#and Nine used to be in group 1 and is now group 2. and me and Mari used to be group 2 and now we're group 1

[talenlee]

Game Pile: Why Do Trans Women Love New Vegas (Video)

Script and thumbnail below the fold!

This script is based on this original article.

Hello everyone, my name’s TalenLee, also known as the Wrath in Pride Month, and this is a video article that seeks to answer the question ‘Why do Trans Women love Fallout New Vegas so much?’ To accompany this I’m presenting a single segment speedrun of Fallout New Vegas All Sleeping Partners % as run by Tomatoanus, or as TiredTransbian called it, World’s Fastest Bisexual Trans Woman Goes on a Bender Around the Mojave. Tomatoanus did make the video but unlike in his videos, I didn’t get him to help me explain things and you really shouldn’t go bothering him to justify his relationship to things I say here just because he gave me permission to use his video. He is as best I know, very nice and doesn’t need any further guff. If you are going to go check out TomatoAnus’ work based on this video all I ask is that you

do

not

embarrass me.

I’m providing a specific Content Warning here for drugs and violence. Not that anyone clicking on a video about Fallout New Vegas would be surprised by those things. It’s just nice to do.

This is a video version of an article I wrote a bit over a year ago and if you’ve read that article you already know the thrust of what I’m going to say, but because this is going up on Youtube, I want to pre-emptively put some stuff out there that will get the snowflake crowd to petulantly comment and then piss off. Rent-lowering gunshots, as we say on Tumblr. Anyway, trans women are women and trans men are men, at least inasmuch as they want to be, and while I’m at it, all the popes are bad, even Big Poppa Pizza Pope you got now. This isn’t one of my hand-holding babymode conversations about how trans identities work, written as if I’m explaining a baseline gender studies concept to someone to afraid to look it up and do readings, this is about an extremely in-group cultural signifier. A meme. Specifically, the meme that trans women

love

Fallout New Vegas, explained in <>.

Released in 2010, Fallout New Vegas is a classic of the first-person-shooter role-playing-game genre or FPSRPG, which sounds like a file format your phone uses to save links, which sought to bring Fallout 1 and 2’s semi-open choice-driven narrative structure, into the first-person floaty Skyrim-with-guns combat in a ‘second parse’ at the – let’s politely call it – rough execution of Fallout 3. In this game you play a character called The Courier starting at the point in their story where Matthew Perry shows he won’t be there for you, then shoots you in the head, giving you an opportunity to discover and then intervene in the existing events of history with an all new, all exciting direction.

The story is a sort of noir cowboy steampunk fantasy – there’s the trappings of modern technology and post-apocalyptica, but the world that was and its infrastructure isn’t really important as much as the way it just sweeps aside a options for progress. Technology is chunky and heavy and there’s a durability to everything, where things break, but they can always be fed more technology to make them un-break. Everything has an independence to it, a scrounging, foraging, make-it-work, it’ll-do-for-now technologism all typified with a gun at your hip and your duster fluttering in the hot wind.

When it isn’t crashing.

The game has a lot of positive sentiment around it, seemingly beloved by fans and lauded by youtubers looking for long-form stuff ever since renowned solver of plagiarism problems Harris Barris Garrus dropped ‘Fallout 3 Is Garbage, And Here’s Why,’ nine years ago.

Thing is, if you’re not in the trans community, or at least not living next to it because they have all the good electronic music, you might not know that Fallout New Vegas is notorious for being a game beloved by trans women. This renown is a meme unto itself, a joke about being into Fallout New Vegas being a gateway to the experience of being a trans woman.

Now, I position myself as both an investigator of games, and I also serve what I think is a valuable purpose which is being up to several trans people’s token cis friend. This lets me return from the hidden city then explain their mystic secrets to the normies, in the hopes that you won’t ask them annoying questions.I thought, equipped with this understanding, I could, this Pride Month, explain why all trans women love Fallout New Vegas:

They don’t, largely.

Oh, sure, there are trans women who are fans of Fallout New Vegas. A bunch of them! And they tend to describe ideas in Fallout New Vegas that excite them, it tends to be things like:

I get to shoot Matthew Perry in the face.

The story is all constructed such that everyone’s story is somehow ensnared with the dam.

There is a meaningful dialectic between Caesar’s Legion and his own ideology.

You can do drugs and shoot baddies.

Cazadors are amazing.

The courier has a backstory, has a meaningful life and narrative that you have to reconstruct through play.

Cazadors suck.

The final building is exciting and beautiful and engaging.

Spurs go Jingle Jingle

The idea that the Las Vegas strip is the kind of thing that survives our worst and is darkly funny and what we deserve.

There’s an anti-nuclear thread running throughout the whole story.

There’s more. When I compose a list of this kind of thing reflecting on feedback, I’m typically trying to collapse together similar responses, and there really isn’t a lot of commonality between these unless you start to get really broad. And when you get that broad, what it tends to come down to is:

It’s an enjoyable game and I find it engaging.

What’s more there’s some feedback I got that doesn’t match the feedback given. Now, I did ask explicitly only to trans readers to respond to this question, so I have assumed that everyone who responded did, but normally, when I ask a question like ‘what’s something about this game that excites you’ and you find a way to structure your answer to be a dunk on the question or complaining about something unrelated, I think of that as not answering the question and not being helpful.

But still, in the sense of completeness we also got:

The game is buggy and I don’t like it

The game didn’t leave an impression on me

I’ve never played the game

And okay, was this what you were expecting? These are all pretty distinct opinions, some fine enough to be about individual mobs in the game, some are about the story structure, some are about vibes of the space, and some are uuuh just about the sheer enjoyment you can get out of shooting racists while high off your face.

Every explanation I’ve heard from trans people about why they personally like Fallout New Vegas has been specifically about liking the game as a game. Not as a piece of Trans Media, something in the canon from some sort of Trans Authority. It’s not even a game with a blatant expression of Trans Rights – you can turn the lens of this game pretty easily to see it making fun of ‘man in a dress’ narratives, if you want. You can play the whole game and never find the character I’m referencing here, which means it’s obviously way less prominent than Cazadores or the Dam or Nuclear Bombs.

This is the middle of the video, and a natural break between its two major thesese, so, in honour of the runner TomatoAnus here, I’d like to say, as he would, that I hope you’re doing well. If you’re not, then please remember, as always, that there is a tomorrow and that no feeling is final.

No matter what’s going on, it cannot take that away from you. How you’re feeling does not define you, and I do know that it feels like what’s going on is all there will ever be. But that isn’t the case. It happens little by little, so small you likely won’t notice day-to-day, but someday in the future you’ll be able to look back and see how far you’ve come.

You’ll see that where you’re at now, well, it’s just that. Where you are, rather than who you are. There is so much more to you than how you’re feeling, and you’re so much stronger than you realize.

Please keep that in mind.

Back to the point about the idea of Fallout New Vegas as a game that has a particular following amongst trans women. See, I think the idea that trans women love Fallout New Vegas is a great opportunity to explain what we call a kind of floating signifier.

A floating signifier is a term for ‘a reference without a referent.’ That is, it’s a term that doesn’t have a specific, actual thing it’s referring to. The easiest example I can point to is money. While we’re probably all familiar with money, there’s nothing that money represents that actually exists. Bills and coins and bank balances all reference money, but those aren’t money; money is a system, a shared fiction that we all accept exists. If everyone tomorrow decided to not partake in the shared, communal idea of money, then nothing disappears – there’s no Money Creature that starves because it’s not getting any fairy dust or belief or something.

That’s not to say a floating signifier is a meaningless term. It’s more like an empty box that we primarily understand because of the things we have put into that box. Even if that box is full of things that doesn’t mean the box has any inherent qualities of its own. When we talk about an elephant for example, elephants are things that exist outside of our human heads, so we can go check and see if an elephant is something. On the other hand, there are a host of very normal human social experiences that we need to refer to for one another, but which have no basis outside of the shared fictional space of Humans Talk About This Thing.

(Like Gender, for example.)

Lots of people like Fallout New Vegas. It’s not a secret mysterious cult hit. It doesn’t need special trans significance to be a beloved game in the trans community. Coming out in the right chunk of time for a community with common interests means that of course a bunch of them would relate to it. Since the game is good, and people like to talk about this game they enjoy, and the game has modding, and the game has a shared common conversation (a discourse), that means you’re inevitably going to get The Trans People Who Like Fallout New Vegas, who talk to one another. They notice it’s a thing, they notice one another, they share common space, and in so doing, a meme forms. You might as well point out the common thread of trans women using Windows 7, because in the same general band of time they probably did.

(Not all trans women run Linux boxes.)

(I mean, of the four I immediately thought of in my friend space, they do. But not all of them.)

The meme that trans women love Fallout New Vegas is based on the meme that trans women love Fallout New Vegas. Stating the meme, sharing the meme, is not about a scientific fact, but rather it’s a matter of representing that you are aware of that meme, just like if someone’s coming up Milhouse. It’s a cultural marker, something that shows that you are in on this specific joke.

Now, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but memes are not particularly complicated things to understand – as a discipline, that is. They’re sticky, which isn’t the same thing as clever. Sometimes people think a meme is like a punchline or an image, but really, what a meme is, is a unit of communication. A meme transmits meaning, and that meaning needs to be shareable. You might already be familiar with some memes like this, such as, y’know, words. The purpose of memes is not to be explanatory in and of themselves, but to be useful for explanation. The fancy term we use for this, in describing a network of memes with related meanings that indicate a communal space, a sort of ‘meme dialect’ that a community holds to, is the word memeplex. A memeplex can be seen as a specific set of memes you get that indicate a shared space of meaning, in almost any fandom.

(In cult studies, they call it ‘distinguishable vernacular!’)

There is another thing here.

It’s what I think of as permissive diagnostics.

The nature of being trans is often an end point of a series of conversations with the self and with others that are entirely about undoing a series of mental hurdles that are meant to stop trans people from considering themselves trans. Some folks have rock-solid ironclad long-term considerations of their gender in one way, but for some folk it’s a lot more complicated.

Maybe you think ‘I would be a trans woman, but’ or ‘I mean, if I was a trans woman I’d be unhappy because I wouldn’t be attractive’ or ‘man, I’m jealous of trans women getting to solve something so simple about themselves,’ and those thoughts are often part of this same trapping matrix of ideas. These are things that trans folk often wind up talking about, after the fact, looking back on themselves later and going, ‘wow, it was really obvious and I didn’t notice, huh?‘

And look.

Maybe there’s no special reason trans women love Fallout New Vegas, but maybe you love Fallout New Vegas because you’re a trans women. And if that sounds like incoherent nonsense to you, then don’t worry about it.

It’s not a message for or about you.

Maybe next time I’ll do a long form video on how Doom Eternal explains the way that so many trans dudes own a short-sleeved collared blue shirt with a repeating pattern of small white dots on it.

If you made it to the end of this video, thank you so much and also thank you especially to TomatoAnus who gave me permission to use this footage without knowing if I’d do a good job of this video or not. I’ve been a fan of his channel for years and even copying his scripts like this as a bit is a reminder of how thoughtfully put together his work is and the level of attention to detail he takes in delivering excellent explainers.

If Fallout New Vegas speedruns interest you at all, or speedrun explainers do, you should check out his channel, and if being trans is a thing that interests you, you should check out your local informed consent clinic, and seek out your nearby queer community because we all need to stand together these days.

And a huge thank you to my Patrons for helping make this video possible. My Patrons don’t get anything at all out of being my Patrons which is why it’s so amazing to me that they bother to spend any money to encourage me to keep doing the things I do on the internet to give them things to read and watch in the moments before the workday really kicks in and nobody notices them scrolling on their phone having a coffee.

I know that things are super uncertain right now though, so please don’t feel compelled to support.

It’s greatly appreciated but not at all necessary.

And that’s what makes you all so so special.

Thank you all, truly.

That’s all for this video though.

This was a video article about Trans Women and Fallout New Vegas and you learned the word memeplex and the term floating signifier, all told in the style of Tomatoanus. I’ve been Talen Lee, and I hope you have an above average day.

[clockworksheep2]

i am happy! but somebody is so very not!! and it is very confusing!!!

[luvmahae]

where you are ‣ lee haechan smau

summary: what the absolute fuck is up baby! fall semester marks the peak of greek life at ncu. the campus quad is filled with tents representing various fraternities and sororities with their letters proudly presented in front of each booth, all eager to recruit new members. as students return to campus, they are met with a flood of fliers and invitations to parties, mixers, and rush events. while you were walking through the crowd of eager freshmen to join these organizations, you bumped into someone very unexpected...

what do you do when you bump into the guy you hooked up with after a music festival during summer break? instead of the royal blue basketball jersey you first met him in, it was replaced by a varsity jacket with the letters reading "ΝΧΘ".

"haechan?"

pairing: fratboy!haechan x fem!reader

genre: smau, non-idol au, college au, fluff, nsfw/suggestive (mdni!) comedy, humor, slight slowburn, strangers to lovers, rave bae core? (am i in love with you or is it just the drugs?)

warnings: mentions of alcohol/substance usage (marijuana, mdma/ecstasy, lsd, cocaine), profanity, jokes about sex and death thrown around, both groups are out of pocket and tmi doesn't exist apparently... no ones safe! the boys gc is kinda questionable (this is where i say men deserve no rights!), haechan x reader met at an edm festival (the term rave bae will be said here and there. rave bae is someone you meet unexpectedly while raving, kinda like your temporary s/o for the duration of the rave or festival... smth like that!) disclaimer notice: these portrayals are fictional and are not intended to encourage or glamorize substance use.

playlist: where you are - john summit | club classics - charli xcx | intimidated - kaytranada, h.e.r. | high and i like it - it's murph, evalyn | what a life - john summit, stevie appleton | saving up - dom dolla | talk talk - charli xcx, troye sivan | mr useless - shygirl, sg lewis, club shy | atmosphere - fisher, kita alexander | thinking about you - calvin harris, ayah marar | gas pedal remix - john summit, subtronics, tape b, sage the gemini

notes: omg!!! my first post ever... honestly i've been debating to do this for a long time... now here i am :D ngl i lowkey based this off a personal experience (i am a changed woman now okay... spare me! 😭) my first lil fic dedicated to haechan!!! the playlist is highly edm biased with a sprinkle of brat. i just think it fits the vibe so well hehe. open to feedback and enjoy!!! ♡

status: ongoing!

taglist: closed!

profiles: live laugh love y/n (1), john summit fanboys (2)

intro: so.... edc next year?

one: comedown

two: wtf is college

three: boutta fuckin jump (written)

four: y/n’s eras tour

five: is my brain braining?

six: heyyyyyy 👀

seven: i know what u are…

eight: tequila ftw (written)

nine: ot3 timeout

ten: i want u 😩

eleven: drunk olympics

twelve: stuDYING

thirteen: agram 🙏😭

fourteen: gn haechan (written)

fifteen: team y/n

sixteen: options

seventeen: u did ur big one 😞

eighteen: h for harry styles

nineteen: kms postponed! (written)

twenty: haechan x y/n crumbs

twenty-one: how tf we feelin (written)

twenty-two: use protection 😏

twenty-three: missed connection

twenty-four: shhhh 🤫

twenty-five: enemies to lovers trope

twenty-six: #fomo

twenty-seven:

twenty-eight:

twenty-nine:

thirty:

[enwoso]

lovie as a newborn and just cute moments with alessia

moments with you | alessia russo x child!reader

nine cute little moments with lovie as a newborn/baby

grumpy masterlist

1. middle of the night talks.

— it was the middle of the night, 3:42am to be precise and alessia was busy pacing her bedroom as she rocked you gently in her arms, hoping it would lull you into sleep.

the soft glow of the nightlight casted a warm hue over the room, the only sound in the room was alessia's quiet shushing noises as she swayed from side to side.

"listen little one," alessia whispered, resting her cheek against your tiny head. "i love you more than anything but i need you to sleep."

your little lips smacked together, your body still fidgeting in your mummy's arms.

"i know, i know, it's a big scary world," alessia sighed rubbing soothing patterns on your back, "but lovie, i haven't had a solid four hours of sleep since your arrived. help me out?"

you responded with a soft whimper, burying your face deeper in your mummy's chest. alessia let out a tried chuckle, "you're lucky you're the cutest thing ever."

finally your tiny breaths evened out and alessia sat back down in the bed and your arms still wrapped protectively around you.

even in the exhaustion that was definitely piling up since you'd arrive just a little less than three weeks ago, there was something so peaceful about it. just the two of you in the little word, awake while everyone slept.

"you and me, baby," she whispered. "always."

—

2. facetime chaos.

you were curled up on your mummy's chest, your tiny body wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket as alessia propped her phone up against a pillow. her screen lighting up with a facetime call and soon, a chorus of excited voices filled the room.

"can we see her? let us see her!" ella shouted practically shoving millie out of her way just to get closer to the screen.

"chill guys!" alessia laughed, picking her phone up and turning the camera so the girls could see you, as you slept through the chaos.

"oh my days," katie breathed out as her hand went over her mouth, "she's so small"

"she's perfect less," maya beamed in awe, her eyes wide and filled with joy.

you stirred slightly, making a small noise as you cozied back into your mummy's arms. the noise making the whole group melting.

"less, you have to bring her to a match," millie said all the girls cheering in agreement as alessia smiled before adding that they'll have to wait till you were a little bit older.

"she needs her own tiny united kit too!" one of the girls piped up as a smirk appeared on alessia's face as they began to bicker about what name that you should have on the back of your tiny shirt.

"oh i already have one," alessia grinned, "she's gonna be the cutest mascot in history with the number twenty three!"

ella leaned closer to the screen, "little one, open your eyes if you wanna come live with auntie tooney."

you moved slightly but other than that you remained completely unfazed still fast asleep as small snores come from you.

"i think that's a no.." alessia grinned as the girls burst into laughter and for the first time in weeks since you had arrived, alessia felt like herself again.

sure, she was exhausted and her life had completely and utterly changed but for the best possible reason - but some things like her team and the love they shared for one another stayed exactly the same.

and now, she had you to share it with.

—

3. bath disaster.

alessia had seen plenty of videos on how to bathe a newborn, had advice from her midwife and her mum but none of them prepared her for how slippery a tiny wriggly newborn could be.

"alright lovie, this is supposed to be relaxing," alessia murmured as she gently lowered you into the warm water in your small baby tub.

your little arms flailed around as your face scrunched up as if you were considering whether to cry or not.

"it's okay," alessia soothed, cupping water over your belly and for a second it seemed like you were getting used to it, that you actually liked it but then suddenly you let out an ear piercing wail.

"oh no, no" alessia panicked slightly as she adjusted her grip, "lovie i swear i'm not trying to drown you!"

your tiny hands grasped at the air as your face turned bright red as you screamed.

"okay, bath times over," alessia announced as she lifted you out of the bath and quickly into a fluffy towel. "think that was a little traumatic for both of us, eh?"

you sniffled, still fussing as alessia sat on the floor of the bathroom, the same old hoodie which had baby milk and other days old stains on it as she brought you close into her chest rocking you gently.

"see? all good now," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your damp forehead as your body still shook slightly from your sniffles as your cries got quiter.

not even two seconds late, just as alessia was finally calming herself down, you seemingly over the whole bath thing as you peed all over the clean towel.

"yeah, okay," alessia groaned slightly, the joys of motherhood, as she shook her head slightly. "next time, nonna is doing this-"

—

4. watching football together

it had been weeks since alessia had even thought about football properly. of course it had been there but for once it wasn't the forefront of her mind.

she missed it, missed the pitch, the team, the rush of playing but for right now her world revolved around you and soaking up as many firsts with her first born as she could. knowing these moments would form core memories.

but still she figured it was never too early to introduce you to the game.

getting herself comfy on the sofa as she settled you on her chest, facing the tv. the women's super league match on the big screen and the match was no other than — united vs arsenal.

"okay, lovie this is important," alessia whispered as she ran her fingers lightly over your back. "you gotta know the game if your gonna be the next best thing!"

you let out a tiny sigh, your small warm body relaxed against your mummy. no doubt as you were moments away from falling asleep.

"see, that's auntie mary in goal — best in the world and there's auntie tooney but don't ever listen to her when she tells you she's better than me!"

your hand twitched slightly and alessia chuckled, "you agree, don't you?"

for a little while, alessia just lay with you content in her arms as she stroked a thumb over the back of your hair, smoothing down the small baby hairs sticking up on the back of your head.

the quiet sounds of the game playing in the background as you eventually dozed off, completely content.

alessia smiled down at you, pressing her lips to the top of your head. "one day you'll be watching me out there again," she whispered, "and i hope i make you proud."

—

5. sleepy cuddles

it had been another long night. you'd been up every two hours, fussing and crying and alessia was running on fumes.

she lay on the back of the sofa, her body aching and mind foggy. you were finally asleep resting on your mummy's chest as your tiny fingers curled onto alessia's shirt.

alessia knew she could put you down in your crib and use this time to rest herself, have some time to herself but she couldn't bring herself to move.

instead she just tightened her arms around you and closed her eyes, as she listened to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

"one day you won't need to hold you like this," she whispered as she pressed a sleepy kiss to your forehead. "so i'm gonna hold you as much as i can now."

and with that, she left herself drift off, wrapped up in the safest place she knew — right there with her little girl.

—

6. family time with a side of chaos

it was the first proper family dinner since you'd arrived into the big world and as much as alessia loved her family she was starting to regret it.

her dad, mario was in the kitchen debating with her brother, giorgio about which way was the best way to cook pasta while luca was arguing with their younger cousins over who would be your favourite uncle.

meanwhile you, who was completely oblivious to everything going on as you were curled up in your car seat in a deep sleep.

alessia leaned back taking a sip of her water bottle, shaking her head slightly. "she can sleep through all this but wakes up the moment i put her in her crib at home?"

alessia's dad appeared beside her, placing a plate in front of her. "she's got italian in her less, she's already used to the noise." alessia just laughed as she picked up her fork.

as dinner was well under way, you'd woken up as you sat in your mummy's lap. brightly curious eyes looked around the dinner table as luca began to speak.

"right little one, time for your initiation!" luca smiled as alessia's head turned her brows raised in curiosity, wondering what it was.

"which is?"

her brothers as well as her parents all grinned the same smirk all on there lips as you sat curious and oblivious to everything going on around you.

gio help up a tiny baby spoon, "her first taste of pasta sauce!"

alessia's eyes went wide as she looked at the spoon which had a small amount of sauce on the spoon, a loud gasp leaving alessia's lips, "absolutely not!"

luca pouted, "oh cmon less, just a little-"

alessia stood firm, she hadn't realised they were just joking. "i will fight you." she warned, sending her brothers a warning glare.

luca sighed dramatically but leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead as your curious eyes watched everyone movements. "okay, but when she's older, i'm teaching her how to make proper pasta!"

alessia's mum, carol smirked, "not if i teach her first!"

alessia shook her head, but the smile that was presence on her lips won't go away. you may not of understood anything but you'd been born into a family that loved fiercely, argued loudly but would always, always have your back.

and really, what more could she ask for?

—

7. a typical sunday

sunday morning had always been slow and cozy in the russo househould. music would be playing in the kitchen as the smell of fresh coffee and toast filled the air.

everyone lazing around in their pyjamas long past breakfast and now with you in the mix, it was even better.

alessia sleepily shuffled into the kitchen, you tucked into her arms. her mum was already at the coffee machine placing alessia's cup near it as her dad sat at the table reading yet another sports magazine.

"morning" alessia yawned, using one hand to rub her eyes while the other kept a tight grip on you.

mario looked up from his reading and grinned, "morning, you two" he reached over rubbing a gentle hand over the top of your head, "did you let mummy sleep?"

alessia let out a tired laugh, "not even a little bit."

luca and gio walked in next, still both half asleep, but the second there eyes saw you, they perked up sighing a second.

"alright, give her here," luca smiled holding out his hands.

alessia hesitated as she looked down at your comfy position in her arms, "i literally just got her to settle."

giorgio just smirked, his quick mind thinking of a smart retort, "she just likes us better, just admit it!"

but before alessia could protest, luca carefully took you from the comfort of your mummy's arms and into his as he cradled you from side to side. you barely stirred as your tiny fingers grasped into his hoodie.

"your joking," alessia's groaned, "why does she always sleep for you lot?"

you mum chuckled, placing a hot cup of much needed coffee on the table for alessia, "cause she knows she had all of us wrapped around her little finger!"

alessia shook her head, she couldn't fight the warmth which spread through her chest. she looked around at her family.

her brother bickering over who would get to hold you next as her dad still stared at his granddaughter like she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever laid eyes on. as her mum watched over them all with a knowing smile.

—

8. first time at the theatre of dreams

alessia hadn't made her return to the pitch just yet, but she was close. close enough that she was itching to be able to lace her boots up again.

for now though, she was in the stands with you watching as united took on chelsea under the bright lights of old trafford.

you were bundled in a warm red jacket, and matching red hat covering your soft hair and your own little pair of ear defenders to keep out the loud noises. your own little united kit on underneath your full body jacket which kept you warm under the chilled air of manchester.

alessia held you close, whispering the commentary into your ear. "there's mary, in goal - she'll make sure you never see a bad keeper in your life" alessia whispered as mary made a diving save.

"and there tooney - she's basically mummy's right hand but she can be a little silly but we love her anyway!"

you just yawned, unimpressed. alessia laughed, as she tucked another blanket around the two of you. "you're gonna love it here, baby i promise."

as the final whistle blew and the score ended level. alessia feeling a rush of emotions. emotions she'd missed while being out. but soon she'd be back out there again and this time she'd have someone extra special watching from the stands.

—

9. first time watching mummy play

alessia knew you would never remember it but she would, she would never forget it. her first game for united back playing football.

the roar of the crowd as the adrenaline filled her body as she was back on the pitch. and then after the final whistle she spotted her family in the stands.

you were bundled up in a tiny red united beanie one that had been specially made just for you as you were fast asleep in your nonna's arms.

alessia's heart clenched. she jogged over her body tired and breathless as she leaned over the barrier a big smile back on her face. "she seriously slept through my whole comeback?"

carol just laughed, "less she's just a baby. she doesn't understand what's going on!"

alessia shook her head but she was still smiling, nothing could stop her from doing that. "unbelievable."

she reached out and over the barrier as she brushed a gentle hand over your little cheek. one day, alessia would tell you all about it. but for now it was more than enough to know her little girl had been there.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[kindsail]

TAKE A BITE OF THE BIG APPLE. HOGWARTS INTRO!

SO I CRY, ONLY IN THE RAIN!

I. BEFORE THE GIRL!

once upon a time, in the aristocratic house of black, cygnus and druella black brought a set of twins into the world; narcissa and cassian black. taught the philosophy of blood purity from a young age, cassian grew up empathetic of those who weren't pure bloods. so, when his favourite sister, andromeda, married a muggle-born, cassian, alongside his two other sisters, were forced into disowning her. however, he secretly made efforts to stay in brief contact with her.

unlike the rest of his family, who had all been sorted into slytherin, cassian was sorted into gryffindor during the sorting ceremony of '66. this came as a shock to his family, who were angered greatly as it showed his true nature; that his views had already diverged from the rest of his family.

cassian was the first of the black family to not be sorted into slytherin.

during his first year at hogwarts, cassian met liliane monet. born to muggle-parents, michel and colette monet, in bordeaux, france, they relocated to wales when liliane was six. at hogwarts, she was sorted into gryffindor and quickly distinguished herself as a talented potioneer. her skill caught the eye of professor horace slughorn, who invited her to join the exclusive slug club.

due to liliane being a muggle-born, and after witnessing the disownment of his elder sister, they married in secret and began their new life together in hiding. they settled in a small town on the outskirts of devon named ebonmere, where cassian stayed in limited contact with his relatives.

II. MEET THE GIRL!

dear diary,

is that how i'm supposed to start this thing off? meh. it's now september 1st, 1993, and i start my first day of fifth year today. i guess i should give a little introduction on myself... just so you're aware for future reference.

okay, so, i, sorana lenore black, was born on february 14th, 1978. my mum, liliane monet-turned-black, was in labour for 12 hours!!! i know. insane. she said i was adorable as a baby and that she couldn't bring herself to care about the nine months of absolute torture i put her through, that's pretty privilege for you.

so basically... my family have a lot of errr history. specifically my dad's family. the black family aka a large group of stuck up pure blood cunts oops it'd be best if i scribbled that out. anyways. they hate muggle-borns, half-bloods.. ... anything that they're not; pure-blooded and rich. and well, my mother is a muggle-born witch.

i know, my dad is suchhh a rebel for going against his family!!!

anywho. my life has been pretty average if you block out the part where my dad's elder sister, bellatrix, found out about me and my brother and my mother and my dad's secret life and well.. came to kill us. she didn't succeed, clearly. the duel ended with no fatal casualties thankfully, but my dad was formally and officially disowned.

which is what he was avoiding because helloooo generational money!!!

but of course, they found out about us.

sooo we're not rich or anything. which sucks. but i guess we're kind of lucky because my dad has a decent job at the ministry and my mum is a potion archivist and magical flora specialist (pretty cool if you ask me!) so we're not poor to the point of struggling. my mum calls us "middle-class" whatever that means.

a few cool facts about me, now that we've discussed the elephant in the room...

1 . i'm president of the fashion club at hogwarts.

2 . i’ve memorised half the castle’s secret passages.

3 . i have a ferret named button.

andddd

4 . i'm a gryffindor like my parents.

anyway. gotta go now. mum's shouting at silas and i to get in the car.

don't worry. i'll pack you, keep your bloody knickers on.

[ynnova]

ATEEZ ‘ WHO HAS THE FACE TO BECOME KING ’

y/n moments from ateez's video celebrating their 6th anniversary by visiting a fortune teller.

[ hongjoong's fortune reading ]

"there's four members who want to take your leader position."

everyone immediately started laughing

fortune teller listing them off: yunho, mingi, jongho, y/n

y/n: haha, me? *points finger at herself*

[your name is y/n so yes]

hongjoong: y/n!?

fortune teller: y/n is probably the most likely along with yunho to try and take your position. she's very strong-headed and is also able to make decision that others would struggle with.

y/n: i do?

wooyoung: you tell me what to do all the time 🤨

y/n: that's because you like being ordered around 😑

for the rest of the video, the members would jokingly call you leader y/n (or leader-noona by jongho) as way to poke fun at both you and hongjoong

[ yunho's fortune reading ]

during yunho's turn he would ask who he is and isn't compatible with

fortune teller: seonghwa and y/n

everyone is shocked to hear both you and seonghwa named

the other members joking that seonghwa was now double crowned as non-compatible with first mingi and now yunho

fortune teller: you and y/n have such strong energies that you both go almost too well together that it can also make the two of you butt heads.

y/n: yunho, you led me down a wrong path 😆

[ wooyoung's fortune reading ]

fortune teller: wooyoung is compatible with y/n

everyone busted out laughing at the fortune teller's words

you on the other hand rolled your eyes while wooyoung grinned

wooyoung: i told you we were soulmates!

y/n: whatever 🙄

fortune teller: the two of you work well together and often feed off each other. being able to go back and forth and be comfortable with one another.

seonghwa: they always manage to be the loudest in the room when left together

[hyperactive #1 and hyperactive #2]

fortune teller: i wouldn't say you two are soulmates but you do manage to always find each other even in different lives

y/n: i'm never escaping jung wooyoung. yeosang, is this what you felt when he joined kq with you?

yeosang nods, eye wide in a 'save me' type of way making you laugh

wooyoung: hush!

the camera would zoom in on you [never escaping wooyoung]

after wooyoung's reading, he stood up and took the seat next to you and to tease you further wooyoung hugged you before kissing your cheek.

y/n: ugh! 😒

wooyoung: 😁

[ y/n's fortune reading ]

when it came time to read your fortune, you were ready to hear what the man had to say to you

fortune teller: you have a strong passion for making emotional connections, but aren't always sure how to go about it. it takes time and you're often afraid of making new relationships.

[someone who is takes her time in making relationships]

yunho: i remember y/n always being shy when you first joined, it took awhile before she warmed up to me and hongjoong-hyung

fortune teller: you want strong emotional bonds with the people you see as close. your energy is also very strong, often connecting items with the people around you; imprinting memories on things and having strong attachments to material items.

wooyoung: he's talking about all your figurines!

seonghwa leans over and smacks wooyoung's arm

you couldn't help but feel shy at the fortune tellers words, knowing that you are attached to all your little trinkets in some way or another

[trinket girl is shy about her trinkets]

fortune teller: you also often second-guess your decisions...

y/n: a while ago i had wondered if being an idol was something that i was born to do. questioning if the group needed me in order to succeed

you could see the other members looking at you with soft gazes, the teasing mood going a little somber at your confession

hongjoong: that's not even something to wonder about, ateez is ateez because of all nine of us

[captain hongjoong reassures his member]

fortune teller: becoming a celebrity was something you were born to do. you were born to lead people even if not directly.

[y/n is a natural-born celebrity]

wooyoung: our supernova! 😆

y/n: who am i compatible with the most?

fortune teller: you have a strong bond with all your members, but you are the most compatible with one member specifically

jongho: leader-noona is special~

fortune teller: this member understands you on a more emotional level that the others can

mingi: i wonder who it is?

fortune teller: san – the two of you have a unique connection that allows the two of you to communicate and understand one another. san often offering a nurturing nature which helps you feel connected to him.

[the two lovebirds are made for each other]

hongjoong: who is she least compatible with?

fortune teller: she's the least compatible with one member, only because they sometimes struggle to see eye-to-eye when it comes to what they want.

wooyoung: who is it?

fortune teller: hongjoong

everyone was SHOOK because you and hongjoong have such a close relationship

fortune teller: a lot of it comes from hongjoong's struggle to communicate things and y/n's need for wanting emotional connections. you both also struggle with always being putting the other first before yourself which can cause some miscommunication between you two.

seonghwa: so they're stubborn about the other?

[the two of them have a strong bond but are stubborn]

y/n: hongjoong-oppa stresses me out sometimes

[hongjoong the stress bringer]

fortune teller: i think moving forward, you need to make sure to voice your feelings and thoughts more with your members in order to strengthen your bonds with them even more.

y/n: i will, thank you

[ ending ]

yunho: is there a king among our members?

the fortune teller goes around telling each member who they would have been in a past life

fortune teller: y/n has the face of a king. she has the ability to lead people without even trying and could easily step into a leadership role if needed.

[y/n the queen of ateez]

yunho: that's why she's good at bossing us around

y/n: someone has to do it!

OUTFIT :

inspired by ateezjuliet

note: just something quick in order to go with ateez's 6th anniversary! thought the video was fun and wanted to put you into the mix of it 😆 also, who's excited for the comeback 🤩 excited to have y/n and the blog go through their first official comeback haha! thanks for reading!

[marithempressz]

What are your hidden powers?

For today’s reading I’ll be using a deck with brazilian divine beings, they’re called Orixás, you’re all welcome to know these gods. This is a collective reading, so just take what resonates.

Pile 1 - Tiger's eye Pile 2 - Moonstone Pile 3 - Blue Agate

Pile 1

Nine of Wands, The Judgement

Ogum

You have the power to survive the cold, I feel high perseverance,  a warm heart and great courage. I see a reindeer(deers are also relevant, but because reindeers survive in the cold and I also saw antlers, I thought reindeers make more sense, but take what resonates).  It feels like royalty, this group has a certain ease to lead. Wisdom. You might be a loner, didn't find your people yet, still figuring it out, but we both know that you’ll definitely succeed. Don’t worry too much if you’re right or wrong in your path, walk through it with your heart and you’ll find out what’s right for you. You don’t seem to be frightened by the future, but you seem to be tired of being so perseverant. You might ask yourself if there’s more of life than just fighting battles.

The reindeer’s antlers are like a crown and are also a manifestation of wisdom, for me it looks like a tree’s root, but growing upwards as a crown, the fact that it comes out of their head and it’s a bone structure seems to be a sign of sagacity and experience. They’re also mammals, they have warm hearts and survive cold environments.

Aries, Leo or Sagittarius. Your hidden powers might not be that hidden lol. Everything that’s connected to fire always erupts in a way or another, don’t try to hide that away. There’s intelligence here for sure and great personalities, you’re here to accomplish great things and do great things, no matter how small your step is right now, in the future, things will have grown so much you won’t even notice. You have the hidden power to end cycles, to know and to spread the truth, your path is important to be walked, don’t hide away, you’re supposed to face it, you have the capacity to face it. People will be grateful for you, you’ll help many people doing the things you are meant to do.

War is a theme here, but as I said, you might ask yourself when will life stop tasting like a fight, a battle. This is definitely to be healed, but war might have taught you to not give up and to not abandon yourself. Meditate upon this. I heard something about “you’re fighting the wrong battle”, this fire you hold is being put in the wrong direction, you are supposed to use your wisdom and know where to put your sacred energy.

Ogum, in Brazil, is a divine being that’s related to war and iron. He’s a very fiery God, needs constant movement, he opens the way and leads people so they can walk through it. He’s strong and fierce. There’s an energy here about building things out of nowhere, a great hidden power also related to perseverance; from where people least expect, something big and powerful can arise.  

Pile 2

The Knight of Swords, Two of Swords, The Star

Logun Edé

Water, waterfalls, flowers, femininity. The night time, the moon. This is my psychic pile, girly girls who are probably Cancers or have prominent Cancer in their natal chart. Delicate and soft, so fragile. There it is, your hidden power is being vulnerable to your feelings and respecting your emotions, your fantasies and dreams. It feels like a “silent” power, the opposite of Pile 1, which is a more obvious and aggressive manifestation of it. For Pile 2 people here are dreamy and just so cute, like a disney princess or something, talking to nature and animals, the world feels magical, full of mysteries to be uncovered.

I saw in the cards something about divorced parents, as if all this chaos resulted in you, as a child, having to forget everything that was going on in the external world and creating this dreamy personality(a certain appeal to illusions in the negative way). This pile is also screaming to me how our biggest wounds can also be our biggest powers(that when we heal them properly). People here could also be ignoring some situations, maybe their feelings, because they’re afraid of how big these emotions are. Take some quiet time to just feel it, they won’t hurt, they’re just feelings. Air and Water are very present, see how similar they can be, these elements are free, we can’t lock it, we can’t have it just for us, they're supposed to flow freely, with no attachments; now, you can apply the same perspective to your emotional field. It’s free to flow, no judgments, no limits.

Logun Edé follows the same nature, they don’t seem to have a gender, some stories tell they flow from gender to another. Another hidden power of yours must be flexibility. Logun is also ruled by water, they rule prosperity, wealth and beauty. Balance. They’re hunters in the forest, they carry a bow and arrow; with the swords cards there’s a suggestion of fierceness, standing to one’s self. Highly intuitive. You might have a connection to seahorses.

Pile 3

The Magician, Seven of Wands, Page of Swords

Iansã

The way you use your words. Speech. Witty. Practicality. You know words hold magic, “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." It seems that you know how to come up with some good arguments in a discussion or maybe you are not aware of that yet. It’s easy for you to play with your imagination and in a way you know that “playing” with these scenarios will bring them into reality. You like things fast and in your way. There’s also a connection with scents in here, you might like perfumes, things that smell good and a very sensitive nose. I’m getting people from this pile have a big personality, like their opinion might have some weight, might be important in a way for a group of people or maybe you have an “influencer” personality, people around you take your opinions as something important.

Because of how much people care with your opinions, you probably are in a high place in your life, this is not necessarily about work, there’s just this thing of being “big” and important. You probably are in a high spiritual level of consciousness, the Magician card is giving this confirmation, you know something most people don’t…

You might not have much tolerance, because you always want things in your way and usually people are a distraction for your plans, so you prefer doing things alone. Very independent.

Iansã is a boss bitch, she’s the type of woman that prefers to conquer her stuff, her house and money. She works really hard. It’s said that she rules storms, lightning and the winds, a pretty seductive woman. If I were to describe her energy I would probably say she’s an Aries woman. Have you seen Lady Gaga? Unstoppable. She’s eager to conquer everything she desires.

[reborn-readings]

What does your voice need from you at this moment?

Tip Jar | Masterlist | Personal Readings

Hello hello! Back with a new Pick a Pile, the second one in my 'needs from you' series, this time focused on steps you can take to heal your voice 💙

This is a group reading, so take what resonates and leave the rest. Don't force anything if it does not fit. Remember that the future is not set in stone and that other potential paths exist depending on your movement through the course of time.

Pile 1 (Left)

King of Pentacles | The Lovers | Eight of Coins – Ganesha | Rx Nine of Pentacles | Ace of Autumn | Citrine – Abundance | Power | Wisdom – Asking Questions 

This is an odd pile to start out with in the context of this being a spread about your voice. In this spread, I see you doing more than telling or saying. I see you as someone with a mastery over money, a willingness to train and grow, maybe to the point of your own detriment, and someone with a lot of impact and opportunity. But what I don’t see is recognition. 

In traditional Ride-Waite-Smith tarot, the journey of the pentacles is not complete until we recognize and enjoy the fruits of our labor and pass them on to the people we love. I see some blocked energy when it comes to this. The cycle is not complete without play and recognition. You are a very hard worker, but you are not being recognized for it. 

Is there a person in your life who’s driving you away from your due reward? If so, you should look deeply at your relationship with this person. They may not be doing this on purpose, but it is starting to wear you out. You are a powerful person, and they know it, so maybe it’s difficult to be frank and honest with them when it comes across as intimidating to them. But your voice wants you to know that you are sacrificing it to keep the peace. It wants you to ask earnest questions, to seek to connect, to understand and be understood at an even pace. You will not have the answer to every question, and you will learn to live with that, but right now, questions and answers are the bridges that you build using your voice to access a better life. 

Other messages - New opportunities abound, though you may not see them yet. Take a break. Gather your inner strength. If there’s someone you trust to mediate, pull them in. You are guarded. You are secure. Trust me. 

Symbols - The four elements. White dragon. Lemons. Spiting your face for others. Sitting on a couch at night. Overextended favors.

Pile 2 (Middle)

Nine of Wands | Rx Strength | Five of Coins – Lucifer | Ten of Cups | Six of Summer | Clear Quartz – Peace | Friendship | Grief – Accepting Loss 

My friend, Pile 2, I could feel the lump in your throat from the moment I drew the first card. Life is heavy right now. Not just heavy with grief or sorrow, but also heavy with joy. Does that make sense? There is so…much...going on right now. There are areas of your life where you feel exuberant, euphoric, absolutely bursting with joy, as if you’re a child frolicking through a field of flowers, barreling through the woods in full summer foliage. There are other parts of you that are choked with grief, areas of your life that perhaps you miss, what feels like holes in you from past events. You don’t feel like you’re strong enough to contain all of this, am I right? 

I ask you this: why do humans have strength? Why can we hold only so much? Why can we lift some burdens and not others? Why, after carrying what was easy for a long time, does it suddenly become difficult? Whatever the answer may be, burdens are meant to eventually be set aside, though it may feel heartbreaking to let go. And your voice is a wonderful conduit to take what you carry inside you and set it down in the outside world, whether that be in the ears of others or muffled into your pillow at night. 

Your voice wants you to let the waters loose. It may feel overwhelming, like a flood, at first, but soon, with proper care given to your voice, it will feel like a babbling brook snaking its way through you, carrying out what no longer helps you. The only way to get rid of the dirty water is to let the faucet go for a bit. This will help you feel better, let you think more clearly, and ease the burdens in your heart. 

Don’t be afraid to be still for a while. Don’t get so caught up in life that you miss what it feels like to become relieved and at peace. Those are experiences just like everything else. Strive for balance, but don’t strive too hard. Pay attention to your emotions and your expression and, over time, they will lead you along the right way. 

Other messages - Keep friends who care for you close and let other relationships go. In stillness the answer will be revealed. Major FOMO vibes – enjoy what you can in the moment. 

Symbols - Pale snow. Watercolor. A basket full of something that you’d carry in a grocery store? Going out with your friends. Magic show.

Pile 3 (Right)

Nine of Cups | Queen of Wands | Nurturer of Coins – Khem/Min/Khemnu | King of Swords | Four of Autumn | Red Aventurine – Journey | Faith | The General of Knowledge 

I have to say, Pile 3, in all my years of tarot, I’ve never pulled a spread and so quickly went ‘Wow. This person really has their life together!’ I get ‘cool’ vibes from you. The kind of person always showing up in daring but trendsetting outfits, never afraid to speak their minds, someone who people naturally gravitate toward even if they’re too cool to be seen hanging out with any old Joe off the street. 

Yet I can tell that you feel like something is missing, and I can tell you what it is. You’re smart as a whip and about as gentle as one too, someone who knows how to make their way through life in a calm and clean manner, and someone who knows how to be hot and passionate when it’s called for, but there’s a distinct lack of fulfillment in the emotional department. You are a fortress standing tall on a hill, but when you look down and see the trees bunched up together to make a forest, you wonder if maybe you’re doing something wrong by being solitary. If you already have it made, are you missing out on the pleasure of making? 

Of course, it might feel awful to think about showing this to anyone. It would tarnish your shine. And you don’t know if you could ever work your way back from that. But there is a transformative power in you. You can take any shape you please and guide others to be the best that they can be as well. You just have to have faith in yourself. 

Your voice is the tool you can use to help others. And when you help others, you earn their respect and they will help you in turn. Everybody loves a role model, a helper, but they also love to be useful in return. If you open yourself up to the people knocking on the door of your soul, you will find a menagerie of polite houseguests who can help you find that missing piece. 

Telling the truth doesn’t always mean sitting down and making a big show of it. Sometimes it can be something quiet and intimate, a true, one=on-one connection that fulfills you. I see you forging some genuine and mutually beneficial contacts with others. You, despite and because of your talent, are a part of the world. Come live in it! 

Other messages - Find a balance. Spirit is guiding you. Look for the most obvious solution.  

Symbols - Hands in the mud. A distinctive stud earring. Gentleness. Cherry. A thick coat. Many, many animals showing up—swan, butterfly, seabirds, big and small cats, farm animals. Something having to do with heat and hoarding.

If this was helpful, please consider donating and/or getting a personal reading💙

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[sillywizardman]

HI!!! After finishing Disco Elysium I wanted to read Sacred and Terrible Air, but there were two issues:

1. It’s not officially released in English

2. I don’t like staring at pdfs!

So I did what any sane person would do. That is take three days of my life printing and binding it.

TRANSLATION (“thank you Group Ibex” we all say in unison!):

PROCESS PICS:

I apologize in advance for anyone who has experience in this sort of thing this is so botched.

I have NEVER done anything like this before, I don’t even read books on my own volition, but if the Disco fixation wants me to learn how to sew and bookbind I’ll do that.

Four of the signatures above. There were nine total, eight of them with 8 sheets/32 pages and the last was five sheets I think. Threw the pdf into adobe acrobat and went straight to printing with those settings and the “booklet” option enabled.

Pricked holes through each signature! Used thumbtacks and a piece of foam I scavenged from my room, worked out great. It’s probably also worth mentioning I do not have a bone folder, book press, or any of the other fancy schmancy bookbinding tools. Flattened the pages with a pencil and pressed with D&D books…

SEWING TIME. I have never sewn in my life. My success in this regard can be majorly attributed to Sea Lemon on youtube, particularly this tutorial:

The process from printing to finishing sewing the signatures took ~8 hours. Now we hit our first roadblock, I had no glue for the spine! After going to sleep and waiting what felt like ages (literally 10 hours or so) before I was free to visit a craft store, I tried to find PVA glue because that’s what you’re supposed to use I think?? Yeah. They were out of PVA glue and my impatient ass got mod podge.

‘Tis glued! As you can see I added cardstock to the ends. Joyous day.

Also, you see that sketchbook in the pic? Yeah? You see that lovely cardboard?

It is now the cover. Rest in piss bristol sketchpad backing.

———

EDIT: I see a bunch of people want to attempt this so here’s a video on how to make the hardcover: https://youtu.be/Av_rU-yOPd4?si=7T5zgVJGAfPFBxn-

I didn’t use any measurements or advice from it but it’s a good reference for when it comes to assembling the cover from ~3:50 onwards. The boards are same size as your text block pages and spine, I think I made the cover width a bit longer just in case it doesn’t cover the text block though. Do not do this with the spine, I regret it.

And note, this is NOT a tutorial, it is the process of someone who got a bit too silly and decided to bind a book, obviously do your own research lol. Don’t be afraid to try it though, it’s surprisingly simple!

———

… So, now that’s done! I swore to myself I wouldn’t start reading SATA/PJÕL until I finished this project completely, meaning I’ll be doing that now yippee :]

[harrygoeswest]

Secret Santa

At your yearly Secret Santa draw at work, you draw Harry's name.

Terms and conditions (TWs): a lot bit sweet and a little bit spicy. Penetration not included.

Word Count: 7,999

A/N: Hello hellooooo. Look at me posting a Christmas fic on the 1st December! I've been feeling very Christmassy this year so if I can get my shit together there will hopefully be another, totally unrelated, one in a couple of weeks time. Love you all, and thank you for always coming back when I decide to post something <3

~~~

“Alright, everyone gather ‘round.”

I look up over the top of my cubicle to the common area. Charles, the office manager, is standing on the coffee table—that is unlikely to hold his weight for much longer—with a plastic bowl in hand and a cheap Santa hat on his big bald head. It’s not even the end of November yet.

And yes, we do have to call him Charles. Not Charlie, because ‘adding one extra syllable is stupid and unnecessary for a nickname’.

“It’s that time of year,” he says, grinning like a buffoon.

Trying to shove down my sigh, I push away from my desk and wander around the other cubicles to where the rest of the team is congregating by Charles.

“Are we all here?” he asks impatiently.

We’re not a very big office—ten of us total, including our illustrious leader, and a supervisor.

Looking around, it seems the supervisor himself is the only one missing.

Izzy, my partner in crime in this corporate hellhole, nudges my hip with her own from beside me. I bump her back.

“Are we doing secret Santa?” she asks.

“Certainly looks like it,” I mumble, and start picking at my nails.

“Why are we only nine,” Charles muses, doing another head count. “Oh—Harry! Come on!”

“Sorry!” Harry, the missing supervisor, calls back from some hidden place in the office. 

“Time is money, mate!”

I rub a hand down my face, failing to hide my weariness.

A second later, a lanky frame hurries to join the group, wearing form-fitting pressed grey trousers and a black cable knit jumper. Something is different about him where he stands a head above the rest of us. Something I’m trying to hide my shock at.

“Oh my God, Harry—,” Izzy blurts, “where’s your hair?!”

The group titters with laughter at Izzy’s shrill horror. Even I let out a snort.

Indeed, Harry’s once voluminous curls have been shorn to a neat buzz cut. Annoyingly, while I never would have pegged him as a sexy bald, he wears it well. What I’m struggling with is why he’d choose to do it in winter.

“I’ve made a hairshirt out of it,” he deadpans.

From the practical cricket noises following his declaration, I’ll assume no one in our office knows what the fuck a hairshirt is.

hair shirt

in American English

NOUN

1. a garment of coarse haircloth, worn next to the skin as a penance by ascetics and penitents

2. self-imposed punishment, suffering, sacrifice, or penance

“It’s now hanging pride of place in my lounge.” Charles grins. “Anyway, we’re doing secret Santa for our Christmas meal this year, which is on the fifteenth of December. Times are tight, I know,” spoken like a man who has never known what it’s like to be clawing his way to payday to make ends meet, “so the cap is a tenner. It’s just a bit of fun, alright? Let’s go.”

He holds the bowl out, and one by one we pluck out a folded scrap of paper. I’m not last, which means there’s still a selection of three by the time I get there. I pick one at random, sure to hate whoever I get.

I know I won’t be lucky enough to draw Izzy again like I did last year, but I suppose as long as I don’t get Charles, I’ll be satisfied.

HARRY

Motherfucker.

I’ve already started moving back to my desk so I can’t feign innocence and try and swap the name. The second-worst name I could’ve drawn—that of the supervisor. And a more-than-occasional object of my affection.

Is it inappropriate to have a crush on your supervisor? Not really. I’m sure lots of women fancy their seniors in the workplace. I’m all for women in senior positions, but there is something inherently attractive about men in power—not including Donald Trump. Ew. Add to the fact that said man is already hot shit and (I’m talking about Harry again), well, it’s a lost cause. Never mind the fact that we were both asked to interview for the supervisor role when the last one left and I turned it down.

Harry and I used to be cubicle neighbours who shared coffee breaks and threw scrunched-up notes to one another over the wall. Once we had a cat GIF email chain going that spanned 134 emails over twelve days. Now he sits at the other side of the floor in a private office where the door is always closed and we don’t make coffee for each other anymore. We definitely don’t send endless cat GIFs to one another.

I add the slip of paper with his name on it between a document I’ve finished with, and stick the whole thing in the shredder.

~

Later that afternoon, around three o’clock—when I hit a motivational wall and have to take a walk around the office for a change of scenery—I’m standing at the photocopier scanning an abhorrent amount of paper. I really wish the people who worked here could learn to be a little greener.

“So, who’d you get?”

I look up from my scanning to find Harry leaning over the printer, looking boyish and handsome all at the same time. There’s a delighted little gleam in his pretty green eyes, and I have to wonder when I last saw him looking so… mischievous.

“Wouldn’t telling you defeat the entire purpose of a secret Santa?” I retort.

“Yeah, but this is me. I can’t keep secrets and I’m bursting to tell someone mine.”

“Please don’t tell me who you have, Harry. Not again.” Because he told me who he’d drawn last year and then Izzy also let slip who she had as well, and by the end of the day I’d worked out who everyone had. “Also, if you’re so rubbish at keeping secrets, I’m definitely not telling you.”

He pouts. “You’re no fun anymore.”

I try not to let it show how much that comment bothers me. Especially that it came from him. “Apparently not.”

“Is it me?”

“No.” I say as calmly as I can manage. Of course he’d choose himself first, and the name I happen to have picked out.

“Izzy again?”

“No.”

Harry then proceeds to list off every name in the office, to which I pointedly reply with no, each and every time.

“But I’ve said everyone’s names.”

“Exactly.”

He sighs. “Fine. Do you know what you’re going to get for yours?”

“No.” And it was a painful truth. A year ago, if I’d have picked Harry’s name out I would have been over the damn moon. Now, it feels awkward and weird to be buying for the good-looking supervisor who used to be my friend. “Do you?”

“I have a few ideas for mine.” He grins.

Lucky for some.

“Well, that’s good,” I answer noncommittally.

I start to move away from him, but I’m stopped by a hand around my elbow.

“Hey,” he coaxes, and I meet his frowny gaze. “You good?”

If this were my friend of a year ago, I’d tell him it’s Friday, I’m bored and want to go to the pub to start my weekend early. But because he’s my supervisor now and I don’t know where to draw the line, I decide to keep the line very low and say, “All fine. Just tired.”

His frown doesn’t ease when I make a poor attempt at a smile. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?”

Nope. “Yeah, of course.”

“Alright,” he releases my arm. “Well, if you’re really stuck on what to get your secret Santa person, you could look in the magazine I’ve left on your desk.”

I raise a brow at him and he grins again, all white teeth and dimples.

Ugh.

“Is it inappropriate?” I ask, feeling nervous.

He feigns offence. “Of course not, that would be very wrong.”

I narrow my gaze but start to move back to my desk again. “Yes, it would. But I appreciate the help.”

“Any time!”

In my cubicle I find a company magazine on my desk, tabbed two-thirds of the way back. The page opens to a website specifically for Secret Santa gifts. With a sigh, I follow the link and start mindlessly scrolling through the options. There’s everything from oversized mugs to slippers and swear socks, whiskey cubes to coffee table books, candles and incense to bath sets and body creams. I am not short on options.

None of this really feels appropriate for Harry.

Still, since I’m bored out of my mind and have nothing better to do, I waste a good thirty minutes more scrolling mindlessly. Even though I’m struggling to find something for Harry, I do manage to find a present for Izzy—bed socks with cats all over them—and for my mother—a Lazy Susan.

I’m about to give up my search for something fun for Harry and think I’ll just stop by the crafty beer place down the road from my flat—he said he liked a certain one once—when I spot it: The Holy Grail of Secret Santa gifts.

I don’t even hesitate, adding it to my online basket before I can talk myself out of it. It’s only a couple of quid, so I can get him something else as well.

I spend the rest of the day feeling oddly smug, and when five o’clock rolls around I snatch my things up and head straight for the shop that sells the craft ale Harry likes. Then I walk to the pub to meet Izzy.

~

Our office Christmas meal is held in a tapas restaurant around the corner from the building we work in a couple of weeks later. I’ve never particularly cared where we eat—I’ll always find something—but I do struggle to marry up Spanish cuisine with the festive period. Apparently the general consensus was that no one really wanted a traditional Christmas dinner because they’d be getting that on the 25th December. I’ve always just thought of it as a roast dinner on acid but what do I know?

Our dress code for this year is ugly Christmas jumpers, so our table is crowded with colleagues wearing everything from traditional 70s muted-tone cable knits to Charles at the head of the table in a bright red jumper with a light-up Christmas tree on it. I do have a little giggle every time I look at him. It’s awful.

I’m somewhere in the middle of the long banquet-style table, sandwiched between Izzy and Craig, the new guy in marketing. He only started on Monday, has spent the entire week looking like a startled otter, and is already dangerously close to crossing the line from tipsy to drunk. He doesn’t look old enough to be tipsy but I keep that to myself. I’ve been subtly adding more food to his plate anytime it looks close to empty and I don’t know if he genuinely hasn’t noticed or is too polite to say anything because he just keeps on hoovering it up. Also, the dangerous thing about tapas is you always think you’ve eaten more than you actually have, and end up hungry again when you get home. Or, I do, anyway.

“Are we all about finished?” Charles’s voice booms from the end of the table.

There’s ten of us here in all, so his volume also attracts the attention of every other patron in the restaurant.

As if we’re not raucous enough already.

A chorus of mumbled yeses echoes around the table.

Charles claps his hands together. “Excellent! Harry, bring the bag.”

Pink-cheeked, Harry manoeuvres his way out of his seat directly opposite me—I’ve been avoiding looking at him for most of the night in favour of Izzy—and locates the bag with everyone’s Secret Santa gifts inside.

When we got here, Charles was waiting by the door with a large gift bag—you know the ones children get on Christmas morning? This one’s got Peppa Pig on it, which was comical in itself—that we were promptly instructed to leave our gifts inside as subtly as possible. 

Harry places Peppa Pig on Charles’s chair and waits like a faithful servant for his next instructions.

The next five minutes are spent watching Harry flit up and down either side of our long table as he drops presents into laps, a true Christmas elf. 

“Nicely wrapped,” he comments as he places mine in front of me.

I pull a face while Izzy chuckles beside me, and inspect it for a moment. It’s two presents taped together—one tiny and solid, no bigger than a credit card. Hey, wouldn’t that be a nice gift. The other is bigger and heavier—a cubic box. I desperately want to shake it but it feels like it could be breakable.

Izzy just has one—short and cylindrical and, again, heavy. But it’s slightly smaller than mine. I don’t know why that makes me smug. Bigger doesn’t always mean better. In most circumstances anyway. I’m not sure anyone has ever said that about a penis.

“Alright everyone,” Charles barks when the last gift is given out, “start unwrapping.”

A little shiver runs down my spine.

Here’s the thing about me—I love getting presents. Whoever decides to marry me one day needs to be a giver, because I get a little thrill any time I open up a gift. I think I’m equally as generous, but this is exciting for me.

What’s not exciting is that attention keeps flicking around the table. I don’t like being the centre of attention. A hard line to balance. Basically, I’m sitting here slowly picking apart my gifts while trying to keep the joyous little smile my lips are itching to make off my face.

I open the big present first, which seems to be the opposite of what everyone else does. I’m also trying to be subtle about watching Harry open his gifts.

God, this is torture.

The big present evokes a barking laugh out of me.

It’s well-known in the office that I’m a lover of Tesco, in any form. Primarily a Big Tesco or a Tesco Meal Deal. The big gift is a mug that just says ‘Tesco Value Secret Santa Mug’ in the supermarket’s old branding.

“Nice,” I mumble. I’m grinning like an idiot. I genuinely love that mug.

“Someone knows you well,” Izzy says with a nudge. 

She’s already opened her gift—a candle that apparently smells like mashed potato.

It’s disgusting.

“Someone doesn’t know you at all,” I say, nodding at the glass jar with a cork lid in front of her.

“Or they know me well enough to know I hate these candles and find it funny,” she retorts.

I snicker and pick open the wrapping on my smaller gift. I tug it out from the opened end, and with every new inch revealed, my mouth opens a little further.

I look up at Harry, whose expression is the mirror image of mine.

“You are joking,” Izzy says, and follows it up with a loud cackle.

~

Approximately 1 Year Earlier…

“Are you sure you don’t have me for Secret Santa?” Harry asks, pouting at me around the edge of our cubicles.

“Yes, Harry, I’m sure.”

I picked Izzy this year, who is the best person I could’ve possibly got as my favourite work colleague. Harry is a very close second, but I’d never tell him that.

“But you know who does have me,” he says matter of factly.

I do. In an office of ten people, I have managed to work out exactly who has who, only because Izzy told me who she has, and Harry has already told me he picked out the woman in Human Resources. I’ve deduced from there everyone else’s picks, including that I must be Charles’s. I suppress a shudder at the thought of what he might give me.

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I know what I want from them and I need you to subtly suggest it to them.”

“Oh, Jesus,” I mutter. “What is it?”

Harry rolls his chair around the cubicle partition, phone in hand. “Funny you should bring up Jesus, actually.”

He puts his phone on the desk in front of me, and at the same time he rests his chin on my shoulder.

He.

Rests.

His.

Chin.

On.

My.

Shoulder.

I try not to outwardly react to it, even though it’s setting off every single butterfly living in my stomach. I haven’t had sex in far too long if the simplest thing has me heating up this way

Christ.

Anyway, I finally look at Harry’s phone, and it makes me laugh.

Hysterically.

Honestly, I can’t stop.

I’m crying by the time I recover.

“Grow Your Own Jesus?” I sputter out, still tittering.

“Yeah!” He sits back and grins.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I kinda feel I’m lacking a little faith in my life.” He shrugs, but that toothy grin is still all there, along with his dimples and shiny green eyes.

How this man is single, I don’t know.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Just drop a hint for us, yeah?” He starts rolling away, but not before he drops me a little wink.

A wink.

I’m in so much trouble.

~

I stare at the ‘Grow Your Own Jesus’ in my hands, then at the matching one in Harry’s.

“You remembered?” Harry asks, clearly fighting a smile himself.

“So did you,” I accuse.

“Well, I just kind of hoped if you didn’t want yours that I could have it.”

I gasp and hold the small cardboard box to my chest. “No. He’s mine.”

“Wait,” Craig pipes in from beside me, “did you two get the same thing?”

“They got each other the same thing,” Izzy corrects. “The same weird thing.”

“It’s an inside joke—you wouldn’t get it.” Harry pretends to flip his now non-existent hair.

Izzy sticks her tongue out at him.

“I’m going to grow him in my Tesco mug,” I decide.

Harry quips, “At work, I hope.”

“Obviously. Pride of place on my desk.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he says proudly.

“And what about yours?”

“Oh,” Harry pats the box on the table, “he’s coming to bed with me.”

A laugh bubbles out of me.

“Ew.” Izzy’s nose wrinkles.

~

After dinner is settled, we head out of the restaurant and to a pub near Soho Square. A couple of people drop off and head home, but Craig is still soldiering on, bless him. He’s more stable when in motion than when stationary, and as soon as we find a group of tables together, we shove him in the corner.

Charles offers to buy a final round before he heads home for the night, and when Craig asks for another beer, I make sure Charles comes back with a non-alcoholic one.

“Why are you so protective over the new kid?” Harry asks as he sandwiches himself between me and another colleague.

“I’m not,” I retort. “I just don’t trust anyone else to look after him if he’s too plastered to get home by himself.”

“That still seems quite protective,” he argues.

“Well, put yourself in his shoes for a second. It’s your first real job, you’re young, you have one too many drinks on a night out with your new colleagues and you’re left to your own devices when everyone decides to call it a night. Maybe you take a walk along the river to sober up, and the next thing you know, you’re toppling over the wall and drowning in the Thames.”

We’re silent for a moment. Harry is just…staring at me, probably wondering where that came from. To be honest, so am I.

“That escalated quickly,” he says after a bit.

“But am I right?”

“I doubt it.”

“Ugh, go away.”

“I don’t want to go away.”

“Well, don’t ask stupid questions. We should be looking after him as the newbie. He won’t come back if we treat him like shit. You, as the supervisor, should recognise that.”

Harry lifts his hands in defence. “Alright. Point taken.”

“Are Mum and Dad fighting?” Craig asks loudly, sitting on the other side of Izzy now.

Izzy pats his arm. “I’ve heard Mum and Dad fight, Craigy-boy, and it doesn’t sound like this.”

“We’re not fighting,” I assure him, although I’m not sure how I feel about being referred to as Mum next to Harry’s Dad. “We’re having a discussion.”

“Sounds like you’re fighting,” Craig mutters and sinks further into the corner of the bench we’re crowded on.

 I take a sip of my drink just to keep my hands and mouth busy. Harry nudges me with his elbow, and when I meet his gaze he winks at me.

Winks.

At.

Me.

I’m not sure if the dreams that wink is sure to feature in will be welcomed, or if they’ll be nightmares.

Charles eventually calls it a night, with a shiver-inducing parting comment that he “needs to give his wife the good lovin’.” The rest of us thankfully don’t dissolve into chaos—I’m not drunk enough to be patient over making sure multiple people make it home alive and safe.

It’s only just gone midnight by the time I decide to call it quits. It seems no one else has been keeping an eye on Craig’s drinking habits, because the poor kid can barely stand or keep his eyes open.

“Alright, Craig, where’s home?” I ask as Izzy and I bundle his lanky frame into a particularly nice wool coat.

He mutters something inaudible and I let out an impatient sigh. “Say again?”

He repeats himself, and I think he says Lewisham. “Lewisham?” I clarify.

Craig nods.

“Couldn’t be a little closer, aye?” I grumble.

“You’re not taking him home, are you?” Harry asks, a little tug between his brow.

“I’m not leaving him by himself, H,” I remind him. “I wanted him to sober up and no one else listened, so yes, I’m going to make sure he gets home safe.”

“How? The tube is closed and the bus will take hours.”

“Well, I’ll just have to get an extortionate taxi and deal with it on Monday, won’t I?”

“Don’t you live in Tulse Hill?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Lewisham is farther out of the way than Tulse Hill.”

“Not really,” I argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not being daft,” he insists. “By the time you manage to find a taxi willing to take you that far and actually get there, it’ll be close to two o’clock. And then you’ve got to get home from there. That’s pushing three in the morning. And while I admire your determination and independence and your incessant need to help the new kid, I am not willing to let you travel around London alone on a Friday night, whether you like it or not.”

We’re all quiet for a second—I actually think Craig is asleep on my shoulder now—and then Izzy very quietly whispers, “Damn.”

Sensing defeat, I release a pent up breath. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Harry concedes, “I’ll search for a taxi, shall I?”

“If you want,” I mutter.

We start walking, if only to find somewhere for Craig to sit down while he snoozes, and then say goodbye to Izzy, who’s boyfriend is waiting nearby to pick her up.

It’s cold and a little windy tonight. My cheeks feel frostbitten and my nose is painfully numb. I pull my woolly hat down lower to cover my ears and my scarf up higher to my nose, so all that’s visible is my eyes.

I catch Harry’s gaze, and he offers me a tentative smile. I smile back but I’m not sure if he can tell.

A taxi pulls up some minutes later, and we wake Craig up only so he can tell the driver his address. He falls straight back to sleep again, head pressed against the window.

I’m sandwiched in the middle back seat between the two men. Harry is somewhat bulkier than Craig. I can feel his thigh against mine. It’s warm, which is nice. I feel like I need the body heat.

The drive is relatively quiet, except Harry makes light conversation with the driver while I am also trying not to pass out on someone’s shoulder.

When we finally arrive at Craig’s house, the streets are eerily quiet. Harry makes me stay in the car while he wrangles Craig into his home. I move over into Craig’s vacated seat and watch out the window, a little entertained by the sight.

“Am I dropping you off somewhere else, love?” The taxi driver asks, breaking the quiet.

“Yes, it’s in Tulse Hill, is that okay?”

“No problem at all.”

“Do you know approximately how much it’ll be? And do you take card?”

“By the end of the journey, when I’ve dropped your friend off in Battersea, it’ll probably be over a hundred. But your mate has settled it already.”

“Wait, you’re taking Harry to Battersea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I thought Harry lived in Brixton. Battersea is an even longer journey.

I rub my tired eyes.

Harry slides back into the backseat and eyes the empty middle seat now I’ve moved over, but he doesn’t say anything.

“When did you move to Battersea?” I ask quietly once the car is moving again.

Harry clears his throat, “Few months ago.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

He turns a look on me that I can’t decipher, so I decide to let it go. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

We’re quiet again, and I decide this time around I hate the silence in the car. I hate that Harry and I don’t talk about our lives with each other anymore now that he’s in a more senior role. I hate that he doesn’t really feel like my friend anymore. And I especially hate that this is mostly my fault because I don’t know where the boundary line is.

I lean forward and ask the driver, “How long will it take to get from my house to Harry’s?”

I can feel Harry’s eyes on me but I ignore him.

“Another half an hour, probably?”

I can’t help it, I grind my teeth together as I slump back into my seat. I’ve been avoiding looking at the time, but I look now, and it’s nearly half-past two. 

My bones feel tired.

“It’s fine, you know,” Harry’s voice is like whiskey when he speaks, all low and honeyed.

“It’s not fine. You could be home and in bed by now.”

“So could you if you didn’t have the need to mother everyone.”

I don’t know what possesses me to do it—whether it’s the weariness or the level of alcohol in me—but I don’t retort with words.

I just stick my tongue out at him.

Harry laughs and shakes his head at me, turning that smile on his lap.

It’s that smile that forces me to say it, because no matter how much we bicker, I can never really be mad at him. “Why don’t you just stay at mine and go home in the morning when the tube is open again?”

His gaze snaps to me again. “Seriously?”

I don’t know where my confidence has come from. “Do you think I’d offer if I didn’t mean it?”

“But…your flat is tiny. Last I remember, you don’t even have a sofa.”

“I don’t,” I admit. “But I have a king bed. I can erect a pillow wall.”

He gives me a funny look. “I am not sober enough to listen to you use the word erect right now.”

I snort. “Seriously though. It’s so late and I’m tired and I don’t like this already, and for the sake of all our bank balances, just…just stay.”

He stares at me for a while. “I don’t have anything to wear to bed.”

I look at him, in his silly jumper and slacks and woolly hat. “I’ve got a big t-shirt I wear on my lazy days. You can borrow that.”

“How big?”

“Like, triple-XL.”

He purses his lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on, Harry. I’ll put it in the dryer real fast to warm it up, and I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”

His mouth twitches again, nostrils flaring as he wards off another smile. “Why are you pushing this so hard?”

“Because you didn’t have to come out all this way with me and you did it anyway.”

“Of course I did, I’m not leaving you alone with a drunk kid and a taxi driver.” He glances at the driver. “No offence, mate.”

“None taken,” he replies.

“Is there still a charge if we cut the journey short?” I ask him.

“No, you’re on a meter. If it helps make your decision any easier, I’m going home straight after this job.”

“See!” I gesture at the poor bloke in the front who we’ve subjected to this torture. “Let the man go home to his family, Harry.”

I can see the driver’s shoulders shaking, but he never says a peep.

“Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll stay at yours.”

“Good.”

Great.

Excellent.

Harry is staying the night at my place. 

In my bed.

I hope I didn’t leave the flat in a mess.

~

By the time we’re dropped off at my flat, I’m a practical zombie.

I let us inside, feet like lead, and Harry follows with just as much enthusiasm. Locking the door behind us, I dig through my drawers for the t-shirt I promised and toss it in the dryer for a few minutes. I clean my teeth, and then give Harry the t-shirt. While he changes in the bathroom, I quickly change into a matching festive jersey pyjama set. Feeling sexy is the last thing I’m trying to achieve. If anything, I just want to be warm—the flat is freezing.

Once changed, I set about making that pillow wall I promised.

When Harry emerges, I’m midway through taking my makeup off.

Looking at him, I can’t help but giggle.

“When you said you had a triple-XL t-shirt, I thought you just meant a plain one. Or, like, one with some generic wording on it. Not this,” he points at his chest.

I admire him in my pink t-shirt, which depicts Salem from Sabrina the Teenage Witch surrounded by cake and the words ‘I eat when I’m upset’. “I think pink suits you.”

Harry’s eyes narrow at me, and he moves around the bed to the side I’m not perched on. He studies my pillow wall for a while. “Do you think I’ve got the lurgy or something?”

“The lurgy?” I chortle. “No, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think it’s me we need to worry about being uncomfortable here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I insist with a grin as I finish the last of my makeup removal, “as long as you stay on your side of the wall.”

“I would also be fine. I don’t think we need the wall at all.”

“And why is that?” I ask, tossing my used wipes in the small bin next to my bed. I slip under the covers, and Harry, with his hairy, toned legs, does the same. It’s still weird seeing him with a buzz cut.

“Because it’s half an inch tall. You couldn’t stop an ant from getting over it.”

I gasp, and reach over to smack his arm. “How dare you. Ants can vertically climb.”

“Are you sure?” Harry retaliates by smacking me too, except he completely misses and ends up whacking my boob instead.

“Ow.”

He’s already pulled his hand away and is covering his mouth, eyes wide with shock. “I’m so sorry.”

“You should be!” I hiss, rubbing the assaulted breast in question.

“I didn’t mean to. I was aiming for your arm.”

“Well, your aim is terrible.”

He rolls onto his side, giving me his best puppy dog eyes. “I really am sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am! But this does prove my point that the wall is useless,” he reasons.

“Fine.” I snatch the cushion at the top of the pile and toss it at the foot of the bed. “Collapse the wall if you must.”

He grins, all pretty and green-eyed, and tugs the next pillow down the row up underneath his head. “Much better.”

Sighing, I say, “Go to sleep, Harry.”

“Yes, boss.”

I shut my eyes, burrowing into the pillows, and wait for sleep to claim me.

And I wait. 

And I wait.

Unfortunately, I am far too aware of Harry’s presence beside me.

I’m thinking about the fact that he’s currently wearing my favourite t-shirt and the shameful part of me probably won’t wash it for ages. Maybe an even worse part of me will put it on as soon as he leaves my flat tomorrow.

Fuck this crush.

Why did I think it would be a good idea to let him stay here? In my bed? In my t-shirt?

I really hate myself sometimes.

“I can hear your brain whirring,” Harry says into the silent space between us.

“It worked overtime today, the fans are cooling down.”

He snickers, and then it’s quiet again. “Can I tell you a secret?” He asks after another minute.

I open my eyes to find him watching me. It’s a little unnerving but I can’t say I hate the attention. “A secret?”

“Yeah. I haven’t told anyone yet.”

I study his face in the dark room. “Okay.”

He wets his lips with his tongue first. “I gave my notice today.”

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“End of January.”

I can’t be sure, but I think I might be about to enter crisis mode. Harry is leaving. Harry, who I’ve seen almost every day for three years, is leaving.

I let him tell me about this new job—how it’s the same position but more money in a bigger company with better benefits.

For a second I don’t know what to say, but I eventually manage to come up with, “Well, congratulations, H. Sounds amazing.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. “Are you going to miss me?”

I pretend to think about it. “No, probably not.”

He gasps. “How rude.”

I giggle. “Of course I’m going to miss you.” Probably too fucking much. Like, crying into my cornflakes every morning for the foreseeable future. That much.

“Good. I’m gonna miss you, too.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I have missed you.”

I frown. “What do you mean? We see each other everyday.”

“It’s not the same, though.”

I know what he means, but I’m too much of a wimp to admit it. Or maybe I just want to hear it come out of his mouth, because it’s been swirling around my head for months and months. “How?”

“We used to go out together, you know, me and you and Izzy and her bloke. We had a good friendship going, right? And I think I kind of fucked that up by taking that supervisor role this year.”

“Yeah, but your career is your career, Harry. You did what was right for you.”

“Maybe, but I still hated knowing I’d drawn a line somewhere.”

Funny. I thought I was the one who’d drawn the line. “Well, we’re not going to see you at all now.”

He frowns. “Don’t say that. We can still have Friday night pub time.”

“I’m not sure, H,” my tone is teasing, “you’re joining the big boys now. You’re more important than we are, you’ll forget about us in a month.”

“Don’t,” he whines, throwing me that puppy look again. “I won’t.”

“Sure.”

“I’d never forget you.”

“I’m sure you say that to all your old work friends. Soon it’ll be new ones with new pubs to visit on a Friday night, and we’ll just be a minor blip in your career path.”

“Stop iiiiit,” Harry growls, and the next thing I know, he’s reaching across the divide we made and wrapping himself around my waist, his face in my neck.

I don’t know how to immediately react, stunted into stiff silence.

“You are not a blip,” he insists, squeezing me closer to him.

“You say that now,” I mutter.

“You’re not,” he snaps, then a second later asks, “Why aren’t you hugging me back?”

Tentatively, I loop my arms around his shoulders. I don’t know where to put my hands initially, but one ends up on the back of his neck and the other between his shoulder blades.

“Better,” he says, face still shoved into my neck.

We’re back to silence again for a moment, but my mind is racing. This is not how I expected to end my night at all. Not with a man in my bed and definitely not hugging said man. Who I’ve happened to fancy for far too long.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s a good thing that Harry is leaving. Maybe now I can take time to get over the stupid crush I have on him and start behaving like a normal woman in her late twenties, rather than the perpetually single saddo that I’ve become.

Yes. I’m determined to turn it into a positive.

There will be no crying into my cornflakes.

“This is nice,” Harry whispers.

“Yeah,” is all I can come up with.

“You’re very comfortable.”

Seriously? I want to roll my eyes. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to move.”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. DON’T. PANIC. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah?”

I swear there’s something blaring in my head. “Sure.”

With that ringing endorsement, he snuggles closer and pulls me flush against his front.

This is fine. Absolutely fine. Nothing to worry about here. No siree.

Except, then, his hand finds the back of my thigh, and he pulls it over his. With a pat for good measure, he lets out a satisfied sigh.

“This might be the most comfortable I’ve ever been.”

Great. “That’s nice,” I squeak.

And it is nice, in a way.

It’s nice to be held in the embrace of another warm body.

It’s nice not to spend the night alone.

It’s nice to feel someone else’s breath on my neck that isn’t just my own reverberating back into my face from my pillow.

The tantric tickle of Harry’s fingers on the back of my legs is nice, too.

Really nice.

It’s so nice, in fact, that I…

I fall asleep.

~

I wake up plastered to Harry’s chest. Harry’s chest, that is still covered in my favourite t-shirt. God, that’s pleasing.

It’ll smell like him now.

#winning

I think I’m the first one to rise, which means I have the opportunity to sneak off and start breakfast, but then I feel a warm palm against the skin of my lower back, circling, and I realise I’m not the first over the finish line into consciousness. I also feel a slight chill against my sternum and I think one of the buttons on my pyjama shirt might have popped open, which means there’s definitely the potential for a peep at some boobage.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Harry’s voice sounds like gravel.

“Hi,” I choke out.

“Sleep well?”

I slept amazingly. Dare I say it’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Maybe even months.

Fuck it, it’s the best sleep I’ve ever had.

But all I actually say is, “Yep. Did you?”

He hums, his hold on me tightening. “Like a baby.”

I like that far too much. “That’s good. How…did we get like this?”

“You on top of me?” He asks and gives me another squeeze. “No idea.”

“I am not on top of you.”

“You kind of are. But I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’re comfortable?”

“I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. It’s like when you have a cat on top of you—you don’t move the cat.”

I look up at him for the first time, then. He’s still sleepy-eyed, but he’s more awake than I am and he looks so soft, and so happy. “Do you need me to move, Harry?”

“Absolutely not.” He follows this comment up with a lazy grin that has my insides turning to mush. He’s always been a little bit infectious, like a good drug, and so I can’t help but smile back at him.

He lifts a hand to my face then, still holding my gaze, with his finger under my chin while he gingerly wipes his thumb in the corner of each of my eyes in turn. When I throw him a questioning look, he responds with a simple, “Eye goo.”

I want to be disgusted by that, but I’m not. Not in the slightest. If anything, it’s making this crush I was so determined to get rid of yesterday even worse. And, because I can’t help myself, I gingerly reach my hand up to his face and do the same thing, wiping the dried moisture from the corners of his eyes.

We stay like that, staring at each other with lingering touches on each other’s faces. I don’t know what we’re doing. I’m terrified and nervous and excited all at once.

My heart is telling me he’s into this the same way I am, but my head is telling me I’m overthinking it and it doesn’t mean anything.

Now, call me fucking crazy, but people who aren’t into each other don’t touch one another the way we are.

I tell my head to shut the fuck up.

Tipping my head back slightly, it causes Harry’s light grip to adjust, until his hand all but swallows my cheek.

He lowers his head, and I know, I just know I’m not imagining the pull between us anymore. My breathing becomes laboured, chest heaving with every inch his mouth gets closer to mine.

When our mouths meet I’m dizzy, but I hold onto the shred of sanity I have left, if only to enjoy the moment while it’s here.

It’s exploratory at first—a simple taste of one another. Harry’s mouth is soft and gentle. He takes his time, like he’s learning me. His hands are doing the same thing, cautiously roaming my face, my arms and my back.

I don’t know what to do with my hands, because I want to touch him everywhere. Start with his chest, and for the first time ever I wish for the absence of my damn t-shirt on him. Move to his arms just to trace the definition of his muscles and the lines of his strong veins.

He’s so…delicious. Always has been, hair or no. And the permission to touch him in any capacity has me feeling drunk. I feel more out of sorts now than I did last night.

Harry’s grip moves to the back of my legs, and he drags me over his body so that I’m straddling him.

The new position has trepidation rendering my limbs frozen, and I have to force myself to move, to keep touching him. I can feel his length between my legs—not completely hard but certainly working its way there.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks against my lips, voice hushed but still loud in the quiet room. His hands dance over my hips and thighs, like he wants to touch other places but is worried of crossing that line.

“Yes,” I breathe in answer. 

He resumes his ministrations, becoming braver now with the use of his mouth, and in turn I do too.

My hands finally slip underneath the cotton t-shirt to feel the taut skin of his abdomen, fingertips following every dip and curve. In return, Harry slides his up my shirt, taking the weight of my breasts in his hands.

“They’re so soft,” he comments, and for some reason I like that so much that I kiss him deeper.

Our tongues are involved now, licking and nipping and tasting the other where we can.

“I want to take your shirt off,” I admit.

“You mean your shirt?” He teases, and moves into a sitting position with absolutely no effort.

“Both,” I tell him.

He grins, kissing me again while I ease the cotton up his body, until we have to break apart so I can remove it completely. 

Harry’s body is…perfect. I knew it would be—toned lines, masculine, pronounced muscles. I want to lick it.

I’m kissing him again, if only to stop myself from lapping at his golden skin.

I’m kissing the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—ever known.

I can feel him toying with the buttons on my pyjama top, slowly coaxing each one free. When the last one is done, he slips the garment over my shoulders until we’re in matching states of undress. His large hands cup my boobs, thumbs rubbing against my nipples.

A sharp bolt of pleasure zips through me, straight to the pulsing core between my legs. With an involuntary rock of my hips, I moan into his mouth.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, “did you like that?”

I can only nod, and then whine when he does it again. Helpless to the taste of him, I loop my arms around his neck. Our bodies are flush together, tongues tangled, and my centre is lined up right over his cock. His cock that is now fully hard.

I start rocking my hips in a rhythm if only to find some friction for the need growing in my lower belly.

Harry’s grip moves from my tits to my arse, squeezing tightly and encouraging my movements. “If you keep doing that I’m going to embarrass myself and make a mess in my boxers, but I don’t want you to stop.”

“Please don’t make me stop,” I beg.

“You better not stop.”

So I don’t. I keep rocking, keep kissing, keep touching.

Every roll of my hips is ecstasy and I can feel the bubble growing inside me, pushing to the surface. The heat in my body expands, not just inside me but across my back and my arms and my chest. I haven’t had any physical contact for a while, and the intimacy of this, with Harry, is setting off every single one of my nerve endings.

“I want to see you come,” he tells me.

I grip the back of Harry’s neck, and for the first time since we started kissing, he moves his mouth. He kisses my cheek, then my neck, my throat, my chest, and then he finally pulls my nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking while squeezing my breast, and, well…

I go off.

My orgasm crests in the least subtle manner—loud and hard. My core is pulsing and my legs are shaking. My body is on fire—in fact, I’m sure I can feel a bead of sweat dripping between my cleavage.

Harry’s mouth is on mine again, warm and wet and sultry, and I cling to him like I’ve got nothing else in the world.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry whispers against my lips.

My face flushes, as if I’m not already burning up, but I still manage to say, “So are you.”

He kisses me hard but chaste. “I’ve wanted to see you like that for a while.”

“Like what?” I ask, still panting.

“Undone. By me, specifically.”

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “What?”

He laughs, and his thumb strokes my cheek, “I’ve always thought you’re sexy as fuck.”

“No you haven’t.”

“I bloody have,” he insists. “I thought you knew that.”

I scoff. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I’ll keep telling you until you believe me. Now, I’m pretty sure I was promised breakfast?”

I give him a questioning look. “But what about…you?” I ask, and throw a pointed look at the space where our crotches meet.

“I don't believe in transactional pleasure,” he tells me, then kisses me again. “I just hope we can do this again.”

“What, sleepover?”

He laughs. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But I was also hoping there might be some dating involved.”

I gawk at him. “You want to date me?”

“Indefinitely.”

Well, shit.

[deadhands69]

Under the Christmas Tree 

MDNI 

Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Content/warnings/etc: gn/afab reader, Chapter 431 spoilers, porn with plot, post-canon/aged up slightly for no other reason than me being amused by the idea of Shouto Todoroki spending the entirety of his twenties after ch431 making stacks of soba bowls instead of ever attempting to get laid. He does get laid in this though: blowjob, fingering, slightly awkward sex (f on top, m on top), also contains swearing and explicit conversations. [wc: 2.6k]

2 1/2 Months Ago: Kaminari’s Halloween Party 

It wasn't really Halloween, but three days after. Being heroes, you are all used to it. Drinking holidays always bring out a villain streak in a lot of people so most of your gatherings end up on off days. After the long week, it was nice to have a lowkey night with a few old friends.

“Okay, you're up next!” Kirishima yells across the table, knuckles deep in candy corn. 

“Alright,” you pause to consider your next words. Looking down at your four upright fingers before continuing, “never have I ever…”

You can't remember what your actual words were. Whatever you said, it was boring. A few people groan around the circle, fingers dropping, then it's Sero’s turn. And he was determined to spice it back up again. 

“Never have I ever,” he starts with a twisted smile, “eaten ass…before breakfast.”

“Booooo,” Kaminari groans, tossing a few pieces of candy corn at him before dropping his last finger. “Okay, fine. Who's next?”

Shouto is up next. You prepared yourself for another odd one, his last turn was that he's never worn mismatched socks.

“Hey Todoroki,” chirped Mina, “quite a few fingers you're holding up there.”

He glanced down to the nine fingers still remaining before he looked at everyone else's in confusion. He was the only one in the room not down to one hand. Kaminari, Hagakure, and Shinso were all out. 

“Oh. Isn't that.. How you win?” 

“By losing at life?” Bakugo laughs. 

“There's no way you aren't lying,” Jiro adds, “wasn't Hagakure’s ‘never have I ever fucked a girl?’”

“I haven't done that with anyone,” Shouto responded. 

“There's no way,” Sero responded, “you're thirty! You've been voted the hottest hero in every girly magazine for ten years straight. I'm not buying it.”

“It's true, I really haven't,” Shouto said quite plainly, before glancing around the table again. He briefly locked eyes with you, searching for your reaction before quickly looking away. A blush crept up on his cheeks. 

Up to that moment, it had never occurred to him to be self conscious about his lack of sexual experience (or about anything, really.) But that night, with all of your eyes staring, he started to think maybe something was wrong with him. 

3 Weeks Ago: Mina & Kirishima’s Kitchen

“Here’s to comfort,” you read. 

“Ooh that's always a fun one!” Mina exclaimed, grabbing the blue stick out of your hand. “I'll pass that along to your Secret Santa!”

Every year since graduating from UA, your friends group has organized a gift giving game. It had now become some convoluted version of Secret Santa that started relatively normal but gained extra steps and rules along the way. At some point, popsicle sticks in a jar with phrases on the bottom of each were added to give your gifter a theme to stick to. Partially for fun, mostly because a few of your former classmates struggled without a prompt. 

“Ooooh, and guess what Todoroki got!” Mina fished through the jar for a green popsicle stick before holding it up, “‘a new experience!’ You can help him with that, riiiight?”

“Oh come on,” you dismiss, “he's cute but he’s clearly not interested in that sort of thing.”

“That's not what he said last week,” Mina winked at you. You look to Jiro for some confirmation.

“In more or less words, yeah.” 

“And that means…” you ask.

“I said ‘ooh sounds like someone’s getting a blowjob from Santa this year!’” Mina began laughing too hard to keep talking. Jiro continued, “we had to explain that no, we do not actually mean Santa. It was a whole thing, but in the end he said it’s something he’d been ‘thinking about a lot lately.’”

Kaminari chimed in, “and he’s had a crush on you for ages! I think you should do it, even if you don’t get him for Secret Santa.”

“Of course [y/n] will get him, we'll rig it. Like we do every year,” Mina flicked her eyebrows up at you. 

“Wait, what??” Kaminari exclaimed, dropping his beer. 

“You didn't know that?” Jiro asked, while throwing a towel at him. “You've been at the planning meetings, how could you not know that?”

“Okay, okay, you can explain it to him later. But now, let's get back to what's important.”

She moved into your space with intensity until her pink nose was nearly touching yours. Without breaking eye contact she asked:

“will you do it, [y/n]?” 

Current Date: Kaminari’s Holiday Party

“Okay, everyone remember. There are five hours left of today!” Mina announces, “I repeat, 5 hours! If you do not give your Secret Santa gift in this time, you will owe them lunch for a week!”

Secretly, nearly everyone hoped to get Bakugo for this reason - he’s an amazing cook and hates the game. Guaranteed lunch for a week. 

Maybe you got him this year, your gifter still hasn’t done anything. You haven’t either though.

It’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s just… awkward. 

Plus, the opportunity hadn’t come up. You were only alone with Shouto twice in the past few weeks. Once, you were both called to an emergency and went home covered in ash and blood. The other time, you were trying to work up the courage to bring it up when Denki showed up at your door to use the bathroom after bursting a pipe in his (the joys of living two doors away from him.) After that, he was out of town for a week. Then he was jetlagged. This is your first time seeing him since then. He looks well rested, at least. 

Four hours pass by quickly. 

You need to find a way to draw him out but every time you’ve tried, he’s been busy. First with distributing the handmade soba bowls and chopsticks he’s gifting everyone. Now he’s playing a card game with Sero and Kirishima. You’d been following him around all night, looking for your opening to no avail. Maybe it’s the constant glancing or the way you’re tapping your foot, but his two opponents have taken notice of your predicament.  

“Heyy,” a drunk Kirishima throws an arm over Shouto’s shoulders, “it would be super manly if you helped [y/n] with their Christmas tree. It’s been propped up in the corner for days. Driving me crazy.” He winks at you.

“Yeah,” Shouto replies calmly, “I can do that. Right now?”

Thank you Kiri!

“Yeah,” Kirishima gives his shoulder a squeeze before letting him go, “better get to it before we forget again.”

“But I won’t for-” you grab his arm, immediately dragging him out the door and down the hallway towards your apartment. 

Fortunately, your place looks nice right now. You'd decorated, initially planning to host the party. However, your friends stepped in and made the decision to give you space for Shouto's gift. Plus, moving supplies to Denki's apartment took them all of five minutes. 

“This must be important to you, I’m happy to help,” Todoroki says while you push the door open to a perfectly upright and decorated Christmas tree. Considering that the glowing bulbs reflecting off the shiny ornaments are the only light source in the room, it certainly draws the attention. 

“Huh? Oh, right…” you really hoped he saw through the excuse, but this couldn’t have been that easy. He glances between you and the tree for a moment. 

“You don’t actually need help with this, do you?” he tentatively asks. 

“No, Shouto. I don’t need help with the tree. I…” you pause, considering your next words. You try to sound collected but they all come spilling out at once. “I’ve been trying to get you alone because I got you for secret santa.”

“Oh,” the previous conversation with Mina and Jiro comes flooding back to him, “oh.” 

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, very okay. Before I presume too much, do you mind telling me what the gift is?”

“It's…a new experience for you.”

He seems to like your confidence, that you're more experienced than him. When you grab the collar of his shirt to pull him further into the room, he follows eagerly. Dropping to sit across from you on the rug in the middle of your floor, the lights catch his face perfectly. You'd never realized how beautiful his eyes are up close. 

Leaning in, you press your lips into his.

You know it's not his first kiss. In varying years, a few of your friends have bragged about kissing him at midnight on New Years. But you know he's never kissed anyone like this before. Your hands are buried in his two toned hair, pressing him to the floor as you climb on top. He groans into your mouth, his head tipping up to you as his lips chase more closeness with yours. Your tongue slides over his, deepening the kiss. 

You take off his sweater, then the shirt underneath. Dragging your fingers over his bare chest.

Hips pressing into his while you straddle him. Dragging yourself over the hard bulge forming in his pants. The heat builds in your gut. It's time to take things further. 

Reluctantly, you pull your lips away from his. Crawling backwards down his body. At some point, while your face hovers above his belt, you have a realization. 

“You want this, right?” you ask, staring up into his heterochromatic eyes. Knowing that Shouto Todoroki would easily get himself into a situation like this without meaning to, it felt important to ask. 

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” you pull his underwear down with the pants as he tips his hips up to help you slide them off. 

And… wow.

Sure, it's not the most massive dick in the world but definitely the biggest you've ever seen in person. His pale leaky tip begging to be put in your mouth. He twitches at the feeling of your warm breath as you move closer, finally making contact when you lick the vein up his length. 

As soon as you touch him, he crumples under you like tissue paper. He exhales like he’s never relaxed so much in his life. Maybe he hasn’t.

You wrap your lips around his tip and press your tongue onto his shaft. Using your hands to make up for the areas your mouth can’t reach. As your head dips up and down, working up a good amount of spit and precum, his moaning increases. Soon, he’s jutting his hips up towards you. His hand gripping your hair harder.

You know he could cum right now if you let him, but you have more ideas tonight.

Pulling your lips away with a pop, you sit back up. He watches as you move over him, still working to steady his breath. This is a lot more than he really expected to happen tonight but he’s loving every minute of it.

Taking off the amount of clothes you need to, you laugh slightly at how clothed you still are in comparison to him. He’s down to just his socks. 

“You can take your socks off, you know.” 

He does, quickly. Now you have him completely naked under you.

Straddling his lap, you line him up with your entrance pulling your underwear to the side.

When you sink down onto his tip, you feel his girth immediately. Making it what you’d assume is about halfway down, you slide back up. Continuing to envelop him in small increments. You want so badly to maintain the image he has of you being cool and experienced but the stretch of taking all of him is becoming more of a task than you anticipated.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“No, you’re doing great. It’s just…you’re kind of big.”

“Oh. I'm sorry if my penis isn't ideal.”

You could laugh. Seriously. The amount of guys who would be massively jealous and he has no fucking idea. 

“No, it's definitely not that. You have nothing to worry about; it'll just take a bit to get used to.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it better for you? I know you’re doing this for me, but I'd like to make you feel good too.”

“Yeah, you could use your fingers?”

One issue - you forgot his fingers are massive as well.

“Is this okay?” he asks, slowly inching his middle finger in after you showed him how. 

“Yeah, just.. A little faster now.”

Eventually, he gets the hang of it. Earning a huge gush of cum from you, leaving his fingers sticky. His hand lingers for a moment while you come down. You’re still gripping his shoulders and breathing hard into his chest. Finally, you look up at him.

You haven’t seen him look this proud of himself in a long time.

“Does this mean we can try again?” he asks, “if you’re finished after that I can respect that as well.” 

“Yeah, we can definitely keep going,” you smile, shoving him onto his back again. You begin removing more clothes, starting with your now damp undergarments. 

This time, when you line yourself up you slide a little easier onto him. Still not quite fitting the whole thing but the stretch is much less now. 

Your elbows drop by his head, caging him to the ground under you. He brings his warm (and cold) hands to your hips, enjoying the way your skin moves against his fingers as you bounce up and down on him. The sound of your combined breathing fills your living room, nearly echoing from the corners. Holiday lights still illuminating his face while he stares up at you in amazement.

Why didn’t you do this sooner?

You continue riding his dick until the tension in your gut builds. Soon you’re clenching around him while holding onto his shoulders for support again. Your bounce slows to a grind while you press yourself as close to him as possible.

“Shouto,” you moan into his ear.

He groans and turns his head to kiss you.

“Can I..” he asks, sitting the two of you up while he holds you against his chest.

“Uh huh,” you nod and he has you on your back. Hips rutting between your legs that are now wrapped around his back.

Within the minute, it’s his turn. 

“I’m about to cum,” he moans, “is it okay if I-”

“Yeah, please cum,” you whisper.

Immediately, he whimpers - pulling you closer while he gushes inside of you.

"I've wanted to do that for years," he murmurs.

You move the hair out of each other’s eyes while you catch your breath. Eventually making your way off the living room floor.

While you’re getting cleaned up, he excuses himself briefly. Saying he needed to grab something from his car. You figure it’s toiletries or something and carry on.

A few minutes later, as you’re coming out of the bathroom freshly changed into comfortable clothes as he re-enters your front door. In his arms is a massive fluffy blanket, which he promptly wraps around you then leads you to your couch. 

“I’m your secret santa this year. I was waiting until after midnight to give you your gift, I wanted the excuse to take you out to lunch for a week,” he says while wrapping his arms around you, warming you further. “There's a new soba place I'd like to try, but I'm open to your suggestions as well.”

Down the hall, your friends were all guessing when they’d see you next. Some saying that one or both of you would come running back within the hour. Much to the delight of Mina, Jiro, Kaminari, and Kirishima - they guessed right. No one saw the two of you until you emerged from your apartment the next morning.

m.list

Okay, this whole thing was admittedly written after reading chapter 431 with izuchako becoming a thing and Jiro/Denki’s friendship deepening while Shouto just doubles down hard on soba. Something about that plus his absolute obliviousness is hilarious to me but I mostly write smut so it led to this weird awkward thing. Thanks for reading!

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - November 28, 2023

🐑 - Why did Fiona the sheep become a mountaineer? She was tired of the "baa-d" jokes at sea level!

1. Pope Francis dines with transgender women for Vatican luncheon

Pope Francis hosted a group of transgender women — many of whom are sex workers or migrants from Latin America — to a Vatican luncheon for the Catholic Church's "World Day of the Poor" last week.

The pontiff and the transgender women have formed a close relationship since the pope came to their aid during the COVID-19 pandemic, when they were unable to work. Now, they meet monthly for VIP visits with the pope and receive medicine, money and shampoo any day, according to The Associated Press.

2. New York just installed its first offshore wind turbine

The first wind turbine installation at South Fork Wind, New York State’s first offshore wind farm, is complete.

The 130-megawatt (MW) South Fork Wind will be the US’s first completed utility-scale wind farm in federal waters.

3. Anonymous businessman donates $800k to struggling food bank

But this Thanksgiving, a longtime prayer of food bank leaders was finally answered: an anonymous benefactor donated the full $800,000 they needed to move out of a facility they've long outgrown. That benefactor, however, preferred to stay anonymous.

"Very private company, really don't want attention," said Debbie Christian, executive director of the Auburn Food Bank. "It's a goodhearted person that just wants to see the work here continue, wants to see it expand."

4. Empowering woman saving hopes and mental health of suffering Ukrainian kids

Kenza Hadij-Brahim is at the forefront of promoting Circle of Toys

Hadj-Brahim is helping to launch the Circle of Toys initiative. A project that provides Ukrainian children in need of some normality with preloved toys. This new initiative connects people with old toys they might otherwise throw away, with Ukrainian families in need who want to provide some comfort to their children in this distressing time.

Find Refuge said : “The endeavour is driven by a sincere purpose: spark joy, foster play, and bring a hint of normalcy back to the young lives in Ukraine.”

5. TWO LOST CITIES HIDDEN FOR CENTURIES WERE JUST DISCOVERED IN BOLIVIA

Researchers have found these areas not only housed structures and pyramids but it has been uncovered that there were advanced irrigation systems, earthworks, large towns, causeways, and canals that cover miles.

Dr. Heiko Prümers from the German Archaeological Institute, who was also involved in the study comments that “this indicated a relatively dense settlement in pre-Hispanic times. Our goal was to conduct basic research and trace the settlements and life there. The research sheds light on the sheer magnitude and magnificence of the civic-ceremonial centers found buried in the forest”.

6. Sheep dubbed Fiona rescued from cliff in Scotland where she was stuck for more than 2 years

And at last, some positive climate news:

7. Three positive climate developments

Heating

When the Paris Agreement was adopted, the global reliance on fossil fuels placed the world on a path towards a 3.5C rise in temperature by 2100. Eight years on, country commitments to reduce their carbon footprints have pulled that down slightly, putting the world on a path for a 2.5C to 2.9C by the end of the century.

Peak emissions

Annual greenhouse gas emissions responsible for climate change have risen roughly nine percent since COP21, according to UN data. But the rate of the increase has slowed significantly. Recent estimates by the Climate Analytics institute find global emissions could peak by 2024

Rising renewables

Three technologies—solar, wind and electric vehicles—are largely behind the improved global warming estimates since 2015.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[numinously-yours]

Pick a Cat: Are you on the right path?

Want some insights on the path you're on? Unsure if you're going the right way? This reading is for you! I used my cat decks to ask these questions:

Are you on the right path?

What is helping you on this path?

Is there anything slowing you down?

What are your next steps?

Choose a kitty from above and find your group below!

$1 and $5 tip options are available on my Etsy shop! These are 100% optional, not expected, and always appreciated.

Leave a Tip

Are you on the right path? King of Coins & Knight of Wands

You are TOTALLY on the right path, group 1, and nothing can slow you down. You can feel confident in where you are and where you are headed. You have the tools to make your vision a reality. Your potential is limitless.

What is helping you? Eight of Swords

This one is interesting because, typically, the eight of swords indicates a victim mentality, confusion, and feeling trapped. However, in your context, I think that it is saying that keeping yourself to a strict set of rules has been helping you stay on this path. You may have been tempted to call it quits but you haven’t let yourself and that is great.

Is anything slowing you donw? The World

Getting this card in addition to your King of Coins & Knight of Wands only reiterates that nothing can slow you down at this point. I can’t even get myself to find a hidden meaning!

Next steps? Five of Coins reversed

It looks like your next steps are to boost back your finances. Maybe your path has something to do with getting a new job or making some investments. You did what you needed to do, but don’t get too hasty with the money you’ll be bringing in. Put some aside to keep you comfortable and ready for your next big thing 😊

Are you on the right path? Six of Swords

Right now, the answer is unknown. This is an answer where “no news is good news”. It sounds like the path you’re asking about is fairly new, so the next few questions should help you understand how you can make this path the right path. 

What is helping you? Three of Coins reversed

You have stopped waiting for others to be ready and decided to just GO. Keep this up!! You can always ask for help where it’s needed, but this path is going to be most successful if you continue to work for yourself, listen to your own gut, and make things happen cause you CAN.

Will anything slow you down? Four of Cups reversed

NOT asking for help may slow you down. If there are times that you feel overwhelmed and think “But D told me to do this on my own!” remember that you are human and humans need others. You CAN ask for advice, assistance, and company – just make sure the decisions you’re making are in your best interest.

How to move forward? Ten of Wands reversed & Three of Swords

It reallllly seems like that is what you’re struggling with as you move forward – how to balance your own needs with the needs of others. Don’t be afraid to break some hearts. People may be disappointed or frustrated if you don’t take their advice. They may try to make you feel badly about not putting them first. But, don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm. You are not a bad person for disappointing people you love. Putting yourself first is going to make the world of different, group 2.

Are you on the right path? Queen of Cups

It looks like it 😊 you are in the flow of things, your pace is steady, and you’re listening to your intuition the whole way through.

What is helping you? Nine of Wands reversed

Keep listening to that intuition, group 3! It sounds like you’ve come across obstacles along your journey. These may have made you wonder if this path is the right one. Why would you run into so many things trying to slow you down? As cliché as it sounds, they’re only making you stronger. Continue with your positive self-talk, listening to your heart, and displaying courage. I can feel the manifestations of this journey are soo close for you.

Is anything slowing you down? Six of Wands reversed

You are getting stuck on others’ definition of success. It could be specific people or even society as a whole. Moving along this path with those voices in your head isn’t going to help you – it could be part of why there are so many obstacles getting in the way. How do the obstacles force you to think? Do you get past them because you feel like you have to or because you want to? Can you ignore any of the obstacles and move along based on your own definition of success?

How to move forward? The Empress reversed

Make yourself the priority here. I think that you are trying hard to do this. That is what keeps bringing you back to your intuition. It just feels harder than it should sometimes. Keep trusting yourself. Stand in your power. Take care of yourself physically, mentally, and emotionally. It’s going to help make this obstacles a little smaller.

[cosmerelists]

Stormlight Archive Characters Go to a Ren Faire

Cosmere characters at Ren Faire requested by @jupiter-dragonsong :) (You seem to be a Stormlight Archive fan so I thought I'd concentrate there!)

If Stormlight Archive characters could magically attend a ren faire from our world, how would that experience be?

[One very mild WAT spoiler in #8: Yanagawn]

1. Shallan: Insists that everyone go in costume

She is greeted by...varying levels of enthusiasm.

Shallan: Adolin, you'll of course be a knight in chainmail. Adolin: This looks great! Shallan: Kaladin, you're the mysterious, gnarled old wizard with a staff. Kaladin: S-Stop giving me weird ear hair! Shallan: And Elhokar, you're going to wear this beautiful noble woman's gown. Elhokar: Am I in disguise again? Shallan: To be honest, you just really pull it off. Elhokar: I do, don't I?

2. Adolin: Has a great time with the play duels

You can see him in the arena, wailing on like nine other people with his foam sword, laughing uproariously.

Kaladin: [in the stands, hands clenched] Any...second...now... Shallan: I really don't think Adolin is going to need your help this time. Kaladin: He's fighting a huge group of people! Shallan: The swords are made of foam! Kaladin: But... Shallan: Just sit down!

3. Sadeas: Finds the jousting terribly boring

Sadeas is dressed in full costume, by the way. (Even Adolin admits that he looks amazing.)

Sadeas: Really? They're using their blunted lances to knock targets off of strings? Sadeas: Where's the danger? Where's the intensity? Dalinar: It's important that they not injure their soldiers in a play duel. What if there's a war? Sadeas: ... Sadeas: I don't even know where to start with you.

4. Lift: Has been eating a turkey leg for 30 minutes now

To be fair, it is the size of her head.

Wyndle: Do you...like it though? Lift: Dry...tough...salty at first and then bland all the way through... Lift: It's great! Wyndle: I-I can never understand you!

5. Syl: Is mesmerized by all of the cool costumes

It's been an hour, and so far she hasn't done anything except flit around staring at people.

Syl: Wow! That girl has fairy wings! Syl: And that guy has a huge hat with gears on it! Syl: Those boots go all the way up to their THIGH! Adolin: Gear-hat, thigh-high boots, fairy wings... Syl, you look AMAZING! Syl: I'm finding inspiration everywhere!

6. Rock: Is really taken by those shops that sell the huge metal tankards

You know, the ones that are metal with cool designs 'n' stuff.

Rock: The beer is weak but the tankard is HUGE! Lopen: Y-Yeah! -hic- So weak that I'm gonna keep up with you this time! Sigzil: Oh...we're carrying Lopen home, aren't we? Rock: Ha ha we sure are!

7. Elhokar: Can't stop buying little dragon figurines

Once he hit the booths, it was over for Elhokar.

Elhokar: [Peering at a plastic dragon that is holding a crystal ball] Elhokar: I don't know why I like this little dragon figurines so much... But I can't stop buying them... Elhokar: Oooh, that one's greenish-purple AND its eyes light up!! Hoid: I dated a dragon, once... Elhokar: Not now, Wit!

8. Yanagawn: Discovers D&D

They're always lots of people there selling dice & other D&D merch.

Yanagawn: Adolin, Adolin! I discovered another cool war game! Yanagawn: Only in this one, you can be a WIZARD! Adolin: I'm in.

9. Jasnah: Buys a period-appropriate costume while there

Jasnah cares about Looking Right, and so she'd definitely buy one of those expensive Ren Faire outfits they always have on sale.

Jasnah: Well, this corset certainly...accents things. Shallan: P-Please, I'm already bisexual!

10. Gavinor: Is the most serious child there

Navani thought Gavinor should have some fun in his life, but the five-year-old is sure...solemn about everything.

Gavinor: That man in the stocks... What a crime he must have committed... Navani: No, no, it's just an actor, Gav! Gavinor: Acting is a crime? Gavinor: I understand. Gavinor: Now his freedom is gone. And soon his life. Navani: ...Maybe we should go pet the sheep some more...

[tessenpai]

Kono Oto Tomare! Chapter 141 Scans and Rough TL

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT use this translation to make your own TL of the chapter!! The KOT TL group works very hard to give you the most accurate translation, that does as much justice to the original script as possible. This is a ROUGH translation. That means is faulty and there must be mistakes in certain places. This is just for impatient people like myself to get a grasp on what is going on in the chapter! You can REFERENCE my TL if you want to discuss the chapter but never USE it as it was your own.

Scans: Kono Oto Tomare! Chapter 141 – Rawkuma

Page 1

Side text: The nine pillars become a single flower.

Chapter title: #141 Performance End

Page 2

Side text: The paths we walked come together as one—!

Page 3

*No text*

Page 4

*No text*

Page 5

*No text*

Page 6

*No text*

Page 7

*No text*

Page 8

*No text*

Page 9

*No text*

Page 10

*No text*

Page 11

*No text*

Page 12

[Memory]: I would be for the best if Tokise's performance was nothing noteworthy.

Page 13

Akira-sensei: Everyone! Good job!!

Sane: Akira-sensei!

Page 14

Akira-sensei: Your performance was truly the best!

Everyone: Yeah-

Page 15

Everyone: We think so too!!

Page 16

Hiro: Ughh It was so much fuuun.

Atsumu: I wanted to stay on the stage forever

Kota: To think you were so pale during rehearsal, Yoshirin!!

Sane: And you, Momoya--!! What was that fill-in!?

Mittsu: Yeah, that!!

Sane: I almost burst out crying!!

Page 17

Hiro: That was what Hozuki-chan did in Ryuusegun, right?

Satowa: Yes, that surprised me.

Takezou: Thank you for including our "original sound" that way.

Mittsu: "From the 9th sound comes--" that's so like you.

Kota: Riight <3 It's love, isn't it--<3

Chika: You really do love us, huh!

Page 18

Natsu: That might be true.

Page 19

Sane: Eh...? Wai..?

Chika: Eh?

Kota: Oh, no. What was that? That kid just showed us a whole new side...

Mittsu: Did he just seduce us...? What's this fluttering in my chest..?

Isaki: Oh maaan--- My face is a mess from crying.

Chika's dad: Clap clap clap clap

Page 20

Chika's dad: Clap clap clap clap

Isaki: Brother...

Chika's dad: Ah-

Isaki: Chika... Sure has grown up, hasn't he?

Chika's dad: There are so many things...

Chika's dad: So many things that I've overlooked.

Page 21

Isaki: From now on, don't overlook them

Isaki: I'm sure Chika will continue growing from here on.

Natsu's mom: --Excuse me...

Page 22

Natsu's mom: Sorry to bother you.

Natsu's mom: The "Natsu" that is written in that fan... Could it perhaps be referring to Momoya Natsu...?

Natsu's mom: I'm sorry if I'm mistaken.

Tetsuki: Ah, no... You're right.

Natsu's mom: Really!?

Natsu's mom: Ah, I'm Natsu's mother.

Tetsuki: You don't say.

Natsu's mom: Did you come all the way to Hokkaido to cheer for him?

Tetsuki: Some...thing like that.

Page 23

Natsu's mom: I'm so happy! I had no idea that child had such wonderful friends.

Natsu's mom: He never tells me anything.

Natsu's mom: Thank you so much.

Tetsuki: Not at all...

Sei[thoughts]: Too complicated...

Chika[memory]: Everything you don't understand right now, I'll let you know what those things are.

Sei [thoughts]: Chika and Natsu looked like they were having so much fun.

Sei [thoughs]: I was jealous

Sei [thoughts]: I wanted to be there with them too.

Page 24

Sei [thoughts]: ---But

Chika [memory]: Never come back to a place like this.

Sei: Me too...

Sei [thoughts]: It made me happy to see the two of you so happy.

Sei: I'm glad Natsu was there for me, too.

Page 25

Akari: Aaaaahh. Damn it. Daaamn iiiiitt---

Akari: Tokise was amazing---... I'm totally blown away.

Haru: Yes, yes.

Sentarou: As expected from our rivals.

Page 26

Akari: Amaing... Amazing but...

Akari: It's frustrating.

Sentarou: ...Yeah.

Akari's friends: Your performance was also the best, Akari!!

Akari: Stop, you're making me cry...

Tsutsumin: I really didn't expect that... Was Tokise this good...?

Asano: Truly...

Tsutsumin: Is just like Kiryuu said... They're completely different from how they were at the Japanese Music Festival.

Page 27

Ousuke: Sorry, I'm gonna go outside to take some air for a bit.

Miran: Luka--

Miran: you once said that Tokise's sound was "Mutual love".

Miran: Now I understand what you meant.

Page 28

Luka: ---Yeah.

Luka: But our performance today was just as good

Tomoe's friend: Tomoe...

Tomoe [memory]: I don't know what sorta trickery they used to get past the preliminaries, but the performance of some slick who's quick to use violence won't reach the audience here at Nationals.

Tomoe [memory]: A performance is like a mirror to their soul!

Page 30

Sign: Unpacking - Packing Room.

Event assistant: Now then, please place your instruments here for the time being. We will be taking your picture at the entrance

Sane: A photo shoot...?

Takezou: Yeah, it's a commemorative photo for each school.

Kota: Ohh, I didn't know they did that.

Hiro: Suzuka-chan mentioned it the other day, remember?

Photographer: Please line up over here--!

Page 31

Sane: Takezou-senpai, you should be at the center!

Takezou: Eh- it's fine, I'll stand at the edge.

Kota: What are you saying, prez-!

Satowa: You're the vice president, so you should stand beside him, Hiro-senpai.

Hiro [thoughts]: Hozuki-chan---

Photographer: Okay, everyone! Get ready to give me your biggest smiles!!

Mittsu: Our biggest smiles!!

Kota: Okay, okay!! Then, Suzu-chan!! Give us a quick comment about today's performance!!

Suzuka: Huh?

Page 32

Chika: Right! We haven't heard wether it was good or bad yet!

Sane: Though of course it's gotta be good.

Mittsu: So bring out our biggest smiles!

Mittsu: So excited

Kota: Praise us

Chika: Shower us with compliments.

Atsumi: Praise us.

Photographer: Are you ready? I'll take the picture on the count of three!

Suzuka: Ah, Yeah...

Suzuka: ---I'm glad.

Page 33

Photographer: Three

Sign: Kanagawa Prefecture - Kanagawa Prefectural Tokise High School.

Suzuka: I'm glad I wrote "Harmony".

Photographer: Two.

Page 34

Suzuka: Thank you.

Page 35

Photographer: One

Hiro: Suzuka-chan, you can't do thaaat---

Kota: I can't smile--

Suzuka: Haha What horrible faces

Page 36

Narration: And so, after two days, and the performances of fifty-two schools, it came to an end.

Side text: Played to the very last sound---