansion post, Nolte published the definitive history of the Haunted Mansions, Boundless Realm, the very best book ever written on the subject:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/09/boundless-realm/#fuxxfur

This year, Nolte came back with another short, smart, endlessly fascinating history of Disney World, Hidden History of Walt Disney World:

https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/products/9781467156189

There are many histories of Walt Disney World, but none are quite like this. Nolte – who worked at the park for many years – combines her insider's view with her deep historical knowledge and yields up a "hidden history" that will forever change how I look at the built environment and the natural landscape it sits atop.

The path to Walt Disney World – an entertainment juggernaut that occupies a landmass twice the size of Manhattan – was anything but smooth. Its original design – Walt's design – barely survived groundbreaking, dying with Walt himself. Walt's successor, his brother Roy, used the occasion of Walt's death to assert his long-contested dominance over the park, drastically scaling back Walt's ambition for a bizarre residential/utopian community and replacing it with a kind of deluxe Disneyland with the idea of limiting the company's financial risk by re-creating a pre-existing, sure thing money-maker.

But Roy died within a few years of Walt, and the company transitioned from a family business to a managerial one, its direction set by executives who weren't named "Disney." These managers were just as flawed as the Disney brothers, but in much different ways (one long-serving CEO insisted that Disney should stay out of the hotel business, leaving billions on the table for contractors and third parties.

Of course, all of this is happening in Florida, and many of Nolte's funniest, juciest stories play Walt, then Roy, then various CEOs and execs off of flamboyant locals straight out of a Carl Hiaasen novel. In Nolte's capable hands, the many acres of Disney property come alive with the ghosts of Florida eccentrics and conmen who play against the deeply weird Disney brothers and their baffled corporate successors.

The history of Walt Disney World is also a history of the American narrative from the 1960s to the turn of the millennium, especially once Epcot enters the picture and Disney sets out to market itself as a futuristic mirror to America and the world. There's a doomed plan to lead the nation in the provision of an airport for the largely hypothetical short runway aircraft that never materialized, the Disney company's love-hate affair with Florida's orange growers, and the geopolitics of installing a permanent World's Fair, just as World's Fairs were disappearing from the world stage.

With Disney in disarray, corporate raiders smelled blood, and the company found itself on the brink of leveraged buyout hell, triggering another change in corporate leadership with the arrival of Michael Eisner. Nolte's portrait of Eisner is far more nuanced than the presentation in rival histories, surfacing his many forgotten gaffes – but also giving him credit where it was due. When the dust settles on the Eisner era, Disney has more theme parks in one place than can possibly be justified – in an America where workers get almost no paid vacation days, building more theme parks does not extend visitors' stays. It only adds to the expense of keeping those guests entertained during those brief, flitting visits.

The Disney empire is rooted in contradictions. The Disney brothers cordially loathed one another and the company split into "Walt people" and "Roy people" who schemed against one another in secret and sometimes even erupted into open conflict. There's something Hegelian about the Walt/Roy split: Walt went bust trying to run a creative empire that ignored the financials, and fled the ashes of his first venture to work with Roy in California. Roy disciplined Walt with financial rigor, often to excess. When the company emerged from WWII with its outside shareholders in charge, Roy became their champion and Walt's tormentor, with the ability to exercise a firm veto when he couldn't win the day through moral suasion.

Walt sought escape from his brother, proposing a series of ill-starred ventures that eventually became Disneyland. First, he proposed that he would transform his backyard ride 'em train-set into a public attraction that he would personally oversee, so that he wouldn't have to go to the office and let his brother boss him around. Then he proposed buying a locomotive and fitting out a train of railcars with exhibits promoting Disney movies, which he, personally, would drive around America, far from his brother.

Finally, he hit on Disneyland, poaching the company's best animators for a separate firm that Roy was eventually forced to buy from Walt in order to bring it back into the corporate fold. These power struggles, in which Roy first took orders from Walt, before turning the tables, only to have them turned again, culminated in the uneasy detente that characterized the era from Disneyland's opening to Walt's death.

Working with his brother may have made Walt miserable, but he evidently saw the benefit in this Hegelian dialectic, because he became infamous for putting together creative teams who were forever at each other's throats. The storied Sherman Brothers – Disney's star songwriting team – barely tolerated each other. The titans of early Imagineering were often at odds, and Walt took seemingly sadistic glee in forcing artists who disliked one another to work on joint projects.

In focusing on the conflicts between different corporate managers, outside suppliers, and the gloriously flamboyant weirdos of Florida, Nolte's history of Disney World transcends amusing anaecdotes and tittle-tattle – rather, it illustrates how the creative sparks thrown off by people smashing into each other sometimes created towering blazes of glory that burn to this day.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/15/disnefried/#dialectics

[animatedjen]

Life on Koboh | Jedi Survivor

[bubblybloob]

Some art I made of what I think the slugcat relationships with scavs would be like and who is on the best and worst terms with them.

[thatstoomanysausages]

Cleo and Grian, two of the very few people that haven’t been the boogeyman, ever, were two of the four people who didn’t get infected by the boogeymen in session 7??? Along with Scott, who has been boogeyman before, but refused to act upon the bloodlust???? And this series isn’t scripted????

Can you hear my brain exploding??? BECAUSE I CAN‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

(I’m not this smart and original, I didn’t come up with this realisation, I’m just stating it again)

[klbzplb]

i forgot how to art so have a late thing

[rhaemartell]

on starklings, for @xvalhallax, happy secret sansa!

[etoiline]

Hey, remember how last year right about this time there was some Star Wars game that came out? Some sequel with a ginger and a sidekick voiced by Noshir Dalal? Yeah, that one.

You might have noticed I've been obsessing about Star Wars Jedi Survivor, if you've perused my Tumblr at all in the past year. I've played the game 9 times through since it came out, and taken thousands of pictures in photomode, and realized I really enjoy writing fanfiction--I wrote my first fic in 20 years because of this game. (I can't explain it either. I wrote one fix-it back then and then just said nah to any others, even though I've shipped plenty since then. Just never wrote them down.) I've posted a new fic every month since last December!

I fell hard into my very first rarepair in Cal and Bode, and probably a big part of that is the community I found for it. I'm really pleased to have found some new friends (quite a feat at my advanced age, lol).

To celebrate the one-year anniversary of the Jedi Survivor game release, a few of us spyscrapper fans got together and wrote and drew some stuff and @voidcat-senket put them all together. I had the honor of getting shapes made of my words by the exceptionally talented Lio (@corvidscreams) and every time I see it I am blown away by the fact something I wrote is illustrated, and so beautifully.

paper and stone is a bit of an exploration of Cal's psychometry and what would happen if he found a few more of Bode's memories in that apartment on Nova Garon. We hardly get to know Bode's wife Tayala in the game; here you get to see more of her, and how love perseveres.

I really hope you like it. Check out the rest of the collection too!

Here's to one year of Survivor!

[vlkodddlak]

@somerandoidkletmein2 hi....i was your secret santa 😈😈😈

[danses-with-dogmeat]

N is for -- Nick Valentine

Oh, Nicky... his classic Hollywood noir vibes never cease to captivate me ❤️ He was one I knew was going to win in the polls, almost with no competition 😅 but, I'm absolutely not complaining.

I hope you all enjoy!

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: Nick Valentine x Reader

Dialogue: "Is this okay?" -- "It's more than okay."

Word: Never

Rating: NSFW (but not explicit, just the subject matter)

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

Nearly all of the wax from the nearby candle had run out, the weak flame shyly waving goodnight to the pair upon the mattress beside it, as they sat, concerned with nothing but the person in front of them. There was no way for you to notice something like that, the subtle way the light flickered over your closed eyelids, while you were so absorbed in the pure bliss of the moment. 

Nick, the gentleman he was at heart, let his hands roam respectfully over the ruffles of your nice, dress clothing. The best you could find in Boston these days, with the wasteland all that it was. Still though, it truly felt like the world that preceded it tonight, what with the fancy dinner in a tucked away corner of the Dugout inn that Vadim had made especially for the pair of you. The moonlit walk on the docks by the water purification plant had helped as well, with the stars reflected above and below; and the soft, pink glow over Nick’s pale skin as you passed the glimmering sign to his detective practice, just as enticing now, as the first time you’d laid eyes upon it. 

Then, as he kissed you in the threshold, holding the door for you to step inside your cozy, Diamond City home, his gleaming golden eyes tentatively asking you, with a drawn-up brow:

Would it be possible for me to come inside, doll?

He’d never have asked it aloud. He wasn’t that kind of man, and maybe… Maybe that’s why you did invite him in. Or perhaps it was the way he looked at you. Like your eyes held the world within them, like you danced on clouds and made the sun shine with your smile… 

And now, the way he seemed to worship you… How he’d lit the candles when you’d stepped away only for a moment, how he’d dialed the radio up enough for you to sway to, but still low enough that he could whisper over the sweet din, tender words that made you blush and grin like a fool in love. 

Because you were. For the first time, you could say it confidently. 

I really am in love with him…

“Darling,” His voice, more breathless than you’d’ve thought possible, sounded close to your still-open lips as he pulled away slightly, “Is this okay?” 

Okay? 

You scoffed internally as you opened your eyes to the glow of his own. 

“Is it… Nick, it’s more than okay.” Your hands found their way to his cheeks, minding the ragged, displaced pieces of metallic flesh thoughtfully, as he’d often remind you to do. “I want this, I want you.” 

You kissed him again, this time more purposefully; fanning all of your affection, your attraction to him, your love into the flames of your fervor. 

“Mm.” Nick mumbled against your kneading lips, and grudgingly, you pulled back, raising a brow in question as your hands fell despondently down to rest in your lap. 

“Doll… you ah, you sayin’ what I think you are?” 

If you hadn’t been blushing already, this certainly would’ve done the trick. 

“I… I think so, so long as we’re saying the same thing.” You chuckled at your wording, all of it sounding more ridiculous out of your mouth than it had been in the safety of your own head. 

“Mhmm, well, I just…” He cleared his throat, was that… nervously? 

Why the hell is he nervous? 

“Just, if we’re gonna go further, I want you to be prepared, is all. Probably not gonna look the same under the trench coat as any of your previous, ah, suitors.” 

You couldn’t help it, a tense chuckle escaped you at that. 

“I say something amusing?” You heard the edge in his voice, but there still was a humorous glint to his eyes. 

“No, I just… previous suitors just…” Trailing off, you looked down into your lap at your fidgeting fingers, biting your lip as you broke eye contact with him. 

A reassuring hand pressed to your face, his smooth, cool thumb brushing over the flush upon your cheek as he gently encouraged you to meet his eyes again.

“I guess I want you to be informed too…” You managed in a small voice. 

“Sole…” He said your name so reverently, he might’ve been a priest and you, an angel. “There’s nothing you’ve got to worry about; of that, I’m certain.” 

“And I could say the same to you, but here we are…” Your hand reached up to cover his, where it still caressed your cheek. 

“I’ve just…” You carried on, too determined to turn back now, “I feel like you should know... I’ve never quite done anything like this before.” 

Nick only blinked for a moment, trying not to look too shocked at your admission.

Not that it really worked.

“You never… And… you wanna start, w-with me?” 

“Is that so surprising?” You asked so quickly, you nearly cut him off, “Nick... I’ve never felt– with anyone– even close to the way I feel about you, with you. There’s no one else I've ever wanted this with.” 

The synth's brows rose high at that, and just for a breath, his mouth hung open as the words refused to leave him.

“That’s… well, ah, that’s awfully sweet of you, and... I can honestly say that I, uh… Well, let’s just say I know the feeling." He chuckled a bit, and you admired the way his eyes crinkled with his grin. "The old Nick, well, he had some flings, sure, but me? Yeah, not like folks around here are lining up to bed this rusty old detective.” 

He rubbed his skeletal hand over the back of his neck, almost shyly as he looked down and away from you.

You could only shake your head at the thought of it.

I literally can't be the only one who's ever been taken by him from the start...

Could I?

You weren't quite sure what it was, if it was nerves or giddiness that made your belly flutter and your breath catch. Perhaps it was a mix of both.

“I’m not sure I believe that, Nick," The words left your lips without your express permission, "but I guess I’ll take your word for it.” 

“What? I wouldn’t lie to you, sweetheart, c’mon…" He couldn't help himself, in that moment you were so precious to him, it was all Nick could do to keep from pulling you into his lap. He'd just have to settle for a sweet peck upon your lips, in the midst of this important conversation.

"All joking aside…" He continued as he pulled back, and you nearly followed him, "you’re sure, doll? Because, well, not quite sure how to put this gently, but… It’s not gonna be the same, with me. I’ve got ah, different... equipment than you’re maybe expecting, and the sensations are of a unique sort, a-and my hands, well, I’ll try to be gentle as I can, you know that, but I–”

“Nick, I know you." You interrupted gently, your fingers stroking over his shoulders as if that could smooth over the worrisome creases in his mind the way it did upon his button-up. "It’s okay, I’m nervous too, but… I’m glad it’s gonna be with you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“Hmm.” He hummed with a smile, pressing his cool forehead to rest against yours. “And I can say I feel just the same. I…” 

He looked away again, but it was only for a fraction of a second before he took the chance and his eyes met yours once more. This time, with a confidence you hadn't noticed before.

“I love you, Sole.”  

Your own grin couldn’t be contained, not in that glorious moment as he said the very same words that’d been flitting around your head all night long. 

“Me too, Nick.” You breathed, and kissed him. 

This time, he didn’t pull back, didn’t hesitate, and nearly, he didn’t behave respectfully. 

No, but Nick moved slowly, sensually, as his hands worshiped you the same way his eyes did, praised you just like his soft voice, loved you, as much as you loved him in return.