#the chiseled catastrophe

[theflippedpages]

The Chiseled Catastrophe - 0 (EtN + MCYT)

(This is the start of my new hyperfixation fanfiction. Blocky YouTubers are stuffed into a death-game escape room and have to try and escape while their friends die around them. How fun. :D)

(Also, if there's any other old fics ya'll want me to update, let me know! I got nothing else to do but write this summer break, so I might as well!)

-----------

Episode 0 - The Wax Seal

-----------

"Hello?"

"Hey, Tim," Grian's familiar voice crackled on the other side of the line, "I know you're busy with real-life duties, but I thought I should mention…" 

"Yeah?"

"...Tumble Town blew up.” And quickly added, “It’s not a joke, I swear on my life." 

Jimmy had been planning to take a couple of days off from Empires, but never once had he opened up Minecraft so fast. 

Before he could click onto the world, he spotted his web camera clutching the edge of his monitor, and he was instantly reminded of his duty as a content creator. Running a hand through his slightly damp hair and ruffling it to partially dampen his bedhead, he pulled up his recording software and sighed. 

"I was honestly planning to take a couple of days off of Minecraft to get creativity again, but," he raised his phone, "one of my friends just gave me quite a call… telling me that Tumble Town… blew up." He forced a chuckle as he began to record his screen. "Now, this could all be another bad prank to get me back into Empires… or all my months of work are actually gone."

Jimmy didn't force an emotion for a camera this time as his eyes shifted to the small sheriff plushie sitting on his desk. His heart was racing much more than usual, and he couldn't stop his eyes from blurring. He bit down on his cheek. It's just a game, Jimmy. It's just a game. He told himself, his mouse once again hovering over the 'Empires SMP' slot. It's not life or death. It's just something you do for fun. It's not actually life-threatening. In fact, this would be a great thumbnail and title. 

Blowing out his held-up breath, he clicked in and logged on. The world spawned in little sections as the white sky –wait, white?– filled his screen. Loading in doesn't usually take long… there must've been a ton to update. While he waited for it to load, he paused his recording and casually checked who was online. Some of the Empires' creators were there; himself, Joey, Scott, Marytn, Lizzie, and Joel; as well as some of the Hermitcraft players from the concluded crossover; Grian, Mumbo, Tango, and Ren. Though they had stopped recording about the ‘rift between the two servers’, the players were still interested and intrigued by the buildings and often came to visit off-camera. That's why he hadn't found it strange that Grian had been the one to call him, as he and Scar usually helped tidy and terraform the place when Jimmy was off recording 'lore' with the members of Empires. 

The name tags were less of his worry as he saw a new one join. 'Time_Is_Up joined the game.' He glanced over at his recording software, making sure it was paused. The worst thing I could do is ruin the magic of someone else's lore by showing a camera account. He looked back at the game, noticing the chat light up. 

SmallishBeans: who's that? Smajor1995: I thought it was a camera acc. InTheLittleWood: same here!

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. Was this also part of the story? No.. Someone usually mentions if they're adding an account in our group chat…

SolidarityGaming: you mean this isn't any of ours? LDShadowLady: nope, not mine Mumbo: I thought it belonged to one of the Empires members. Grian: I don't have an account named like that SolidarityGaming: Surely this isn't another ‘Xornoth’ thing, is it, Scott Smajor1995: it's not me this time, I swear!

Either someone is playing a strange prank or… wait, my empire!  He dragged his mouse down to check on the progress of his chunks loading in, reaching over to continue the recording and slipping in his headphones. Once he saw Tumble Town fully come into view Jimmy's heart nearly stopped. 

The once-thriving Wild West town now lay in ruins, its wooden structures engulfed in roaring flames that billowed smoke into the air, and deep craters dug into the red sand below. This town, which had once epitomized the rugged spirit of the frontier, was now a ghostly landscape of destruction. And to his surprise, the sky was still white…

Jimmy, the ‘Sheriff’ who had dedicated months to building up the town and establishing law and order, walked through the chaos with heavy steps. His heart weighed as heavily as the town's buildings, now reduced to smoldering piles of debris. The saloon, wagon, and jail that had once echoed with lively chatter and the jokes of his friends were reduced to ash and charred wood.

Jimmy remembered the countless evenings he'd spent on the top of the sandy crater, looking out over Tumble Town with a sense of pride. He recalled the laughter of Scott as he flirted with him, Joel playing by the TNT wagon, and the harmony that had thrived in this rustic settlement. As he walked, he stumbled upon the charred remains of the large train Scar had built, the ornate timepiece forever frozen in time at the very moment when chaos erupted. The destruction was surreal and heart-wrenching.

“Jimmy!” He instantly recognized the voice as it loudened with each yell. “Jim!” A pair of wings were flying above him, pulling back to land. “Jimmy, what happened here?” It was Scott. “Did your stash of TNT go off? Did someone…” His head moved in a circle as he took in the immense amount of damage. “...Spawn 10 Withers here? Why is Tumble Town so destroyed?” 

“I… I don’t know.” Jimmy admitted, turning to face him. “Grian called me, saying Tumble Town blew up. So I logged in… and…” He looked back into the mesa. “It’s all… gone.” The tragedy left Jimmy with a profound sense of loss. His duties as sheriff had been rendered powerless against the unstoppable flames that devoured the wooden structures. He couldn't help but feel responsible, wondering if there was more he could have done to prevent this disaster.

Smajor1995: Grian, could you come to Tumble Town pls Grian: sure

Jimmy heard the yelling of his fellow Britishman as the brunette landed beside him and Scott. “Grian, how did you know Tumble Town was destroyed?” Scott began asking before Jimmy could even say hello. “Did you see anyone or anything that blew up?” 

“No, no,” Grian shook his head, “I was actually here to steal some gunpowder for fireworks. But when I came by… your TNT wagon was lit up, and it caused a bit of a large crater. I thought it was just a silly mistake, and I turned to leave with my two stacks, but I heard more explosions…” He sighed. “And when I looked back again… there was TNT everywhere, and it was flying, and there was just… so much smoke.” 

“Could you catch any name tag?” 

“Yeah, actually, I think I saw-” Grian’s voice withered as he checked the chat. The messages flew quickly in succession.

Tango: Guys, I got a letter Grian: What letter?  Mumbo: I got one too Smajor1995: you mean, your internet bill?  Tango: no, no, like an invitation Tango: It’s like Minecraft themed RenDog: as I as well

“If you’d like, Sheriff, you could stay in my Inn back in Chromia for now,” Scott flirted, hoping to lighten the mood. Jimmy would usually push the woo away with a laugh and an assurance he’d do it on his own, but now, accepted it with a kind nod. 

“That would actually be very nice, Scott. The more I look at this, the more I feel absolutely enraged.” Jimmy tried to keep his eyes away from the destruction and toward the chat, but the flames and smoke distracted him quickly. “I’m just going to diffuse the fire… I don’t want it to expand and destroy more than it already has.” The blonde slowly trudged toward the fire as Grian monitored the lines on the screen, curious about the conversation.

Mumbo: I thought it was something from Mojang Tango: That’s what I’m thinking Grian: ooh, if it's from Mojang, have fun Mumbo: Grian, check if you got one too, the letter says 10 members Tango: 10 members from ALL over Minecraft, i don’t think they’d invite all from hermitcraft  RenDog: the letter doesn’t say ‘all’ though Mumbo: Wait, it says we shouldn’t talk about this… Tango: oh RenDog: pretend this never happened, guys. there was no letter.

Grian laughed. 

Grian: Letter? What letter? 

And the chat fell silent again as a few people began to sign off. 

Smajor1995: Btw, Jimmy’s place has been blown up, does anyone know who did it? LDShadowLady: like, in roleplay, or actuality?  Grian: Tumble Town was absolutely destroyed  JoeyGraceffa: no way

Grian frowned. 

LDShadowLady: oh my, Jimmy do you need resources to rebuild? SmallishBeans: we’d love to help, Jim Smajor1995: I’m gonna get him to stay in Chromia for now InTheLittleWood: who would do such a thing?

〰〰〰〰〰

Grian's room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the glow of his computer screen. The sounds of the faraway flicker of fire from the destroyed Tumble Town was an eerie, yet peaceful sound to listen to, paired with the quiet hum of the Minecraft soundtrack. But then, amidst the digital noise, he heard it – a gentle chime, like a distant doorbell. His head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Nobody ever rang his doorbell while he was gaming, and he wasn't expecting any visitors.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he rose from his gaming chair and padded softly across the room. The brunette reached the door, hand on the knob, ready to fling it open with a playful grin. However, when he swung the door wide, he found no one there. Instead, a simple envelope lay on the welcome mat, just inches from the threshold. He bent down, plucking it from the ground.

Is this the letter they were all talking about? The Minecraft one?

Examining the envelope, he noticed that it was old-fashioned, sealed with a wax stamp that bore an intricate design. His curiosity piqued, he carefully broke the seal and withdrew the letter from within. Grian's eyes scanned the handwritten words on the paper, and his brows furrowed with surprise as he read the unexpected message.

Dear Charles (Grian),

You are cordially invited to a Minecraft-themed party that promises to be an unforgettable experience. As you know very well through your years of continuous playing, Minecraft is a world of endless possibilities, and this event aims to bring that pixelated adventure to life. We've prepared a world full of surprises.

The location of the event is a remote area, isolated from the hustle and bustle of the city, surrounded by dense woods. Don't worry; it's far from the distractions of everyday life. You will also not be allowed to vlog through any other means, as this is meant for you and the 9 other invitees. 

This also means that this invitation cannot be talked about to anyone, whether they be of relevance to Minecraft or not. If we find out that this has been discussed, your offer will be rescinded and all your Minecraft accounts erased. I'm sure you wouldn't want that… and neither would your other invitees.

The environment may challenge your understanding of the real world and the digital realm. But remember, it's all in the spirit of fun and adventure.

Don't let the absence of exits concern you; the event will run through the night and into the early morning, with all food and hospitalities cared for and on the house. 

We understand this invitation might seem strange, but rest assured, it's all about transporting you into the Minecraft universe and creating lasting memories. We kindly request that you bring a sense of adventure and a willingness to embrace the unexpected.

Please be prepared for a night filled with enigmatic challenges, engaging experiences, and the thrill of the unknown. It would be recommended you dress up as your player skin to be recognizable to others. 

We look forward to your presence at the Minecraft-themed adventure. The date will be revealed shortly, and your transportation will also be taken care of.

 It will be an event to remember, and we hope you will leave with stories to share.

"Grian?? Oh, is he AFK?" He could hear Jimmy from his computer back in his room. He slipped the letter back into its casing and walked back upstairs. 

"Sorry, sorry, I'm back now," he blurted out, dropping the envelope beside his desk. "What's going on?" 

"Jimmy's 'bout to continue recording, we were hoping you could hide?" Scott asked, looking back at the still nametag of Jimmy's that had disappeared into the wooden ruins. 

"Oh, yes, sure." Grian was quick to murmur. "I actually think I might just head off right now." 

"Okay, yeah, have a good rest of your day then," Scott spoke as he crafted new rockets with the help of the half-broken gunpowder farm. He had to make his entrance in style, after all. How else was he going to take the spotlight in Jimmy's video?

Once he saw the brunette's name tag flicker out, Scott muted his mic and flew himself a distance over. He still kept himself within earshot of Jimmy's mic so he wouldn't create dead space in his recording. 

Speaking of, I have to start my video soon, if I plan on benefiting from Jimmy's destroyed empire. After all, this is a huge event. I have to get the first scoop before everyone else knows about it. Scott turned on his recording software and tested his mic before waiting in silence. He knew that there would be dead space in his video, but he didn't mind, seeing as he'd have to record himself in Chromia first so it didn't seem suspicious... And then get a message from Jimmy. But he can work out the kinks later once Jimmy's done with his initial panic. 

Grian said he knew who it was… While he heard the Sheriff mumbling about all his hard work gone, Scott's mind couldn't help but wonder who could've done something like this or why someone would do it if it wasn't for any story-based arc. Surely someone would've let Jimmy know before destroying his entire empire… it wasn't even a prank that could be fixed easily. Scott focused on Jimmy's words as they grew farther and farther away. 

"Oh my gosh, Norman!" Scott's eyes widened. Norman? Oh god, is he okay?

"Thank god you're safe!"

And Scott breathed out a heavy sigh. Even if it's just a few pixels, a pet in Minecraft is still a pet. 

"I better tell someone about this… who could've done such a thing! I've been nothing but nice to everyone– even if they call me a toy." 

SolidarityGaming: Is anyone nearby? Please come to my empire.

Scott took this as his cue.

Smajor1995: Anything for you, sheriff. I'm on my way.

He could hear the blonde's flustered sigh, and he couldn't help but grin at that awaited reaction. He instantly shot a couple of rockets into the sky, pulling back from the mesa only to fly in the direction of it, landing close to where he last saw Jimmy. 

"Scott, I'm so glad you're here!" 

Scott made a long motion of looking around the destroyed empire. "Jimmy, I thought this was something sweet, what on earth happened to Tumble Town?!"

"I'm asking you the same thing! I took a couple of days off, and went back to see everything in ruins!" 

"Gosh… maybe it was a stray lightning strike on TNT?" The cyan-haired tried to reason. "Maybe someone brought flint and steel a bit too close to your saloon?"

"Scott, there is barely a half-stack of TNT in Tumble Town. All my stock for trading is all in the form of gunpowder!" Jimmy grew more and more upset with each sentence. "And last I played Minecraft, gunpowder doesn't explode unless it's in a creeper, in TNT or fireworks! And two out of three of those can't create a disaster this big!" 

"Listen… being here is only going to get you further upset. Let's get you to Chromia where you can spend the night. Next morning, I'll call up the other empires and we can discuss what just happened." 

Jimmy hesitated for a moment. Scott didn't know whether it was a show for the camera or not. "Yeah… yeah, okay. I'll just… gather a couple of my belongings." 

Scott nodded, turning to fly back to the top of the crater. "Good, and make sure you grab everything valuable to you."

"Tumble Town is valuable to me." 

At that, Scott nearly broke character. This wasn't the 'Sheriff Solidarity' speaking, it was Jimmy. There was actual emotion in that short sentence. "You'll be okay, Jim. We'll find out who did it." He assured gently, slipping back into his actor-self. 

The cyan-haired didn't have to wait for long as Jimmy came back holding an Enderchest and his sheriff badge in his offhand. "Let's go." 

[doumadono]

Bakugo being a porn streamer (for Sinful Sunday)

Warnings: smut with plot, rough smut, pussy fingering and eating, cunnilingus, missionary, creampie, fem!reader, male masturbation, squirting, public sex, only fans & pornhub mentions, porn stream, Bakugo has OnlyFans account

A/N: this request got the second highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll I held over a week ago. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The cityscape glowed like a thousand gems scattered across a dark velvet blanket, each light a testament to the life teeming below. 

Katsuki Bakugo strode through the bustling streets, the remnants of his patrol echoing in the satisfied murmurs of bystanders he had saved earlier. His fiery eyes scanned the horizon, mind already drifting to the solace awaiting him at home.

Reaching the sleek, modern building that housed his penthouse, Bakugo nodded curtly to the doorman and made his way to the private elevator. As the doors closed, he allowed a small, rare smile to touch his lips. 

It had been a good day — no major catastrophes, no near-death experiences. Just another day of being the best hero the world had ever seen.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor. 

Bakugo stepped into his luxurious apartment, the space a perfect blend of modernity and comfort. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city, and plush furnishings invited him to relax. He shed his hero gear with practiced efficiency, revealing the chiseled body beneath — one that had become almost as famous as his explosive quirk.

Padding barefoot across the cool hardwood floors, Bakugo headed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He took a long drink, his thoughts wandering to his evening plans. 

It had started as a joke, really — a whim born from boredom and pure curiosity. One night, he had filmed himself getting off, his muscular body glistening with sweat, his deep, guttural moans echoing in the silent room. On a lark, he had uploaded the video to his old Pornhub, expecting nothing in particular.

To his surprise, the video had gone viral. Within days, he had amassed thousands of fans, all clamoring for more. At first, Bakugo was amused. Then intrigued. And finally, he saw an opportunity. He was a hot man — he knew that. And if people wanted to watch him, if it made them happy and he enjoyed it too, then why not?

With the success of his initial video, Bakugo had created an OnlyFans account, eager to capitalize on his newfound popularity. It had been an instant hit. Fans flocked to his page, eager to pay for the privilege of seeing him in more intimate, exclusive settings. The subscriptions rolled in, and Bakugo found himself enjoying the attention, the adoration. It was a different kind of thrill, but a thrill nonetheless.

Bakugo set the water bottle down and made his way to his bedroom. The room was dominated by a large, king-sized bed draped in dark, luxurious linens. A camera was set up on a tripod in one corner, pointed directly at the bed. He moved with confidence, stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside. Naked, he admired his reflection in the full-length mirror. His body was a testament to years of rigorous training — every muscle defined, every inch a work of art.

With practiced ease, Bakugo positioned himself on the bed, adjusting the camera angle until he was satisfied. He grabbed a small remote from the nightstand and turned on the camera. The red light blinked to life, and he took a deep breath, letting the anticipation build. This was his stage, his audience waiting eagerly on the other side of the screen.

He opened his laptop, navigating to his OnlyFans account. With a few clicks, he started a live stream, watching as the viewer count began to climb rapidly. The chat box exploded with messages, fans greeting him eagerly, their excitement palpable even through the screen.

"Hey, fucking perverts," he greeted, his voice low and rough, tinged with the cocky confidence that had made him a hero. "It's your favorite pro hero, back for another round."

He ran a hand down his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. He knew exactly what his fans wanted, what they craved. And he was more than happy to give it to them. His hand continued its descent, skimming over the taut skin until it reached his cock. Already semi-hard, it twitched in his grasp, responding to his touch.

Bakugo leaned back against the pillows, spreading his legs slightly to give the camera a better view. He stroked himself slowly at first, his grip firm but teasing. He knew how to build the anticipation, how to draw it out until he was practically vibrating with need. "You like what you see?" he growled, eyes locked on the camera as if he could see his fans watching. "Bet you wish you could touch me, huh? Feel how hard I am for you, little perverts?"

The chat box lit up with eager responses, fans egging him on, praising his body, his performance.

God, you're so hot!

I've been waiting all day for this.

Take it slow, Dynamight, make it last!

His eyes scanned the comments, searching for one particular username: sweet_daisyxxx. Amid the flood of adoring messages, he spotted it.

sweet_daisyxxx: You look amazing tonight, Katsuki

A rush of heat surged through him at the sight of your comment. He smirked, a new surge of energy coursing through him. His hand moved faster, strokes becoming more insistent. Pleasure coiled in his belly, hot and demanding. He was stroking his cock from base to tip, picturing you moaning his name. 

For Bakugo, starting an OnlyFans account had been a natural progression from his initial success on Pornhub. He'd always had a hard time settling down, despite his status as a pro hero and his undeniable attractiveness. His standards were high — too high, perhaps — and no woman had ever met all his requirements. His relationships invariably ended in one-night stands, fleeting and unsatisfying.

He had begun to find solace in the digital realm, exploring the myriad of content creators on OnlyFans. He followed the accounts of the girls he found hot, drawn to their beauty and charisma. It was a distraction, an addiction of sorts, but one he didn't mind. It filled a void that real-life encounters couldn't, offering a tantalizing escape from the pressures of heroism.

Then he came across your account. It was different from the rest. Yes, you were a camgirl yourself, you had a beautiful body, a captivating presence, but what set you apart was your approach. You didn't reveal everything, always touching yourself through the thin material of your lacy panties, always keeping your face off the camera, maintaining an air of mystery and intrigue while you played with yourself. Your streams were a mix of sensuality and intellect as you were trying to engage your small but dedicated follower count in discussions about literature, history, fashion, and the changing world. You were a tease, undoubtedly, but it was your depth that held him captive. Bakugo lingered on your page longer than he intended, entranced by your intelligence and charm. Your body was a work of art, but it was your mind that ensnared him. Not to mention you happened to be his biggest fan.

sweet_daisyxxx: Those muscles look even better up close. You're incredible, Katsuki

His eyes flicked back to the chat, watching as your other comments rolled in. 

sweet_daisyxxx: That growl you made just now? So hoooot, oh Gosh... Don't stop

Bakugo was incredibly turned on, imagining the taste and feel of licking your cunny. Even though he had never truly seen your pussy, the lingerie you wore on your streams left little to the imagination, perfectly outlining the curves of your folds. He couldn't help but think your pussy must be the prettiest one. What sounds would you make riding his tongue? Where would you want him to cum? On your face? Mouth? Tits? Maybe you would want him to save it for your pussy?

sweet_daisyxxx: Wish I could be there to touch you, feel every inch of you

His breath hitched, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He could feel himself getting close, the familiar tension building with every stroke. His fans loved it when he talked dirty, loved the way he lost control on camera. And tonight, he was more than willing to give them a show. "Shit, I'm so close," he groaned, head falling back against the pillows. "You want to see me come undone, don't you? You want to watch me lose it for you?" His hips thrust faster into his rough palm.

He worked on his dick energetically, holding his balls tight in his free hand, squeezing them from time to time. He moaned from the pleasure radiating from his throbbing dick. He could almost hear his fans' reactions, the collective intake of breath, the eager anticipation. And that thought pushed him over the edge. With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his seed hot and sticky over his hand and stomach. It gushed and bubbled through the wet tip of his throbbing dick, leaving a slick trail on his toned abs as he continued to thrust into his clenched fist. Spurt, spurt. The sensation seemed endless. Katsuki's breath hitched with relief, and his hips finally began to slow. Though his balls were drained, they kept clenching, desperate to empty every last drop of his cum. His head rolled back, mouth hanging open as he panted through the final throes of one of the strongest orgasms of his life.

sweet_daisyxxx: Yes, Katsuki, just like that. So hot. You're perfect

Bakugo lay there for a moment, chest heaving, heart pounding. He let the camera capture every second, every twitch of aftershock. When he finally moved, it was with a lazy, satisfied grin. He reached for a towel and cleaned himself up, his eyes never leaving the camera.

But even in the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, Bakugo’s crimson eyes returned to the chat, seeking your username again.

sweet_daisyxxx: That was incredible, Mr Pro Hero. Can't wait for next time ♥

He smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction beyond the physical release. You were more than just another fan. And you intrigued him.

"Hope you enjoyed the show," he said, voice still husky with the remnants of pleasure, his words directed toward you from all of his fans. "I'll see you next time."

He ended the live stream and lay back against the pillows, a sense of contentment settling over him. This was his life — a hero by day, a star of OnlyFans by night. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Bakugo lay back against the pillows, his body still thrumming with the afterglow of release. The chat window on his laptop blinked out, and he reached over to close it, his thoughts already drifting to the next interaction he craved. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he navigated to his messages.

He found your name quickly — sweet_daisyxxx. 

Your conversations had become a regular part of his routine, an escape from the relentless demands of hero work and the empty satisfaction of countless one-night stands. With you, it was different. You talked about things that mattered, things that challenged his mind and made him feel alive in ways he hadn't expected.

Horny_Dynamight: Wanna FaceTime?

There was a brief pause before your response came in.

sweet_daisyxxx: m’kay, give me a min

He waited, the seconds ticking by with a tense anticipation. Finally, his phone buzzed with the incoming call. He accepted, and your face filled the screen, your eyes bright with excitement.

You were seated in your gamer chair, the fitted black tank top you wore accentuating your curves. Your earbuds were in, and as you settled into the call, Bakugo couldn't stop his eyes from drifting downward, where the neckline of your top revealed the top of your beautiful breasts. The soft swell of your cleavage was tantalizing, and he felt a familiar heat stir within him.

"Hey, handsome," you greeted, your voice steady despite the underlying tension.

"Hey, hottie," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "So, how'd you really like the stream?"

You bit your lip, a teasing smile playing at the corners of your mouth. "It was amazing, Katsuki. You looked incredible. And the way you touched yourself… It was so hot."

His smirk widened. "Glad you think so." He paused, studying your face, the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I was thinking, would ya like to join my next stream?"

You blinked, taken aback. "Join? How?"

He didn't hesitate, his response blunt and to the point. "For some nice fucking."

Your eyes widened, shock and excitement warring for dominance on your face. "Are you serious, Kats? I think I’m far outta your league…"

"Dead serious," he confirmed, his gaze never wavering. "We've been dancing around this for way too long. I want you on my stream. With me. In every way, Y/N. I can’t stop thinking about ya, for fuck’s sake."

You stared at him, the silence stretching out as you processed his proposition. 

He wondered if he had pushed too far, if maybe he had read the situation wrong. 

But then, your expression shifted, a slow smile spreading across your face. "Okay," you said softly. "When?"

His heart leaped, a fierce grin spreading across his face. He hadn't expected you to agree so quickly, but then again, you had always surprised him. "Tomorrow night. Same time. My place."

"Ok, but you’ll have to pick me up," you replied with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

When you finally hung up, Bakugo felt a sense of satisfaction settle over him. Tomorrow night would be a game-changer, a step into new territory that he was eager to explore. With you.

The next day, Bakugo's routine went by in a haze of expectation. His patrols were efficient but mechanical, his thoughts constantly returning to the evening ahead. He had spent the day thinking about it, every spare moment filled with thoughts of you, of finally meeting the person who had occupied his thoughts for so long. Katsuki pushed himself harder in the gym, needing the physical exertion to keep his mind from spiraling into endless scenarios of what might happen. 

When the day finally drew to a close, he found himself back in his apartment, preparing for what felt like both a stream and a date. He made sure everything was perfect — the camera angles, the lighting, the room itself. And then, he drove to pick you up from the mall you set up as a meeting place.

Bakugo's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nerves as he drove to the mall. This was the first time he was going to see you in real life, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear. 

He pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot near the entrance. As he stepped out of the car, he adjusted his black, leather jacket, trying to look as casual as possible despite the literal butterflies in his stomach. He scanned the crowd, looking for you, knowing you would stand out even among the bustling shoppers.

And there you were, waiting near the fountain in the center of the plaza. You wore a girly white summer dress with a delicate floral motif, the fabric swaying gently with the breeze. Your white sneakers added a touch of casual charm to your appearance. As you spotted him, your face lit up with a bright smile, and your cheeks turned slightly pink with a blush.

Bakugo made his way over to you, his heart pounding harder with each step. When he finally stood in front of you, he could hardly believe it. You were even more beautiful in person. "Hey," he said after clearing his throat, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

"Hey, Katsuki," you replied, your voice soft and filled with excitement. "It's so good to finally see you in person, Mr Dynamight.”

He nodded, his eyes taking in every detail of you, from the way your dress clung to your figure to the sparkle in your eyes. "Yeah, it is."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you took each other in, the reality of the moment sinking in. Then, with a smirk, Bakugo extended his hand. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Absolutely,” you replied, taking his palm as if you two were a real couple.

He led you to his car, opening the door for you before getting in himself. 

As he drove, the conversation flowed easily, just like it did during your calls. You talked about everything and nothing, the comfort between you growing with each passing mile.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at you as he drove. The way your dress highlighted all of your curves, the way the sun caught your hair, the way your laughter filled the car with warmth — it was all purely intoxicating. He reached over, his rough, large hand resting on your thigh. 

You glanced at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, huh?"

He smirked, his grip tightening slightly. "Nope. And I don't plan to, sweet doll."

His touch was firm, possessive, his fingers occasionally squeezing gently and brushing your soft skin as he navigated the streets. Every time his hand moved, it sent a shiver of anticipation through you, the promise of what was to come making your heart race.

Finally, you arrived at his apartment. Bakugo parked and turned to you, his expression serious. "You sure you're okay with this?"

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "More than okay, Katsuki. I've been looking forward to this, actually. I just… It’s been a while since…”

“Hush, no worries, I’ll be gentle,” he whispered softly, reaching his hand out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing slightly against your lower lip as he gazed into your eyes. With a nod, he led you inside the apartment. 

The moment the door closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted. The tension that had been building all day exploded into action. 

Bakugo reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you fiercely, all the pent-up desire pouring into that single moment.

You responded immediately, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor. 

Your bodies pressed tightly together. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw need in his touch.

Bakugo's hands roamed down your sides, pulling you even closer until there was no space between you. 

You could feel the hardness growing in his pants, pressing insistently against your lower abdomen as he pushed you on the nearest wall. 

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." His hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he walked towards the bedroom with you in his arms.

You wrapped your legs around him, the movement causing the bulge in his pants to press even more firmly against your clothed pussy. The friction made you moan, the sound driving him wild.

Bakugo kicked the bedroom door open, setting you down on the edge of the bed. He stepped back for a moment, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure hunger. "You look so fucking good," he said, his voice low and rough.

You blushed, but there was a playful glint in your eyes as you whispered teasingly, "Why don't you come over here and show me just how good?"

With a growl of satisfaction, Bakugo was on you in an instant, his mouth capturing yours once more. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under your dress to caress your soft skin. He paused, taking in the sight of you in your underwear. "Beautiful," he murmured, his hands tracing the curves of your body.

You got up and reached for him, pulling his leather jacket off and tossing it aside before working on the buttons of his shirt. His skin was warm and firm under your touch, the muscles rippling as you pushed the fabric off his shoulders. He helped you, impatient to feel your hands on him.

Once his shirt was off, you traced your fingers over his chest, marveling at the hard lines and defined muscles. "You're incredible, Katsuki," you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

He grinned, his hands moving to unbutton his pants. "You haven't seen anything yet."

As his pants hit the floor, your eyes were drawn to the impressive bulge pressing against his underwear. He moved closer, his lips locking with yours in a searing kiss while his body pressed tightly against yours. The feel of his firmness against you, combined with the fervor of his kiss, left your head reeling.

Bakugo murmured, "You know what I want to show on the stream?"

You shivered at the rough timbre of his voice. "What?"

"Mostly eating you out," he growled, his hand moving to caress your inner thigh, "and fucking you until you can't think straight."

Your breath hitched, the bluntness of his words sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. “Are… Are you sure?" you asked, your voice trembling with anticipation.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "I want everyone to see how good you can make me feel. How much we both want it."

You swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were burning from the inside out. "Katsuki..."

He kissed you again, hard and possessive. "So, what do you say?" he murmured against your lips. "You in?"

You nodded, your mind a whirl of desire and anticipation. "I'm in. Just…”

"Oh, quit being shy, doll. Just because you haven't shown yourself on cam yet doesn't mean you're a saint. We both know you're not. I still remember you moaning on the phone, telling me how you'd suck my dick during one of our calls."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. "Katsuki, I... I don't want my face shown on the stream."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Why not? Are you ashamed of my idea?"

You shook your head quickly, cupping his face in your hands. "No, it's not that. I just... I don't think you want to be associated with an OnlyFans girl later. It could cause trouble for you. You’re a hero after all..."

His expression softened, and he cupped your cheeks in his rough hands. "I don't care about your fucking profession, doll," he said firmly. "I've developed feelings for you. You're more than a one-night stand for me."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the sincerity in his eyes making your breath catch. "Katsuki..."

He kissed you deeply, his lips conveying everything he couldn't put into words. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "We'll do it your way. No face. I want this to be good for both of us."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "Thank you, Katsuki. This means a lot to me."

He grinned, his hands sliding down to your waist. "Now, let's make this the best stream anyone's ever seen."

Bakugo adjusted the camera one last time, ensuring it was angled just right. He made sure only a slight part of your neck would be visible, keeping your identity safe while still capturing the raw passion of the moment. The red light blinked on, indicating the stream was live. He turned to the camera, his usual smirk in place. "Hey, fuckers," he greeted, his voice low and confident. "Got a special stream for you tonight."

Immediately, the chat exploded with messages, the viewers' excitement palpable even through the screen.

Bakugo! Who's the girl?

Is this for real? Bakugo's got someone with him?

Holy shit, this is gonna be epic!

Introduce her! What's her name?!!

Is she your girlfriend?!! omg Dynamight has a gf? I’m heartbroken!!!

We need details, Dynamight!

Bakugo glanced at the comments, his smirk widening as he saw the flood of questions about you. He enjoyed the attention. "Calm down, fucking idiots," he said, his voice a growl that only seemed to stoke the fire in the chat. "You'll get what you came for. That’s all. My girlfriend’s face stays out of the frame. Got it?"

You gasped as you realized he called you his girlfriend.

The chat buzzed even more, curiosity and excitement mingling in the rapid-fire messages.

Why hide her face?

Is she that shy?

Come on, Bakugo, just a glimpse!

Gosh, he said she is his gf, rip to my feelings :(

Damn, this is hot already

Just fuck that cunt already man

Ignoring the more insistent demands, Bakugo turned to you, his crimson eyes dark with desire. He leaned in, his rough, large hand resting on your thigh as he whispered in your ear. "Ready to give them a show?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "More than ready...."

With a growl of satisfaction, Bakugo's lips crashed onto yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under the hem of your dress and slowly lifting it over your head. “Lay down and relax,” he commanded in a whisper.

The cool air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch quickly warmed you up. You obliged and lay down on his bed.

He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the dress off completely, tossing it aside before capturing your lips again. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve with a desperate need. 

You could feel the heat of his touch through the thin fabric of your underwear, his fingers tracing the lines of your body with an intensity that made your head spin.

Bakugo's hands moved to your back, deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it to the floor. He pulled back slightly, his eyes raking over you with a look of pure hunger. "So fucking beautiful," he murmured, his hands moving to cup your breasts.

You gasped as his rough palms squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your back arching slightly in response. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck as he continued to fondle your breasts, his touch both firm and gentle.

"Katsuki," you moaned quietly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, the anticipation of what was to come making your body ache with need.

His mouth moved lower, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck to your collarbone. "I want to make you feel so good," he growled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. "I want everyone to see how much you need this."

You whimpered in response, your body trembling with desire. 

His hands continued to explore, one moving to your waist while the other remained on your breast, squeezing and teasing your nipple. Bakugo's mouth soon found your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth. 

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, the pleasure almost too much to bear. 

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands and mouth working together to drive you to the edge.

The camera captured every moment, the slight part of your neck and the intensity of Bakugo's actions visible to his eager audience. The thought of being watched only heightened your arousal, the exhibitionism adding a new layer of excitement to the experience.

The chat was a blur of comments, the viewers enraptured by the display.

Damn, she's loving it!

Bakugo, you're a beast!

This is insane! More, more!

I can't take my eyes off this

Lucky girl, getting all of Dynamight’s attention

Bakugo pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a look of pure desire. "I can't wait any longer," he growled, his hands moving to the waistband of your panties. He leaned forward, caught the waistband with his teeth and slid them down your legs, the fabric pooling on the bed as he knelt between your legs. He kissed his way up your thigh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. "I'm going to make you come so hard on my fucking mouth," he promised, his breath hot against your skin. "And everyone is going to see how much you love it."

He pushed your legs further apart, exposing your glistening folds to the camera. The sight was mesmerizing, your arousal clear and inviting. Bakugo's eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the view, his fingers gently parting your folds to give the viewers a better look. "Look at that," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "So fucking pretty, and all fucking mine."

The chat went wild, the viewers unable to contain their excitement.

OMG, her pussy is beautiful ♥♥♥

Bakugo, you're a lucky bastard! I’m so gay for that bitch

This is the hottest thing I've ever seen

Look at those curves!

I can't believe this is happening live!

Ignoring the comments, Bakugo leaned in, his breath hot against your sensitive folds. 

Your pussy was tight and firm. It was flushed with your desire, and its lips were damp with your slickness. 

Your scent filled his nostrils and Bakugo growled as his cock twitched in his boxers, aching to be freed.

The first touch of his tongue sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, your back arching as you cried out his name. His mouth worked expertly, his tongue and lips finding every sensitive spot as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue reached out and gently licked from the bottom of one side up to the top. He flicked the pearl of your clit and then licked back up the other side of your lips before flicking it again. Bakugo placed his tongue at the base of your slit and slid it up between your puffy lips. He tasted and felt your juices pool on his flexed tongue as it slid up. 

You tasted so good, so sweet. 

His lips closed over your clitoris and he sucked on it, drawing a gasp from you and a buck of your hips. Bakugo pulled your pussy lips into his mouth and sucked hard on them. His warm tongue went as far inside you as he could reach.

Your juices coated his chin. 

He slid his mouth back up to your clit and eased a finger inside you. He growled against you, the vibrations making your legs shake.

Your lips parted slightly as his thick, rough middle finger slid in between the folds of your pussy. 

It reached in and he curled it up till he hit the top of your pussy. He yet again sucked your clit into his lips hard. 

Suddenly, your legs squeezed together, trembling. “Katsuki,” you whined, arching your back.

Katsuki sucked hard on your clit, his teeth teased it and he flicked it with the tip of his tongue as he slipped two more fingers into your pussy. Soon, they were coated with your translucent slickness.

He kissed your pussy lips and sucked up all of your juices. The nectar from your climax covered his face and hand. It was delicious and he smiled as he looked up from between your legs. 

"Katsuki…" you moaned, your fingers tangling in his ash-blonde hair as you pulled him closer, the need for release almost unbearable as you ground your pussy against his face. Your body tensed, your back arching as the pleasure crashed over you in waves, your cries filling the room. 

Bakugo didn't stop, his tongue continuing to work you through your orgasm, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were left trembling and breathless; your juices spilling on his tongue, overlaying his mouth and chin as he drank all of your essence.

The chat was in a frenzy, the viewers unable to contain their excitement.

OMG, that was intense!

Bakugo, you're a god

I need a cold shower after this

More, more, more!

This is the best stream ever Shhiiit her moans are hot

Fuck, she super hot, you’re lucky, man

Bakugo pulled back, his lips glistening with your juices as he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. Bakugo stood up, his hands moving to the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxers as he undressed quickly, his eyes never leaving yours. He stepped out of his underwear, his hard length springing free. 

You licked your lips, the sight of him making your mouth water with anticipation.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he looked down at you with a possessive hunger. "I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised, his voice a low growl. Ever so slowly he pressed the leaking tip of his cock to the opening of your pussy.

"Ohhh fuck," you whimpered as Bakugo gradually penetrated your entrance. You sucked in a breath and opened your legs wider to grant him better access. 

So slowly he pushed his cock further in until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Bakugo left his other hand at your throat as he began a slow pace, sliding almost completely away from you before plunging back in. 

You moaned deeply, relishing the searing hardness of his arousal. Your velvety walls clenched tightly around him, drawing a slight widening of his eyes in response to your movements. His arousal felt like forged steel as he continued to thrust vigorously in and out of you. Your desire had escalated to the point where it now glistened on the insides of your thighs and his toned abdomen, the soft, wet sounds filling the air each time he withdrew and then thrust back into your cunny.

Bakugo's lips captured yours passionately, his kiss fervent and insistent. He nipped at your tongue and the corners of your mouth, each bite sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you, melding the physical intensity with a deep, consuming heat.

A sharp yank on his blonde strands pulled his mouth from yours, and you looked into his crimson eyes. “Harder,” you begged.

Bakugo’s face transformed from an expression of animalistic need to one of desperate pleasure. He set a relentless pace, his hips driving into you with a fierce intensity. 

Sweat began to slide in droplets between his shoulder blades and broke out over his forehead. A single drop fell from the tip of his nose and splashed onto your soft belly and you gasped. 

Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the pleasure building with each thrust.

Withdrawing, Balugo moved back into your tight pussy with full force again, and again. He sunk his teeth into the red mark he had made earlier where your neck met your shoulder and moved his body roughly against yours.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, somehow pulling him deeper into your pussy, causing small moans to fall from your lips uncontrollably.

"Katsuki, I'm going to come again," you whined, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure.

"Do it," he growled, his hips pistoning into you even harder. "Come for me. Let everyone see how much you need this."

With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as your orgasm ripped through your entire being. You were trembling and quivering as Bakugo rubbed your slick clit faster and faster, making you squirm as you orgasmed. Your toes curled and uncurled with each movement, your pussy dripping wet as his massive cock hit your cervix with every thrust. Your breathing grew heavy, moans escalating in volume until you were screaming his name. Your entire body shook, legs trembling, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. Your pussy dripped, juices spraying the bed and Katsuki's abdomen, the bed squeaking loudly, rocking with the force of his thrusts as you squirted. “Fuck!”

Bakugo thrust madly, groaning as he felt the tightness of your pussy around his cock begin to ripple. He cried out a string of curses as his cock spurted in a mighty gush. He thrust thrice more, cumming with each push until he was absolutely spent, milking your velvety walls with his creamy, thick semen.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms subsided, Bakugo leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "You're incredible," he murmured against your lips, his hands cupping your face gently.

"So are you," you replied, your heart swelling with affection as you ran your hands though his messy hair.

Bakugo gradually withdrew, his movements deliberate and slow, savoring the last vestiges of intimacy. He watched with a mixture of pride and amusement as his thick cum began to dribble out from your spent pussy, staining his bedsheets. His gaze was intense, capturing every moment with a fierce satisfaction. Ensuring that every second was visible to his viewers, he turned slightly. "How'd you like that, fucking perverts?" he asked his viewers, his voice rough with satisfaction.

The screen was flooded with emojis, exclamations, and messages that scrolled past almost too fast to read. Fans were expressing their thrill and approval, many praising Bakugo's intensity and the raw, unfiltered passion of the display. Some commented on the sheer boldness. It was clear that Bakugo's actions had struck a chord, igniting a fervent buzz among the viewers.

Wow, Bakugo you never disappoint! Absolute legend! 🔥🔥🔥

What a beautiful squirt! That was INTENSE! Way to go, Katsuki!! 💥💥 😱 Can't believe what I just saw! This is why Bakugo's the best! Dude, that was wild!! 🌋 Loved every second of it!

Loved that, absolutely killed it Bakugo! Can’t wait for more! Ur girl is fucking lucky

Bakugo glanced back at you, and asked simply, "So? Ready for another round?"

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

New dad Astarion who is about to see his newborn child for the first time.

Of course, he expects his child to be the personification of serene beauty and divine grace. Them to have their father’s silken silvern locks, his immaculately chiselled features—the artwork perfected by Tav’s wonderful watercolour eyes…

And then he actually sees the child and—well—everybody assures him that, yes, Astarion, all babies look like that barely a half hour after birth…

He kind of has to take that at face value because he hasn’t seen an awful lot of newborns in his lifetime.

But it would’ve been nice if someone had told him that newborns happen to look like shrivelled potatoes, because he’s really, really trying to not let his bewilderment show. 

Astarion swallows. 

Tav’s beautiful eyes are watching him, waiting for a reaction—an enthusiastic one, no less. 

Maybe Tav will believe that he’s overcome with emotions at seeing his firstborn child? 

“Oh my, darling, I’m…speechless,” is all he can choke out, though, being rather proud that it’s at least not a lie. 

To his luck, Tav only nods dreamily, her full attention back on the odd little bundle in her arms.

“Isn’t she perfect?”

Yes, perfectly hideous. 

Astarion only hums in a way of reply.

That—his daughter, he supposes—is with no doubt one of the ugliest things he’s ever seen, but he has a feeling that his honesty wouldn’t be appreciated after Tav laboured for hours to give birth to this…potato-baby.

“Come, hold her, Astarion,” Tav says, then, bidding him to sit next to her on the bed.

The mattress shifts under Astarion’s weight and he obediently holds his arms out so that Tav can gently place the sleeping child against his chest.

Now that Astarion can take a better look, he can confirm that his daughter’s hair is of an indefinable colour and that her features are neither his nor Tav’s, plain as can be. Surely it won’t stay like that?

He and Tav are so ridiculously beautiful, their child can only be drop-dead gorgeous, right?

Astarion’s stomach drops indeed when, suddenly, something occurs to him. 

Oh dear, what if it’s his fault? He has no recollection of his family whatsoever; it’s very much possible that he and his immaculate looks are the exception in his lineage, and that he’s passed on only those mysterious less-than-perfect genes…Tav, as per usual, can’t be the issue!

Astarion is still catastrophizing when the bundle in his arms begins to stir.

All of a sudden, gold-speckled pale green eyes are looking up at him as if to ask what the fuck this weirdo’s problem might be. 

“Oh,” the weirdo in question exclaims at once. “Darling, look, she has your eyes!”

Tav, hugging him from behind, rests her chin on his shoulder, so she can watch as Astarion’s finger tenderly strokes their baby’s chubby cheek.

Their daughter also has, as it turns out, ten fingers and toes, a cute little nose and a hungry mouth—everything that’s supposed to be there is there, and it seems to be working fine, too—which is a huge relief. 

And aren’t those the tiniest pointy ears Astarion has ever seen? Let alone the unexpectedly strong fingers grasping at his!

Astarion, worries forgotten in a heartbeat, can’t help but smile at the baby in his arms. 

She is perfect, after all. 

Tav, face hidden in the crook of his neck, begins to tremble against his back. 

For a second, Astarion thinks she’s crying but then her laughter fills the chamber. It takes her a good moment to articulate whatever it is she finds so very funny.

“She'll grow out of it, you know?” Tav giggles in between her fits of laughter. 

Astarion stiffens. “Of what?”

“The turnip look. That’s what you’ve been worrying about the whole time, haven't you?”

“I was leaning more towards potatoes—but yes, I might’ve been a little worried about that,” Astarion admits sheepishly, although a grin is already tugging at his lips.  

Regaining her composure, Tav reaches over Astarion’s shoulder, her hand joining his as they get to know their child.

“Give it a couple of days and she will look like your proper little elf—beautiful just like her father.”

A content sigh leaves Astarion’s lips, right before he presses them against Tav’s temple.

“That’s the second best news I’ve heard today, my heart, truly.”

[pin-k-ink]

precious // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ hoshina being an overprotective hubby, mentions of complications during childbirth, mentions of injuries, unplanned pregnancy, lactation kink, nipple play, fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, semi public sex, squirting

wc ⇢ 6.8k

Your breath hitched in your throat as Hoshina crowded you against the bedroom door, his powerful frame bracketing you in with sinewy arms planted on either side of your head in an inescapable cage.

"Ya sure about this, baby girl?" he rasped, leaning down to ghost his lips across the thundering pulse at your throat. "Goin' back out into the field so soon after..."

He trailed off, throat bobbing with a convulsive swallow as he fought to keep the emotions off his face. You knew what he struggled not to voice - the reminder that it had been barely over a year since your last combat deployment...when you spent those endless, agonizing hours birthing his child in the medical ward.

Raising one hand, you traced the hard line of Hoshina’s jaw until he finally tilted his stare back to meet yours fully. The look of naked worry shining through those indigo depths made your chest constrict sharply. This was the man who had nearly torn the entire base apart searching for you that fateful night, convinced something catastrophic had unfolded after the readings from your suit went haywire.

Only to find you safely secured behind lockdown, laboring to bring his daughter into the world despite the field medics' best efforts to whisk you away at the first sign of complication. You still remembered the haunted awe etched across Hoshina’s chiseled features when he finally burst through, coated in sand and viscera but somehow the most beautiful sight you'd ever laid eyes on.

With Setsuko bundled in one arm, he had dropped to his knees at your bedside and gathered you both against his heaving chest in a rib-creaking embrace, lips mapping every inch of exposed skin between ragged apologies and feverish gratitude. As if you were both incredibly precious gemstones he'd nearly lost to the relentless hunger of this world's darkness before reclaiming at the last possible second.

You would never forget that moment as long as you lived - the reminder of just how easy it could all be snatched away in the blink of an eye. Which was precisely why you were so adamant about cutting the suffocating, overprotective tethers Hoshina had woven around you both in the aftermath and reclaiming your duties as a combat officer.

"Soshiro..." you murmured, palming his cheek firmly to hold his gaze as your other hand drifted down to press over the soft plane of your abdomen. "My body is healed, and Setsu is thriving. You can't keep us locked away forever out of some misguided sense of duty."

A muscle ticked in Hoshina’s jaw, the stark truth of your words resonating through that stubborn cavern of protective instincts still screaming to shield his family at any cost. You could practically see the battle raging across his features as he grappled with acknowledging your self-determination versus the compulsive need to snap you both back behind reinforced barriers until the end of days if he had his way.

"I almost lost ya," he gritted out at last, the hushed rasp of anguish bleeding through more vulnerability than Hoshina would ever dare allow any soul besides you to witness. "Sittin' there helpless while yer vital signs went haywire, wonderin' if I'd get to hold ya one last time before—"

You cut off the words with a decisive shake of your head, fingers slanting across his lips to halt the destructive path he would undoubtedly travel down given half the chance. "But you didn't lose me," you stated with steely certainty. "And I'll be damned if you or anyone else tries to treat me like a porcelain doll now that—"

"I don't think ya understand exactly what that night did to me," Hoshina interjected, a sudden ferocity burning behind his eyes as he trapped your wrist with one massive hand.

In the same motion, he hauled you flush against the rigid wall of his chest, tangling his free hand into your hair to cant your head back at an angle that bared your throat completely to his roving stare. You couldn't help the trembling full-body shudder that rippled through you as he leaned down to brush parted lips across your overheated skin.

"Do you have any idea how close ya came to bleedin' out 'fore I got there?" he rumbled against your thundering pulse in a tone made of smoke and sin. "What seein' ya like that, hearing the panic in the medics' voices about 'fadin' vitals' and possible hemor—"

His words fractured into a raw, wounded keen stifled against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You wove your hands through his soft ink-dark locks, cradling him close as the powerful frame you adored more than life itself trembled with the force of his anguished recollections for several drawn-out beats.

When Hoshina finally regained some semblance of his renowned composure, you felt an undisguised press of wetness smear across your scorching skin. He drew back just enough to bore straight into your eyes, his own glassy and ringed with reddened fatigue no amount of bluster could fully mask.

"Ya don't get it, [Y/N]..." Hoshina growled in a wrecked rasp that seemed torn from the very depths of his psyche. "In that moment, there was nothin' - not the kaijiu threat, not the entire fuckin' war...not a damn thing that could have stopped me from slaughterin' anyone or anything to reach yer side when—"

His throat convulsed sharply as he visibly wrestled the rest of his confession into viselike submission. When he continued, it was in a lower, rawer octave that sent tingles of primal awareness skittering across your nerves.

"You and Setsuko are my entire universe, baby girl. My reason to keep endurin' this hell and clawin' my way back home to you both time after time. So you'll damn well forgive me for doing everythin' possible to keep my precious treasures safe and untarnished..."

With that, Hoshina yanked you forward again until you were once more plastered flush against that furnace of sinewy power and virile strength. This time he buried his face against the fragrant spill of your hair, drawing in heady lungfuls of your familiar scent as if drowning.

"I'm not ready to lose ya, sweetheart..." he rasped in a desperate, muffled whisper. "Even if it pisses ya off, even if ya hate me for it...I'll still do everythin' in my power to keep ya both sheltered from harm. It's the only way I can keep breathin'."

The raw agony and stark vulnerability driving those hushed words lanced straight through you. Without hesitation, you curved your arms around Hoshina’s torso in a grounding embrace and nuzzled your face against his heaving chest. Beneath your cheek you could feel the jackhammer cadence of his heart pounding, the visceral echo of just how profoundly this entire situation had shaken his foundations.

For long stretches, you simply swayed in concert while murmuring wordless reassurances and nonsense endearments into the charged stillness. The lulling rise and fall of your joined bodies gradually lulled Hoshina back from whatever haunted precipice his mind had been teetering over.

At last you felt the rigid tension slowly begin to unspool from his corded muscles, the fractures of his trademark ease and command settling back into place like tectonic faultlines. Hoshina let out a quavering sigh, warm breath stirring the fine hairs along your nape just before his lips found your crown in a lingering caress.

"I know," he rumbled at last, hoarse rasp reverberated against your sensitive whorls. "Pretty big fuckin' ask for a hardass like me to just rip those protective shackles off so easily."

You couldn't help the helpless little giggle that slipped free at his self-deprecating gruffness. Tilting your head back, you slanted your mouth across Hoshina’s in a deep, searching kiss that quickly stole both your breaths in its heated wake.

When you finally resurfaced, it was to find his indigo irises hooded to thin slivers of banked intensity - black fire flickering hungrily beneath those fanned lashes as he drank in your glazed expression and slick, swollen lips.

"Just promise me one thing, baby girl..." Hoshiro practically purred in a deliciously sinful cadence far removed from the impassioned pleas just moments ago. His tongue swept out to capture the tang of your lipgloss with delicate, purposeful relish. "Keep yer proximity protocols limited to long range fire support and recon sweeps only. I get even a whisper ya tried pulling some heroine bullshit out on the front lines..."

His grip on your jaw tightened fractionally, fingertips imprinting delicious brands of possession that made you squirm with visceral awareness. "And I'll make absolutely certain ya spend our next reunion face down and ass up over my knee. Understood?"

You could only whimper a breathless, mewling assent that seemed to stroke those banked flames behind Hoshina’s eyes into twin pillars of searing azure.

"Good girl..." he growled in blatant satisfaction before slanting his mouth over yours once more, all silken heat and scorching dominance.

Hoshina’s deep, rumbling laughter echoed through the spacious nursery as he tickled Setsuko's tummy, drinking in her tinkling peals of delight. The simple act of playing with his precious daughter was one of the few reprieves that could completely untether him from the relentless shadows of combat for however brief the respite.

"Again, Daddy! More tickles!" she squealed breathlessly between giggles, violet eyes sparking with unrestrained mirth.

Unable to resist those imploring looks - so reminiscent of her mother's own persuasive stares - Hoshina obliged with another flurry of gentle raspberries blown against Setsuko's downy soft skin. Her chubby features scrunched up in fresh mirth, tiny fists swatting at him playfully as she squirmed in his lap.

For those fleeting moments, the rest of the war-torn world beyond these secure walls faded into blessed white noise. There was only the simplicity of his baby girl's joy, her infectious laughter coaxing matching rumbles of contentment from Hoshina’s depths. A reprieve from the endless grind of violence and ugliness he willingly shouldered to safeguard these infinitely precious moments.

As Setsuko finally began winding down to breathless hiccups and intermittent giggles, Hoshina felt his attention drifting despite his best efforts. Suddenly his mind began replaying those last images of you suiting up for deployment earlier. The way your suit had molded to every lush, feminine curve like a second skin, practically searing the outlines of your form into his mind.

He remembered the intoxicating scent of your floral shampoo caressing his senses as you passed by for final munitions check. How your fingers had trailed along the chiseled ridges of his arm and shoulder in an unconscious caress, sending tendrils of scorching need licking through his veins. Most of all, Hoshina recollected the look of quiet determination blazing behind those luminous irises - the promise that you would indeed uphold his conditions out in the field this time.

With some difficulty, he managed to wrestle his thoughts back to the present as Setsuko twisted in his embrace, nosing insistently at the window. "Daddy, look! Trucks coming! Mommy's home now?"

Her words lanced straight through the heated reverie clouding Hoshina’s consciousness like a splash of ice water. Immediately, every paternal instinct snapped into laserlike vigil, gaze narrowing at the unmistakable rumble of armored transports entering the compound.

Carefully, he untangled Setsuko from his lap and rose in a single smooth motion to cross the nursery. "C'mon, kiddo, let's get ya settled with Miss Tomi again for a bit, 'kay? I'll bring Mommy up to say goodnight once she's finished her debrief."

It was only after ensuring his daughter was transferred into her caretaker's custody that Hoshina allowed his brisk strides to eat up the hallway distances towards the arrival hangar. Despite his lingering reservations and misgivings, you were still a consummate soldier and enforcer of duty. Which meant protocol dictated you would report directly to Captain Ashiro upon returning rather than seeking him out first.

As expected, the residential wing corridors were vacant, nothing but the baseline echoes of the facility's equipment and climate control systems. No sign of you just yet, likely still undergoing post-mission triage and data offloading. With a grunt, Hoshina altered course towards the Operation Room where he was certain to find you eventually.

Sure enough, as the familiar open atrium came into view, Hoshiro picked up the unmistakable form of Okonogi already stationed by the monitor. She seemed...twitchy, if the constant fidgeting and shifting of her weight was any indication. More than once, her gaze flicked nervously towards the double-wide access doors as another incoming group filtered inside, only to snap back with clear avoidance when she spotted Hoshina’s looming silhouette.

Curiosity rapidly morphing into heightened suspicion, Hoshina angled his approach to intercept the young operations leader before she could make any hasty retreats. "Okonogi-chan," he said in greeting as she started guiltily. "Everythin' okay?"

Her cheeks flushed an even darker umber shade as she swallowed hard, clearly striving to regain some composure under Hoshina’s hard stare. "V-Vice Captain Hoshina! I was just, um, waiting for the debriefing t-to...that is, I mean..."

Trailing off pathetically, Okonogi shot one more wild-eyed glance over her shoulder, as if praying another distraction might materialize to spirit her away from this interrogation. No such salvation came, however, so she slumped with a tiny sigh before pivoting to fully face him.

"The truth is...Platoon Leader [L/N]— uh, Hoshina experienced a medical incident during today's mission," she managed to rasp out without quite meeting Hoshina’s gaze squarely. "She...collapsed in the middle of the kaiju engagement before her platoon could neutralize the threat."

For one suspended beat, all the ambient systems noise and distant voices faded into hollow static around Hoshina’s consciousness. Then a roaring, lancing pressure began expanding inside his skull as the implications took root and sprouted into a torrent of nightmare visions.

You collapsing amidst rubble and viscera, camera feed whiting out with nothing but bursts of interference...hissing emergency channels shouting about unstable vitals and internal hemorrhaging...the empty, agonizing silence that would follow if he lost the other half of his reason for living...

By the time Hoshina regained control over his body and lungs, Okonogi had already instinctively staggered back several paces with eyes widened in trepidation. Whether it was the rictus glare he leveled in her direction or the barely sublimated snarl reverberated through his chest, she clearly realized just how deeply the news gored his core.

"What. Happened," he grated out in a tone made of jagged obsidian and gritted glass. Each syllable seemed to flay away another shred of Okonogi's composure, leaving her bobbing in visible terror under his stormy scrutiny.

"She—she didn't sustain any injuries as far as the readings from her suit indicate," the girl managed in a breathless tumble of words, eyes still averted deferentially. "Platoon Leader Hoshina's condition was stabilized en route, and she regained consciousness before the transport returned to—"

A dismissive snarl ripped free from Hoshina’s chest before he realized it, sending Okonogi physically flinching with a whimper. He didn't have the patience or wherewithal to deconstruct her clinical details - not with a million shrieking demons howling in his mind all painting the same chilling canvas.

You lying motionless and bloodied, skin waxen beneath your combat suit...those vibrant eyes dimmed to soulless pits staring back at him in vacant accusation. All because he allowed himself to indulge your foolish, self-destructive whims by easing his protection despite every primal instinct lighting up like solar flares.

Barely cognizant of his actions, Hoshina pivoted sharply and began stalking towards the medbay with ground-eating strides. He needed to see you whole and breathing with his own two eyes, hear your voice lance through the maelstrom of torment roiling through his thoughts. Nothing else would ever be enough to exorcise the demons until he could physically inhere every detail to memory once more.

"V-Vice Captain!" Okonogi called out faintly behind him, voice wavering between obligation and self-preservation. "I have to insist you wait until Captain—"

"I don't take orders from you," Hoshina snarled over his shoulder without breaking stride, every fiber of his being now a missile locked onto its solitary target.

Finding you, holding you, ensuring your wellbeing with his own senses...this was the only imperative that registered anymore. If anyone tried barring his path, they would simply become another obstacle to be neutralized without mercy or hesitation.

With the medical ward’s towering threshold now looming ahead, Hoshina braced inwardly for whatever maelstrom of emotions awaited him just beyond that point. Either he was about to eclipse into divine rapture at finding you still whole and resilient in defiance of the odds...

Or he was descending irrevocably into a personal hell from which there could be no climbing back this time.

Hoshina burst through the medical wing's reinforced hatches like a vengeful hurricane unleashed. Several staffers in white lab coats startled and backpedaled at his sudden, explosive arrival, eyes widening at the thunderous expression twisting his features.

"Where is she? My wife! Platoon Leader Hoshina. Where is she?!" he snarled without preamble, stalking further into the sterile chamber with forearms already coiled for confrontation. "If any of ya valued yer lives, you'd tell me where—"

The venomous threat fractured in the back of his throat as a familiar, melodious giggle drifted through the air - your giggle, distinct and infinitely precious. Hoshina’s chest seized with such force he nearly staggered, every previous thought and raging instinct funneling to that single point where the gentle peal had originated from.

Whipping his head around with near-violent intensity, his gaze finally locked upon your form seated atop one of the beds. You were framed in profile, backlit by the crisp fluorescents and laughing at something the attending medic hovered beside you had said. To Hoshina, you may as well have been haloed by celestial radiance itself.

Before conscious thought could fully reassert itself, his legs were already carryining him forward in a smooth, prowling gait - a wolf homing in on the mate it had scented from miles away. He reached your side just as your giggles tapered off into sporadic chuckles, mouth still curved in that radiant smile he had convinced himself mere moments ago may never grace his world again.

Then you noticed his presence at your side, eyes widening fractionally before crinkling at the corners as a fresh smile bloomed across your features. "Well hey there, big—oof!"

The attempted greeting dissolved into a breathless exhalation as Hoshina enveloped you in his arms, crushing your frame against his chest so tightly it stole all remaining oxygen. Not that he could bring himself to loosen his grip in the slightest at feeling your solid warmth, the unrelenting cadence of your heartbeat thumping against his sternum in vivid tandem with his own thundering pulses.

"Idiot..." he rasped out in a devastated keen muffled against the crown of your head, throat convulsing with stifled emotion. Emotion that thrashed and roiled within like a snarling tempest barely bound, demanding cathartic release in any way he could physically pour himself into you. "You beautiful, infuriatin', ridiculous idiot..."

He could feel the perplexed quirk of your brow against the fevered skin of his neck as you craned your head back slightly, attempting to put distance between you so he could drink in the full force of your searching stare. Hoshina didn't allow it - couldn't bear the thought of a single inch separating your bodies even for an instant after nearly being rent asunder by loss.

So instead, he gathered you even closer into the protective, unyielding circle of his embrace with a minute adjustment, until you were practically molded into the solid ridges and hard planes of his body down to the last degree. With his nose buried in your fragrant hair, Hoshina simply stood there quaking for several agonizing moments, drinking in every infinitesimal detail like a dying man gulping at a desert oasis while he could.

Until finally you stirred again and his name emerged in that soothing alto lullaby he adored, now ribboned through layers of fond exasperation and confusion. "Shiro...? Hey now, I'm alright, see? No need for my big bad soldier to fly off the handle on some poor doc who was only—"

You broke off into a muffled squeak as Hoshina abruptly yanked you even tighter, until the bones in your ribcage creaked ominously under the colossal forces binding you to him. "Shut up," he growled in a voice made of smoke, gravel, and something deeper...something fracturing along the hairline faultlines of his legendary restraint with each fresh recollection. "Just shut yer perfect mouth for one goddamn minute and let me..."

The gruff demand trailed off into stark silence as the white-knuckled intensity gripping Hoshina momentarily stole even his ability to verbalize his most primal needs. You seemed to sense the magnitude of his internal tides, though. Because rather than bristle at the brusque order, you simply relaxed your tense posture by increments and nestled closer into his sheltering bulk.

Long minutes were spent with you both swaying in minute shifts, simply existing within the shared space of respiration and mollified thunders slowing echoing against the medical pod's walls. Hoshina drowned in the familiar bouquet of your shampoo and bodily effluvium, savoring the unmistakable evidence that you were indeed whole, present, and gloriously undamaged in his embrace.

If you thought the way he had gathered you close before was intense, it was nothing compared to the scorching brand that ignited and seared straight through your core as he slanted his mouth over yours in a profound claim. Hoshina’s kiss was branded possession, smelted forges of banked heat contained behind that carefully metered exterior he always presented finally detonating in savage release.

Stars spun dizzily in your vision as his tongue swept past the seam of your lips in ferocious demand, pillaging everything in its path. Just as you were teetering towards delirium from the frenzied onslaught, feeling the familiar stirrings of arousal begin pooling between your thighs, a pointed ‘ahem’ broke the tension.

You both broke apart with audible gasps, Hoshina’s grip somehow tightening even further around your waist in a clear warning not to allow any space to linger. Together you pivoted towards the interruption to find one of the senior medics surveying you both in exasperated resignation. The woman's no-nonsense demeanor and arched brow brokered no argument as her mouth opened to deliver the verdict.

"Apologies for the, ah...delay , but I wanted to ensure we had a finalized diagnosis before debriefing Platoon Leader Hoshina's status," she intoned with a degree of deference that only applied to Hoshina’s rank rather than his outburst just moments ago.

The Vice Captain inclined his head a bare fraction, silently prompting the medic to continue now that she had his undivided focus. With another clipped sigh, she tapped her pen against data-tablet once before she held it out for the both of you.

You immediately recognized the anatomical schematic as your own physiology. And there, nestled and highlighted in diffusing aurora refractions...

You felt the breath stall in your lungs as you took in the undeniable second life signature nestled in pulsating tandem with your own heartbeat. Beside you, you sensed more than saw Hoshina go utterly motionless with the sole exception of his jugular hammering with steadily mounting intensity.

"It appears Platoon Leader Hoshina's loss of consciousness was induced by a combination of factors typical for approximately 8-12 week human gestation," the medic stated in clipped, clinical tones. "Increased hormone production, depleted plasma levels, intermittent vascular compliance...all of which manifested rather acutely while exerting continual strain."

She turned the anatomical display to reveal a progression of imaging scans highlighting your uterine area. Sure enough, cradled within the diffusing nebulae and heat-maps...an unmistakable fetal form beginning to take shape.

"Essentially, your physical ordeal seems to have triggered an extreme response which resulted in your body's rather dramatic effort to preserve the prenatal incubation environment amidst perceived duress conditions. A natural biological adaptation, if highly disruptive in this particular instance."

The explanation filtered only peripherally through the twin shock waves engulfing your reeling psyche. All you could see was the tiny, unmistakable shape huddled securely within those layers as if in silent defiance of your ignorance.

Pregnant. You were pregnant...with Hoshina’s child all over again.

Unconsciously, you felt your hand drifting towards the suddenly fraught terrain of your lower abdomen, fingers splaying over the subtle yet taut swell with quiet reverence. How had you missed something so monumentally life-altering? Beside you, Hoshina remained eerily statue-still save for the ragged hurricane of his breathing steadily intensifying until it thundered from his flared nostrils like a war drum cadence.

Then, without preamble or warning, your entire world shifted on its axis once more as he scooped you up crushingly close in a bizarre echo of his initial greeting. This time, however, there was none of the wild mania or single-minded desperation motivating his motions. Only a sort of quiet and profoundly stunned devotion rendering his powerful form inert as his broad palms mapped the slight swell of your abdomen almost reverently.

"Soshiro..." you breathed out around a throat thickened with emotion too visceral to articulate. "Are you...?"

"Hush now, pretty girl..." his words were a rolling rumble of molten gravel, smoky with naked awe. "No more talkin', not until yer husband has had his moment, yeah?"

With that gentle reverence, Hoshina tilted his brow against yours and simply...existed in rapt communion with the newly revealed secret you now cradled between your parallel stances. No protocols, no urgencies or crises beyond this singular miracle holding the whole of his universe in rapturous thrall.

Just he and you...plus the most precious addition of all.

Hoshina kept you cradled against his powerfully muscled frame even as he strode out of the medbay, one arm banded securely beneath your knees while the other splayed possessively above the brand-new swell of your abdomen. You watched the myriad expressions flicker across his chiseled features - naked awe, blazing possession, softening to tender reverence at each minuscule caress against the taut feminine swell...

"Should we go get Setsu?" you murmured at one point, already imagining the delight that would spark your daughter's face upon learning of her imminent promotion to big sisterhood. "I know she'll be thrilled to—"

"Already taken care of, baby girl," Hoshina interjected in a low, rumbling rasp without breaking stride. His indigo stare remained transfixed upon your midsection as if hypnotized. "Soon as I heard the news, my first call was ensurin' our girl would be looked after through the night."

You opened your mouth to question his meaning, only to go slack-jawed as realization sank in with molten intensity. ‘Through the night?’ Did Hoshina actually intend to...

The answering heat blazing in those indigo depths as he drank in your dawning comprehension was enough to scorch away any lingering doubts. You felt your breath hitch sharply, entire body flushing hot beneath Hoshina’s scorching stare. Suddenly you were arousingly, viscerally aware of the slight stretching heaviness confined beneath your taut bodysuit - your breasts tingling with new sensitivity, the unmistakable proof of life blossoming inside weighing you down with the most intoxicating sense of feminine appeal.

A flicker of Hoshina’s tongue swiping across his lower lip made your newly hypersensitive nerves throb in yearning. You squirmed instinctively against his embrace, thighs clenching in an unconscious attempt to alleviate the steadily mounting ache already pulsing in delirious demand between them.

Without needing to be prompted further, Hoshina sank into an easy crouch and deposited you on the nearest flat surface - a long, reinforced table usually reserved for tactical planning and readiness evaluation. The cool, sterile metal beneath your back made you gasp, suddenly arousal-ripened nipples peaking against the thin material in helpless reaction. But any feeble protests withered on your tongue as Hoshina’s calloused hands began roaming with unhurried, passionate focus every lush new curve and dimpled expanse his heated stare hungrily mapped out.

"Look how utterly sexy you've already gotten carryin' my child..." he rasped in a voice gone gravel-rough and honeyed with undisguised sin. One palm drifted up to knead and caress the generous swell of your breasts in tactile rapture. "So damn soft and absolutely made for givin' life..."

Despite the scorching frisson of need steadily mounting throughout your core, you somehow found the presence of mind to mouth a half-hearted objection. "Sh-Shiro, the door...we shouldn't—"

"Shh, shh...let me take care of my sweet girl," he husked out in that deep, resonant timbre that liquefied your bones. With his free hand splaying burning possession across your lower belly, Hoshina dipped his mouth to trail open, openmouthed kisses down the long elegant column of your throat. "Wouldn't want to waste a single second now that I've got ya all wet and riled up..."

His voice dropped into an octave of pure sin on that last word, every syllable seeming to lash synapses into feverish overdrive. You whimpered at the brand of his teeth scoring your thundering pulse, back arching instinctively into the delicious friction building between your bodies.

Not needing further encouragement, Hoshina set about divesting you of every last stitch of material separating his roving mouth and ravenous gaze from the delicious new swell of your figure. Within moments you were splayed in nude abandon, quivering with arousal and utterly hypnotized by the look of naked hunger blazing from his features.

"That's my good girl..." he purred in molten gravel against the hollow of your collarbone, free hand smoothing possessive claim down the newly defined curve of your hips and thighs. "Just lay back and let Daddy take his fill of this gorgeous little body...been far too long since I got to taste yer milk…or anythin' else for that matter."

The way his tongue slicked out to trace your areola in teasing, featherlight circles sent your brain into a tailspin. All thoughts of protest or resistance disintegrated into molten, visceral need. Especially as his mouth latched around your aching nipple and began suckling in languid, thorough draws, tongue flicking the straining peak in rhythmic pulses.

It was as if a floodgate of sensation had been unlocked by the sheer intimacy of his actions. Suddenly the pressure mounting between your thighs became unbearable, hips rocking forward instinctively to grind against Hoshina in an attempt to slake that growing, insatiable fire.

"So greedy for my mouth, aren't ya, baby girl..." he growled around a mouthful of breast, teeth grazing your swollen flesh as his free hand began kneading your neglected globe in firm, massaging motions. "Daddy's got plenty to give, no need to rush now..."

With a final lingering pull, Hoshina released your nipple with a sinful pop and leaned back just enough to admire the fresh evidence of his attentions. You felt your cheeks flood with molten heat as you watched him drink in the engorged, glistening state of your breasts, nipples puckered and aching in desperate need.

"Gorgeous..." he purred in a silken rasp of praise, free hand drifting lower to caress the sensitive hollows of your inner thigh. "Yer so fuckin' beautiful to me, mama, no wonder ya had my poor heart stopped earlier."

You were still attempting to process the heady mixture of arousal and raw emotion roiling through you when Hoshina leaned down to lap at the opposite breast. The sudden contact of his tongue circling the straining bud made your spine arch off the table in a breathless arc, fingers clawing for purchase against his muscled shoulders.

"Fuck! Shiro, please, I can't—!"

Your desperate pleas fractured into a mewling cry as he sealed his lips around your nipple and suckled hard. At the same moment, his free hand groped a handful of your other breast and squeezed, just hard enough to make your milk spurt forth in an erotic spray.

Hoshina growled around a mouthful of creamy liquid, drinking deep as if he was the one teetering on the edge of madness and not you. His eyes flicked up to lock with your own, searing irises smoldering with such unrelenting focus the air seemed to sizzle between you.

"So damn gorgeous when ya feed me like this, mama'," he rumbled in a voice made of sin and dark promises. His grip on your breast tightened fractionally, coaxing another jet of rich milk. "Gonna spend the rest of my days breedin' ya over and over so you'll never run dry for Daddy..."

With a final swipe of his tongue, Hoshina straightened and drew the back of his hand across his glistening lips, savoring the remnants. For several suspended moments he simply gazed down at your supine form, drinking in the sight with a level of intensity that made you flush with heat and shyness.

Then his palm skated possessively over the slope of your stomach, coming to rest atop the taut skin where a brand-new life had been kindled. A slow smile curved his lips as he rubbed his thumb in slow, circular caresses.

"Might even have to keep ya like this after this one's born, baby girl. Just stay nice and soft and full for Daddy..." he growled, fingers drifting to cup your swollen folds in a possessive grip. "Maybe then ya won't be so inclined to take off and play hero out there where yer not needed anymore, yeah?"

Your protests died a swift death on your tongue as Hoshina plunged one thick finger into the soaking heat of your pussy. With his free hand still resting atop your stomach, he began pumping with measured, languid strokes - his gaze locked unblinkingly upon yours the entire time.

"That's right, my perfect little housewife..." he coaxed as your hips bucked in instinctive counterpoint, pussy clamping down with greedy demand. "Let Daddy take care of ya like this forever...ya won't even miss the battlefield once I get ya good and bred again as soon as this one's out."

"Shiro...oh, gods, please..." you moaned as his fingers began curling and scissoring in deliberate, unhurried motions, dragging against that most sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside.

"That's right, darlin'," Hoshina purred, bending low to nuzzle at the underside of your breast, lips skimming across the supple flesh. "Ya just lay back and let Daddy do the hard work...keep my baby girl safe and cozy while I handle all the heavy liftin'."

Your hips bucked in frantic desperation as his mouth descended on your straining nipple once more, lips pursing to suckle in firm pulls. His free hand continued rubbing in gentle circles across your abdomen, while his fingers began pumping faster and harder between your thighs.

You could feel the pressure building behind a wall of sheer ecstasy, every muscle drawn taut and vibrating. Just as you began toppling into the abyss, Hoshina pulled his fingers free. You whined in protest, writhing for the friction he had stolen away.

"Please, Shiro, I need it..."

"Shh, easy now, mama," he murmured, shifting his body weight until he was fully settled between your thighs, arms banded on either side to brace his bulk. "Know what ya need better than yerself, remember? So just relax and let Daddy do his job, yeah?"

With a single smooth thrust, Hoshina hilted himself to the hilt inside your spasming core, eliciting a choked cry from the both of you. For several seconds, he remained motionless and shuddering, simply reveling in the sensation of being seated fully inside the slick heat he had claimed years ago.

"Holy shit, I thought it would be different," he groaned, forehead pressing against your own as his pelvis began rocking in a steady rhythm. "But yer still just as tight and hot for my cock as the first time I buried myself in ya, aren't ya, baby girl..."

You whimpered incoherently, hips rising to meet each driving stroke in delirious counterpoint. Hoshina growled in approval, increasing the tempo until the table rocked violently beneath the force of his thrusts. "Do ya remember? When ya tried playin' hard to get with me, thinkin' ya had the upper hand?"

As if in emphasis, he shifted his weight and began grinding his pelvis into yours in punishing, deliberate circles. Your cries pitched to a higher, keening note as the pressure built towards that glorious crescendo once more.

"Shoulda known…you were mine the moment I laid eyes on ya," Hoshina continued in a voice made of molten gravel. His eyes bore into yours with single-minded, searing intensity. "Shoulda fucked ya stupid right then and there...but I'll be damned if ya weren't worth the wait, baby girl'."

He punctuated his statement with a brutal snap of his hips that had you keening beneath him. Your entire world was narrowed down to the molten stretch of him inside you, the friction of his pubic bone grinding into your swollen clit, the overwhelming presence of his gaze burning you to ash with nothing but adoration.

"Love ya, mama...love ya so much I can't ever think straight whenever ya take off like that," Hoshina's voice cracked with emotion, fingers threading into your hair to angle your face up to his. "I'd do anything for ya...just don't ever make me live without ya, baby girl."

"I-I won't, I promise," you sobbed, overwhelmed with the intensity of his emotion, your own body teetering precariously on the razor's edge of release. "Please, Shiro, make me cum, need it so bad, please—"

He immediately rose to his full height, both hands gripping the generous swell of your hips and angling you at a steeper incline. Your legs instinctively hooked around his waist as his strokes became deep, savage pistoning - the new angle allowing his cock to strike all those tender spots inside you just perfectly.

"Cum for me, baby girl, wanna see ya soak my dick..." he gritted out, every corded muscle in his powerful frame flexing as he worked himself furiously in and out of your sopping core. "Let Daddy see that pretty pussy milk my cock, yeah?"

His fingers tightened into bruising crescents against your hips as the pace of his thrusts became increasingly ragged, a low groan building in the back of his throat. You felt his balls drawing up tight, his shaft swelling as the familiar pulsating throb began signaling the moment he could no longer hold back.

The moment you had him entirely, utterly, and irrevocably undone.

Your entire body went rigid, toes curling and spine arching as you crested over the edge into an inferno of blinding ecstasy. Hoshina snarled gutturally as your core spasmed, hot liquid spurting and gushing around his cock just as your tits sprayed another fountain of rich milk, splashing his chest.

"Holy—fuck! That’s the sexiest goddamn thing I've ever seen," he grunted, fingers digging into your hips to lock you into place as he drove himself to the hilt once, twice, and then held...

"Fuuuuck!" Hoshina bellowed, head thrown back in agonized rapture as his cock erupted inside you. Thick ropes of cum gushed into your still-convulsing depths, splashing the mouth of your womb with hot seed. You could feel him twitching, jerking, and pulsing as he pumped everything he had deep inside, until your pussy was thoroughly and completely drenched with his essence.

When the last shuddering spasm finally left him, Hoshina slumped forward with a groan, catching himself before he collapsed fully on top of your sated frame. Your legs remained tangled around his waist, both of you too blissfully spent to move for several long minutes.

After what felt like an eternity, you felt Hoshina stir above you, a satisfied hum reverberating deep in his chest. Cracking open one eye, you found his mouth curled in a lopsided grin of smug masculine satisfaction, gaze glimmering with pure adoration.

"I didn’t know you could do that," he rasped, eyes dipping to watch the way the last few rivulets of milk trailed in pearlescent streams down your breasts. "If I’d known all it took was some good, rough fuckin' to get ya squirtin' like that, I woulda done it sooner—"

"Shut up," you groaned, cheeks flooding with molten heat. Your hands flew up to cover your face as if they could hide your embarrassment, only to be stopped by the iron bar of Hoshina's forearm.

"Uh uh, no hidin' now, darlin'," he drawled with an easy smirk, leaning forward until his forehead brushed against yours. "Besides, no use being bashful now. I’ve seen all those filthy, gorgeous bits you were tryin' to hide..."

He punctuated his statement with an easy roll of his hips, causing a fresh wave of his seed to trickle from your swollen core and down the curve of your ass. You shuddered in delight, still feeling the aftershocks tingling through your limbs.

"And ya can bet yer pretty little ass I'm gonna see plenty more before the night is through, mama..."

[ma1dita]

luke castellan x iris!reader kinda based off of charlie's recent photoshoot

reader asks luke if he wants to be the subject of her first shoot with her first camera. he says yes, and long story short: he poses so slutty and reader calls him that and he's acting offended but likes it at the same time 🤭

luke castellan x gn!iris!reader

wc: 663

“Slut,” you cough. 

Luke almost misses it, too busy flexing for the camera as he stands atop the firepit like a modern Hercules. It’s almost criminal, the way his camp shirt is the slightest bit too tight on his biceps (you could wonder what they feed this boy but you sit next to him at mealtimes—this shouldn’t come as a surprise, really), and the sliver of tanned skin and happy trail that peeks out from the worn fabric when he stretches his arms over his head.

The clicks of your camera are in tune with his laughter, shuttering through the silence of the forest. He’d only do this for you after all—if any of the other campers saw him like this he’d fold into himself like the super hot but still awkward guy he is.

“Babe, you wanted this!” he chuckles, cheeks warming up and not because of the summer sun. Sweat trickles off his brow and it frames his face so perfectly you sigh loudly. It’s both a blessing and a curse that your boyfriend is catastrophically hot (literally too, Long Island humidity never treats him well).

“Yeah, but who let you look this damn good. Sheesh,” you mumble, snapping photos as fast as you can. The light filters through his hair and makes his cheeks glisten as you move him along to drape himself over a lawn chair. It’s almost too much, even for him, and he starts turning away until you tut, biting your lip and nodding when he readjusts the drawstring of his cargos.

“You’d make good money as a model baby,” you grin, touching his chin gently to the position you want him in, “we’ll be set for life once we get out of here.” Luke huffs, scratching at the nape of his neck and tugging at a dark curl which makes you gasp, “yes, yes, yes! Exactly like that!”

“Babe…” he laughs, slightly bashful as he reaches for your waist. He’s used to giving you compliments, tongue-in-cheek at the way you make him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. You’re a wonder yourself, speckled with sunlight and a golden grin—and if this is what it feels like to walk on clouds, he’ll let you practice taking pictures of him anytime you want.

There’s a rustle in the trees, making him jump up slightly, tugging you onto his lap with a yelp.

“Luke! You’re ruining the shot!”

He presses a kiss against your neck and smiles into your skin, “Got nervous. Can I see how they look?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you settle against him sideways, leaning over to show him the screen but— “Oh!”

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrow at the embarrassment that dances across your face and then you say, “I was clicking the wrong button. Sorry, can we take more?” The son of Hermes laughs with his whole body, shaking you up until you start laughing too.

“Only until the rest of this period. I swear Chris won’t ever let me hear the end of this if he sees me…” 

Luke gets to his feet and props himself against a tree, sweat dripping from his lip, and he drags a fistful of his shirt up to wipe it away. You’re staring at him shamelessly through the viewfinder, mouth agape at the sight of his toned abdomen.

“What a whore,” you mumble lowly, zooming into his chiseled frame.

He laughs again, throwing his head back as he walks toward you. No wonder his muscles look larger than life.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?” You mumble, eyes unfocused as he comes closer and nudges the camera away.

“You gotta turn the camera on.” 

An evil grin smiles across your face at his words, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, leaning up to him for a kiss, “Only if you take your shirt off.” He looks at you with a raised brow and shakes his head at your next words.

“What! It’s in the name of art!”

[ninibeingdelulu]

Mission failed ✧

Plot: You’re about to die… when your captain come to save you.

A/N: this one’s more angsty (or sad) than fluff. Tw! (maybe?)

The sickening crack of splintered bones and rending flesh assaulted your ears as another agonized scream tore through the chaos.

Your heart pounded a staccato rhythm of pure, unadulterated terror against your ribcage.

This wasn't how the latest expedition beyond the walls was supposed to go.

Trees and debris whipped past in a dizzying blur as your frantic horse thundered over uneven terrain, hooves scrambling for purchase against the blood-slicked earth.

Titans unlike anything you'd ever witnessed surged from every direction in nightmarish droves, effortlessly plucking your fellow Scout comrades from their saddles.

Mouths agape and eyes blank with rapturous hunger, the grotesque beasts shoved weeping, thrashing bodies between their massive jaws without a shred of mercy.

Eren, Mikasa, Armin and the others were all seasoned soldiers despite their youth. Yet even they scattered like skittish deer, screams of panic and rallying cries dissolving into gurgled, sputtering wheezes as Titans swarmed unchecked.

You were older than the 104th cadets under your command but felt just as paralyzed by the overwhelming dread locking your muscles.

Focus. You had to focus.

Fight or flee - those were the only choices when staring down oblivion itself.

Head whipping back, you instinctively yanked brutally on the reins, guiding your steed away from the crush of menacing footfalls.

Evading took priority right now; you could regroup and mount a counterattack later from a safer vantage point.

At least...that had been the plan until a towering twenty meter Class abruptly materialized directly in your path.

The sheer enormity of its hulking, naked form loomed nightmarishly close as your steed skidded to a complete stop, whinnying shrilly in terror.

You didn't even have a chance to react before the jarring impact flung you clear of the saddle, tumbling painfully across the dirt and brambles with the wind knocked clear from your lungs.

Choking on a mouthful of grass and grit, you managed to surge up onto your elbows just as the Titan slowly swiveled its tremendous head to fix those empty, predatory orbs on your prone, defenseless form.

Its jaw unhinged with a wet squelch, an avalanche of putrid saliva raining across your petrified body.

This was it.

This was how your story would end - filthy, broken, unmemorable. Just another insignificant speck of flesh swallowed into the gaping maw of humanity's greatest nightmare.

You cringed back helplessly, tearless sobs of pure distilled terror shredding your ravaged throat.

A blur of verdant green and stark white erupted past your periphery just as those slavering jaws began to descend with ponderous, gnashing intent.

The whisper-sharp slice of twin blades bisecting flesh registered a heartbeat later, followed by the earth-quaking crash of thirty meters of ruined Titan crashing to the dirt a hair's breadth from your shuddering body.

The impact sprayed the air with scarlet droplets, coating your contorted, shielding face in viscous streaks of gore.

You flinched violently on instinct, expecting to be pulverized beneath the catastrophic bulk.

Yet something much more slender and decidedly humanoid collided into you instead.

Powerful arms looped around your torso, rolling you clear of the plummeting wreckage in a whirl of dust and grass that stung your eyes.

Tucking your head into the crook of one elbow for protection, your unexpected savior cradled you securely against their chest through the tumult.

Only after the tremors and choking debris cleared could you summon the courage to squint one eye open...directly into the death-carved glare of your steely-eyed captain, Levi Ackerman himself.

That perpetual scowl etched deep grooves in his chiseled features.

You'd always walked on eggshells around the infamous Capitan, whose fierceness and ruthless skill in combat garnered respect and fear in equal doses.

He didn't suffer fools gladly and made it his personal mission to ride your ass harder than anyone else's.

Extra chores, grueling training regimens, cutting reprimands met with stony silence.

You'd lost track of how many times you fantasized about telling that smug bastard to shove his superiority complex up his tight little ass.

But in that moment, shaken to your core from brushing the very precipice of death itself, all you could do was gawp mutely at his frigid countenance hovering inches away.

With a barely perceptible curl of disgust twisting his thin lips, Levi abruptly shoved you off his lap and surged to his feet in one fluid, leonine motion. Blades already slung across his back, he extended one calloused hand downwards with a scathing glare.

"On your feet, soldier," that trademark rasp grated against your frayed nerves.

You scrambled upright without accepting his offered hand, legs wobbling precariously beneath you.

Head swiveling wildly, you absorbed the full scale of the massacre unfolding amidst the trees - scattered corpses both human and Titan alike peppered the gnarled earth, limbs and entrails intermingling into a perverse tapestry of viscera.

Your lungs burned like every inhale seared them raw, ragged gasps the only sound escaping past the lump of panic lodged in your throat.

Too many...there were just too many...

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Levi's acid tone sliced through your dazed spiral with ruthless efficiency.

"Or are you just going to keep gawking around like a useless sack of shit while our comrades are being slaughtered?"

Your gaze snapped to his, a spark of fury momentarily replacing the shock and dread paralyzing your muscles.

Levi was right.

You'd lost yourself in the horror - even as a seasoned Scout, you'd faltered utterly.

But the way he laid into you, insinuating your weakness or damnwell demanding you simply buck up and ignore the piles of mangled humans around you...it ignited a surging, blinding rage that clawed its way up your raw gullet.

"What do you want from me!?" you snarled, whirling to face the diminutive man fully.

Every gaunt, bloodstained inch of him radiated pugilistic menace yet you found yourself unable to choke back the scalding tirade boiling over your lips.

"Your harsh, bullshit demands? Your callous disregard for this unmitigated massacre around us!? You think I wanted this mission to go so horrifically sideways!? You think I wanted to watch my brothers and sisters being ripped apart and devoured while doing nothing!?"

Levi's hooded gaze flashed dangerously, lips peeling back from his teeth in a bestial sneer as he took an aggressive step into your personal space.

"Then pull your shit together and stop crying, soldier! If I hadn't come along, your blood would already be mingling with all the rest of the worthless scum smeared into these trees! At least die with a little goddamn honor instead of pissing yourself in abject terror!"

Your face twisted with mingled rage and disgust, shaking your head vehemently as angry tears stung your eyes.

"Honor? You're one to talk! Why bother swooping in to save my wretched ass if all I am to you is some useless sack of - "

With a snarl of fury, Levi seized a fistful of your shirt, actually hauling your boots off the ground to crash his forehead viciously against yours.

His granite eyes bored into you with volcanic force from mere inches away, noses practically brushing as he spat out each vitriolic word with undisguised venom.

"Because we're abandoning this shit-show on Commander Smith's orders. Now. So you can sit here bawling about honor and sacrifice or you can follow me out so I don't have to waste any more of my time and effort fishing your pathetic ass out of yet another self-inflicted mess."

You could only blink owlishly, momentarily stunned into silence by the sheer intensity radiating from your captain's diminutive form, when he sneered a final parting shot before wrenching free and firing his ODM gear skyward.

"I'd leave you to the Titans, but it'd be a fucking waste..."

His cape snapped sharply as Levi dissolved through the canopy, undoubtedly charging ahead to rendezvous with the other squads relaying Erwin's orders.

You stood there, chest still heaving with a volatile mixture of anger, fear, and a confusing tangle of other raw emotions in the wake of Captain Levi's harsh departure.

The sounds of battle raged on around you - thunderous footfalls, agonized screams abruptly silenced, the meaty thud of Titan flesh hitting the ground.

Yet it all seemed muffled and distant compared to the singular thought ricocheting through your skull with mounting urgency.

What the everloving fuck was that about?

Sure, you expected the kind of unforgiving, ruthless dressing down Levi was notorious for dishing out even in the direst situations.

The man operated on a whole other plane of pragmatic brutality where coddling weakness simply wasn't part of his DNA. But the vicious intensity behind those final remarks before he fired off left you utterly at a loss.

There was clearly far more bubbling beneath the surface than his usual contemptuous dismissal of your perceived failures.

For a disorienting instant, you could've sworn Levi seemed almost...protective? Possessive, even?

Over you and your well-being amidst this fresh hell?

The idea alone ignited a dizzying swirl of conflicting reactions. A derisive scoff quickly smothered by something suspiciously close to... Anticipation? Curiosity?

You clenched your jaw, shoving those dangerous speculations aside as another anguished yell pierced the cacophony nearby.

There'd be time to untangle the complexity of whatever the fuck was brewing between you and your rigid, aloof superior later.

Assuming you both survived this near-apocalyptic shitshow first.

One deep, steadying exhale later, you snatched the reins of your skittish mount and lithely vaulted into the saddle with a grunt of effort.

Scouring the surrounding chaos, you quickly oriented yourself towards the shattered line where surviving soldiers were beginning to disengage under the cover of thick black smoke billowing across the field.

With a sharp kick of your heels, you urged your steed into a gallop, blades gripped tightly as you careened towards the retreat.

Whatever reservations or bitter confusion lingered, you shoved it all down in service of this singular goal - escape this living nightmare.

Just keep moving, keep fighting to see tomorrow.

Everything else could be dealt with once you saw daylight again.

Maybe then, you could finally decipher the tangled mess of what that last exchange with Levi truly ignited within you.

No matter how much you desperately wished you could ignore it.

[otmaaromanovas]

Hi, it would be awesome if you could give us an idea about alexei's personality described by people in his close circle

Hello! Sorry for the late reply. Here are some quotes about Alexei from the people closest to him, and some extracts from his letters and diaries that show his personality.

Alexei's personality

"The Heir ran along the shore and loudly expressed his joy with every surge of water. In general, how much noise and fun there was! I still remember this time with pleasure. Water splashed, flushed and cheerful children returned home." - Sofia Ivanovna Tyutcheva, nurse/nanny, A Few Years Before the Catastrophe

"Alexei, the only son of the Emperor and Empress, a more tragic child than the last Dauphin of France, indeed one of the most tragic figures in history, was, apart from his terrible affliction, the loveliest and most attractive of the whole family. Because of his delicate health Alexei began life as a rather spoiled child." - Anna Vyrubova, close family friend, Memories of the Russian Court

"The more the boy opened his heart to me the better I realised the treasures of his nature, and I gradually began to feel certain that with so many precious gifts it would be unjust to give up hope. Alexis Nicolaievitch was then nine and a half, and rather tall for his age. He had a long, finely-chiselled face, delicate features, auburn hair with a coppery glint in it, and large blue-grey eyes like his mother's. He thoroughly enjoyed life — when it let him — and was a happy, romping boy. Very simple in his tastes, he extracted no false satisfaction from the fact that he was the Heir — there was nothing he thought about less — and his greatest delight was to play with the two sons of his sailor Derevenko, both of them a little younger than he. He had very quick wits and a keen and penetrating mind. He sometimes surprised me with questions beyond his years which bore witness to a delicate and intuitive spirit. I had no difficulty in believing that those who were not forced, as I was, to teach him habits of discipline, but could unreservedly enjoy his charm, easily fell under its spell. Under the capricious little creature I had known at first I discovered a child of a naturally affectionate disposition, sensitive to suffering in others just because he had already suffered so much himself." - Pierre Gilliard, Alexei's tutor, Thirteen Years at the Russian Court

"Spring 1915 …Yesterday he [Alexei] gorged on black crackers and in the evening, he was sent directly to [Dr.] Derevenko." - Letter from Maria to Nicholas II, Maria Romanov: Third Daughter of the Last Tsar, Diaries and Letters

"18 March [1912] - Pavlovsk… Recently, on the 14th, my wife had lunch with their Majesties, and was embarrassed by the behaviour with the Heir, who is almost two years older than Vera. He wouldn’t sit up, ate badly, licked his plate and teased the others. The Emperor turned away, perhaps to avoid having to say anything, while the Empress rebuked her elder daughter Olga, who was next to her brother, for not restraining him. But Olga cannot deal with him." - 1912 Diary of Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich

"In appearance he resembled his sister Tatiana : he had the same fine features, and her beautiful blue eyes ; he loved his sisters, and they adored him, and patiently submitted to his teasing. The Tsarevitch was a lively, amusing boy, with a wonderful ear for music, and he played well on the balalika : like Tatiana he was shy, but, once he knew and liked anyone, this shyness vanished. The Empress insisted upon her son being brought up, like his sisters, in a perfectly natural way. There was no ceremonial in the daily life of the Tsarevitch : he was merely a son, and a brother to his family, although it was sometimes quaint to see him assume '' grown up " airs. One day, when he was indulging in a romp with the Grand Duchesses, he was told that some officers of his regiment had arrived at the Palace and begged permission to be received by him. The Tsarevitch instantly ceased his game, and, calling his sisters, he said very gravely : *' Now, girls, run away. I am busy. Someone has just called to see me on business." - Lili Dehn, close family friend, The Real Tsaritsa

"Sunday 13th August 1906 …we were all invited to have tea with Their Majesties. All four daughters came to the dinging room, and also, the the great joy of our children, the two-year-old Tsesarevich. He went around the tea table and after greeting everyone, climbed onto his mother’s lap. Igor was sitting beside her, and the little Heir happily moved onto his lap and called him “New” as he was someone unfamiliar. After that, my boys and the Tsar’s girls played with him merrily on the floor…We were all delighted." - Diary of Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich

The following are all from the diary of Sidney Gibbes, English tutor:

"25 January: [Alexei is] On sofa: foot tied up. Talked about the dog and then showed him new picture-book. Afterwards made a paper hat each, which turned out badly, and then began paper boxes; I showed him one complete. He spoke more English in making the box and asked the questions relative to it in English."

"3 February: We drew things on the blackboard with eyes shut. Added tails to pigs, and his manner lost much of its shyness."

"8 February: During this lesson we played on the floor, and I made him flags out of paper by drawing it and colouring. He coloured one and I the other. Flagstaff was also rolled out of paper and tied with wire."

"3 March …Began the story of ‘The Fisherman of York’. He understood very little. A[nastasia] N[ikolaevna] came in from Music [lesson] and explained in Russian." - Printed in Tutor to the Tsarevich

"The Tsarevich lay all day, while we tried to amuse him as best we could. The poor little man longed for Monsieur Gilliard's company. He knew so well how to entertain him and make him forget how ill and weak he still felt" - Sophie Buxhoeveden recalling Alexei's attachment to tutor Pierre Gilliard during imprisonment, Left Behind: Fourteen Months in Siberia During the Revolution

"If the Tsarevitch had any peculiarities, I think the most striking was a decided penchant for hoarding. Many descendants of the Coburgs have been unusually thrifty, and perhaps the Tsarevitch inherited this trait. While thrifty he was really a most generous child, although he hoarded his things to such an extent that the Emperor often teased him unmercifully. During the sugar shortage he saved his allowance of sugar, which he gravely distributed among his friends." - Lili Dehn, close family friend, The Real Tsaritsa

"This unusual and exciting night seemed to fill the Czar’s young son with mischief. As I sat in the room near the Emperor’s study, giving the final orders and' awaiting news of the arrival of the train, I could hear the youngster running about noisily, trying to get across the corridor to where I was, to see what was going on there" - Alexander Kerensky, head of the Provisional Government describing the night the Romanov's waited to be moved from the Alexander Palace, The Catastrophe

"Suffering and self-denial had their effect on the character of Alexei. Knowing what pain and sacrifice meant, he was extraordinarily sympathetic towards other sick people. His thoughtfulness of others was shown in his beautiful courtesy to women and girls and to his elders, and in his interest in the troubles of servants and dependents." - Anna Vyrubova, close family friend, Memories of the Russian Court

Alexei was "elegant, intelligent, and had unusual presence of mind. He possessed, moreover, other winning qualities: a warm, happy disposition, and a generous nature which made him eager to be of help and enabled him quickly to establish rapport with others." - General Count Alexander Grabbe, Major-General of the Tsar's convoy, The Private World of the last Tsar

"in the periods of what may be called his good health, he had all the spirits and mischief of any ordinary boy of his age… As time went on and his first shyness wore off, he treated us as friends and… had always some fun with us. With me it was to make sure that each button on my coat was properly buttoned, a habit which naturally made me take great care to have one or two unbuttoned, in which case he used at once to stop and tell me I was 'untidy again'" - General Sir John Hanbury-Williams, British ambassador in Mogilev, The Emperor Nicholas II, as I Knew Him

""He had a kind heart and was very fond of animals. He could be influenced only by his feelings, and would not yield to authority. He submitted only to the emperor. He was a clever boy but was not fond of books. His mother loved him passionately. She tried, but could not be strict with him, and most of his desires were obtained through his mother. Disagreeable things he bore silently and without grumbling. He was kind-hearted and during the last period of his life he was the only one who liked to give things away. In Tobolsk he had some odd fancies -- for example, he liked collecting old nails, saying: "They may be useful."" - Testimony of Sidney Gibbes to the Sokolov Report, The Last Days of the Romanovs (1920)

"Alexis Nicholaevitch, being a very playful and mischievous boy, on one occasion peeped through the fence. After this was learned by Nikolsky [deputy guard at Tobolsk] he came and made a huge fuss about it. He reprimanded the soldier who was on duty and spoke in a very sharp tone to the czarevitch. The boy got offended and protested to me that Nikolsky was shouting at him." - Testimony of Evgeny Kobylinsky to the Sokolov Report, The Last Days of the Romanovs (1920). To find more about Kobylinsky's unique relationship to the family, see this post.

Alexei's relationship with his sisters

"We all kissed the Empress' hand and that of the Grand Duchesses. That year, we kissed the Tsarevitch's little hand, too; but afterwards, that custom was stopped, since the Tsarevitch didn't miss his chance to boast about it and give himself airs in front of his sisters." - General Alexander Spiridovich, Chief of Security, Last Years at Tsarskoe Selo, Volume 1

"10 January. Aleksei and Anastasia are both moving their beds into the playroom, where they lie next to each other all day. During the day we all have tea up there." - Extract from Tatiana's 1917 diary, Tatiana Romanov, Daughter of the Last Tsar: Diaries and Letters

"Aleksei, my little soul, darling little one. It is so boring here without you and Papa… I was just at the Grand Palace with Maria and Shvybz [Anastasia]… I squeeze you in my mind and love you very very much." - undated letter from Tatiana to Alexei, circa 1916, Russia’s Last Romanovs: In Their Own Words 

"As for poor Alexei Nikolaevich, he was as if rooted to the armchair the whole time [unwell]. It was touching to see his sister, Tatiana Nicholaievna, lavishing attention on him before the luncheon." - General Alexander Spiridovich, Chief of Security, Last Years at Tsarskoe Selo, Volume 2

"Sweet Piggy! Sleep well and wake up in the morning with a belly full of milk! Alexei 1914" - letter from Alexei to Anastasia, Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings (Volume 1)

"...Don’t tease Maria" - Letter from Alexandra to Alexei, 1 December 1914, Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings (Volume 1)

"28 January Tuesday …Too lazy to write this by himself, so Olga is writing it!" - Alexei's 1916 diary, Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings (Volume 2)

Alexei's haemophilia

"Everything possible, everything known to medical science, was done for the child Alexei. The Empress nursed him herself, as indeed, with the assistance of professional women, she had nursed all her children. Three trained Russian nurses were in attendance, with the Empress always superintending. She bathed the babe herself, and was with him so much that the Court, ever censorious of her, complained that she was more of a nurse than an Empress." - Anna Vyrubova, close family friend, Memories of the Russian Court

"Livadia. 30 August 1913 …Alexei is well. He has already had 4 mud baths. I took a photo of him when he was being treated in the mud and will glue in an album for you. Alexei’s leg stretched 175 degrees and the leg is almost straight" - letter from Maria to former nanny/nurse Maria Ivanovna Vishnyakova. Maria Ivanovna Vishnyakova was Alexei’s nanny, though was dismissed by Alexandra following disagreements and allegations against Rasputin. I find it intriguing that the girls stayed in touch with her and kept her informed of Alexei's health.

I have slightly less information/quotes on Alexei saved as my research is largely about his sisters, but I hope that this was insightful nonetheless. Thank you for your question!

[marshmellin]

Star and Stone, Chapter 3 | Fair and Free

Elaniel took the small tube and opened it, quickly scanning the contents. Her eyebrows furrowed. It was a simple request: Please join me at the base of the tower when convenient. There is something I wish to discuss regarding the recent fortification readjustments - Gil-galad He’s waiting at my worksite? Wait. He’s waiting at my worksite?

Elaniel, a stonemason fleeing the fall of Eregion, makes her way to Lindon. When she meets Gil-galad, something unexpected occurs. Amid the chaos of preparing for a war against Sauron, their growing love is tested by the weight of duty: his to lead armies into peril, hers to rebuild what darkness has destroyed.

The pull of two fëa is strong for the Eldar. But is duty stronger?

Rating: Explicit for eventual smutty smut; canon-typical angst

Notes: Gil-galad lives. Fluff and happy ending. Gil-galad deserves a little smooch. He's going to get a lot more than a smooch. Repeat: Happily Ever After; everything is beautiful and nothing hurts

Chapter 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Chapter 2 of 12: Mirrored

Chapter 3 of 12: Fair and Free

Chapter 4 of 12: Countless Stars

NEW >> Chapter 5: Silver Shield

Easiest to read and follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60597052

The clinking of chisels on stone and the steady thump of mallets filled the crisp morning air at Lindon’s northern towers. The masons were already hard at work, voices occasionally rising above the din to exchange advice or good-natured jests, to call for material and support. Among them, Elaniel walked with measured steps, her gaze sweeping over the scaffolding and newly laid blocks.

She carried a set of drawings tucked beneath one arm and a tool belt slung over her shoulder. Halion and his crew of stonemasons had returned from their scouting of Imladris and met to finalize plans for Lindon’s fortification. Materials and craftsmen were not unlimited – the two needed to work together to achieve their shared goals of supporting Lindon and Imladris.

She stood near a flat stone slab they were using as a makeshift table and spread the plans across its surface. The group of masons leaned in, their murmurs quieting as they studied her annotations.

“These adjustments focus on the lower levels of the towers,” Elaniel began, her voice steady despite the watchful eyes around her. “The cross-bracing and anchor points will strengthen the structure against prolonged strain—whether from weather or siege.”

Halion crossed his arms, his brow furrowed as he examined the plans. “And you’re confident?”

“They held in Eregion,” Elaniel replied evenly, meeting his gaze. “Until the city fell, our eastern defenses withstood weeks of bombardment. I’ve taken what we learned there—both successes and failures—and adapted it for Lindon’s needs.”

“Adapted,” Halion echoed. “But not tested under the same conditions?”

“No,” she admitted, her voice calm but firm. “Not yet. But we cannot afford to wait for conditions to test us. If we build with caution now, we can prevent catastrophe later.”

There was a pause as Halion studied her. The other masons exchanged glances, waiting for his response.

Finally, he nodded, his expression unconvinced but not unkind. “You make a fair point. And the designs… show promise. We will consider adapting this for Imladris.”

“Understood,” she said, her chin lifting, “I appreciate the consideration.”

Another mason, an older elven woman named Narnion, spoke up. “I’ve seen her work on the western scaffolds. She knows her craft.”

A few others murmured in agreement, and Elaniel felt a flicker of warmth at the unexpected support.

Halion gave a short nod. “Then it’s settled. We’ll begin planning these improvements. Talfirin will review  your initial bracing plans and ask questions, if you’re willing, Master Elaniel.”

Master? That might be the most respect the man has shown anyone outside Gil-galad in at least a century. … 

And for the first time since her arrival in Lindon, she felt a glimmer of acceptance—not just from Halion, but from the stonemasons themselves. And as she turned back to the drawings, her mind already racing with plans for the next steps, she allowed herself a small smile.

// 

The restoration of Lindon’s eastern towers was well underway, and the steady rhythm of work filled the air. Elaniel stood near the base of the easternmost tower, surveying the progress as teams of craftsmen shaped and positioned massive stone blocks. The sun was high, casting a warm glow over the site, and the tang of salt air from the sea mingled with the earthy scent of freshly dug earth.

“Master Elaniel!” a voice called.

She glanced over her shoulder to see an apprentice walking quickly toward her, holding a small tube in her hand. “A message for you. From the High King. He is at the bottom of the tower.”

Elaniel took the small tube and opened it, quickly scanning the contents. Her eyebrows furrowed. It was a simple request: Please join me at the base of the tower when convenient. There is something I wish to discuss regarding the recent fortification readjustments - Gil-galad 

He’s waiting at my worksite? 

Wait. He’s waiting at my worksite?

She felt that now-familiar tug in her chest at the thought of him. She also briefly wondered if Halion had gone to Gil-galad to complain about the cost of the hardwood she requested which, she was more than prepared to remind the High King, he had approved. Elaniel folded the parchment and slipped it into the pouch at her belt, casting a final look at the papers on her makeshift desk before quickly making her way across the construction site.

The base of the tower loomed above, its foundation newly fortified, scaffolding climbing halfway up its stone walls. In the last months, they had laid four full levels of the tower’s base. Gil-galad stood near a cluster of workers unloading a cart of timber, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched them with a thoughtful expression. He wore a simple tunic and trousers in a dark color - a blue so deep it was almost black, and a lightweight cloak covered in embroidered golden leaves. His hair was half-braided down his back, and to anyone passing by, he was no more than a casual observer, an elf interested in the construction project.

But even without a crown or golden robe, and even in the midst of the bustling construction site, his presence was still impossible to miss. He did not have the bearing of a casual observer. He had the bearing of a king. The workers nodded respectfully to him as they passed. 

Several thoughts bounced quickly in Elaniel’s mind at once as she walked towards him:

Something in my heart sings to see him. He’s slowing my workers down by standing there. I need to move him away from that pathway as soon as I can, everyone is curtsying at him instead of focusing, for goodness sake. Dark colors suit him, and tunics more so than robes – which is a controversial opinion in Lindon, it would seem, as most men seem to wear full robes with cloaks and jewelry at every possible moment. He looks much more handsome without the crown. What do his days as a king look like that he can just wait at an active buildsite for me to appear? Surely he would summon me to him at the council hall in the city? To come all this way out…

Elaniel approached him, brushing the dust from her hands on her apron. She voiced none of her thoughts.  “You asked to see me, High King?”

Gil-galad turned to her, offering a small smile. “Thank you for meeting me, Master Elaniel. I hope I’m not pulling you away from something pressing.”

She shook her head. “Nothing that cannot wait. How may I help?”

He gestured toward the half-finished tower. “I wanted to speak with you about the adjustments you proposed for the lower levels. The cross-bracing and additional supports with reinforced timber.”

Truly, Halion….Truly? You took that to the High King? She started to sigh.

Gil-galad continued, ”Master Halion submitted a request to change his plans for Imladris, and he specifically noted your recommendation as one he would like to implement.”

Oh. She stopped mid-sigh. I take it back, Halion.

“I’ve reviewed his blueprints, but would still like to understand your thoughts in more detail,” Gil-galad finished, allowing himself to be herded away from the pathway to the bottom platform of the scaffolding.

Elaniel raised an eyebrow before she could stop herself. “You’ve been reviewing the blueprints yourself?”

He’s been reviewing the blueprints himself?

“Of course,” he said simply. “If I am to defend these walls, and to ask others to defend them, I must understand their strengths and weaknesses.”

Something about his simple earnestness struck her. It was not the response of a distant ruler delegating decisions but of someone deeply invested in the protection of his people. Elaniel was accustomed to leaders visiting her worksites. She never had someone outside her craft ask for more than a simple tour.

“Very well,” she said, nodding toward the temporary stairway attached to the scaffolding. “The adjustments are easier to explain in context. Shall we take the scaffolding up?”

They climbed the wooden framework, the planks creaking underfoot as they ascended to the uppermost completed level. Gil-galad asked several questions about the stone blocks and reinforcements at the base of the tower, about secondary escape routes from the tower’s keep.    

Finally, the conversation circled back to the reinforced beams. Elaniel crouched near one of the I beams, gesturing for Gil-galad to join her. “Here,” she said, pointing to a series of marks etched into the stone. “The cross-bracing will anchor at these points, distributing the load more evenly across the structure. Without it, the upper levels would sway too much during storms.”

Gil-galad knelt beside her, studying the marks with a critical eye. “And the materials you will use? Will they withstand the elements in a storm?”

“We’ve chosen seasoned hardwood oak for the bracing, treated with a new type of pitch to resist moisture. The anchor points will be reinforced with iron. This is why the decision needs to be made in unison with Master Halion – the wood and pitch will take extra time and cost to prepare, but the result will be stronger.”

“Indeed,” he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I see you have considered every detail.”

Elaniel glanced at him, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, her cheeks turning apple-red. “I try. That’s what I’m here for.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Elaniel felt that same hum from the courtyard. The tugging in her chest tightened, but she still was not certain what it meant. 

If he felt it, he would say something….I am not…youngling’s crush. 

Nearly in unison they both stood, gazing out across the view as the sun set in brilliant fire, glinting off the sea. They had spent a full afternoon together, discussing the finer points of the construction projects. 

Gil-galad smiled, speaking softly. “You have all well in hand, Elaniel, as I knew you would.” He hesitated a moment. “I should let you return to your work,” he said, his voice light but tinged with reluctance.

Elaniel tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze not quite meeting his. She had not been ready to end her time with him. “And I should finish marking the anchor points before the masons start tomorrow.”

Gil-galad nodded, giving her one more smile before turning to leave. 

“Thank you for your visit, High King” she added almost as an afterthought. 

“Thank you for indulging my curiosity, Elaniel.” As he moved down the scaffolding stairs, his figure soon became lost among the bustle of the site.

A king absolutely does not need to know that much about anchor points. Only a stonemason would have that many questions. 

And I don’t think he’s looking to change his career.

//

The last rays of sunlight streamed through the high windows of the masons' workshop, bathing the room in amber light. The air was thick with the scent of dust and resin from freshly worked wood. Tools lay scattered across benches: chisels, hammers, measuring rods, and a carefully rolled blueprint here and there.

Elaniel sat at one of the longer tables near the far corner, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair pinned back loosely to keep it out of her face. In front of her was a half-finished sketch of a reinforced arch, its lines meticulous and shaded to emphasize its structural supports. Her brow furrowed as she worked, and smudges of charcoal darkened her fingers. 

She was alone finally; the other masons had long since packed up for the evening. They started before first light, and ended before sunset. The workshop, usually lively with chatter and the sharp clink of tools, was quiet save for the occasional scratching of Elaniel’s charcoal against paper and the faint crackle of a small hearth fire nearby.

The creak of the workshop door pulled her from her focus. She turned to see Gil-galad stepping inside, his silhouette tall and commanding in the doorway. 

She found herself blinking for a moment, taken aback. He was the last person she expected to see come through that door. Gil-galad’s presence felt at odds with a practical drafting room surrounded by the trappings of a laborer's craft. 

For a panicked moment, she wondered if something had gone wrong at a worksite. But the calm smile on his face suggested he was not there to bring sad news.

“Elaniel,” he greeted, his voice deep. As she moved to stand, he waved his hand, indicating she should remain seated. 

“High King,” she said, tilting her head. 

Gil-galad moved closer, his gaze falling to the plans spread before her. His robes shifted with his steps, and Elaniel noticed they were simpler than what he usually wore—richly woven but lacking the embellishments she was used to seeing.

“I came to see the progress of the designs for the outer defenses and archer’s slots,” he said, his voice lighter now, almost conversational. “I heard from Halion that your insights have been particularly... interesting.”

The corner of Elaniel’s mouth twitched. Halion’s grudging respect was an unexpected turn in recent weeks, but it had come only after she had proven her expertise. Repeatedly. “Interesting is a polite way to phrase it, I imagine.”

Gil-galad chuckled, surprising her with his laugh. It was…musical. It made something in her heart sing. “Halion is not easily impressed. I would consider that high praise from him.” He gestured toward the parchment in front of her. “May I?”

She nodded, sliding the drawing closer to him. “This is for the northwestern watchtower. The foundation is sound, but the upper levels do not provide enough protection for archers during an extended siege. I wish this to withstand multiple direct attacks. Halion agrees, and we are jointly discussing options for the watchtowers in Imladris.”

Gil-galad leaned over to study the design, his brown hair catching the firelight as he examined the archway and its labeled supports. “You’ve noted a cross-bracing technique here,” he said, pointing to a set of angled lines. “Is this the same technique you showed me a few weeks ago?”

Elaniel inclined her head, though her expression turned more serious. “Yes, very observant. It was a technique we learned in Ost-in-Edhel after the first breach in the eastern wall.”

He straightened, his gaze lingering on her face. “A hard-won lesson, I imagine.”

Her hands stilled, the charcoal in her grasp forgotten. For a moment, she was back in Eregion, the air thick with smoke and screams. She was side by side again with soldiers, building new temporary blockades to reinforce weak areas and stop orcs from flooding into the city. Hurrying civilians to safety through the hidden tunnels near the thick walls — built with the hope they would never be used. 

Every lesson there was hard-won. Every change I make, every rule I enforce, everything I demand is written in the blood of Eregion. 

She did not know how long it took her, but she forced herself to nod.

Gil-galad sighed, his voice heavy with grief. “You honor us by working so hard to ensure Lindon is protected.” His voice softened. “Despite the pain we all feel.”

Elaniel looked at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his tone. He looked back at her with the softest expression she had ever seen. No one had ever looked at her so tenderly in her centuries upon centuries of existence.

She could see on his face that he meant he felt her pain. That he worried about her pain.

And she didn’t want that. She did not want to be pitied, least of all by him. She wasn’t weak and she wasn’t in need of healing. All of it had made her stronger, tempered by fire, more resilient. More equipped to fight. There had been a reason for all that pain. There had to be. 

No, pity was not what she needed of him. 

But she wanted to cry at his soft offer of comfort anyway. 

She turned her gaze back to the charcoal she dropped, blinking hard to fight the sting of tears, the tightening of her throat. 

One day, perhaps I can share it with him. But I can barely face it myself.

As if he felt a door closing, Gil-galad’s posture changed and he stood back, giving her space. Elaniel didn’t know when she started to notice it, but she was always amazed at how he redirected conversations – how he could change the temperature of the room – so easily. Gil-galad gestured toward the work table. “May I join you?”

“Of course,” she waved to the open seats without looking, the sting in her eyes fading.

He took the chair across from her, reaching over for a design near her elbow. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the ramparts,” he said in an even tone, deftly shifting the conversation back to practical matters. “You’ve proposed anchor points embedded in the rock—would that method stand against sustained assault?”

Elaniel welcomed the change in topic, eager to delve into something she could explain clearly. “It would. The chains we used in Ost-in-Edhil were reinforced with steel alloys.”

Their discussion deepened as the evening wore on, the initial formality between them giving way to a more relaxed exchange. Gil-galad asked thoughtful questions, probing her reasoning with the curiosity of someone deeply invested in understanding the intricacies of the work.

He took another stack of designs and began lazily flipping through them. The fire crackled in the quiet that followed, and Elaniel found herself studying him in quick glances as she sketched – or pretended to sketch, anyway. There was a gravity about him, a weariness that came from carrying the burden of so many lives. 

She could barely stand the weight of one loss. 

She wondered how he bore it, how he did not falter under its weight.

She wondered if he did falter, but she simply had not seen it yet.

“I should not take more of your time, you have already been most generous,” Gil-galad said suddenly, standing as he dropped the stack of papers on the table. “I must prepare for meetings tomorrow, if you’ll excuse me.”

Elaniel rose as well, confusion on her brow at the sudden shift. “Thank you for your visit.”

He paused, looking at her with a faint smile. “Thank you, Elaniel, for your work.”

As he left, the door closing softly behind him, Elaniel sank back into her seat. She stared at the paper in front of her, but her thoughts were no longer on the design.

Valar forgive me, but this man confuses me.

//

They fell into a steady rhythm over the next few weeks. Gil-galad had taken to bringing sheaves of paperwork or correspondence with him to the workshop, saying no one in the palace knew where he was – and therefore, it was the only place he could find decent peace. They would work at the drafting table, across from each other, in companionable silence.

The more they interacted, the more Elaniel found herself unexpectedly moved by Gil-galad’s manner—by his patience and thoughtfulness, qualities she hadn’t traditionally associated with kings. He listened—truly listened—when ideas were brought to him, even when he disagreed. She noticed the way he weighed each suggestion, each opinion.

He was a serious man, but he dealt with serious problems.

One late afternoon, as the sun slanted low through the chamber windows, casting amber light across the papers scattered on the table, Gil-galad leaned back, stretching his arms after hours of hunching over his work. 

“I think,” he said, voice laced with weariness, “that if I look at another diplomatic letter today, I might consider becoming a hermit. The Ettenmoors have simpler problems. I could establish a new realm. No, that would still be too much responsibility,” he murmured. "Somehow their letters would find me nonetheless."

Elaniel chuckled, not glancing up from the sketches. “Are the problems in Lindon too complicated for someone as accomplished as our High King?”

His eyes sparkled with a dry humor as he glanced her way. “I think you've earned the right to call me Gil-galad. And every problem becomes complicated when too many people have opinions on how to solve it." He paused. "Sometimes more than one opinion per person.” 

Her laughter softened, and she shook her head, glancing down at a requirements list she had been adjusting. She hoped not meeting his eyes would help her hide the joy that ran through her. “And perhaps you have a point, Gil-galad. I’m accustomed to making decisions about my work based on my own judgment—no persuasion, no debates. It’s a simpler life.”

“No debates,” he asked with a teasing tone, a glint in his eyes. “None at all ? You find everyone agrees with you at all times? A powerful skill, if so. I should ask you to teach me your methods.”

She finally looked up at that, eager to take the bait. “Eventually, most people do come to see things my way, yes.”

“But not because you persuade them?”

“No,” Elaniel said simply, a small smile on her lips. “Because I out-argue them.”

Gil-galad laughed warmly. “The old saying must be true. ‘When all you have is a hammer, every problem you see is a nail.’ Or, I suppose, a stone, in your instance. Crushing through every obstacle.”

Elaniel’s cheeks warmed at his continued teasing, though she held his gaze defiantly. The number of times she had been called too brash, too bold, too much came flooding to her. 

Her expression sharpened, and she arched a brow, the spark of a challenge in her eyes. “When all you have is endless circles of persuasion without action, no problems are solved at all,” she countered. “I’d rather a solid hammer than empty flattery.”

They shared a long look, and then his expression softened, amusement fading into something quieter. He dipped his head, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. “Indeed,” he murmured, his voice a shade more serious. “And, it would seem, I find myself agreeing with you with no argument needed. You are skilled at more than one form of persuasion.”

The back of his hand brushed against her arm—a barely-there touch, silently apologizing for an unintended slight, or perhaps for the distance that duty had once again placed between them.

Elaniel felt the now-familiar tug in her chest. She searched his face and found admiration there, perhaps affection? 

“Tomorrow,” he continued quietly, folding his hands on the table in front of him, “would you accompany me to the southernmost watchtower, if your schedule allows? There are some small elements in your plan I still don’t entirely understand.”

He’s about three days away from earning an apprentice seat on his own builders council, at this rate. 

“Of course,” she smiled broadly. “I would be happy to.”

He collected his papers and smoothly walked around the desk. “Goodnight, Elaniel.” And he shut the door behind him before she could respond.

//

The morning sun cast its golden light over Lindon’s trees as Elaniel and Gil-galad rode side by side, horses’ hooves thudding softly against the forest paths. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and the sea.

“Here,” she said, stopping her horse atop a ridge overlooking the hills. Another watchtower, under construction, was about a quarter of a mile away. "You can see the foundation walls there. The watchtower will rise there —a way to keep an eye on both the sea and the inland forests without disrupting the view." She gestured toward a high, rocky outcrop. "Much of the stone is already in place, and as we work, we will maintain the natural beauty of this place."

Gil-galad dismounted, approaching the edge with a keen eye. “Indeed.” He turned in a slow circle. "I can see now. The placement here was quite wise," he agreed, eyes sweeping over the hills and trees around them. 

“Thank you," she replied, glancing at him, holding up the rough sketch she presented to him days before. “Efficient, as well. Because of this stone deposit nearby, we also saved time transferring materials from a quarry. We are using this area,” she pointed to a portion of the plans, “here, as a gathering point for the builders and craftsmen.”

Gil-galad nodded, his voice gentle. “You have made sure to keep those large groves of trees untouched, I see.”

“The trees have been here longer than any of us,” she replied softly, her gaze moving to the trees surrounding them. “And they will remain after we are gone. It is their land.”

He made a low sound of agreement behind her, that same rumbling in his chest from the night they first met. He had moved behind her to peer over her shoulder, and she could hear him breathing softly. She felt her pulse quicken – that same tugging in her chest – and wondered if he could hear her heartbeat. 

A simple stonemason with an obvious and inappropriate crush on a king. How wonderfully unique of me. 

Elves and Men told similar tales. And tales they were, because those stories never came true in reality.

If he felt something, he would have….. I was tired and hungry and… I misunderstood, that is all. A simple thing. 

There is no weakness in a misunderstanding, she told herself. 

Only a hand’s breadth between them. If he wanted to, he could hook his chin over her shoulder, bring his large hands to her waist and pull her against him, crane down to–

“Have you decided how best to supply fresh water to the barracks?”

A gust of sea air blew his hair in the wind, and she caught the scent of him. Rosemary and cedarwood. He had not moved, still inches behind her, peering over her shoulder at the sketch she held in front of her. She imagined she could feel how much body heat he radiated, and she felt her cheeks turning red. 

“Elaniel?”

“Yes?” she murmured absently, her turning her head toward him. The tug in her chest pulled stronger.

Gil-galad laughed, a deep, warm sound that resonated over the cliffs. She fell in love with the sound. She wanted to make him do it again. 

A large smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. “I believe you are distracted by the beauty around you. As am I.” 

He was still just an inch or two away from her. She never noticed him standing that close to another before. And then, as if responding to the tug between them, Gil-galad gently laid a hand on her shoulder. 

Again, something buzzed between them, unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. The knot in Elaniel’s chest pulled stronger as she turned to him.

She could tell he was pleased – feel that he was pleased. She could sense admiration thrumming under his hand. And another feeling she could not name but that she also felt in her own chest. 

“I am pleased to place this land in your care, Elaniel,” he said softly.

She felt herself blush again – she had learned to control some of her expressions over her long life, but her apple-red cheeks always gave her away. “I am pleased to be entrusted with it, Gil-galad.”

The hum between them flickered, bright sparks where he touched her shoulder. Gil-galad’s fingers lingered before he gently withdrew his hand, his expression a mixture of restraint and, she thought she saw, frustration at that restraint. 

And Elaniel knew she had not misunderstood.

She had not misunderstood at all. 

// Authors Note:

According to Tolkien's timeline, the "Sack of Eregion" (which was long) is typically placed around SA 1697, while the "Siege of Barad-dûr" (or the battle of the last alliance with Gil-galad and Elendil) begins shortly after SA 1600, meaning there would be roughly 97 years between the two events.

TROP has condensed timelines and, because this is only twelve chapters in this story, so shall we. Eregion's forge was built in a few months with Dwarven help -- clearly these elves have some game when needed.

Chapter 1 of 12: Between the Mountains and the Sea

Chapter 2 of 12: Mirrored

Chapter 3 of 12: Fair and Free

Chapter 4 of 12: Countless Stars

NEW >> Chapter 5: Silver Shield

[commiepinkofag]

Chisel. Chisel — First Amendment v American Fascism

[The Supreme] Court’s decision to leave the Fifth Circuit’s attack on the First Amendment in place could be temporary. As Sotomayor writes in her Mckesson opinion, when the Court announces that it will not hear a particular case it “expresses no view about the merits.” The Court could still restore the First Amendment right to protest in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas in a future case. For the time being, however, the Fifth Circuit’s Mckesson decision remains good law in those three states. And that means that anyone who organizes a political protest within the Fifth Circuit risks catastrophic financial liability.

[batman-gif]

ok. Digested the piece a little and. Regarding the leaked TPK song. I agree with what everyone is saying to be thoughtful and cautious abt how we consume it, even though it's a gift to get unseen MCR work uncovered it was shelved for a reason and the band seemingly preferred the public not witness it to this degree. So like, yes everyone is saying good smart words about being conscious consumers given the complexity of the content and how it has come into our hands. That being said, it has made me positively ill, so so beautiful in a way I wish I had the means to dissect, so monumental so catastrophic feeling so. So MCR but in a newly macabre way I didn't know they were capable of. It feels chiseled from the darkness, like other MCR albums feel sculpted from it but there's a difference, in clay you form from what you have this album feels like it is a David chipped carefully away at from a marble block of despair. Does that make sense. All I can think of is the word tragedy. It's so good, it's so grim. Very Foundations of Decay but without the strong undercurrent of healing. Okay. Those are my words.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda (Part 2)

a/n: I’m terribly sorry this is late but it’s been a busy week. Please forgive me. Currently finishing up part 3!  Warning; this is angstyyyyyyyy

Joel Miller x Reader 

Word Count: 2186

PART 1         Masterlist 

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

Awkward tension disseminated the stifling space they found themselves trapped in. Ellie and Y/N’s attention darted to the cranky man, an element of surprise sneaking up on both.

Y/N fidgeted nervously picking at the hardened callus adorning her right palm. Her cheeks flared to life nearly unmissable to the common eye, but Joel? No, not a day passed he didn’t linger a second longer than appropriate. Shit, he practically lived for an accidental touch of the shoulder or brush of the leg. Joel was in stuck in hell and acutely aware of the angel and demon at war. Y/N was magnificent and he sure as hell didn’t…doesn’t say it enough.

Hastier than usual, Y/N grabbed her backpack with expert speed sprinting out the door towards freedom. She flew like a bat outta hell. Sunlight danced across her face. The warmth a welcoming distraction. Y/N gulped an anxious breath quelling her jitters. Whether by choice or not…she was fate’s bitch again.

Ellie’s hands waved maddeningly trying to nab Joel’s attention but the cowboy stood frozen transfixed by the last five minutes.

“Uh, earth to Joel?!”

Reality snapped back in place as Joel stared at the proud youngster. An aggravated grunt was all he mustered walking towards the door and out of this shithole. Ellie trailed behind.

The trio journeyed further down the path the wilted map laid out, one step closer to Wyoming, to a new beginning. Eager to break the discomfort, Ellie reached for her book. Anything was better than nothing, right? El thought so.

“Hey, I got a new one for you guys.”

The pages whipped in the wind forcing her to lose track of the current page.

“Any day now would be nice, ya know?” Joel’s prickly mood settled the score. Things were definitely soaring past uncomfortable and landed on planet catastrophe. Y/N stopped kicking dust up on Joel’s heels.

“Cut the shit, Joel. Let the girl speak.”

His answer or lack of must have been sufficient enough for Y/N as they moved onwards. Y/N grew fond of the child eventually loving the sweet but sour teen chiseling bit by bit but Ellie was worth the risk. Always.

A lighthearted tone filtered through their ears; a welcomed noise to the alternative.

“Why can’t you hear a pter—pt”

“Pterodactyl. It’s a dinosaur.”

Ellie repeated; the word feeling foreign on her tongue.

“Whatever. Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?”

Y/N smiled waiting for the punch line. Joel staggered ahead trying his best to ignore the current ladies of his life. Y/N counted to ten; “Oh out with it already! Enlighten us.”

An innocent laughter accompanied hardly allowing Ellie to reveal the answer; “Because…the p is silent!”

She broke into a fit of giggles amused at her own joke.

“Wow, might have to file that way away for a rainy day kiddo.”

They trekked six more hours before finding stable campgrounds. One by one, their sleeping bags rolled along the frosty, unforgiving terrain just close enough but never touching. With the sun long set and a fire ablaze, everyone settled into their nightly routine which usually consisted of Ellie reading her comic books and Joel retreating so far into his own head. Easier that way... It annoyed the living piss outta him. His hand clenched wishing to lace his fingers with hers, a pathetic token of affection. But the rational part of his brain told him to shut it off and bury it so deep not even he would know its residence.

“I’ll take first and second watch. Y’all catch some sleep.”

His eyes shifted over Ellie; “And don’t think you can stay up all night reading, tomorrow’s a big day for all us. That includes you, Y/N.”

Two silent beats passed. Joel resumed; “And don’t think I don’t know bout Frank sneakin you that sack of books you keep poorly hidden. Don’t fool yourself, darling. I’m always one step ahead.”

Her eyebrow rose in morbid curiosity; “Just because some of us are determined to quite literally suck the fun out of this shitty world doesn’t equivalent said person having absolutely anything to say about mine.”

Ellie agreed quickly nodding intuitively; “Oh, Y/N. What would I do without you?”

Her rebuttal was quick witted; “Not sure, die maybe?”

“Yep, you are so my favorite.”

A miserable grumble echoed back; “Heard that.”

“Goodnight o loveable child I never wanted but slowly let into my cold wretched heart regardless.”

“Sweet dreams, sucker.”  

Hours ticked by bringing him to the cuff of midnight madness. Joel surveyed the frozen forest scattered in shadows and secrecy. He hated when there wasn’t a clear-cut option. When it was kill or be killed, you’re suddenly forced to choose and fast. Little snores filtered the frigid air reminding him they at least would live to see another day.

 For the next couple minutes, Joel scavenged his memories; the ones that tugged at him most frequently were with his beautiful baby and Y/N. Every birthday, holiday, and Saturday movie night of their lives was spent creating infectious happiness. If only he had stayed the night he opted to run or kissed her without hesitation, given an ounce of himself so she could possibly understand the gaping hole she forever filled in his heart. She was his best friend, his confidante, his past. Too scared to be lovers, eternally looped in boundless temptation.  

Sarah’s death had permanently hardened him reliving the screeching cries of Y/N, the utter desperation tied in her howls, and the forlorn terror taking ahold of Tommy at the sight of Sarah’s lifeless limbs. The aching emptiness of her death shaped him into the monster he was today…maybe always has been. Y/N was a reminder of everything decent he ever had and for was reason alone to keep her at arm’s length no matter the cost. Joel Miller was a man of his word…most of the time.

Dampened twigs snapped beneath worn boots in the distance between him and the girls. His girls. Deep down Joel knew things could never pan out even in pre-Outbreak. He hid like a coward in plain sight from anything out of his control and that usually meant Y/N. Never predictable, a constant that scared Joel to his core. But not now, not when survival predictably remained on the forefront of his mind. He made a promise to Tess and he’d be damned if he didn’t do his best to fulfil it. Life was merciless and winter didn’t help their shared misery. He too was thankful to be closing in on their predicted coordinates, to Tommy.

A small hand rested atop his shoulder squeezing slightly. Joel tensed turning around. The pair exchanged looks. Her voice was soft like churned butter; “Let’s switch. You go rest up.”

At her cruelest, Y/N was compassionate. A calloused palm connected with her warm cheek. Y/N inadvertently leaned into the reassuring stroke. Her hypnotic eyes fluttered open at the foreign sensation jolting back. She sighed. Why did it always feel so natural with Joel? Why was this curse laid upon Y/N, to love and never truly know love. She was convinced it was some cruel cosmic prank handcrafted just for her. He lingered, thumb caressing the corner of her rosy lips. Flickers of hazel filtered through his irises allowing himself a moment of reprieve and relaxation. He bathed it in.

Their blissful bubble burst too quickly pummeling them to reality. Y/N pulled away instantly missing the welcomed heat.

“Y/N…”

With lightning speed, Y/N propelled off the soggy ground sprinting near a clearing. When deemed far enough, Y/N paused her back facing Joel. He stopped leaving minimal space.  

“No. You don’t get to do this. Not now, not ever. You hear me, Joel Miller?”

Confusion was written all over his face; “Darlin’, please talk—”

Y/N shook her head, her shoulders slumped forward; “See Joel, you can’t say things like that. I’m not your girl, you’ve made that abundantly clear time and time again so what else could we possibly have left to discuss, hm?”

“That’s not fair.”

A chortle slipped from Y/N only angering his budding temper.

Her gaze seared into his; “You really wanna do this?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”  

“Fine, let’s fucking go.”

Y/N angled her body facing Joel.

“You love the way I make you feel. The endless compliments, the incessant worship, the prioritized attention, I mean the list just keeps going. You give me just enough of yourself and then inevitably pull away. Girl after girl just waltz through and I let you because I figured it was better to have you in any capacity than not at all. I fucked up by putting you first, but you allowed it, didn’t you?”

She bit the inside of lip refusing to cry in front of him. He didn’t deserve the privilege. His mouth opened ready to interject. Y/N continued.

“I’ve been in love with you for so fucking long, humiliation would be too nice of a term. Don’t bullshit or bait me. Every morning I wake up, I have to swallow this bitter pill. So no offense but fuck you for using me to make you happy until you felt like you didn’t need me anymore and left me wondering where I went wrong.”

Words flew fast; “Yer putting words in my mouth! Haven’t even given me a fighting chance. You’ve already called the winner.”

Y/N’s hands fisted by her side in attempt to suppress her irritation.

“I gave you two decades. I hated myself for imagining you. Every kiss, every caress, every fucking thing. And then you--.”

His heart jumpstarted genuinely fearful of the path they were going down.

“The night we made love, I thought I’d finally won, that the heavens aligned or some bullshit. You’d never kissed me like that before. When I found you gone in the morning, I still held out, you were going to be different. You fucked me and discarded me for the newest model. Guess you got it out of your system.”

“S’not how I remember it.”

“No? Remember making me your glorified secret until Outbreak Day? You were embarrassed and I was heartbroken. Luckily, some higher power saw fit to give me a six-year breather until running into you …and Tess.”

Joel was solemn, remorseful and unsure what qualities she found attractive.  

“Is it my turn yet? Great. Now listen here, I was an asshole and a manipulator, and an overall garbage human. I worked too much, made no time for hobbies of my own, I didn’t...don’t understand why you--.” His voice shook for barely a second finding his footing quick; “You deserved an entire galaxy. I couldn’t give you that, not on my best day. Eventually, you would resent me. An ordinary loser who couldn’t begin to make you happy.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make alone. It takes two to tango.”

“I know.”

“We’ve done this dance before. I’m tired, Joel. I wanna live just for a second without this hostility, this fury underneath my skin. I need to—exist.”  

Ellie’s sweet snorts erupted the intensity. Thank God, the youngster isn’t eavesdropping for once. The rustle of trees casted dazzling shadows and a far spookier imagery.

“It’s bout time we go our own ways. Don’t you think?... Joel, I’d rather live without you than like this.”

It tasted putrid leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth; “Ellie is the only reason I’m here. That girl softened something in me and I know you hate that and yer a hardass but guess what, Joel? You aren’t the only one that lost somebody so quit being so damn selfish and buck up. It’s more than just you and me, old man.”

His signature scowl was more than enough for Y/N to know he got the message. She awaited his rebuttal but it didn’t come. She stood resolute and waited again met with nothing. His upper lip snarled but Joel nodded nonetheless. Dreadful relief flooded her system. The metallic taste of blood overcame his senses realizing he’d torn the inside of his cheek. Say something, anything you idiot!

He didn’t. Because this wasn’t a fairy tale and he wasn’t a prince. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ellie awoke with a loud yawn, alerting the group. Y/N and Joel ignored each other packing in complete silence. Ellie’s eyes bounced from grump to grumpier electing not to rock the boat. Y/N pulled the map showing Ellie the trail; “How many days does that equal? My math isn’t, uh, 100% reliable.”

Joel butted in; “Day or two give or take. Almost to Jackson County which means it just a few miles at that point. Time to get goin’.”

El trudged through the infinite icy slush together. Her socks were damped sticking to weirdly to the heel of her left foot. Though crisp, cool air was much welcomed compared to stale, humid summers. Turns out, global climate was indeed not a joke. Luckily, that too fell with the collapse of society. With their destination soon in sight, Y/N could’ve sworn a spark of hope ignited in her veins.

----------

Tags: @beltzboys2015-blog @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @wildmavs @brittlebarbie @freyafriggafrey @deansgirl79​ @neoqueen306​

[theflippedpages]

The Chiseled Catastrophe - 0.5

Episode 0.5 - Hard Feelings

-----------

(This is a continuation of my previous post of a new fanfiction! I will make a post with all the hyperlinks once it's all posted! Please be aware that this introduction was written back in early 2023, so any mention of other MCYTs is purely to continue the story and is not meant to be taken in any hostile manner nor in any controversial fashion. Yes, I am talking about the Dream part--)

Both men launched themselves at the same time, and Jimmy tried to keep up with the direction of Scott's loud strings of fireworks. After a couple of hesitant seconds of silence, Scott spoke up. "Jim, let me know when you're done with your recording, okay? I have to record the beginning of my video so it wouldn't feel weird that I'm that close to Tumble Town." 

"Surely the YouTube comments would go wild if they found out you were lurking by me with no context." Jimmy laughed. 

Scott's face broke into a grin as he scanned his inventory. "Jim…" Shooting another firework that sent him far up, the Chromia leader takes the airtime to shift things within his inventory, finally putting a familiar flower into his offhand and switching the rockets to the other. "I had some spare flowers to make dyes… and I happen to have 3 of these little beauties." 

Jimmy only had to glance at the red poppies before he flusteredly sighed again. "Scott, I swear! You aren't feeding the fans crumbs, you're feeding them literal meals every time we interact!"

"Is that complaining I hear?" Scott laughed. 

"No…" Jimmy huffed, though the playful tone hadn't left his voice, "The videos with you always spike with interaction, and it is very cute to see the fans go crazy with a reference or a flirt from you."

"Season one gave them too much lore," Scott held back a loud chuckle, "did you see all the animatics?" 

"Don't even get me started with the videos…! They're all so good!" Jimmy breathed. "All it takes is one mere sentence or reference, and one background song that matches the feeling, and boom, 3rd Life flashback, I get slow-mo shot in the head, you're clutching my corpse, and you sit near a grave that says 'my beloved' or something like that…"

Scott took that as a call to continue, reminiscing on the ones he'd seen. And he's seen plenty. "And then either it flashes forward to season one of Empires, or it goes to Double Life, and you're paired with Tango and me with Pearl. It's all super angsty unless it's a bittersweet one about my afterlife in Rivendell."

"Who knows… maybe in season three, I'd be the one to feed the crumbs." Scott could hear the blonde's cocky smile from his words. 

"Ooh, feisty Sheriff." Scott drank in his confidence. "Maybe you will get those handcuffs on me after all."

Silence from Jimmy's mic. Then he softly whispered, "Pretend I never said anything." 

Scott bursted out laughing and realized he was still recording. He hesitated to stop it, knowing this would be a memory to cherish later on. "I'll take back anything I said. I can't wait for season three of Empires."

"Neither can I, buddy, neither can I-... Uh, Scott?"

Scott hummed, taking a sip of his drink, watching the world load beneath him. "Yes, sheriff?" 

"I think there's a fire in Chromia."

"What?!"

Chromia, Scott's meticulously crafted empire, came into view, spawning out in laggy chunks. As they arrived, the loud crackle of fire and the sight of smoke billowing into the sky greeted them. The empire they had known had been set ablaze, its precious structures threatened by an uncontrollable inferno started beside the now-closed Nether portal. 

Without hesitation and another word, Scott and Jimmy rushed to Chromia's aid. The fire was devouring some of the architectural wonders, threatening to consume the rest. Thankfully, it hadn't reached the livestock yet. 

Scott went straight for his llamas, reaching for the cobble in his inventory to create a wall between the fire and the untouched land. Jimmy instead went straight into the heart of the fire, splashing his water bucket onto the Nether portal and diving into Chromia's large, quartz fountain to gather more. He already had a couple of spare water buckets he had made to extinguish his own fires. Once Scott had blocked off the rest of his empire, he fell into line with the blonde's repeated actions, also fishing for water to spill onto the withering wood.

With precision and grace, they worked tirelessly, dousing the flames that hungered for more destruction. Scott and Jimmy managed to save many of the buildings, structures, and landscapes that had defined Chromia. The once-raging fire was now reduced to smoky remnants, defeated by their relentless efforts. Amidst the smoky ruins, the duo shared a moment of exhaustion and relief. They gazed at the embers slowly fading away knowing that they had just saved an empire.

"Did you record any of that?" Jimmy breathed, wringing out his hands after his constant clicking on the mouse and keyboard.

Scott ran a hand through his hair, wiping at his eyes. The brightness of the monitor was starting to hurt his vision, and his head was starting to ache. "I haven't stopped recording since you started back in Tumble Town."

"You didn't do this, did you?" 

"Why would I? Jimmy, I'm not stupid to burn down months of my work. I'm most likely to make a copy of my world or at least keep the fire contained to a certain point." 

"We aren't planning a finale yet, right?" Jimmy asked, hoping to understand why his and Scott's empire was being threatened. "If it was the end, I'd understand all this destruction, but I haven't heard from anyone about any plans to wrap up season 2. This is really scary, Scott. Maybe it’s not just our empires, it could be the entire server that’s facing this. Maybe someone has been in here that shouldn’t be." 

“I want to know who did this.” Scott’s voice was grim. “This wasn’t a prank, nor was it something intended for the Empire's storyline.” He clicked on the chat, and instantly began writing. 

Smajor1995: This is not a joke. Someone griefed Chromia and Tumble Town, and it is unacceptable.

Unlike when Tango talked about the letter when the chat was lively with people, now the words faded into the game with no response. Grumbling, Scott pulled up the online member status for the server, and he noticed that many were leaving without even the yellow text of their departure. Smallishbeans, LDShadowLady— oh those two are gone… okay, Tango– and he’s gone… Soon he found himself just with three people: himself, the suspicious camera account ‘Time_Is_Up’, and Joey. 

'Time_Is_Up' goes offline. And then, Joey too. 

“-This is really scary, Scott-” 

Wait, Jimmy’s still here? But he’s not online!  Scott turned his attention back to the blonde cowboy who was still crouching in front of the fountain. “Jimmy, why does it say you’re not online? You’re right in front of me.” 

“-Maybe it’s not just our empires–” 

Ah. So my game and system seem to be frozen… Jimmy’s character isn’t here, and neither is his voice. 

“-Maybe someone has been in here that shouldn’t be—” Jimmy’s voice glitched. “Maybe someone has been in here that shouldn’t be— Maybe someone has been in here that shouldn’t be—”

 Neither of their characters moved as the sky morphed from an odd shade of white to pure night.

“You shouldn’t be here–” 

And the screen flickered off. 

Scott sat there for a couple of seconds longer, staring at his reflection through the monitor before it dawned on him that his computer crashed completely. Odd… I thought my software was up to date… He grabbed his phone and went to text his friends when he saw the empty bars of service and the lack of wifi on the edge of his screen. Right, it must've been a network issue for the city. Oh well, it’ll come back shortly, I’m sure. He set his phone down, intending to get a shower in before he’d be able to record again. 

As Scott walked to his closet, he noticed a shadow linger by the front of his home, slip something into his mailbox, and disappear. Curiosity piqued him, and he stepped out to investigate. 

〰〰〰

Grian made himself comfortable on his couch, a sandwich in his hand, his phone in another. “Imagine the possibilities,” Scar was speaking on the other end, his voice high with energy, “storylines in Empires do so well, what’s stopping us, Hermits, from doing the same thing?” 

“Maybe it’s the fact we have so many more members than them?” Grian answered with a mouthful of food. “And instead of set times like the Empires crew have for their interlinking storylines, we can join and build whatever we want, whenever we want.” 

A sad sigh from the phone made Grian rethink his words. "Well, it's not like we don't have a storyline in Hermitcraft… we had the wars a couple seasons ago, and we had the big moon last season! It may not be everything Hermitcraft relies on like Empires does, but we do have the occasional 'lore'."

"You don't think we could convince Xisuma to add something?"

Grian shook his head before he realized Scar couldn't see him. "Unfortunately, we have to keep the roleplaying and storytelling to the Life Series."

"Speaking of… When can we begin recording for the new Life Series? Secret life, right?"

"We have a little bit of a time issue with a couple of people, but I think Scott and I will get it confirmed within the next couple of days."

"I can't wait! It's been a while since Mumbo joined us!"

Grian spotted a familiar green avatar on his TV screen. "I know, I can't wait either-... Why does that face look familiar?" he reached to turn up the volume of his TV as he heard the news reporter speak up.

"...A newfound hysteria in the Minecraft community after a series of cryptic tweets from the famous Minecraft YouTuber, Clay, commonly known as Dream, has sent shockwaves throughout the gaming world."

"Dream?... Must be a slow news day if they're reporting on a Minecraft YouTuber… Hey, Scar, I'll call you later." Before the other could respond, Grian ended the call, his attention fully grabbed by the screen in front of him. 

The second news anchor spoke up. "That's right, Matt. Just yesterday, Dream tweeted a picture of a mysterious letter with no context whatsoever. And what happened next is truly baffling. Within hours, Clay deleted his worlds, wiped his accounts clean, and disappeared from social media."

Grian found himself sitting on the edge of the sofa, now quite interested.

"That's not all, Stephanie. He's completely lost contact with his family and friends. It's been about 4 days since he was last heard from. His loved ones are deeply concerned, and a community of devoted fans is in turmoil."

A slideshow of Dream with and without his mask, with his friends from the SMP, and with fans in conventions played in slow sequence as the news correspondents continued. He even saw some screenshots of old MCCs mixed in. Hey look, there's some Hermits! 

"The Minecraft community is in a state of shock. Dream has been an icon for so many, and this sudden disappearance has left a void. The outpouring of concern and speculation online is a testament to how much he meant to his fans."

"And the big question is, what could have led to this sudden and unexplained exit from the Minecraft universe? Clay's tweets have left everyone mystified."

There was a tweet pertaining to a letter, wasn't there? 

"Some speculate that it might be an elaborate ARG or part of a new project. After all, he had posted a tweet of a blurry letter before it was taken down mere minutes later and everything else vanished. However, most have forgotten this idea now that his friends and family have come out in concern. Now, it's mostly believed that this absence is related to stress or personal issues. But until we hear directly from Dream, it's all conjecture."

"Fortunately, through some fans, we were able to get a look at his recently deleted tweet. Take a look."

"...A newfound hysteria in the Minecraft community after a series of cryptic tweets from the famous Minecraft YouTuber, Clay, commonly known as Dream, has sent shockwaves throughout the gaming world."

"Dream?... Must be a slow news day if they're reporting on a Minecraft YouTuber… Hey, Scar, I'll call you later." Before the other could respond, Grian ended the call, his attention fully grabbed by the screen in front of him. 

The second news anchor spoke up. "That's right, Matt. Just yesterday, Dream tweeted a picture of a mysterious letter with no context whatsoever. And what happened next is truly baffling. Within hours, Clay deleted his worlds, wiped his accounts clean, and disappeared from social media."

Grian found himself sitting on the edge of the sofa, now quite interested.

"That's not all, Stephanie. He's completely lost contact with his family and friends. It's been about 4 days since he was last heard from. His loved ones are deeply concerned, and a community of devoted fans is in turmoil."

A slideshow of Dream with and without his mask, with his friends from the SMP, and with fans in conventions played in slow sequence as the news correspondents continued. He even saw some screenshots of old MCCs mixed in. Hey look, there's some Hermits! 

"The Minecraft community is in a state of shock. Dream has been an icon for so many, and this sudden disappearance has left a void. The outpouring of concern and speculation online is a testament to how much he meant to his fans."

"And the big question is, what could have led to this sudden and unexplained exit from the Minecraft universe? Clay's tweets have left everyone mystified."

There was a tweet pertaining to a letter, wasn't there? 

"Some speculate that it might be an elaborate ARG or part of a new project. After all, he had posted a tweet of a blurry letter before it was taken down mere minutes later and everything else vanished. However, most have forgotten this idea now that his friends and family have come out in concern. Now, it's mostly believed that this absence is related to stress or personal issues. But until we hear directly from Dream, it's all conjecture."

"Fortunately, through some fans, we were able to get a look at his recently deleted tweet. Take a look."

On the screen, they put up his Twitter, in which, with only the caption, "invited", he had posted a close-up picture of an open envelope with a note sticking out. With a close view, most of the picture was blurry, except for a red stamped seal with the indent of a pixelated crown. Where have I seen that before?

He got up as the report continued. "If you have any idea what this could mean, or if you have seen the creator recently, please contact the missing person hotline and your local police department. His friends and family are all terribly worried." As the brunette slipped into his room, he could hear a recording of GeorgeNotFound in tears talking about his friend and how this abrupt lack of contact is unlike him. 

Grian picked up the letter he had left on his desk. A red stamped seal with a pixelated crown. He picked it up and took it back to the TV, hoping it would show the Tweet again so he could compare.

 A couple more friends talked about Dream, and while it played the audio, the Tweet showed up again. Grian instantly looked between the two, and compared the wax. It's a strange coincidence, that's for sure. He held it up to the light, inspecting the wax more closely. The reddish hue looked like any other sealing wax, but something about it felt off.

The brunette's inquisitive nature got the better of him, and he carefully scratched the wax with his fingernail. The instant he did, a faint and sickeningly sweet odor escaped, invading his senses. He couldn't quite place it, but it was oddly familiar.

Dizziness gripped him like a vice, his heart raced, and his vision began to blur. Grian stumbled back, dropping the envelope. A feeling of lethargy spread through him as he desperately gasped for fresh air. He stumbled toward the window of his living room, pushing against the window in hopes of unlocking it and getting him to breathe. Relief flooded him as he heard it click and felt a small breeze flutter in. Yet, the dizziness hadn't ceased. 

His vision became an abstract painting of muted colors and wavering shapes. The room spun in a nauseating dance as Grian collapsed onto his couch. The air was heavy, like the weight of a thousand bricks pressing down on him. He could taste the bitter tang of chloroform on his tongue.

Every attempt to summon the strength to move was met with resistance from his own body. His consciousness ebbed away like a retreating tide, and his eyelids felt impossibly heavy. His thoughts became disjointed, like fragments of a dream, and then...

Creak.

His window was opening. He heard the shifting of heavy clothing against the frame… then nothing. He heard the click of the TV being turned off. Time became a slippery, elusive concept as Grian's unconscious form lay sprawled across the couch. Two pairs of hands grabbed onto him.

〰〰〰

"Jim, it's okay," Kristy put an arm around her boyfriend. Jimmy leaned into her with a quiet sigh. 

"I just can't believe this happened… Someone has clearly hacked their way onto the server and has some sort of grudge against us."

She ran a hand through his hair. "You've asked everyone in the Discord?"

"I tried. But they aren't responding, whether it be in-game or online." The blonde looked up at her. "They must be confused too, right? Why else would they not respond to me?" 

"I'm sure, dear." She assured him. "Hey, at least you got some fresh content. That'll be sure to get a ton of views."

"I suppose so…" Jimmy shrugged. “I wish I could’ve at least saved a version of this, so I’d be able to still do something.” 

“Take it as a fresh reset for Tumble Town… Though it was against your will, I think that you should take it as a sign to rebuild it better than before. It would even make sense in your storyline too, you know, with Sheriff Jimmy wanting to be respected and beheld. Rebuilding your empire will make sure of your admiration! Though I don’t know much about Minecraft, I’d love to help nonetheless!” 

“It’s tough, Kristy,” Jimmy tried to explain his woes. “Tumble Town holds so many memories!”

“It’s not like you don’t have them recorded, Jim.” She nudged him with a smile. “You have a YouTube channel, for love’s sake, all your memories are already loaded onto there, sometimes, with your friends’ perspectives too! Besides, you aren’t building it alone, you have so many friends who would love to help! You told me how everyone was jumping to give you resources, weren’t you?”

She’s right. Everything is online now. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I can rebuild Tumble Town, and make it even better–” The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. 

“I’ll get it, dear.” Kristy was quick to get up, giving her boyfriend a peck on the cheek. “Lighten up, Jim. Take it easy today.” She returned moments later with a letter. “It’s for you. I’ll leave it on the table.” 

“Thanks, Kristy.” Jimmy smiled, merely glancing at the envelope and spotting the ominous crimson seal. “Could you bring Norman in here, please?” 

“Of course. While you freshen up, I’ll start making us something for dinner, alright?” She lingered by the door. “Maybe if you’re up for it, we can watch a movie together.” 

“That’s very sweet of you, thank you.” Jimmy managed to say before she disappeared into the hall. Once she was gone, his eyes flickered to the desk, where the envelope lay. Could this be the letter that Tango mentioned? He reached toward it and upon grabbing it, investigated the thick seal.

“Actually, Jim,” he heard his girlfriend call from the kitchen, “can you cut some vegetables for me? It won’t take long, but having your help can really speed things up.” 

“Yeah, of course!” Jimmy slid the letter under his pillow and got up to go help her. I can text him about it later…

Once he and Kristy had made and eaten their dinner, the couple watched a movie with Norman asleep on their lap. Once it was done, they cleaned after themselves and Kristy parted ways to take a shower, leaving Jimmy alone on his bed, prepared to sleep. However, sleeping on his pillow and hearing the ruffle of paper underneath reminded him of the letter, and he was quick to take out his phone and call his Rancher, Tango, knowing he’d most likely be awake through their time zone difference. After hearing the sound of the shower and ensuring that Kristy wouldn’t come back to the bed, he pulled out the letter and pried at the wax gently to open it. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey Tango, it’s Jimmy…”

“ ‘Sup Jim, what are you calling for?” 

“I think I received the same letter as you.” Jimmy glanced over the paragraphs of writing, spotting the phrase ‘this is meant for you and the 9 other invitees’ and linking it to the same number he had remembered from the chat. 

There was a short moment of silence from the other end of his phone, and then Tango responded with just, “Oh.” 

“And- and I know it says don’t say anything…” he ran a hand through his messy hair, as his eyes once again skimmed the letter, “but I assumed, as a receiver of the same letter, you’d be able to give me some context?” 

“Whatever’s on there is exactly what I have, Jimmy,” Tango admitted. “I’m as clueless as you are.” 

“It’s all so confusing. Why didn’t they just email us? Or give us further details than just the fact that it’s Minecraft-based, we have to dress up, and we can’t record anything…”

“It’s quite creepy, but it lightens my worry that you got an invite too. I was actually not planning to go until I saw that Mumbo and Ren got the invite too.” 

“So you think it’s worth it? Spending a night at their theme park or whatever?” 

“If it’s not, at least I get to see my Rancher in person.” 

Jimmy grinned. “True, true. If it’s really not worth our time, it would only be a waste of 12 hours. They said transportation, food, and a place of stay are all covered, so it’s not like we’re even losing money. I’d be very excited to see more Hermitcraft and Empires members invited… And I’m sure there are more, ‘cause there’s no way they’d just invite me, a mid-tier content creator, when they have huge faces on the Empires SMP like Scott, Joel, and Lizzie.” 

“Oh Jim, don’t call yourself a ‘mid-tier’... I believe you are climbing to stardom.” Tango interjected. “But I do understand what you mean since Scott, Joel, and Lizzie all have wider fanbases and a long history connected to Minecraft and are more likely to be invited.” He laughed. “I actually feel the same way, to be honest. There are huge faces in Hermitcraft, like, obviously, Grian, Mumbo, and Scar… So it was surprising I got the invite, and it's relieving Ren and Mumbo got one too.” 

It sounds a bit risky. The wording sounds a bit too… friendly. 

“So, are you going, Jim?” 

Jimmy pondered this question, then after a moment, answered, “I think I might. I mean, I’d love to see more people in person. I think it would be a worthwhile 12 hours of my life. Besides, it's an excuse to dress up as a sheriff.” 

“Great! Then, I can’t wait to see you in person, Rancher.” 

The blonde’s worry seemed to disappear at that sentence. “You as well, Tango. I haven’t seen many of the Hermits in person either, so that’s going to be an exciting feat.” 

“Alright Jim, is that all?” 

Jimmy spotted another piece of paper in the envelope. “Yeah, that’s all. Thanks for the assurance.” 

“Of course. Thanks for calling me, man. Have a good night, alright?” 

“You as well.” 

The call ended and silence took over as he flipped over the paper. 

Jimmy,

You are our last attendee. Your invite wasn’t intended, it was to fill up a required spot. Don’t make the mistake your doppelganger did. Read the directions carefully, know the consequences, and prevent further faults. 

“Mistake? I was the last choice?” Jimmy’s smile broke into a frown. “What a demotivating and rude thing to say.” But the excitement of meeting his online friends muted the blaring alarm in his head and he carefully tucked the letters back into the envelope, pushed the wax in, and set it back onto the table as convincingly as he could. He heard the bathroom door creak open, and instantly rolled back into bed, tossing the covers over his head as he pretended to be asleep. However, the wax had rubbed against the pillow, and unbeknownst to Jimmy, he fell into a deeper sleep than he had intended to. 

Shadows wisped the blonde away before Kristy came to bed.  

“Jimmy?... Jimmy?!” 

〰〰〰

Tango had received the same fate once he had finished the call. Upon reading through the letter again, his hand rubbed against the wax as a nervous habit. Dizzy and disoriented, he had passed out and fallen off of his chair. The shadows were able to move him quite easily.

〰〰〰

Mumbo had spilled some tea on the envelope and had been trying to clean it up. Upon trying to dab off the stain, he had fainted beside his kitchen counter. They had entered through his backyard door. One had even drank his tea.

〰〰〰

Joel and Lizzie had been rummaging through their closets for outfits for the ‘party’ when Joel had been trying to save the wax because it looked pretty. The scent had wafted around the room, and the couple had passed out on their bed. The shadows were happy to kill two birds with one stone. Or in this case, two lovebirds with one letter. 

〰〰〰

Scott had been reading after he had picked up his mail. After pressing the wax unintentionally against many of the magazines, he fell unconscious after closely reading just a few pages. Unfortunately, his door was kept unlocked. 

〰〰〰

Ren was quite excited to be a part of a Minecraft party. However, he was quite suspicious of the seal, since it didn’t quite match any he recalled. Upon rubbing it, however, nothing came off, but he sure felt dizzy. He didn’t make it to the sink to splash water on himself, passing out in his hall. They broke in through his window. 

〰〰〰

Marytn was very happy to have the red wax seal, as he intended on using it for a button on his regular, bright green Minecraft skin to add some contrast. However, upon trying to scrape it out, he had fallen asleep in his closet. The shadows took a while to find him; they were almost convinced he had escaped.

〰〰〰

Joey was the only one who recognized this stamp. He had tried to throw it away, burn it, and even throw it in a paper shredder. But it always magically showed up again. Joey was convinced it had something to do with the thick wax, so he tried to pry it out. He passed out in his backyard, opposite his bonfire. The shadows extinguished it when they found him; they didn't want one of their players getting burned after all.

[justforbooks]

Paul Auster

Author of The New York Trilogy who conjured up a world of wonder and happenstance, miracle and catastrophe

The American writer Paul Auster, who has died aged 77 from complications of lung cancer, once described the novel as “the only place in the world where two strangers can meet on terms of absolute intimacy”. His own 18 works of fiction, along with a shelf of poems, translations, memoirs, essays and screenplays written over 50 years, often evoke eerie states of solitude and isolation. Yet they won him not just admirers but distant friends who felt that his peculiar domain of chance and mystery, wonder and happenstance, spoke to them alone. Frequently bizarre or uncanny, the world of Auster’s work aimed to present “things as they really happen, not as they’re supposed to happen”.

To the readers who loved it, his writing felt not like avant-garde experimentalism but truth-telling with a mesmerising force. He liked to quote the philosopher Pascal, who said that “it is not possible to have a reasonable belief against miracles”. Auster restored the realm of miracles – and its flip-side of fateful catastrophe – to American literature. Meanwhile, the “postmodern” sorcerer who conjured alternate or multiple selves in chiselled prose led (aptly enough) a double life as sociable pillar of the New York literary scene, a warm raconteur whose agile wit belied the brooding raptor-like image of his photoshoots. For four decades he lived in Brooklyn with his second wife, the writer Siri Hustvedt.

The fortune that drives his stories played a part in his own career. City of Glass (1985), the philosophical mystery that launched his New York Trilogy and his ascent to fame, appeared from a small imprint after 17 rejections. Though the novel helped build his misleading reputation as a cool cult author, a moody Parisian existentialist marooned in noir New York, it had a pseudonymous forerunner that shows another Auster face.

Squeeze Play, published under the pen-name “Paul Benjamin” in 1982, is a baseball-based crime caper. Its disconsolate gumshoe, Max Klein, muses that “I had come to the limit of myself, and there was nothing left.” If that plight sounds typically Auster-ish, then even more so was the baseball setting. Auster adored the sport and played it well: “I had quick reflexes and a strong arm – but my throws were often wild.” In a much-repeated tale, he failed aged eight to get an autograph from his idol Willie Mays, of the New York Giants, because he had not brought a pencil. Auster “cried all the way home”.

Auster’s work is more deeply embedded in the mid-century national culture that fuelled the novels of his elders, such as Philip Roth and John Updike, than some advocates appreciated. His fables of identity-loss and alienation have emotional roots in the mean, lonely city streets he knew when young. He once insisted, to fans and scoffers who labelled him an esoteric “French” or European coterie author, that “all of my books have been about America”.

He was born in Newark, New Jersey (also Roth’s hometown). His parents, Queenie (nee Bogat) and Samuel Auster, children of Jewish immigrants from eastern Europe, set him on a classic American path of upward mobility through education while remaining, to their son, opaque. The Invention of Solitude (1982) was Auster’s haunting attempt to imagine the life of his impenetrable father. Ghostly fathers would pervade his work. As would sudden calamity. When, aged 14, he witnessed a fellow summer-camper struck dead by lightning, the event became a paradigm for the savage contingency of life, “the bewildering instability of things”. His later novel 4321 (2017), which revisits this formative trauma, cites the composer John Cage: “The world is teeming: anything can happen.” In Auster’s work, it does.

At Columbia University in New York, he studied literature, and took part in the student protests of 1968, before moving to Paris to scrape a living as a translator of French poetry (a surrealist anthology was his first published work). He lived – literally in a garret – with the writer Lydia Davis, and returned in 1974 with nine dollars to his name. Back in New York, they married, but were divorced in 1978, a year after the birth of their son, Daniel. Poetry collections followed, but Auster’s thwarted efforts to secure a decent livelihood meant that he gave his ruefully funny 1997 memoir Hand to Mouth the subtitle “a chronicle of early failure”.

In 1982, he married the novelist and essayist Hustvedt (who recalled their courtship as “a really fast bit of business”). She became his first reader and trusted guide; they had a daughter, Sophie. Husband and wife would work during the day on different floors of their Park Slope brownstone, and watch classic movies together in the evening. Auster wrote first in longhand, then edited on his cherished Olympia typewriter.

The New York Trilogy (Ghosts and The Locked Room followed a year after City of Glass) made his stock soar, and attracted both celebrity and opportunity.

Auster wrote gnomic screenplays for arthouse films (Smoke, Blue in the Face, both 1995), even directed one (The Inner Life of Martin Frost, 2007). But it was the enigmatic, hallucinatory aura of his fiction – in 1990s novels such as The Music of Chance, Leviathan and Mr Vertigo – that defined his sensibility. Sometimes this trademark style could veer into whimsy or self-parody (as in Timbuktu, 1999, with its canine hero) although stronger novels – such as The Brooklyn Follies (2005) – always pay heed to the pulse, and voice, of contemporary America. Keenly engaged in current affairs, Auster held office in the writers’ body PEN, deplored the rise of Donald Trump, and spoke of his country’s core schism between ruthless individualism and “people who believe we’re responsible for one another”.

Auster the exacting aesthete was also a yarn-hungry storyteller. If he edited a centenary edition of Samuel Beckett – a literary touchstone, along with Hawthorne, Proust, Kafka and Joyce – he also compiled a selection of unlikely true tales submitted by National Public Radio listeners. They revealed the strange “unknowable forces” at work in everyday life. In his epic novel 4321, the formal spellbinder and social chronicler meet. It sends a boy born in New Jersey in 1947 down four separate paths in life: an Auster encyclopedia, ingenious but heartfelt too. Bulk and heart also characterised his mammoth 2021 biography of the Newark-born literary prodigy Stephen Crane, Burning Boy.

The ferocity of fate that scars his work gouged wounds into Auster’s life as well. Daniel succumbed to addiction, accidentally killed his infant daughter with drugs, and died of an overdose in 2022. Auster’s cancer diagnosis came in 2023. Prolific and versatile as ever, in that year he still published both an impassioned essay on America’s firearms fixation (Bloodbath Nation) and his farewell novel, Baumgartner. Its narrative hi-jinks dance smartly over a bass chord of grief.

Auster populated a literary planet all his own, where the strange music, and magic, of chance and contingency coexist with love, dream and wonder. In Burning Boy, he wonders why Crane’s output now goes largely unread, although “the prose still crackles, the eye still cuts, the work still stings”. After 34 books, so does his own.

Auster is survived by his wife and daughter, and a grandson, and by his sister, Janet.

🔔 Paul Benjamin Auster, writer, born 3 February 1947; died 30 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[thebardisabird]

For some, moments in time seem to last years...so you could only imagine the catastrophic eons that the time passed in your life felt like.  You tread slowly in that same park, memories of picnics, cherry blossom viewing, and varying other raucous activities you’d traded your youth away for. All things, both good and bad, that you would do again in a heartbeat. You remembered those boys, sextuplets with animated personalities - and all of them leaving a lasting impression on you that you were sure to always cherish.  And then you remembered him. On the same bridge you happened to be stopped at.  The boisterous, confident baritone of his voice that tempered into gentle softness behind closed doors fluttered through your memories quickly. Images of leather jackets and blue jeans and the sound of plucked guitar strings whipped your senses into a frenzy. Those were the moments you truly remembered your heart nearly beating out of your chest.  But time changes things...would he even remember you?  Was he even still here?  You stared wistfully into the stream under you, the rippling flow pulsing fallen leaves forward and out of your field of view. After you’d left home for better opportunities, it never felt the same. And you were never home long enough to find the one thing worth coming back home for. Your gaze drifted to the clear sky above: a brilliant azure shade.  It filled your heart with longing.  Mindlessly you whispered to no one, “Karamatsu...” However, it wasn’t the heavy thud of steel toed boots that caught your attention, but rather the breathless whisper of your name. Your head snapped up only to see them - the honeyed brown eyes you remembered so fondly. Karamatsu locked his gaze with yours, chest stuttering in realization that it really was you. Time truly does change things - the baby face of his early twenties was chiseled into rougher features now, and he traded his white tee-leather jacket and blue jeans combo for a well-fitted black t-shirt and dark denim. His onyx hair showed barely there streaks of silver, and he was taller than your recollection served you.  Yet some things stayed the same; a pair of sunglasses resting at the collar of his shirt seemed pleasantly familiar a sight.  But those eyes...those tawny pools that held you so deeply, so gently. Those eyes hadn’t changed a bit. And he was looking at you now, purposefully and scrutinizing - almost as though he had found sunlight for the first time...and couldn’t believe it was real. Your lips pulled into a careful smile, “It’s been years, Karamatsu...I’m surprised you still recognize me.”  It was his turn to smile, and the way his features, though hardened by time, was still so incredibly soft against your visage had tears crawling to your eyes, ready to fall at a moments notice.  “You’re hard to forget.”  You wanted to cry at that. But instead you took a deep breath, and with some bravado, closed the space between you both. Your fingertips found his forearm, a forward gesture against your normal repertoire of greetings, but this was a man who’d known you all your life...so formalities lay abandoned. In your own eyes you’d hope you could show just how happy this meeting has made you.  “It’s nice to see you again.”  His eyes searched yours momentarily, and then drifted to the hand placed on his arm. Before you could remove your hand, thinking you’d offended him, he encased your fingers with his two larger hands. Much like the stream beneath, Karamatsu was fluid in his actions, and in a matter of seconds, his lips brushed the edges of your knuckles. An equally forward gesture to match yours. You couldn’t stop the blush from dusting your cheeks, a bashful giggle accompanying your drifting gaze. It felt like no time had passed, and yet...where his confidence was boyish and put on back then, it was far more sincere and steady now.  “I think we have some catching up to do, don’t you think?” he asked, holding his arm out in your direction. You slowly looped your arms around his, the pockets of delight tucked neatly into the corners of your grin “...I think I’d love that.”  But perhaps time doesn’t change everything after all. 

[aclosetfan]

hug 34 for reds pls :)

I'm forcing myself to write and clear out my old asks from previous prompt games. Sorry, anon, this took almost 4 years to write. I was a different person back then. Hopefully, you're still around, but if you're not, I'm pouring one out for you.

PROMPT 34: Hug to prevent a fight

tw: implied physical child abuse/adult abuse.

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

Blossom didn't have the words to describe her counterpart, Brick. But at fifteen, she could see the cracks starting to chisel away at his languid facade. He was only (physically) fourteen, a year, give or take, younger than her and too young for the permanent wrinkle on his forehead or the frown lines around his mouth, but he played it off well.

At twenty (his nineteen), Blossom realized it was probably too late for him. In the five years that the needling feeling in the pit of her stomach had developed, Brick had become much more than the son of HIM and Mojo Jojo. Rather, he commanded an authority of his own, often trumping his parental figures whenever the opportunity presented itself. He and his brothers would make a great heir to whatever throne was left to them when HIM moved on from Townsville and Mojo passed away.

Blossom didn't think either was a possibility. HIM would plague this city forever, and Mojo would always be a thorn in her family's backside. But maybe that was just a fool's dream because she didn't want Brick and his brothers to be the heir to any throne. That scared her more than HIM did on the entity's worst days.

It was the slow stretch of Brick's smile when she thwarted one of his plans. The calculating look swirling in his eyes, like losing had been his goal all along. He didn't laugh anymore like when they were children, but she could still hear the acrid sound echoing in her head. Taunting her. Goading her on. The older they got, the more often she felt she was only ever catching up to him, learning what he had always known—whatever that was—a minute too late.

Brick was her thematic foil. He would be her bitter end.

"It's not that you're not clever enough," Bubbles assured her one evening as Blossom bandaged her broken hands. "It's because he's scared."

Blossom furrowed her brows together in thought, pursing her lips like Bubble's words were sour candies. Blossom didn't bother asking Bubbles how she knew what she was thinking. It was Bubbles; she could read her and Buttercup to filth.

"I don't think he's scared, " Blossom replied because she couldn't imagine, let alone believe, that something in this world frightened Brick.

"Not of you, but of HIM." Bubbles pushed back, leaning against the door frame.

Blossom shook her head, "He's not scared of HIM. He's better than HIM."

"You know that. I know that. Brick doesn't know that."

Blossom looked up from her hands, "Even if that's true, what does it matter?"

Bubbles walked into the room and took the bandages from her hands. She wrapped them around Blossom's bruised and bloodied knuckles with almost the same careful precision as Buttercup, who was usually in charge of the Powerpuff recovery department, so to speak. Buttercup, though, lay indisposed on a cot in the lab, recovering from an almost catastrophic injury. Butch had been the executor, but Brick had called the shots.

That didn't make Brick the most important, though. Maybe, she should have been focusing her efforts on Butch and Boomer. Maybe she should have been figuring out how to ostracize them from him. If the three men were anything like her and her sisters, Butch and Boomer were his body and spirit. If she disposed of them, it'd be like cutting off Brick's arms, but he'd be ready for that. Likely, he'd be expecting her to do that. After all, that's what he did to her.

"It matters because you know what he's afraid of. You can help him."

Physically, Blossom tried not to react. Bubbles advocated for rehabilitation at least three times a year. Blossom vehemently opposed it. Surprisingly, Buttercup had little to say about it.

("Yeah, sure, we don't have a good record of success," Buttercup would point out, shrugging, "but, I dunno, Bloss, I don't like just giving up. I get it, though. The boys, they're not low-level crooks."

"They hate us. He loves hurting you."

"Butch?" Buttercup would shrug again, "Sure, but I mean, he's just doing what he's told. We all are."

Blossom wouldn't tell her she meant Brick, not Butch. It's not that Buttercup was incorrect, but Blossom swore Brick would single Buttercup out to torture her. Yes, it was selfish and paranoid, but she didn't want to see her sisters hurt any more than she had to. And he knew that.)

"He ripped off her leg," Blossom hissed.

"It's regrowing as we speak."

"Bubbles." Blossom stood up suddenly, ripping her hands from Bubbles'. "I don't want to discuss this with you again."

"I think you could reach him," Bubbles continued, speaking regardless, "he's always respected you. And if you save him, we can save his brothers, too. They don't have to keep fighting alone. It's unfair, Blossom. We protect everyone in this city from HIM except the three people who truly need it."

"They could beat HIM on their own."

"They don't know that." Bubbles frowned, "We do."

(But maybe Bubbles was right. It wasn't Brick who singled out Buttercup to specifically hurt her. They were all just doing as they were told, including her and her sisters, just like Buttercup had said. Playing right into HIM's trap. She knew HIM's power grew unchecked the more focused they were on each other. If they were focused on the boys, how could they be concerned about HIM?

It wasn't the first time Blossom had mulled this over. A group effort could feasibly bring HIM down for good. Sure, there would still be Mojo, and Princess, and Sedusa, but—

—but Bubbles was wrong; Blossom had never been able to reach Brick on any meaningful level.)

"Don't be naive, Bubbles."

"I am not naive. I am kind." Bubbles shot back without missing a beat, "You are too."

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

Brick and his brothers stood before her and her sisters. Buttercup's leg had regenerated entirely in two days, and now, the team was back in action. Logically, Blossom knew Buttercup was fine. Buttercup had said so, tone of voice pitching upward in annoyance at Blossom's persistent questioning, but Blossom still watched her out of the corner of her eye.

Buttercup stared at Butch, sizing him up as she was prone to do before a fight. She wanted payback for her leg, so Blossom was surprised when her face twitched in sympathy.

Her gaze darted to Butch, and she regretted it instantly. Blossom didn't stare at the young men, not even Brick, not really. She had stopped doing that a long time ago. She didn't like to think of the reason why, but there Butch was, tall, large, and intimidating with bags under his eyes, so pronounced Blossom echoed Buttercup's slight wince. He was complete muscle but shrunk in on himself like he was attempting to cower away—make himself small. His head bowed slightly in deference, like a street dog begging for scraps.

Boomer stood to the right of Brick, and he looked no better. He was pale. His hair had lost its golden shimmer. His smile—once handsome—was a shadow of its former self.

She felt the weight of Bubbles' stare, set her jaw, squared her shoulders, and turned to Brick. He was talking, outlining their demands, but she couldn't hear him. It was a pointless effort.

A bruise circled his neck like a pearl necklace—the imprint of a claw. His skin was taut, his cheeks sunken and hollow. His wrist bones and clavicle, peeking out from the collar of his shirt, were pronounced.

She did not see the mastermind adult she had been hoping for, but the beaten, broken boy she had been hiding from.

Broken. Beaten. All three of them.

Three people who needed saving.

She was a hero, wasn't she?

(But it was a trap, wasn't it? All these years? They were building up for this to make her and her sisters the fools for even daring to feel sympathy?

Why, though, Blossom? What is there to gain? The Bubbles inside her head asked.

Blossom shook her away. She would not be made the fool, not by Brick. She would not give in to those cartoonish tropes. A heroine who, at her core, is still sympathetic and womanly, who trusts the first pair of sad eyes she meets. Who is naive and—

You are not naive. Bubbles said. Blossom, you are kind.)

She stopped and stared and let her doubts fall away. The wrinkle marring his forehead was anxiety, and the frown lines were unhappiness. His posture was fear.

Brick no longer laughed.

And all six of them were being used.

"Wait, I—" she started, interrupting Brick, but she had no idea how to end that sentence.

He glared suspiciously at her because she wasn't one to speak out of turn. She played the game. She followed the rules. But not anymore.

Taking a page from Buttercup's book, she was in front of Brick before she could think twice about it. He blinked, surprised, and flinched away when she raised a hand towards his neck. His brothers edged in, but she ignored their exclamations.

"Brick," she breathed, letting her hand hover there momentarily. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry it's come to this."

Boldly, she placed her hands on his shoulders, pulled him into her, and held him there.

At first, he didn't react. He just let himself be held. She tried her best to be like Bubbles, who gave the best hugs, despite knowing hers paled in comparison. She could feel the beating of his heart, fluttery, like a hummingbird, as his arms finally circled around her waist and his head dropped into the crook of her neck.

"I'm so tired, Bloss." He whispered, voice cracking.

"I know." She rubbed small circles on his back, marveling at the boniness of his spine. It made her sick. "I know."

"We'll protect you."

[monarcho-mysticism]

When we left our feudal villages and moved to early industrial settlements, for so many it was the first time they met an Other - people not from their nearest vicinity, people who dress slightly differently, who talk kinda weird, who look differently from how people look in their parish.

But they chose to find what connects them. In the catastrophic social upheaval of industrialization and urbanization, we chose to look each other in the eye and see each other. When the power of the industrialist seemed divine, we created trade unions, by holding hands with the Other. When kings and queens ruled their petty fiefs, we invented nationalism to keep us close across borders drawn up by the undeserving.

When we had the first chance... We came together. No hesitation. This is what they fear. This is what they need to take from you. They need you looking at your ai generated screen, because that's the only way to keep you from the sacred instinct of loving your brother.

Rebel. Look a stranger in the eye. Smile. Remember him. Be remembered. Be real. Be a real human being and remind others they are real - and the little bird starts chiseling away at the mountain of diamond.