#but you know. hope spring eternal. maybe in five years i’ll look at this post and be like lol i was wrong (i wont be!)

[spockamoks]

I feel compelled to say this to newer trek fans - specifically new k/s shippers invested in their relationship on snw - kirk and spock are never going to be a couple and kiss on your tv screen.

i’m saying this from a place of love as one of their biggest shippers. spock is paramount’s golden boy - he will never sleep with men because of that. every new iteration of spock becomes more and more heterosexual for that reason. the sooner you accept that, the easier you will breathe. the more you will enjoy what we do get.

just enjoy the subtext (it’s there and will always be there) and know in your heart of hearts that their love transcends paramount+

[slut4barzy]

sweethearts at the rodeo

jack hughes / new jersey devils

( synopsis : hughes get his heart broken for the second time  )

in dudley, texas only one thing holds importance to the youth in the spring time, and that was the sweethearts of the rodeo dance. every year when the rodeo comes to town theres always a special little dance held for people ages thirteen to twenty to come and have some good clean fun (as the parents like to think). for four years jack has been going to the dance, but tonight this would be his first year going without you. 

originally he was going to break his streak and not go. out of fear that he'd see you with someone else, and that would break his heart. but his mom pleaded, begged, and bribed him to take his sister since she was now of age and every girl's first sweetheart dance was like a coming of age in dudley. so eventually he gave in and went in the hopes that he'd see you there all miserable and alone just like he was.

"oh look theres yn!" savannah points out the second the two passed through the double doors of the town’s rec center. “she looks so pretty. let’s say hi!”

there you stood exactly like he didn’t want to see you, all smiley and under the arm of cory wormwood, a kid on his team that he didn’t like so much. savannah tugs on her brother's hand ready to drag them over to where you stood but jack stood firm, "i'm not going over there sav." 

huffing she stops and throws him an annoyed look. "are you going to cry again? can you just be cool and say hi. i miss her, and i want her to see how pretty my dress turned out.” he takes his hand out of his sisters hold and crosses his arms over his chest, “you can go see her but i’m not.”

savannah rolls her eyes, scoffing, “you’re such a pissbaby. i’ll be right back.” but she couldn’t make it far because while they were bickering you spotted them and were walking right over. savannah gives him a side eye with a little smirk playing on her lips, “can’t run away now, huh lover boy?” she elbows him and in return he elbows her back harder. “shut up,” he mumbles. 

“savannah! i was wondering when you were going to get here.” The two girls engulfed each other as if they haven’t seen each other in forever, which was the truth, because in their terms five months felt like an eternity. “god you look so cute. is that eyeliner you did?” savannah nodded, “ma let me do just for tonight. i tried the technique you showed me.” 

savannah always looked up to you. not only were you the only girl close to her age that she can talk to when she lives in a house with three rowdy older brothers, but she admires everything about you from the way you act to the clothes you wear. sometimes jack would joke and tell you to watch out before she ends up stealing your identity but you didn’t care. to you savannah was the doting younger sister that you never had. 

“i can tell.” you pick at her baby blue dress, “and your dress! I think you won miss. sweetheart tonight sav.” savannah squeals making jack roll his eyes. “don’t flatter her.” “oh shut up!” savannah interjects.

for the first time tonight you focus your attention to jack. making a face you reply, “why not. with the way your mom was able make a miracle out of an old curtain she just has to win.”  

playfully you swat savannah’s shoulder, “your mom made you take this bozo as a date. luke would’ve been better.” she shrugs, “lukes’ date is hannah denver and with quinn away i had no choice.” 

“ah,” you respond. “lucky for you i heard a little eight grade boy has been dying to ask you for a dance but he’s just too shy to ask. so i promised i’d do it for him, of course, only if your date doesn’t mind.” savannah gasps her eyes widening looking at jack for approval. he nods of course not wanting to ruin her night.  

“who is it?” “billy ryan,” you reply subtly pointing your head towards the direction of the stage. “he’s standing by the stage.” savannah squeals again planting a kiss on your cheek, “i’ll see you two later.” then off she zoom to have her first of many sweetheart dance and leaving two ex lovers alone. 

the band stops and soon the first couple of cords to the byrds you ain’t goin’ nowhere begins to play. you clear your throat trying to get the attention of the boy who was staring down at his shows like it was the most interesting thing of the night. he looks up, “what?” 

“you’re not going to ask me to dance? you know this is my favorite song.”

he clears his throat, “would you like to dance yn?” you shrug with a soft smile, “one wouldn’t hurt.” 

as jack whisked you off to the middle of the dance floor and as you were pressed against him, for a second everything almost felt right again. as if you were still his. 

"you look really pretty tonight." you lifts your head from where it was resting on his shoulder and looked him square in his eyes. he didn't know if it was his imagination or the lighting, but you were glowing. a sweet smiles plays on your lips, "really?"

he nods, "mhm." 

"thank you. you know you're the fifth boy to tell me so. i must look like a goddess of something."

you rest your head back on his shoulder. maybe it was because of the closeness of you that made him lose himself but he decided to blurt out what was right on his mind.

"we should get back together, you and me. i miss you."

"now hughes you know we can't get back together."

he frowns not liking your answer one bit. was this the same yn that cried the day you broke up with him?

"why not?"

"because i don't want to."

you sigh, "don't take this harshly but i can't go back to dating you. of course what we had was special, but i can’t deal with all the crying and fighting that we did. and don’t get me started on the other girls."

you giggle in what jack thought was a poor attempt to lighten up the mood "plus i like being single. who knew that so many boys were interested in me now that i didn't have hughes's girl stuck to my forehead."

you felt him go stiff and stopped your swaying. placing a hand on his cheek you said, "the offer to be friends is still on the table. you're always welcome by our house for dinner mama said so. even daddy misses you. he says that for once the teams not playing like dog shit this season and wants to let you know you're doing great."

you frown not liking the way he was letting you ramble on. "please say something jack."

he clears his throat, "yeah i-i'll stop by one day. " he stammers. smiling you say, "i'll always love you jack. you were my first love. we’ve been together for five years, and five years is a long time for teenagers to date just one person.”

"yo, yn!" it was cory. the two turned back and saw him standing by the drink table with two of his friends and his bow tie undone from the sloppy smile jack knew he was tipsy.

cory whistled and waved her over, “are you here with me tonight or hughes?” you giggles up putting up your hand, “gimme five minutes okay.” 

“make it two” he retorts

“three?” she calls back. “deal!”

you turns back with a huge smile on your face. a pang goes off in his heart cause he knows from now on that smile will never be for him. “i should go now, but i’ll defiantly give you a call about dinner at my house.”

then she stops herself, “unless i forget. then you should give me a call instead.” 

“with your memory i’ll give you a call.”

 “how about-”

 “i won’t forget. i promise.” 

“perfect.” rising on the toes of her heels she plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “i’ll see you around hughes.”

and as she bounced back to cory and into his arms jack would be lying if he said tears didn’t start brimming his eyes. 

( SEA SAYS 🧚🏾‍♂️ )

don’t you love the way I keep popping up and disappearing? can we just talk about my consistency. i realized i haven’t posted an actual story since march, yum, but you all understand. this isn’t my official coming  back because with the spring semester coming up i might just disappear again. as always sorry for any mistakes and i hope you like it.

aren’t you glad hockeys back!

[starkeaton]

the adventure zone: graduation character list

Well, i accidentally deleted the original graduation character list post, so here i am making another one. Oops. And as always, if anyone has important details i should add then feel free to suggest them!

Here are all the characters introduced in episodes 1-25. Named characters only!

Also i can’t hide spoilers! So, um..... I can’t put spoilers on this one. If you need the version with spoilers try this version of the post that i made on the adventure zone subreddit but youre not missing out on much.

# -EPISODE 1- (19 characters)

Hieronymous Wiggenstaff (he/him): Head of the Hero/Villain school. at least 400 years old. wears shining blue armor with gold accents. also an elf. according to Tomas, he led the charge at the "battle of blood valley", brought the Kingdoms of Rickart and Dawnbreak to a peace treaty, and founded the school. a little boastful, a little prideful, [SPOILERS OMITTED], and overall a pretty good dude.

Higglemas Wiggenstaff (he/him): Head of the Sidekick/Henchperson annex, cranky old elf. has a dog named hero who shows no signs of anything strange at all, ever. 

Gary (he/him): friendly room gargoyle. pseudo-hivemind.

Groundsy (he/him): the groundskeeper. a pretty nice fellow. don't go in his shed.

Hernandez (he/him): beautiful centaur professor of animal handling.

Jimson (he/him): human battlegrounds trainer for sidekicks/henchpeople, world famous featherweight champion, wields a staff. married to crushman.

Crushman (he/him): silver dragonborn with a sickle, and self-described beefy boy! heavyweight blood champion married to jimson. never lost a match for 8 years. full name Frostus Crushman.

Rolandus Fontaine (he/him): former prince, son of deposed king, kind of an asshole, maybe. wears a cape (important detail)

Zana (she/her): "terrifying" tiefling villain sorcerer, friend of rolandus. barkept the test tavern in ep2

Rhodes (she/her): hero ranger, friend of rolandus.

Buckminster Eden (he/him): hero guy. son of "The Iron Lord". their dad is stronger than rolandus's dad. his wiki page says rogue so i think hes a rogue? i never caught that and ive listened more times than i wish i did

Leon (he/him): softspoken buff, bald "fighter" (although i dont remember any clarification on how exactly he fights), sidekick of buckminster, around 28. anyone else keep forgetting he's bald? i keep forgetting it. >!gets sorta-drafted into becoming a falcon for higglemas and so far hasn't done much else.!<

Rainer Michelle (she/her): cheerful villainous necromancer with a floating chair. also, her name is pronounced "rainier" despite not being confirmed as such? travis ships her with fitzroy.

Tomas (he/him): human man with "kind eyes" and a good (psychic???) memory. guidance counselor.

Stewart LeBoeuf (he/him): brawny human man. serves food. there is no joke here, i promise

Mulligan (he/him): teaches potions. mentioned but doesn't appear yet. and we're like 25 episodes in. maybe we'll see him someday

Germaine, Victoria, Rattles (he/him,she/her,???/???): Skeleton crew. They live in the training room i guess, and as a result can never die, because "no one dies in the training room!" (note: someone now HAS to die in the training room). also their races are never explicitly stated but i guess they're probably human? in episode 3 travis brings up something about how many bones are in "the human body" and at this point i think i'm looking too deep into this so i'll just forget about it and you probably should too.

# -EPISODE 2- (9 characters)

Riveau (he/him): halfling, blame-taking teacher.

Mimi (they/them): gnome sidekick who builds cool robot prosthetics

Bartholemus (he/him): owl aarakocra accountant teacher, known for being the best accountant in the land and having a face some might describe as "smoochable". very pro capitalist :’( hope he gets better

Ramos (she/her): goliath teacher of shieldwork. *

Dip (she/her): sidekick, half-orc twin of pip

Pip (she/her): hero, half-orc twin of dip

Festo (they/them): fairy with "beautiful gossamer wings", independent study teacher of magic, loves to party

Snippers (he/him?): Let me tell you my story about Snippers the magic crab. When Travis gave the list of animals that Griffin could choose as Fitzroy's familiar's current form, he listed crab near the start, and this gave me excitement. Now i knew that crab was pretty unlikely but god i hoped that he would choose it. When the list went on- Bat, Cat, Crab, Frog, Hawk, Lizard, Owl, Poisonous Snake, Fish, Rat, Raven, Seahorse, Spider or Weasel- I nearly lost hope. I was hoping so hard that Griffin would choose the crab, but i was ready to accept a non-crab familiar. It was just buried in that list. It wasn't the most useful animal and it was an obscure pick. And as Travis informed him that it didn't have to keep the form for the whole campaign, Griffin said those five words i wanted to hear so, so badly. "Well then it's a crab." Folks, I do not often react physically when something happens in media. But in that moment, i remember very clearly, i fist-pumped and yelled, "YES!!!!!!"

so anyway, Fitzroy has a crab.

Jackle (he/him): kenku teacher of sneakery. creepy dude. apparently knows something about argo? also his name is not spelled "jackal" for some reason. Also in later episodes theyve started calling him "The Jackle" for some reason??? *

# -EPISODE 3- (1 character)

Dakota (they/them): tavern instructor, clad in black/red leather. no race stated? probably human. *

# -EPISODE 4- (6 characters)

Gerry & Tom (she/her, he/him): shopkeepers at barns and nobles who seem to have very bad names. also constantly competing for customers? these guys got dropped faster than the heathcliff quests, which is honestly just sad.

Barb (she/her): the bartender. runs Springs Eternal in Last Hope. has a sweet seeing-eye hawk familiar. 

Jaryd Reginald (he/him): owner of Reginald Ore. Wants the workers to be held responsible for the damage caused by the xorn. (fun fact: originally i wrote down "Jerrod" because i wanted it to sound like a fantasy name, then realized it was probably "Jared" because theyre named after listeners, but i was pleased to find it confirmed that it's actually "Jaryd")

Candice (she/her): A Miner. thought those werent allowed in bars but, i guess not. Wants the mine owner to be held responsible for the xorn's damage.

Jade Johnson Esq. (she/her): lawyer.

# -EPISODE 5- (1 character)

Xorn: a big hungry gem eating guy from the plane of earth Low-Down Deep with 3 arms and 3 legs. why did travis just say "multi-armed" instead of specifying it was 3? who knows! Anyway it leaves

# -EPISODE 6- (3 characters)

Osric (he/him): the man, the myth, the bursar. finally shows up after being mentioned in episodes 2 and 4. he's an elf. 

breeze through the willows (she/her): Pegasus attacked by demons, lost her parents. introduced in ep1 but gets a name here so fuck it. also in ep>!16!< we find out shes a "white arabian pegasus" and i dont think thats a spoiler bc we shouldve really known it from the beginning

Sabor (he/him): Librarian/research teacher. also a TORTLE. Really good at recalling stuff, i guess. kinda reminds me of Tomas's memory thing but i'm sure that's just a coincidence... *

# -EPISODE 7- (1 character)

Mosh (he/him): The goliath blacksmith who welcomes argo into the unbroken chain. Also, and this is specific to the tumblr version of this post, all the characters with an * at the end of their descriptions are also members of the unbroken chain. if someone knows how to do spoilers on tumblr please tell me

# -EPISODE 8-

:)

# -EPISODE 9- (2 characters)

Eeiïäá#æ&éñn (pronounced like "Ian") (he/him?): an imp but without a shitty voice. also happens to not be violent. what a coincidence?

Terence (he/him): a chain devil with a real demonic name. minor boss of the imps. very convincing and very threatening. has the frightening ability to make you zone out during his fight

# -EPISODE 10- (2 characters)

Althea Song (she/her): elf with autumn-orange hair. representative from heroic oversight guild. i'd like to personally thank travis for spelling her name out.

Crabtree (she/her): Artificing teacher. Long gray hair with a long grey beard. no mentioned race, one might guess dwarf but that would be an assumption i suppose. also unbroken chain member, presumably the dwarf argo didn't recognize in episode 7.

# -EPISODE 11- (3 characters)

Marie (she/her): Grey-haired elf woman. She's the school's physician, i guess. Member of the unbroken chain.

Dendra Maplecourt (she/her): Fitzroy's mom. Has hot mint gum, i guess. She was mentioned earlier but i wasn't convinced she was a real person until this episode

Cool Gary (he/him): AYY ITS ME GARYR

# -EPISODE 12-

no new characters again!

# -EPISODE 13- (7 characters hhhyyyuu)

Kale (???/???): Head of the Placement Department, in charge of real world assignments. First mentioned in Ep4 but i missed that the last few times bc it is so brief. Gives exposition about missions i guess????? is that the only reason this chara cter exists

satyr thief (unnamed) (he/him): tries to rob thundermen, dies instantly

Ogre (he/him): teamed up with the satyr. his name is ogre.

Moon (he/him): A Sidekick. small pale sullen guy. no mentioned race. Why is there another FUCKING sidekick WE HAD ENOUGH hhhyuuuuuu

Deanna (she/her): A bigoted centaur with an obnoxious voice. Malwin the Strong's second in command.

Malwin the Strong (she/her): Leader of the centaurs of the scarlet woods. Wants to appease the spirit of the scarlet woods so that thecentaurs of the scarlet woods will be protected in the scarlet woods. Had a relationship with Arturas in the past but their clashes are currently known to get pretty heated.

Arturas (he/him): Leader of the Centaurs of the Valley, i guess. Had a relationship with Malwin. Centaur. Did i mention centaur? i cant think of anything else about this character

# -EPISODE 14- (2 characters)

Calhain (he/him): Human wizard, Malwin's magical advisor. Kind of an amateur wizard in a job high above his skill level. Graduated Wigginstaff's as a hero.

Spirit of the Scarlet Woods: A spirit who requires sacrifice in order to keep Malwin's herd safe and prosperous. Not keen on dubiously canonical combos, i guess. i wouldnt be either. also apparently the sacrifice depends on personal value, not how much value it has to the spirit.

# -EPISODE 15- (2 characters)

Sylvia Nite (she/her): Fitzroy's magic theory teacher at knight night school, who he turned into a catfish by accident. oops!

Chaos (they/them, maybe more): Presumably a deity, gave Fitz his powers and wants him to give in to his chaotic desires. (physical desc: 9 foot tall, iridescent 'mother of pearl' skin, pure white eyes, fine burgundy cloak with gold/onyx lining. their physical form beyond that seems to change every time they show up.)

# -EPISODE 16-

none -w-

# -EPISODE 17-

some demins happened. the big dudes are called "Pit Fiends" and the armored demon ladies are called "Erinyes", by the way. that was incredibly hard for me to figure out the first time, especially without headphones, i thought travis was saying "pig feet" and i just could not discern what the other things were

# -EPISODE 18- (6 characters)

snow on the mountain: shire horse pegasus

storm at sea: peruvian paso pegasus, vehement defender of The Guardian. doesn't have a goofy voice.. but he could have....

thaw of the spring: a winged horse

night of no clouds: a winged hhorse

The Guardian: "An ancient and powerful being that guards the unknown forest." Has protected the flock from demons for many many years. apparently is the voice that was talking to our firbolg in episode 1?

Grey, the Demon Prince (he/him): wants to cause a war, originally wanted to kill hiero and higgs, forces the heroes to build an army to fight his. As "Fauxronimous", he has skin the *color and pattern of* (but not necessarily made of) slate splashed with liquid, pointed ears, sharp teeth, shining eyes, horns of unspecified shape. 12 fucking feet tall. wonder if the slate-looking skin is related to garys. plot twist detected? Also i recently looked at the episode descriptions and found out his name is spelled "Gray", but really does it truly matter?

# -EPISODE 19- (2 characters)

Shabree Keene (she/her): Argo's mom, killed on the Mariah, possibly by the Commodore. Long auburn hair, green eyes. Mentioned earlier but described here, so fuck it.

**Thomas** (he/him): Argo's first mate on the Mariah, as the Kraken, in his chaos-dream. may or may not actually exist.

# -EPISODE 20- (1 character)

The Commodore (he/him): Reknowned hero of the seas, military regalia, great naval hero, presumably responsible for the death of Shabree Keene. No mentioned race. Seriously, they never mention this guy's race. The only thing described about him is how he's dressed and his evil smile. Does that mean he's human? Elf? Dwarf??? Who knows! maybe it just doesnt matter. 

# -EPISODE 21-

none

# -EPISODE 22-

not any of them. not any.

# -EPISODE 23- (1 character)

Ozymondelius (sp???) (it/its): A warforged teacher who just so happens to like war or something? i guess its in the name. only mentioned in this episode, doesnt show up yet.

# -EPISODE 24-

they have a fight in the training room but nobody dies :\\ maybe next time. also no new characters. pog

# -EPISODE 25- (4 characters)

Gherkin (he/him): Tall lankier skeleton, has a scimitar and a merkin, which is a pubic wig... and he wears a jerkin? which i guess is a kind of coat? also i think hes mute 

Tibia (she/her?) : Shorter skeleton with gold teeth, and long canines. i think both of the skeletons are mute actually.

The Lich King aka Gordy (he/him): Rainer's dad. Commands armies of the undead. lives in The Crypt. described as a hooded, skull-faced man with intricate black lines on his face, but changes to a shaved-head man with dark skin and vetiligo. Abandoned as a babby, raised by traveling parents, had necromancy powers, took Rainier in. Not actually very scary at all i don't know why he did the creepy laugh. Kind of a warm fatherly figure actually. hm. also people are speculating Gordy might be short for Gordita and his parents are maybe supposed to be lup and barry but THAT S JUST A THEORY.

our firbolg's father (he/him): A firbolg who lived by the code and was there when our firbolg was banished. Came to respect our firbolg's interest in a new way of life, in his final moments.

TOTAL: 72 NPCS! (well, including 2 extra PCs, i guess.)

Average: 2.88 NPCs per episode.

i was gonna not include the bone-PCs and have it be 69 but our firbolg's dad was just too important to not respect with a spot on the list.

anyway as always make sure to smack me with a blunt object if i forgot any characters!!!!!

[musicallisto]

without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines​, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

[mikami]

Can you do an analysis of Light in part II

It took me a bit, but yes, absolutely! First, I’ll take this spot to promote casuistor’s early canon Light and Yotsuba Arc Light analyses. I absolutely concur with what is said in them and for a full picture of Light, they’re recommended reading. I can’t claim to know if Casuistor would fully agree with what I have to say about Arc 2 Light now, but I can at least hope that this patches together to a coherent characterization, haha.

Eclipse - An Analysis of 23 year old Light Yagami.

Light in after the timeskip is a little tricky because we don’t get to see a lot of him at his ‘status quo’. Very early on Sayu gets kidnapped and from then on we largely see Light in stress situations which is only minorly conductive to figuring out how he changed at baseline between ages 18 and 23. I will still attempt to do this and establish where life brought him in those five years first of all.

First off, he finished his undergraduate college education. This is a 4 year program, so from spring 2005 to spring 2009, this is part of what keeps Light busy. The other is his two jobs as Kira and as L, each of which must have eaten up a good amount of his time. And yet, Light did at least a minimum of socializing as well:

In the first arc, Light and Takada date for exactly two days and knew each other for maybe a month. There isn’t any space for them to be having these in-depth conversations here - it makes much more sense that Light smoothed things over between them after returning from confinement. It’s not like him to leave a blemish like him cheating on and then ghosting Takada stand uncorrected. It appears they became friends afterwards and only fully lost contact when Takada graduated, around a year before Light did (since she didn’t miss a year due to being a Kira suspect)…. This just goes to establish that during the majority of the time-skip, Light absolutely does keep up his charming good boy public image.

He also keeps Misa reasonably happy - though he does not show her any overt affections, he doesn’t neglect her to a degree she’s uncomfortable with and it’s canon that they are sexually active together. (Elaborations: here and here).

I’m bringing all this up immediately because there is often an assumption that the Light we see the most in the second arc is fully reflective of his attitude during the timeskip, which I think is demonstrably untrue.

Nevertheless, it would also be wrong to say Light didn’t change at all.

For one, obviously, he gets a job. Contrary to popular opinion, Light’s work is NOT just being on the Kira Task Force. When the second arc starts up properly, he’s already been working on the information bureau for 6 months. And this is canonically not just a cover as Light mentions work from it that he was involved with:

So this brings Light up to 3 labor-intense jobs - NPA, L, Kira. Even with task delegating, that’s a lot of work. If there’s just one word to describe young adult Light it’s simply ‘busy’. He’s just so busy.

The other thing that notably changed is his relationship to Soichiro. This change took root during the Yotsuba Arc and spans further and further now. Though Light still looks up to his father, he is no longer hesitant to talk back to Soichiro - likewise, Soichiro often defers to him through this arc. The two of them have become adults of equal standing by now. Soichiro is no longer the unquestioned patriarch of the Yagami family. 

Now, there isn’t a lot of space to examine Light’s adult daily life demeanor in, but the image he gives off in the few scenes we get is that he’s become a more serious and stoic person over his years of being busy and living a double life. The double life aspect is especially highlighted in the brief Yagami family scene.

Though we see Light laugh along with his family, his eyes are obscured in both instances. With Light, this is classically a visual cue towards emotional conflict rather than plain lying. The issue here isn’t that he’s faking it, the issue is that his double life existence is taking some amount of mental toll on him.

At the start of the second arc we are introduced to the setting information that Kira has been gaining more and more wide-spread acceptance across the globe. Yet the Yagami family stands firmly against Kira, not exactly to Light’s delight. In the end, his family members are the prototypical ‘good people’ that he’s making his new world for in the first place. I’ve discussed ad nausea that Light desires his father approval, but his sister’s and mother’s opinion matter to him as well. Above all other people, Light loves his family. Five years of playing charades and listening to them vehemently disagree with his actions have created a sense of emotional disconnect though, which I think is visible in his vacant expressions during this scene.  

Since Light isn’t currently facing any thrilling challenge, I get the feeling that his mentality during this timeframe is a sense of ‘just a bit further until….’. He’s not living in the moment so much as dismissing the moment as temporary inconvenience on his quest towards the ideal he is striving for. (Which isn’t to say I see him as totally emotionally absent. This is just the underlying current.)

And that’s where we have Light at the end of Volume 7. And with Volume 8, he is immediately tossed into great emotional peril with Sayu’s kidnapping. This would be the first big segment you’d need to cover for second arc Light, but it’s already been written out brilliant by casuistor in the second half of this post. The bottom line is: Light changes all his plans to his disadvantage because he loves his sister and wants her safe, hurray! This is relevant to every arc Light really, loving his family is a big constant with him.

How much this all stresses him out is evident in him getting loud and abrasive, which isn’t much his usual behavior. (Again, I’d argue Misa seems surprised by this outburst more than anything - I don’t believe this has been a pattern between them at any point during the timeskip.)

Especially since he goes back to being smarmy as is default with her once the threat to his sister is dealt with.

The other big thing that happens in Volume 8 is obviously him meeting Mello and Near, who are the ones reintroducing struggle into Light’s stagnant life.

The meeting with Near immediately evokes the tension of a battle with L for Light - for Mello, the association doesn’t come until Sayu is out of immediate danger. Either way, for the time being the presence of these two kind of anchors Light. Having something to fight and schemes to do to keep his brain actively engaged tends to be something that makes him thrive.

It’s cool that he himself points out how thematically Mello and Near are challenging him on two different facets of his existence. The fact that it’s a challenge is also what sets this apart from Light vs L in the first arc. Though Light hadn’t initially known it, back then L was the established force and Light was the newcomer and challenger. Now Light is established in both areas and Mello and Near are the ones attacking his existent positions - that’s why he views them as roadblocks to outplay rather than as nemeses. He views himself, from the get-go, as the person with the upper hand - this brand of confidence is only possible because the timeskip existed and made Light get used to this as status quo.

And this about sums-up Light in the first half of the second arc. It’s important to note that as far as Light characterization is concerned the second arc really does segment mid volume 9. His father’s death is an event that changes Light significantly on every count.

I wrote it out before, so in the name of not getting super repetitive, here’s the key elements of Soichiro’s death as far as Light is concerned. 

It was not what Light planned. He wanted to kill Matsuda, he never even considered his father would volunteer.

Soichiro dies while expressing happiness that Light is not Kira - thus cementing once and for all that Light will never and can never attain his father’s approval that he yearns for.

Soichiro’s statement also implies that he still had doubts about Light’s innocence, even after mock-shooting him in the face and working alongside him for years. Light also learns his father never trusted him fully.

Basically everything Light wants from his father is negated and denied and then Soichiro is dead, leaving Light with no way to rectify things.

We’d established in the early paragraphs of this that a lot of Light acting as Kira was a matter of waiting until his family approves. Soichiro’s passing now makes this ‘until’ an impossibility. And that hurts badly.

Light deals with this by rationalizing everything to the n-th degree. He focuses himself on killing Mello during his father’s death to push the emotions as far away as possible and after that tries to cut himself off from his father emotionally as much as possible. This includes being avoidant to the rest of his family who remind him of the cocktail of unresolved emotions he has simmering below:

And then changes in his rhetoric and candidness about his thoughts are also immediately apparent. I feel like I cap this scene in every second post I write but it’s simply too relevant to ever be left out:

Again, we’re dealing with the hidden eyes visual cue that usually indicates that Light is saying the truth or is very emotionally conflicted about what he’s saying.

So here we have Light fully verbally acknowledging Kira’s evil-ness, to the world, to himself. Soichiro always thought of Kira as evil and how badly that wounded Light is one of the key segments early in the first arc. Now, Soichiro’s stance is eternal, because Soichiro is gone. Light has to acknowledge it as unchangable fact - so he focuses his rhetoric on the idea of sacrifice once more.

This little speech isn’t for the sake of the task force members, it’s Light’s answer to his dead father; Light re-convincing himself of his whole scheme.

None of these are brand-new thoughts for Light, but the timing and intensity with which they surface here is noteworthy.

(Side Note: from this point on, the usage of the hidden eye cue for Light changes a little - up until here it’d been used pretty much exclusively for Light being emotional. Now it is also often used when we see the scene from Aizawa’s perspective, symbolizing his distrust of Light - how he feels he and Light literally cannot talk eye to to eye because Light is lying. The inconsistency in the visual language is kind of annoying, but ah well.)

Further, Light loses his qualms about going against Soichiro’s morals in front of the task force. Now that there is no father there to judge him anymore, he doesn’t put too much care into keeping up appearances. Where in the Yotsuba Arc Light had made plenty clear that he’s his father’s good son who would never use people, he just… totally gives up on this now. Though in front of his father Light always acted out that he and Misa are an actual couple, he now cheats on her without so much as a feigned hesitance.

His excuse regarding Takada is half-hearted at best as well. Of course, this in part just relates to Ohba not putting any care into writing women or people’s feelings about women. But on a solely in-universe level, this is a notable shift in how manipulative Light lets people see him as.

The rest of the task force simply does not matter to him as more than mere pawns - their opinion of him is only important when it comes to threat level assessment. Light’s actual morality chain is gone now.

Light’s characterization during this time-frame is a little tough to talk about because there isn’t a lot of added value, if that makes sense? He’s the Light we know but less. His character change isn’t defined by new traits emerging so much as old traits falling away: Light doesn’t joke around anymore, Light doesn’t bother to hide duplicitous nature as much anymore. And notably, Light doesn’t really get emotional key moments anymore either.

He’s mostly just… this. He’s laser-focused on his plan and his victory while pushing aside any personal elements. 

Only with Takada, he amps up the charm again and acts more like his first arc self, but that’s not a positive statement to their relationship.

To Light, this is solely functional rather than relaxing. He was going to kill Takada along with everyone else who knows of the notebook right after the 28th, rather than keep her around for use. The only one who would have survived this rampage would have been Mikami, solely because he has the eyes and that is still useful.

And with all of this as our baseline, we move into the finale.

Going into the warehouse, Light is, above all, overconfident. In his mind, he’s won before he even sets foot into the Yellow Box. 

When he unfavorably compares Near to L, he’s in truth saying more about himself and his own mindset than he is saying about Near. He took L more seriously, not because L was better, but because he himself was more alert and aware of the possibility of failure. Earlier in the arc, Light even refers to Near as ‘worse’ than L on the threat-scale... He’s lost all of this now. The level of detached scheming he has reached after his father’s death is to the detriment of his maneuvering ability. 

Light now relies on the fact that he’s the established power and views himself as inherently victorious - though Light has always been arrogant, he used to not fully underestimate people this way. He has become complacent in his arrogance - I do think that is related to how dead inside he is generally, too.

So when it turns out that he has in fact been outplayed, he takes it harsher than he ever took any set-backs before. Instead of taking reparation measures immediately, he reacts with disbelief and badly thought out excuses.

Light is fully caught off-guard by his own failure.

He is laid bare in front of everybody. Light has spent the last five years consistently lying to everybody around him, but now he is proverbially naked. This panel uses the same visual language as when Light regained his memories at the end of the Yotsuba-arc. Here and there, a split-up Light becomes more himself. There, the literally memorywiped Light got reunited with his full plans. Here, Light’s masks fall away and he’s only himself in the eyes of himself and the world. 

Sometimes all you can do is laugh (tm).

Now Light finally gets to lay all the justifications he’s always told himself about his actions as Kira out in the open. And this time, maybe for the first time ever, literally every part of him believes in it. Now that everything has fallen away, this self-justification is literally all that Light has left and he’ll cling to it like a drowning man clings to a log of wood.

I think this is really the moment where Light ‘comes together’ so to speak. Masks and excuses conflate with the person, become one on every level.

For a large amount of the second arc Light has been driving on scheme-y autopilot but now his heart is fully in it once more. There is no more ‘until’. He’s justice now, he erased the last fraction of doubt now.... and it doesn’t help him.

Light is fully unified as himself for the first time.

And he’s also completely alone for the first time.

His entire life, Light had people look up to him. He’s always been adored. There has never ever been a situation in which there was truly nobody on Light’s side - not in all of his 23 years, not until now. 

And that’s the one thing Light can truly not believe. The one certainty in his life has always been that people look up to him. Now he’s on the floor, crawling in his own blood, and nobody is his ally. He can’t and won’t believe it.

And that’s why he asks Ryuk for help. And that’s why Ryuk kills him.

At the very end of his life, Light is a scared child. He comes full circle from the time he found the Death Note and thought he’d die for accidentally using it - he’s back to this fear of death, only this time it’s worse. Then, he had hope to change the world in his days before death. Now, he has changed it, and he realizes that’s not enough. Leaving a legacy is not simply not enough.

Light wants to live.

All these years of feeding himself the narrative of self-sacrifice for the greater good... and at the bottom line below all that, what he really wants is to live.

Too late for that.

[connorsimpson]

I posted these on Twitter and immediately thought that I should have just written a Tumblr post. And so here we are, back again, posting a list of everything I watched this year. I’ve been doing this for about five years or so now and I really have come to love looking at the spreadsheet at the end of the year. I always think I’ll fill out the year, director, cast, and a lil review of each one. I never, ever get that far, which always bums me out a bit. But even just completing the list of everything I watched in a year makes my serotonin levels go whirr, so. 

I know I should probably just give in to Letterbox’d which would do three quarters of that work for me but there’s something about the spareness of the spreadsheet I can’t tear myself away from. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a balance that works for me. 

Anyway, I mostly skipped new movies this year. Of the six or so 2020 movies I watched probably my favourite was On the Rocks. Which is surprising to me and you and probably Sofia Coppola too. It felt so isolating and lonely but beautiful and hopeful and had a lot of really loving shots of driving in New York and restaurants and I watched it the week before when I would normally meet my friends in New York for our yearly Thanksgiving trips to meet up with Jeff and Andy. I watched Palm Springs right after a breakup and something about the eternal loop together vs. potentially blowing up eternity so you can move forward together of it all really struck a nerve. Let Them All Talk charmed the hell out of me and really affected me once I got over the initial shock of seeing a bunch of people I root for on a cruise ship. It made me want to call and check in on old friends. Mank made me want to go sober and do a lot of yoga and get really into incense and inner peace, more so than I sort of already am. 

[solac1um]

Brief Respite

I’ve also posted this on AO3! Written for the this fanfic collab.

Basically my first actual attempt at sexy writing. I tried to blend my default style into it, got a bit carried away, tried to shoehorn a piece of dialogue in, etc. Hopefully it came out at least miiiildly readable? Lmao. Anyway this was super self-indulgent, the Nakahechi route is, indeed, very special to me, although I’ve only ever been there once. If I lived in Japan, though, it would definitely be somewhere I visit yearly. A person can dream, I guess.

Izuku x GN!Reader

———

One of those nights again. He'd returned home, to lay his weary body on the couch next to you with a sigh, staring empty-eyed at a blank phone screen in one hand, the other seeking yours gingerly - too gingerly.

You'd put your book down, curled into his side and turned his face to yours. He'd looked so tired it broke your heart. As if in response to that thought, he'd attempted a smile. "I'm okay, don’t worry about m-"

"- don't give me that. Right now, I'm not a colleague who needs to be reassured." Your fingers brushed soft locks from his face as you'd peered into his eyes. "How many times have I told you not to bring work home with you, baby? You don't have to be a hero within these four walls." You'd brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. "If Izuku is tired, or worried, or scared, let him. You need to take care of this, too." And you'd tapped your fingers on his chest over his heart, watched the perfect veneer crumble, let him cry in your arms.

Later, stroking his shower-damp hair as he slept, you'd decided you both needed a good, week-long vacation.

Besides, it was that time of the year. You made a pilgrimage to the mountains of Kii Hantou every year, since it captured your heart the first time, walking the same route. This trail has seen you through your progress as a rescue hero. From worrying about being able to pass your first fitness test, to attempting harder and harder stretches of the trail every time you returned. The Nakahechi route witnessing you in all your seasons. For you, it was less religious, more a place that felt like home, that surrounded and held you, that kept safe your fears and dreams. And this time, you got to bring her the person you'd been telling her about for so long.

"For the next week," you'd told Izuku firmly, pressed against his side on the bus rumbling through the quiet countryside. "You're not a hero, you're not on duty, and neither am I, and no one is going to put us on call for anything. The only thing I'm fixing is food for lunch every day. And if someone has the gall to interrupt the first real vacation you've had in the 8 years you've been a pro hero, it better be because the world is literally crumbling." You stare into his eyes, still so guileless after so long. "Mmkay? Promise me."

His eyes are always so gentle when they behold you. "I'll try, puppy," he'd said, kissing your forehead. "But no promises."

It would have to do. You know how much his work means to him. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. "Good enough for me."

-

You watch as Izuku navigates the undulating paths with more ease than you could ever hope to muster. You lead the way, but only because he keeps pace with you. Your excitement is his excitement. You watch as he gapes at the landscape, his boyish excitement not lost to age - "you come here every year? I bet you don't ever get sick of it!" (You don't.) You laugh with him as he giggles at the "not Kumano Kodo" signs along the way. Signs you were in stitches to see the first time you walked this route. You watch him absolutely demolish the home-cooked meals every family-owned establishment feeds you both, lean into the soft comfort of quiet conversation before bedtime, his hands wandering languidly, affectionately over your skin.

Time and the mountains swallow your five days. Early mornings, sun dappled lunches sitting on logs. Walking rain drenched, through the gates of the hongu grand shrine, the water from the basin so cold your hands numb. The damp rough of the rope in your hands, the melodious rattle of the bell. Walking the grounds, cold and tired, picking out omamori for the both of you. (You always returned them at the new year, knowing you'd be back to get another one) Stopping before the gate to kiss Izuku in the rain, sweet and full of intent.

You’d booked a hotel with a hot spring for your last night there. It isn’t the biggest - that was expensive and always booked out a year in advance - but it is fancy enough, and has private bath rooms. You were a frequent visitor on your travels. Besides, you’d like some time to stare at your man in the nude, thank you very much.

The temperature of the hot bath is delicious after a cold late-autumn day in the rain. Your hands and feet are numb. You’d barely registered your shower, hurriedly rinsing suds from your skin and hair, nearly flinging yourself into the hot bath. You sigh as the shock of the heat fades into a warmth that wraps around you. An eye on the clock, you watch Izuku as he showers. He is so familiar, and no less beautiful for it; cut in marble, almost, your Adonis. How long had it been since you’d had the time to-

“Puppy?” You’re drawn back out of your head to concerned eyes on you. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed. Maybe you should go have a rinse so you don’t overheat…”

You blink at him. “I, ah. No. I’m okay, I’ve only been in here for uh” - a glance at the clock - “Five minutes.” You flash him a smile. “Come join me, the water’s great.” And he obliges.

You want to enjoy the bath, you really do, but you seem to have miscalculated just how fatally distracting it would be to have him next to you, so tantalisingly undressed. You sigh and lean your head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the tendrils of desire you feel rising deep in your core. He hums and deposits a kiss on your head, and warmth blooms in your rib cage.

Had it really already been seven years? Eight, since you first met in the debris of a fallen building, the aftermath of some villain’s harebrained scheme. Dirt-streaked and exhausted. You, working your first year as a rescue hero, and he, almost fresh out of UA. You’d both unwound over a cup of shitty coffee in the break room of the hospital afterward, a conversation cut short, that’d led to another. And another, and another. And here you both are.

“You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes again.” Izuku nuzzles you. “You’re so pensive today. Is everything alright?”

You giggle, lean in for a kiss that you draw out. “Couldn’t be better. After all, I get to spend aaall this time with the love of my life.” His eyes hold yours, a little hazy as you pull away. Entranced. You watch, with some pride, the blush dust his freckled cheek. It’s flattering that you can still do that, after all this time.

“Did you miss me that much,” he mumbles, and your barely-audible “too much” and the resounding yes in your mind brims over. His face is in your hands, your lips are on his again, sweet and insistent and ravenous. And the water burns on your skin, or is it the heat in your skin, the way your breath is stolen from your lips, the way your head is spinning?

His breathing is ragged when you pull back, a fire in his eyes that finds its echo somewhere in your belly.

You find your words first. “Let’s get out of here,” you say, taking him by the wrist. “Before we both get a heat stroke.”

The walk back feels like eternity. Bodies pressed into each other, huddling for warmth, for contact. The door clicks shut behind you, your hands are on him, tangled in his hair, breathless against his lips. Kissing him, his body against the mattress, your body against his, imprinting the length, the shape of his desire into your contours. His hands on your hips. You gasp into his lips, drawing a groan. The whisper of fabric as the sash of his yukata comes undone in your hands. Your fingers on his skin, trailing down his body, his breath hitching in his throat.

"You are so beautiful," you murmur against his skin. "These shoulders shouldn't always have to carry the weight of the world."

He sighs. You let your fingers trail down his form, studying every dip and curve and freckle and scar. “Let me spoil you today, baby. You work too hard.” You've long memorised the constellations in his skin, the way muscle under skin flutters beneath your hands, the way it does now as your touch wanders, fingertips and lips, down to the waistband.

He shivers, bites back a moan. Straining. You run a hand along his length, through the fabric, fingers finding the elastic, and you tug, achingly slow.

Lips brush the weeping tip, catching his precum on your tongue. You take him slowly, sucking the swollen skin, tearing a groan from his throat. A hand in your hair - gentle pressure, but enough to feel the tension humming in his veins. He breathes, a drawn out, shuddering breath.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly.

You moan, a sound that starts in your throat and reverberates into the cavern of your mouth, and he feels it. “F-fuck–” his breath hitches, and you hum. You take him deeper, your hands wandering the planes of his stomach, his thighs.

Deft lips, and a practiced tongue, you devour him. His tip hits the back of your throat and you groan. His taste is so familiar, your blood thundering in your ears and you are so full of him, and all you know is him. And you hold the moment, as he squirms, for what would have been a breath, or two, or three -

- and you pull back, only to push down again, feel him twitch and swell between your lips as you move. Hungry for his passion, his unravelling, faster and faster.

Izuku’s hand is in your hair, grip almost demanding. The taste and heat of him on your tongue, egging you on, fuelled by the sound of his voice, caught between a groan and a whimper, the way he shifts and trembles, back arching away from the mattress. His body a line of perfect tension as you guide him to his climax.

His own hand stops you. “Puppy, baby, wait, I–”

“Mmm?” You hum, earning yourself another soft gasp.

“I- I need to be inside you.”

You pull back, lips gliding over his length, leave him aching. You’ll make him wait a little, you’ve waited for this for so long. You look up at him, through your eyelashes, faux bashful. “Yeah?”

You grind against his cock slowly, teasing, and he draws a shuddering breath. “Are you going to ask?” You breathe the words into the air between your lips and his, close enough to feel him whimper as you move against him again.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please, baby. I need you. I need this.”

You swallow the moan rising in your throat, lean in. “Good. Because,” you breathe, “I do too.” Your words meeting his parted lips before your own steal the choked moan that escapes - yours, or his - as you guide him into your velvet heat.

You’ve waited for this for so long.

You move slowly, savour every inch of him, the way his eyes hold yours, unfocused, the way he bites his lip and gasps at every thrust, not enough to silence his moans.

“Fuck, puppy, yes–” His voice catches on the edges of his pleasure. “Oh god, you feel amazing, puppy.”

You chuckle breathlessly. “Yeah, baby? Did you miss this? Just having time... to ourselves like this?” The heat rises in your core, the closeness and friction and fullness of his cock tearing a rawness from you. “You did, didn’t you?” you move faster, chasing intensity. “Tell - tell me.”

His hips twitch against you. "You– did I miss this," he gasps in the midst of a pleasure that threatens to steal his words, “Puppy, you have no idea, I - ah - all that… that wishing… for, for uneventful days so I can come home early, only for it to - ah - never happen, being too tired to do anything all these nights - oh fuck - h-having all that time on patrol, to all but dream of you and how I fucking ache for you. I-I’ve wanted you so much I can't breathe. Fuck, baby, I don't think you have a single inkling-”

And then they’re gone, shipwrecked in the storm of his pleasure as he takes you by the hips and thrusts up into you, the change in angle bringing you closer. And the desperation of his words and his touch make you want to lose the measure, fuck him into oblivion, sate a hunger you cannot name.

And so you do, bracing against the mattress, hips snapping against his, feeling your walls tighten around him. You drop your forehead to his, kiss him deeply. He groans into your lips, low and desperate. “Puppy, I’m- I’m going to cum-”

The need in his voice pushes you over the edge. You ride him through your orgasm, his name tearing ragged from your lips over and over as you convulse around him. Your hips don’t stop until his body echoes your climax, shuddering against you, twitching inside you.

You hold him until he stops trembling, until you stop trembling, until his breathing slows. Green eyes gaze at you, still hazy and so, so soft. You kiss him slowly, pull away to brush the hair from his sweat-damp brow, and he wraps his arms around you. “I love you, puppy,” he murmurs.

You press a kiss to his forehead. “And I love you, dearest.”

He hums and buries his face in your shoulder. “I really needed that.”

You run your hands through his curls, gently. “I know, baby. So did I.”

“Maybe we should... Do this more often,” he mumbles, drawing a soft laugh from you.

“Oh, definitely. Anything to get your workaholic butt to take a break every now and then, and spend time with me.” You touch a kiss to the side of his head. “Would you come with me again next year, if you can?”

He looks surprised and gratified. “You really want me to? I’d love to.”

You bump your nose against his. “Don’t look so surprised. If the last seven years is anything to go by, there isn’t a part of my life I want separate from you.”

He responds with a tight hug. “Me neither. Thank you, puppy.”

You let your fingertips wander, tracing idle patterns in the sweat cooling on his skin. “You know, since we’re going to have to go take another shower, let’s go enjoy that private hot spring without getting distracted.”

Izuku laughs. “What are the chances?” You flick him lightly on the shoulder. “What?” He looks at you innocently, all big guileless eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re so distracting.”

You roll your eyes, tugging him up. “Oh you sweet talker, you. C’mon, before it gets late.”

[killjoy-loveit]

You & I

A/N: Welcome to Spring Season Stories! This is the 11th of the daily stories in April, so be on the lookout for more! If you’re wondering what the posting schedule is, then search ‘Spring season Stories’ on my blog and the calendar should pop up. I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. As always, the links for my masterlists will be in the notes, though I have come to find (after months of doing this lmao) that on mobile you have to click my reblog of the post to actually get the links- same applies to desktop.

Summary: Follow inspired piece.

Word Count: 595

Genre: Slight Angst, but there’s a good ending

*** I used the translated lyrics from this website! ***

Can’t you feel this familiar yet strange air

Yeah I can feel, I knew the moment you passed by

In just one moment we missed each other

     There are moments you think you can smell his cologne in the air; at a grocery store, a movie theatre, or on an old sweater. Sometimes you would catch little glimpses of people that looked like him, but you could never be certain. There’s a longing that settles onto your chest each time this happens, wrapping you into a dark nostalgia.

We keep missing each other, getting farther away

     Time flowed as it usually does, and as they say, time waits for no one. The heartache never went away, in a constant ebb and flow of dull pain. It stung a bit more when you saw that he moved. That gave a sense of finality about it all. Things would never be able to be mended.

I don’t dream because you’re not here

I’ll go round and round, in the end, I’ll see you again

     His smile lingered in your memory, his laugh replacing the silence. The nights were the worst, there’s nothing to distract you. Each day is the same: wake up, go to work, come home, miss him, sleep. All you want is to fix things, but sometimes it’s harder to fix things than it is to give them up. That doesn’t always mean one should give up though. Except you don’t know if you’ll ever have that chance. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hope that you’ll get an opportunity.

I trust in this feeling, no matter what anyone says

Because all of these coincidences will point to you

     Years later, the pain dimmed and waned, drifting to the back of your mind. You had been so close, so close, to moving forward when you caught a glimpse of him. Everything came flooding back. All the smiles, all the nights spent together, every tear shed, every minute spent in his embrace. It was a cold day, clouds hanging overhead in an ominous fashion as the rain battered down on the sidewalk. An umbrella clutched in your hand as you walked forth, barely paying any heed to the people moving around you on the sidewalk. Then a hand was on your shoulder, one that felt all too familiar. Your heart jumped into your throat.

     He was standing right behind you, a bright smile on his face despite the gloomy weather. “Minhyuk?”

Our encounter was a fateful existence

     “I thought it was you,” he laughed, and your insides felt like they’d melted.

     “W-What are you doing here?” You stammered.

     “I could ask you the same, I didn’t know you moved.”     “I thought you lived in another area.”

     “Used to, it got boring. We should catch up soon, have lunch or something.”

     Maybe your eyes got marginally wider, and maybe you felt frozen in place for all of five seconds, but maybe he didn’t notice. “Okay.”

You and I, we’re connected by two dots

Crossing over the line of time and space

     The world became colorful once more. Minhyuk slowly became a constant presence in your life again. Always around with a joke and a smile on the worst days. You mended things, both apologizing for the past. Hearts swelling with newfound happiness once thought lost to time. It could be said that maybe you outwitted fate itself, to end up together once more.

Twisting this fate in the scene of eternity

 I’ll follow you

I’ll throw myself to you

I need you to come

Follow

[hayesit]

matt’s 2019 year in review

here it is! and it’s late because i had other/better things to do (and procrastinating), was recovering from hangovers (also procrastinating), and recovering from being sick (procrastinating).

i’ve been doing these year in review posts since 2016, so here is my fourth installment. every year i look back through my google calendar, my camera roll, and my bullet journal as a gratitude exercise and to chart my own development as an adult. 

here is my spotify wrapped 2019!

the beginning of this year was off to a good start: i met two friends that i know through the internet! i met my friend riley when she visited boston (i met her through a mutual friend and through overwatch league twitter) and my friend jimmy that i’ve known for…. 6 or 7 years (?!) through tumblr and designed the logo for me and alex’s late podcast, hardly tea, may she rest in peace. 

i moved dorm rooms in between the fall and spring semester, and once again i was not happy with where i lived. i lived with 4 rando’s that i was placed with and the 5 of us barely even talked with each other. my direct roommate i saw for only two weeks, and for the nights he slept over in the bed (that he was paying room and board for) and had the worst snoring humanly possible that not even earplugs could kill (video below). i hardly slept while he was there and roamed the halls of riverview suites like a ghost due to the anxiety i felt about my lack of sleep (we love a vicious circle)! he disappeared after those two weeks without notice and i lived in fear of him returning for the rest of the semester (which he didn’t), but returned to my normal sleep schedule. 

that semester was my first semester of full-time grad school. i got a poor grade on an assignment that had a note from the professor that said she knew i could do better and it hit me how much different grad school is from undergrad and how much more effort and dedication it requires. after crying in my professor’s office, my work ethic has improved since then, but it’s not anywhere near where i’d like it to be (more on that later). 

now to more positive things for the spring semester: i met some friends that semester both ~on and offline~ that made the semester far more bearable AND i did however truly pop off in every last one of my powerpoint presentations for class. i looooove making powerpoints and just fuckin telling jokes about my research topic and have ppl tell me that they are looking forward to my presentation & that i should teach college classes :)!

me and 4 friends had a social group in which we’d drink and play board games and forget about the board game and drunkenly talk shit called cabam after all our first initials! i always looked forward to that and dug the group chemistry a lot.

during this semester i grew a   “ beard “, otherwise known as i chose not to shave just to  “ see what would happen “ (praythatitfilledin). sorry about that!

the overwatch league was something that i had to look forward to watch every week and i had my experience enhanced through sideshow and avast’s unofficial companion streams, which guaranteed lots of laughs. i have bought tickets to two boston home games in 2020 which i am very excited about! analysts have predicted boston to be in 20th place this year (there are 20 teams) but i’m still excited for the 2020 season anyway!!

i can’t have a year-in-review of 2019 without mentioning game of thrones. due to the show’s final season being undeniably weak, i enjoyed the camaraderie with the other people that watched thrones during those six weeks. i haven’t thought about the show or its universe for quite a while, unfortunately. i truly was quite into the world of westeros, but the weakness of the end of the story cheapened the journey of each of the characters, in a way. such a shame.

while i got my diploma in december 2018, i walked across the stage of umass lowell’s tsongas arena with my bachelor of arts in psychology (and minor in theatre arts). it wasn’t as emotional or triumphant of an experience and just felt weird, considering i had already gotten my diploma and was going to remain in the clutches of rowdy the riverhawk as i am staying for my masters degree in applied behavior analysis/autism studies. i brought a ceramic monkey to graduation. it didn’t have any symbolism, but i just wanted to see if they’d stop me (which they didn’t)

 this summer was better than most summers of mine go, i hung out with alex nearly every weekend, got my very first iphone, and got a data plan. the combination of these three things got me back into playing pokemon go, an unexpectedly fun pastime! went on lots of walks!

my favorite day of summer was going to a lake with alex and our friend gianna, who i grew closer to after meeting her during macbeth last year. fond 2019 memories with gianna include: doing simulation patients with her, watching movies with her and alex, and the halloween party. what a great gd person and a great gd friend! big fan and eternally rooting for her. 

fire emblem: three houses came out on the switch in august and is, without a doubt, my game of the year. there’s truly so much to love about the game: the world, the characters, new changes made to the series, things that were gone but returned, interesting micromanaging, and best of all, how huge my brain feels when playing it. 

i got a 6-week summer job as a paraprofessional at an extended-school-year program for children with developmental disabilities at a preschool in haverhill which taught me a lot of lessons, such as: i hate cleaning shit off of children.

then i had feelings that didn’t make much sense for about a month! whoops!

my full-time job i currently have is working at my old high school as a behavior specialist. i provide consultation and work on programs to lead to more appropriate behavior in students, primarily ones with developmental disabilities. so far it’s been fairly rewarding, some days are more challenging than others, some days are a lot of sitting in meetings, and some days are a lot of running around. some days there is not much to do at all, which has its obvious upsides and downsides. working at the high school isn’t something that i want to do forever, but it’s a good place to start with. i’m definitely learning a lot and there are a lot of benefits to working here. sometimes i can work on my grad school work (which is all online until the 2020 summer semester) which is definitely huge. and my commute is either a 15 minute walk or 3 minutes if my mom drives me! 

a ~complex~ thing about working in my hometown is that it makes the most financial sense to live at home because it’s so close to work. this is my first time living at home full-time since high school and i’m not enjoying that part too much. most weekends i visit alex in lowell, but being stuck at home with no car (going to retake the license test in the spring when the ice melts!) and having to go to bed so early definitely hurts. sure, i have what is likely the lowest amount of expenses i’ll ever have in my life (no car-related payments, no rent, no groceries), but i feel landlocked. i feel like a teenager with minimal freedom, which is in part because my mom doesn’t quite understand yet that i’m a 22 year-old that should have a lot more freedom than i do now. the most i really do on weekdays after work gets out (2:30p) is go to savers with my mom if it’s tuesday (senior citizen day), maybe go for a walk if it’s nice out (which for most of the school year, it isn’t), or be on the computer watching bon appetit videos and playing overwatch, fire emblem, or pokemon, eat a bland dinner at 6, go to bed at around 9:30. sad! truly not a situation that i want to be trapped in that much that much longer!

i think the best and most important part of this year was becoming closer with alex. as i mentioned before, we see each other most weekends, to our great benefit. our living situations have flip-flopped, with me living at home and alex living in an apartment near campus, which in both similar and different ways have taken their respective tolls on us. having each other while going through changes and stagnations in our lives has been immeasurably important. thank you alex for providing a place to be myself other than my own head. thank you for being my best friend. 

now i come to the thing that i’m most excited about for 2020. not 2 suck my own horn but i have cobbled together a fuckin dream team of five friends (me, alex, chris, kelly, and molly). the two times we have all gotten together it has been so satisfying in such a wonderful and otherworldly way that i am filled to the brim of happiness being around them. the craziest thing is that i met chris and kelly through twitter! TWITTER. and they’re real-ass people and my real-ass friends! i haven’t been so pleased with something in my life like this for so long and it feels so good to have adult friends that i have chosen rather than friends by circumstance. it’s truly a crime that we can’t see each other more often, but we already have a day picked out for the next time we all do something together. feeling emotional writing this paragraph bc i love me gd friends so much!

there is a lot of uncertainty about this new year for me. i sure as fuck don’t want to live at home more than i have to but don’t know where to go, my practicum class starts for me this summer which means i’ll most likely have to change jobs (fine by me, but will be exhausting), i recently began my search for therapists and hope to find one soon to help me ~unpack things~, my thesis begins in the fall semester and i don’t know what to do for it, and i’m not 100% dead-set on working in special education. it’s been hard transitioning from living on campus and going to school full-time to the life i have now. 

[believingbrook]

i’ll always love you

(you’ll never know, dear)

concept spinoff posted with permission from original author

Kravitz stumbles home with the liches in tow. His back is ramrod straight as he negotiates their fate, claims the responsibility of teaching them as his own. He’ll teach them well, he promises. They’re fast learners, as they all know.

The Raven Queen has heard many things about these two from the Story but nothing impresses her more than the sympathetic looks they shoot Kravitz’s way before they leave.

My son, she says.

“My Queen,” he murmurs in return, and sits, heavily. He buries his face in his hands and his shoulders begin to shake with broken sobs and she sighs. “My apologies,” he whimpers, “I — I should not — ”

Do not apologize, she commands. She cannot kneel, because she is a goddess, but she lays one winged arm over him. Tell me, what troubles you?

He does.

So Death pays Fate a visit.

“Just promise to be back by dinnertime,” Taako grumbles, waving a spatula in their direction. Spaghetti sauce flecks Lup’s cheek and she laughs, whipping him with a shaker of salt in retaliation. “Do that again and I’ll burn the goddamn pasta!”

“No you won’t,” she sing-songs. “Bye, bro!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Don’t beef it.”

They tear a rift through space and step out of the kitchen, slightly too large for three people.

They meet Magnus and Merle in the center of the Felicity Wilds.

“It didn’t have to be here, you know,” Barry says. “We really could’ve gone from anywhere.”

“We know,” Merle shrugs. “But this felt right.”

The clearing has been restored in full. All around them spring trees of green and yellow, full and blooming, barks a hard and sturdy brown. Not a trace remains of the hell that once grew in the clearing’s center.

“Fair enough,” Barry mutters, and tears a second hole into the Eternal Stockade. “Remember: never lose sight of your soul cord, it’s the only thing tethering you to this plane. Merle, you’re with Lup; Magnus, with me. If either of us catch whiff of anything trying to fuck with your cords we’re outta here, got it? We can always try another day if this fails.”

Twin nods. There’s a determined set to Magnus’s jaw that makes him look five years older. “All right then. Grab your assigned hands and let’s move out.”

They stay together until they reach the mass of souls in Wonderland.

This towering heap of gelatinous silvery something is the Astral Plane’s worst logistical nightmare. Tangled in this mess are hundreds of souls, all decayed and warped from years, decades trapped inside the hellhouse once called Wonderland. Some were simply rent to pieces when their suffering had maxed out and they were no longer useful.

Communication between planes was impossible in Wonderland. Once they died, they could not move on.

“Gods,” Magnus breathes, staring up and up and up at the towering ball of souls, stuck together like spiderwebs. Strands of souls dangle toward the Astral Sea, and even young a Reaper as she is Lup feels sick. Souls shouldn’t look like — that.

“Yeah.”

Beside her, Barry’s face is grim. “It’s somewhere in there,” he says. “Looks like a feather.”

“This is gonna take a while,” Merle grumbles, but he hikes up his sleeves around his shoulders, flexes his soulwood fingers, and pries a path directly into the heart of the nest. Barry sighs and floats after him, shuddering as wisps of shattered souls brush against his robe.

Magnus looks nauseous. “Are they okay?”

“No,” Lup says bluntly. “Most of them have been completely destroyed. The rest that awaits them after we extract them is the Astral Sea. At least they know oblivion, there, instead of the hell that they found in Wonderland.”

Magnus looks at her. “What about Taako’s soul?”

Lup stares straight ahead, ends of her cloak catching fire as she strides forward. “We’ll find out when we get it.”

They eat spaghetti that evening, pot roast the next, and three different pizzas the following day, because Angus comes over.

It takes him less than two hours to deduce what he’s doing. He offers to help, and looks unsurprised when he’s turned down.

“Stone me if you need help,” he says in his piping little voice. “I want to do whatever I can.”

They promise they will. They can’t endanger him the same way they’re endangering Magnus and Merle — the Astral Plane was never meant to host the still-living, after all — but they truly are all hands on deck.

They find it drifting toward the center of the mass. It was nearly impossible to see even staring straight at it. Even several months in the Astral Plane had curled it in on itself, shrivelled, with the wisping edges little more than ash, but Lup floats toward it as though entranced and cradles it in her palms.

“That’s it,” Magnus says, peering down at the feather nestled gently in her hands. He looks at Merle, then Barry, and doesn’t smile, not yet. “That’s it.”

“Taako,” Barry says, that evening. “Back when you couldn’t remember Lup. You would’ve given anything to remember her again, right?”

Taako studies him. “You already know the answer to that question, Barry. Why are you asking me?”

“A hypothetical.”

“About as hypothetical as your necromancy, huh.”

“More hypothetical than that.” Barry drums his fingers on the tabletop, the sweet aroma of blueberry cobbler wafting through the air. Angus tells him it was Kravitz’s favorite, and Taako doesn’t seem to realize it’s the only dessert he bakes, these days. Claims he’s working out kinks in his aunt’s recipe. Every time they eat it Lup says it’s the exact same. “If you had to give up your soul to get hers back.”

“Of course,” he says.

“What about for me?”

Taako narrows his eyes at him. “You know the answer to that too. Barry, what the fuck is going on?”

Barry considers it, briefly; telling him everything. But the words wouldn’t stick. He stands, pushes in his chair, levitates his plate into the sink with a neat clatter. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he promises.

They don’t tell Kravitz.

Pushing a soul back together like this is necromancy, of course. But even so, they don’t want to raise his hopes.

They do, however, tell Angus. He adjusts his little glasses on his little head and with determination set in his face he says, “I’m going to be there.”

So he is.

Lup has hardly stopped cradling this part of her brother’s soul since the moment they found it. It glows an ethereal white in the comparative dark of Taako’s room. Taako had never questioned why he had a king-sized bed instead of a single because, Barry thinks, some part of him was scared of the answer.

There are no words; Magnus and Merle nod, Barry sets a hand on her shoulder, and Angus takes a deep breath. The feather flutters in Lup’s hands as she lowers it, gently, into her brother’s chest.

A heartbeat passes, then two, then three, and Taako sits bolt upright, gasping “Kravitz — ”

He honestly can’t remember whether he snatched Lup’s scythe, or Barry’s; all he knows is that he’s barreling blindly through the halls of the Eternal Stockade, maybe two seconds from just shouting Kravitz’s name until he finds him.

A bad idea, no doubt. This place is full of the worst murderers and necromancers and liches their world has ever seen. But Taako wants to see his love, damn it, and he’s about to throw caution to the wind when a faint thread unspools around his feet, nearly tripping him.

Taako stops, looks at it askance. It’s a deep purple. It shimmies at him as he watches and stretches behind him, in the opposite direction.

Taako takes a moment to pray a quick thank you to Istus before sprinting that way. His feet pound above the thread for such a long time he loses track. He traces a path out of the Stockade, along the winding beaches, heading toward the Raven Queen’s palace. He knocks impatiently on the front door, watching the thread dance weakly in the gap underneath, and slips inside before they’ve creaked fully open.

The Raven Queen’s palace is fucking huge, and normally Taako would appreciate the sheer scale and grandeur but right now it’s just really fucking inconvenient. He must trace his way through some forty full-length halls before finally, finally, catching sight of a familiar robed back.

He doesn’t slow down. He barrels directly into Kravitz, sending them both skidding along the floor.

“What the fuck,” Kravitz says in his accented voice, struggling from where Taako has him pinned, and flips them both easily. “Who are you and — Taako?”

“Yeah,” Taako says, breathless, and he’d be reaching for Kravitz’s face except Kravitz is currently kneeling on his hands. “It’s me. You made yourself real fuckin’ hard to find, by the way, bubbeleh, had to sprint all the way along those beaches. Did you know the Astral Plane just has too much fucking beach? Because you do. Not great for tourists. Could you get off my wrists?”

Kravitz, still in shock, obliges. Taako grabs his face with two hands and sits up and kisses him fiercely.

The kiss is cool and Kravitz makes a shocked noise into his mouth but Taako only holds him tighter, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Eventually Kravitz kisses back, hands resting tentatively on his waist, and they stay that way until Taako pulls back, gasping for air.

“How did you do that?”

“What, remember?” Taako grins, and Kravitz smiles back like he can’t help it. “Fuckin’ easy, when you’re family’s the best wizards in the planar system. I, uh, didn’t actually stop to ask.” He nods toward the scythe he’d dropped at the entrance of this room. “I’m not sure whose scythe that is but, uh, I stole it.”

“I — I thought I’d lost you,” Kravitz whispers, awed, and as his smile begins to tremble he buries his face in Taako’s shoulder. “You didn’t recognize me at all — ”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” Taako says. “I mean that, by the way. Did Magnus tell you — ”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

Kravitz swallows hard then looks up, eyes glinting even in the ambient light of the Astral Plane. “Everything. And, Taako — I love you too. When I was over here I thought about you constantly. I was so worried. I couldn’t reach you at all.”

“Yeah, kinda half-and-half gig for me too,” Taako says, and laughs, breathless. He leans forward and kisses the worry off Kravitz’s face, and he intends it to be quick, he really does; but Kravitz holds him tight and Taako shifts so that he’s sitting on Kravitz’s lap and they don’t move for a long time.

Eventually Taako nudges Kravitz onto the ground and follows him down, resting with their chests pressed together. Taako peppers his neck with kisses, tracing a line from his chin to his ear. Kravitz laughs softly and bats him away when he blows a raspberry.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Taako kisses him again, reborn heart soaring with joy. “Me too,” he says, and kisses Kravitz again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I couldn’t — ” One of his hands flies to his face, regrettably leaving Taako’s side, and covers his eyes. “I thought you were just gone, I didn’t know what happened, and even when Merle explained it — ”

“Hey,” Taako murmurs, prying Kravitz’s hand away from his eyes. Kravitz looks at him, heartbroken and vulnerable. Carefully, Taako kisses each tear away. Despite the sympathetic pain thrumming through his chest he’s elated, because Kravitz is his, and they have an eternity together. “I’m back. And this time, for good.”

Kravitz swallows hard, nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Can’t get rid of me now,” Taako says, prodding his chest with every word. “You’ve signed onto the Taako Express and there’s no de-boarding, my man.”

Kravitz catches his hand and kisses the back, laughing softly when Taako groans theatrically and oh, Taako had missed that quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t want to.”

“Sap,” Taako murmurs, curling his head into the hollow of Kravitz’s neck.

“Your sap,” Kravitz murmurs back, hands linked securely around the small of Taako’s back. Taako cards a hand through his hair until he feels some of the tension drain from Kravitz’s body. “I love you.”

Taako kisses his cheek, just because he can. His soul sings. “I love you too.”

[cksmart-world]

The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

January 1, 2020

MIKE LEE: CONSTITUTIONAL HERO

& TRUMP’S NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS

Utah Sen. Mike Lee is an expert on the U.S. Constitution, if he does say so himself. Mike Lee has always promoted American values, like low taxes for corporate job creators, guns in schools, religious freedom, and freeing up public lands. He's what Sarah Palin calls a real American. But little did we know that Mike Lee is also a real hero. The Utah senator is playing a critical role behind the scenes to get President Donald Trump acquitted in his upcoming impeachment trial in the U.S. Senate, according to Politico. Isn't that cool. Just because he will serve as an “impartial” juror doesn't mean... well, who cares what it means. When House Speaker Nancy Pelosi announced an impeachment inquiry, Lee began regularly talking strategy with the president and White House counsel. Lee has helped advise Trump and his team on how not only to exonerate the president, but also how to put those stinkin' Democrats on trial. “We’re going to embarrass the heck out of the Democratic Party...” Lee said. “The president’s going to win, and win in a big way.” That's not exactly what the founders outlined in the Constitution, but Mike Lee, is, after all, an expert and a patriot. At least that's what he said. Gotta keep the democracy strong, right Mike?

SHUT UP FINLAND — HAPPINESS ISN'T EVERYTHING

Here in America, we like to work. We like to work long hours so we can realize the American Dream as seen on TV in shows like, “How I Met Your Mother,” where no one worries about health insurance or college tuition. We like to work extra hard because the spending power of the average wage earner has been stuck since 1970, according to a recent Pew Research Center report. And that's not the whole story. According to Fortune magazine, the 400 richest people in the U.S — the top 0.00025% — have tripled their share of wealth since 1987, while the 150 million Americans in the bottom 60% have seen a decline from a 5.7% to a 2.1%. But take heart, you can always move to Finland. There, Sanna Marin, the 34-year-old prime minister, has a different idea: “A four-day work week with a six-hour workdays. Why couldn’t it be the next step?,” she said. “I believe people deserve to spend more time with their families, loved ones, hobbies and other aspects of life.” Finns already are rated as the happiest people in the world. They all have inexpensive healthcare and education. And they're always skiing and singing. But who wants to live in a place where you only get to work 24 hours a week. Sure, we're not rated in the top 10 happiest countries  (we're 17th), but so what. Happiness isn't everything.

TRUMP'S NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

1 – Don't forget Melania's birthday again this year.

2 – Fire that idiot Mick Mulvaney.

3 – Increase golfing from one day out of every five to two of five.

4 – Keep telling white people I'm building a wall even though it ain't really happening.

5 – Convince Rocket Man to sign a nuclear treaty and I'll build hotels in North Korea.

6 – Tell Mitch he's toast if he doesn't shred Joe and Hunter Biden.

7 – Have Ivanka fix the China Trade War— she's good at making money off those guys.

8 – Get my face on Time magazine and blackmail those bastards who give out the Nobel Prize. I deserve it more than Obama — more than anyone, goddamnit.

9 – Give Vladdy the very first membership to the new Trump Resort in Crimea. He'll love it.

10 – And find a way to start a war with Iran to get impeachment out of the news and spur my poll numbers for November.

PONZI SCHEMES R US

Here in the Beehive State we love a good Ponzi scheme. That's no lie — Utah is numero uno when it comes to these confidence games, where folks can get screwed out of their entire life savings. Some Monday morning quarterbacks say it's because we are so trusting. People often use the word “trusting” instead of “sucker” because it's more polite. And Utahns are polite people — mostly. Was it P.T. Barnum, who said, “There's a sucker born every minute.” Or was it Greg Hughes? Well, it's not important. What is important is that nice, hard-working folks in Utah keep getting suckered into these deals that seem much too good to be true: “Look, Sister Smith, here's the deal. You re-mortgage your house, give me all the money and then I'll give you back twice as much.” Of course, there's nothing in The Bible about Ponzi schemes — Thou shalt not play thou neighbor for a fool. Although, “Thou shalt not steal,” comes dangerously close. It is fraud, after all. Still, Brother Young does seem like such a nice, sincere man. And he always comes to church with his cute family. And an investment in these gas-powered flashlights sounds like a sure bet. What could possibly go wrong?

Post Script — Well, that's it for another year here at Smart Bomb, where the staff has made a bunch of foolish New Year's resolutions, so you don't have to. It's been one helluva decade, too, where a lot of good stuff happened — we just can't think of anything at the moment. And frankly, it's best forgotten. But we're now into a new decade and hope springs eternal. With the year 2020, Numerology must be on our side. According to numerology.com, 2020 is a very special year of perfect vision and accomplishment. “In 2020, the code of peace, 20/20 vision, and responsibility will help you create real results and security...” How 'bout them apples? Wilson and the band are more into astrology and karma, but even they have to admit 2020 does have a ring to it. And if we all put our heads together and think good thoughts, who knows, anything is possible: global warming could be halted; Republicans could pull their heads out; and the Utes could win a championship — OK, maybe that's a little too hopeful.

All right, Wilson, put down the champagne and take us into the new decade: When the moon is in the Seventh House / And Jupiter aligns with Mars / Then peace will guide the planets / And love will steer the stars / This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius / Age of Aquarius / Aquarius / Harmony and understanding / Sympathy and trust abounding / No more falsehoods or derisions / Golden living dreams of visions / Mystic crystal revelation / And the mind's true liberation / Aquarius / Aquarius...

[thevelonaut]

Homefront.

This is absolutely classics country. Fortunately, any semblance of romance gives way, quickly, to pain and frustration. On the way South East, I’d known in my heart of hearts that a tailwind (and occasionally swipey cross-wind) was helping me out. I knew that I’d be turning back into it, and that however gentle it felt as we wandered the streets of Brux, it would be multiplied significantly as I crept back across the ridgey-flats of the North West. The reason that the early-season classics are a hotch-potch of gurn, of hellish faces and awful weather, is much the same as the reason why this was a crap place for a crap war; once the sun goes in (and to some extent when it’s out), the endless flat lands, farm smells, headwinds, sideways drizzle and cobbled tracks become as steadfast an obstacle as the Pyrenean cols, the switchbacks of d’Huez, the ramps of the mighty Lecht. I’d prefer some hardy cols to this. It’s the kind of place suited for those broad-shouldered monsters of the old days, who could puncheur into wind like a force of nature. I can, for a bit. For a little bit.

The fifth day / Brussels → Ieper

Ypres, the French call it. Some five days (and 100 years) after the Battle of Paschendaele, I roll into Ypres through the Menenpoort. I say roll, I think it was the least uphill-feeling part of the day. I’d hung out with HC, her brother and sister-in-law in Brussels for two days. I’d had a cheeky swim to spin my legs, I’d noted a twinge in my groin which I imagine is due to over-cranking a gear for 200k, loaded with luggage, and not ever stretching it en route. I curse it. It needs rest, two days probably won’t cut it, and the Cambium isn’t so comfy after a four or five hour day. Maybe leather is better. I think so. I’ll flog it.

Anyway, I was up and out at 8am; the paths and back streets of Brussels are fairly easy to navigate, and the sun was out to remind me to head in a NWerly direction. I ended up on the ring-road and saw no way to head further north without a) riding on a motorway or b) turning back and trying again from about 3 miles back. With a 90-mile day ahead, I decided to head for Aalst, due west of Brussels, then turn to the north-west after about 30km. It wasn’t the worst idea. The pastoral, calm canalside riding that had seen me down seemed to desert me; instead, I was often on paths alongside the murder roads of NW Belgium, caning it up decentish-tracks and pavements, lamenting the canopied, wind-free joyfest of days two and three. This is another of my problems - I never set out a good return trip. Or, perhaps, I am so addled by the sense of return that I fail to enjoy what is nice about it. Or, the wind is a hell-ferret that never stopped in its attempts to break me. Eventually I stopped at a Spar and sprayed my face with Appletiser, and at 2.30pm when the sun hot-spongs for a spell, I applied suncream and ate a baguette and houmous on a housing estate by a dual carriageway. If it sounds exciting, then it is. I picked up a little of that TCR spirit. Fuck the views.. they all look like this anyway. 

They do. Seriously. I did about 90k of this. There were marginally more leaves on the trees, but most of them were blowing into my face. Still, it is pancake flat, ironing board, smooth as Christ riding. Let’s not mince words. Easy-hard. Or hard-easy.

I get to Oudenaarde, then Wevelgem, and hit the final 20k to Ypres where I know there is a campings. Those last km are sign-posted all to hell with Commonwealth War Graves. Evocative names, famous craters, hills, memorials, regiments; atop the ridgeline, white crosses, monoliths and megaliths, the bright stalagmites that point to where most peoples innards ended up; scattered into the pressing wind, lovely human beings fractioned into micro-particles, cast into a land ever-fertile for the growing of war-dead cabbages and sprouts. They say each breath you take will contain at least an oxygen molecule that Julius Caesar himself would have inhaled. (They don’t say that in the song. They should.) Along the Menen road, you are sucking in the literal and figurative remains of almost a whole generation of human beings.

I don’t like it. I’d seen Ypres was en route to Dunkirk, from where I spring home, and figured that it made sense to pass through. If I did a long-day-short-day two-day ride then I could stay here. I crept in through the gate; the sun is now out glorious, and the town is a magnificent sight. HC navigates me (she’s in London, having taken a bus to the station in Brussels, a train to London, and a bus home in the time it has taken me to yam some houmous in a lay-by) to the campsite; it’s a nice one, if you ignore the Canadian grave-baggers in the mobile homes, the people wearing T-shirts that name regiments and feature photographs of eternally-young great-great-uncles. I put up camp, wash, and stroll to Lidl to bag the last baguette, 3-flavour houmous (oh MY ACTUAL GOD THIS IS AMAZING) and a tin of mackerel. Whilst I demolish this on Ypres square, I note a bunch of people dressed in their going-out clothes walking purposely through town. I’d forgotten that they play The Last Post every night at the Gate, and ambled along covered in beetroot and parsnip dip to pay my respects.

Except I didn’t really know how to. Or why I should? TO what, exactly, am I paying respect? And where are the Germans? Why is the Poort covered with only the Allied dead? And it’s nice that we honour the Indian regiments, when they were forced to dig so many trenches and graves, and be treated like shit for the privilege. Plus, I recently read that an explicit promise to release India from the Commonwealth in return for military support was never honoured. So, really, the whole thing leaves a strange taste in the mouth. Not just the race, the nationalism, the anti-nationalism, the visible lack of outreach; the spectacle itself feels like a fetish. There cannot be a person here who actually knew the dead of Ypres; too much time has gone by. And it is important that we honour this stupidity in order that we may not see its like again. But the crowds, the iPhones, the inane chat when it’s finished. I wasn’t in the mood. Is it the case that a ride across the Maginot Line is the perfect pace to consider the distance and futility of a war that became a mass-grave, formed into a perfect borderline? The Last Post had been, on some unconscious level, playing in my head for hours. It’s the soundtrack of a dark, sad place. So, so sad.

I woke at 6.30am the next day and hotfooted it out of town.

The sixth day / Ieper → Dunkirk → Dover → London Bridge → My bed.

The roads from Ypres to the border were quiet, uneventful, still windy. I got lost two or three times. I’d cycle later this month with my friend Ed, who uses Strava and Garmin and magic; the ease of navigation with devices astounds me. It picks out exactly where you are, and tells you exactly where to go. I almost give in to the temptation to update my by-now 4 year-old Blackberry to something worth a shit, that could do such things. Handlebar mounts for phones don’t do it for me, though. I use every square millimetre of space on a handlebar for, well, my hands. So... not yet. The phone still works. I got lost. Added six miles onto a 40-mile day. Nae bother.

I reached Oost-Capel after a spell of anonymity. I craved a coffee, hoped this French border town would have someplace to sit. It did not.. Belgian towns are decidedly absent of cafes, I know not why. It’s one of those subtle differences; you feel as if you are in France, but it’s the upside-down version. Instead of a nice cafe, there are about ten border guards sleepily waving down cars, mirror-checking the chassis, asking where people are off to. It’s an unsettling sight, but they wave me right by. (The guards at the port would later give me the same bored wave-through. I’m not carrying weapons of mass destruction (400k of fixed touring has savaged my groin and patella, mind you) but it’s both curious and somewhat alarming that a bike can get through to the ferry easily.)

There’s a nice small walled city called Bergues, where I stop for a brew. I dip the remains of last night’s baguette into it, soaking up about half that black glorious. I love soaking bread in coffee, but even though I still get the coffee, I feel like I’m denying myself something. Bergues is right pretty; I trace the little canal network to the North and take a cycle path alongside a canal to Dunkirk. It’s the nicest part of the day. I reach Dunkirk at about 12.30pm, and orbit the old town for an hour or so, then take the dock road up toward the ferry port. I load my bright pink musette with a lunch from Lidl, carry it over a motorway overpass, under a gyratory, behind a Travelodge, past some cranes, around ten roundabouts, over another autoroute, along a busy truck road, around a slag pile and just beneath some fire-spewing chimneys. The ferry port is not a pretty place. Pretty, in that industrial sense, which is to say not so pretty at all. I eat lunch in the weird cafe where no staff work, only machines; it’s a post-Marxist approach to the service industry. I wonder if the docking ferry in front of me is driven by a human being. I think about all those human beings who waited for a boat home in 1940 and all the ones that never got a chance to leave the cruddy fields of Flanders. I am covered in houmous, again, at a moment of silent contemplation. The world is a calm sea, choppy in the middle, and some white chalky downs that leap out of the channel at Dover. Everyone takes photographs of the sharp teeth of England’s mouth, opening up in a bucolic snarl to gobble up its visitors. Pretty soon, I am in torrential rain outside Dover station, throbbing legs, pack of peanuts, Spar lemon-lime and a newspaper to tell me what I missed.

Tour over. Legs recover. I pull out of London Bridge and spin crazy-legs to home. HC makes porridge. The sun goes down.

[sunriseyg]

kairos

so, i already put this on my ao3, but i thought i'd post some stuff on here too. 

pairing: yoonseok word count: 5103 genre: fluff, mild angst?

summary: The sunsets are beautiful, not quite like sunrises, although they have their own appeal. But sunsets are way more soothing, and to Yoongi they look even better when Hoseok’s warmth is accompanying them.

 KAIROS:   

Ancient greek – (n.) The perfect, delicate, crucial moment, the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words or movement.

The sun is still brightening up the sky, slowly getting closer to the horizon. Dusk isn’t there yet, but the air is filled with longing and Yoongi finds himself waiting, expectation prickling at the back of his thoughts. Sitting on the little hill, surrounded by daisies and dandelions, Yoongi watches as the grass spreads in front of him, all around him, until he cannot distinguish the flowers from the ground anymore. When the other boy sits next to him, Yoongi fails to see where he has come from and, even if he were to find out, he wouldn’t know what to do with the information. The field around them is too big for him to attempt walking it, miles behind them just a small forest that Yoongi is always too scared to look at, let alone go through. “Where do you think you will be in five years?” The boy asks and Yoongi doesn’t dare to look at him, but he can feel his presence is positive, reassuring. 

Just like every time, Yoongi doesn’t feel like he’s in danger, he doesn’t feel scared, but he does feel some kind of distance between them, despite sitting right next to each other. Yoongi shakes his head, dark hair covering his smiling eyes, and a chuckle escapes him as he thinks of an answer. “I don’t know. Probably I’ll be here still, waiting for the sunset. Maybe I will have a dog, I've always wanted one.” Yoongi finally turns to him and he is not sure he stopped looking at the sun at all. The boy’s smile is bright as he meets his eyes, blinding even, and it somehow matches the warm feeling in Yoongi’s chest. “You should, dogs are great.” His voice reminds Yoongi of salted caramel, the perfect mix of sweet and salty creating a unique flavour. Yoongi likes mild things and the boy’s voice is mild in every aspect, yet never boring. If Yoongi had to assign him a season he would choose spring, when flowers seem to be keen on growing everywhere, brightening up the day, and everything is calm, right, balanced, but also colourful, different, unexpected. Their eyes eventually go back to the horizon, the sun still playing games with the few clouds, although now a slightly darker hue of blue is painting the sky; time always seems to go faster when they meet. “What about you? Where do you see yourself in five years?” Yoongi’s question is faint, a whisper in the vast field that could easily mix with the light wind blowing through their hair. Seconds pass – maybe minutes, Yoongi isn’t sure, it feels like an eternity regardless – but eventually, the boy parts his lips and the smile that Yoongi admires so much accompanies his reply. “I don’t like thinking too far ahead. Yes, one could say five years isn’t a long time, but it’s still…five years.” He seems to choose his words carefully and Yoongi tries hard to catch every single one of them, almost scared that if he doesn’t pay attention the other boy is going to stop sharing the thoughts that Yoongi is so interested in. A sigh precedes the rest of boy’s answer and Yoongi’s eyes focus on the purplish tint of the sky. “You could do so much in five years. You could turn your life around, really. So- this might sound cliché, but… I don’t focus too much on what the future holds. I’d rather see what I can do with my present. And right now this, whatever this is, it feels like I could be here for a while.” Despite his words, the boy doesn’t stay for long and Yoongi is almost disappointed. But he leaves with the promise of coming back and walks away right as Yoongi nods him goodbye, his silhouette standing out against the grass that’s now a darker colour, just like the sky.Yoongi doesn’t look at his back for more than five seconds and fights the urge of running after him, instead, he keeps on looking at the sunset until the stars are visible and the half moon is the only thing that keeps him company. 

.

.

.

A dandelion is blown away by the wind, stronger than usual but still pleasant. It forms patterns on the grass that Yoongi would try to decipher if he didn’t feel so tired, although he can’t remember doing anything that effort worthy before going to the hill. He feels like he’s been there forever, really. Once again, Yoongi is sitting and waiting for something, the anticipation in his chest extends to his fingers as he strips a few strands of grass from the ground to twirl them in his hands. When one of them breaks, Yoongi lets the whole bunch go, only to repeat the action shortly after.

It’s not time for the sunset to arrive yet and Yoongi wonders if maybe the right hour is the key to their encounters. But he then remembers all the times they met at night, or at dawn, or in the middle of the morning, and his theories are gone just as quick as he formulated them. Yoongi lets a sigh out, gaze falling on another dandelion next to him, still unscathed by the breeze.

Just as he’s about to grab the delicate flower, a shadow covers the sun and Yoongi looks up, meeting the eyes of the usual visitor that he’s come to like so much.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting for long!” He is beaming and Yoongi can’t help but compare him to the big star lighting up the sky once more. “What makes you think I was waiting?” Yoongi’s reply is met with a sweet laugh and, as the boy sits next to him, Yoongi widens his eyes as a revelation hits him. They don’t know each other’s names. They have been meeting like this for so long, but they never introduced themselves.

“What’s your name?” Yoongi questions suddenly, eyes full of hope and curiosity.

“Huh? Don’t you remember?” The boy replies with a surprised tone, yet seeming somewhat amused.

“I…don't. I’m sorry.” Yoongi is sure he has never asked the boy for his name, but maybe he is wrong. Embarrassment fills him as he realises that maybe he just made a fool of himself, maybe he did tell him his name once and he just forgot. He doesn’t understand how because Yoongi is sure he would remember the name of someone so beautiful. How long has it been since they know each other anyway? The sunset arrives and they’re quiet, Yoongi doesn’t dare speak again in fear of making things worse, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. .

.

.

Sand.

It’s everywhere, it covers his feet as he slowly uses them to dig holes in the golden specks. This time they’re meeting on a beach and the sea’s waves create one of the most calming noises Yoongi has ever heard. There’s no one else around him and the sun is almost gone behind the horizon, drawing a landscape in the blue sky that amazes Yoongi each and every time. No matter how many sunsets he looks at, every single one of them is different and he likes to admire them all.

The boy sits down next to him, but Yoongi wouldn’t have noticed hadn’t it been for his words.

“So, did you remember?”

He always greets him with a question these days, Yoongi notices, leaving him baffled and prompting him to look for words when he’s less prepared for it. Yoongi turns to him and his breath gets caught in his throat as he just looks more handsome than always. He’s wearing a dark blue plaid shirt over a white t-shirt that seem to fit incredibly well with the colour scheme of the scenery. And just like that, Yoongi remembers.

Hoseok.

He is sure that’s his name and, as Yoongi says it out loud, he realises that he had known it all along. It sounds like toffee in his mouth, like candy that pleasantly melts at the touch with the tongue, and Hoseok’s smile is brighter than ever while he nods vehemently. “Yeah! Well done, Yoongi.” They just smile at each other for a while and Yoongi thinks his heart is going to fall right out of his chest if he doesn’t stop getting so happy over these small gestures. Remembering his name just now is something that, in Yoongi’s opinion, Hoseok should be at least a bit upset about, but there’s no trace of sadness in his eyes, he seems just plain… happy. Yoongi can feel blood creeping up his neck and filling his cheeks, so he turns away, hoping that the sound of the water crashing on the shore will calm him down. It doesn’t help much. .

.

.

Every time they meet it’s like the first and the last in just one encounter. Yoongi doesn’t expect Hoseok to show up, and he doesn’t know if he will be back when he leaves. But he does, every single time he comes back, and Yoongi feels his lungs hug his heart a little bit tighter, just a little bit more, as if to stop it from getting too big and spilling from his mouth.

He thought he loved the colours of the sky, he thought he loved the light of the stars, but there is nothing he loves more than sitting there and sharing all that with Hoseok, because there is nothing he likes more than seeing him smile.

“Someday we could travel,” Yoongi says after they’ve been silent for a long time, the light wind being almost as quiet as them. “We could see the world, maybe live together. That way we wouldn’t have to meet like this.” His head is close to Hoseok’s as they lay on the grass, as they observe the starry sky above them, specks of light flickering in their eyes and forming constellations of their own.

Hoseok turns his head to look at Yoongi’s profile, but the other boy doesn’t turn around, not until he can sense something is not right in the way Hoseok is looking at him. Then, he does, and what he sees almost destroys him. He was expecting Hoseok to smile, brightly as ever, and to tell him that yes, they could, hell, he wanted him to say that they should have done that right now, left town for good, never to be seen again.

But Hoseok’s frown is far from a smile. Mouth agape, like words should be coming out of it, but got lost somewhere along the way, Hoseok stares at Yoongi with empty eyes and the other boy just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why Hoseok looks so… sad. Crestfallen. Like a person who’s about to tell a very expectant kid that Santa doesn’t exist. Like someone who’s thinking of all the lies in the world, while knowing he has no choice but to tell the truth. Like, as much as Hoseok wants to agree with Yoongi, he just can’t do that.

“Yoongi…” Hoseok starts, and Yoongi knows that he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to, he wants him to shut up already, he wants to grab his hand and run away into the forest, no matter how scary it looks. With Hoseok he feels like he can do anything, but not if he keeps on talking, not if he says those words Yoongi is sure he is going to hate. But he’s petrified under Hoseok’s stare, and all he can do is hope that his perception is wrong and maybe he will say yes. Maybe they will run away together.

Hoseok’s phrase stops there, though, and Yoongi stares at his lips as the other boy closes them in a faint, small, smile. Hoseok nods, but his eyes are still sad. Yoongi ignores that, he ignores the feeling in his gut yelling at him that they can’t run away anytime soon, that his hopes are impossible, even though he doesn’t really understand why they are so. He ignores all that, and ignores the fluttering in his stomach, the pounding in his heart, as he grabs Hoseok’s hand and holds it tight.

He can feel Hoseok’s surprised look on him, but Yoongi’s eyes are back on the stars, trying to ignore the blush he is sure is appearing on his cheeks too. .

.

.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? It might as well be years because Yoongi can’t tell the difference between a second and a day now, he only knows it’s been too long. Too long since he’s been waiting for Hoseok, too long since the sun has set and the night has taken over. He glances at the stars and he realises how much he got used to Hoseok’s presence next to his, how much he feels like leaving that empty space on his side is just not right. Yoongi sighs for the umpteenth time as he grabs some grass strands and fiddles with them, thoughts of Hoseok’s smile filling his mind.

Over time they have bonded quite a lot, but Yoongi feels like he doesn’t really know who Hoseok is, despite the sensation in his gut telling him that they’ve been knowing each other for a very long time. They kept on meeting, asking each other questions that varied from their opinions on life, passing for opinions on sunsets, and even on what kind of music would bees like. Yoongi catches himself thinking about the one time he had asked Hoseok about his family and he had animatedly talked about his younger sister for a very long time, yet Yoongi didn’t mind at all and just enjoyed the fond smile on Hoseok’s face.

Maybe he’d gone too far. Maybe he should have shut up. Maybe, Hoseok had finally gotten tired of him and left him for good. The grass strands break in Yoongi’s hands and an angry grunt escapes him. .

.

.

Sunlight hits his face almost like a flashlight pointed directly into his eyes, and Yoongi shields himself with a hand as the cloud that was obscuring the sun just a second before moves away and makes space for the rays to come through. Yoongi feels exactly like the sky above him today, a bit cloudy, looking tense and uncertain.

His hands find the rocks underneath him, and he grabs a few, looking for the right one. A lake spreads in front of him and its water looks like an even and neatly polished piece of glass, still and calm like few things Yoongi has seen in his life. Then, a rock skips on the water, breaking that perfect surface, and then another, and another, and another. Yoongi throws rocks and some skip like he wants them to, some don’t, until he’s run out of rocks that work and he just tosses them, listening to them flop and sink in one brief moment.

“Havin’ fun?” He almost jumps at the voice, but he doesn’t really get the chance to react because Hoseok is sitting next to him and smiling so widely and oh god, the sun is shining again.

“I–” Yoongi only manages to trail out, rock in his hand as his arm slowly lowers back to the ground. His eyes are stuck on Hoseok, as the other boy grabs his hand and opens it, taking the rock in his own palm. Then, he puts the rock back on the ground and interlocks fingers with Yoongi, smile yet to fade from his face. Yoongi is baffled, he’s dumbfounded, he’s every synonym in the world that express how fucking shocked he is to see the other boy there. But he’s also in love, oh, so much, and he’s realised that just now, right in this moment, as Hoseok looks at him with the same glint in his eyes, the same fondness Yoongi thought another human being never could have had for him.

“I’m sorry. I should have come back earlier. I just got scared– and things came up–“

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” Yoongi smiles and squeezes his hand tighter; there’s no way he’s letting go anytime soon.

When they kiss it’s sweet, and long due, and everything Yoongi was waiting for. Doubt is still trying to make space at the back of his mind, but he pushes it away and enjoys Hoseok’s embrace. His heart is a peaceful lake and Hoseok is skipping rocks on its surface, creating beautiful patterns Yoongi will never get tired of. .

.

.

The meetings start again, and Hoseok is always bright, always calm, always what Yoongi needs, when he needs him. One day he brings him flowers, and Yoongi doesn’t know what to say except why?

“They reminded me of you. Freesias are so pretty and delicate.” Hoseok explains, like he doesn’t understand how Yoongi couldn’t come to such a simple conclusion.

“Thank you.” The words are almost stuck in his throat, but they fight to come out and they seem to make Hoseok grin wider as Yoongi grabs the bouquet and smells the flowers.

Freesias are really pretty. .

.

.

They’re back on their hill, a little bit closer to the forest this time, and Yoongi feels anxious about it. He doesn’t know why, but no matter how calming Hoseok’s presence is, that forest creeps him out. The other boy seems to notice as Yoongi frantically turns back to check that the forest is there, unmoving and silent.

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asks, worry painting a picture on his features that makes Yoongi’s insides squirm. He doesn’t like to see him frown.

“Nothing.” Yoongi looks again towards the horizon and scoots a little closer, until Hoseok’s arm wraps around him and he can lean his head on the younger boy’s shoulder. “I just feel like something might come out of there and grab us.” He explains, realising how Hoseok’s thumb is slowly caressing circles on his upper arm.

“Don’t worry, that forest only has trees and maybe some birds and insects in it. Nothing will harm you.” Hoseok presses a kiss to his temple, and Yoongi has never been much for prolonged skinship, but he feels like he could stay like that forever. .

.

.

The sunsets are beautiful, not quite like sunrises, although they have their own appeal. But sunsets are way more soothing, and to Yoongi they look even better when Hoseok’s warmth is accompanying them.

“I thought that maybe you’re right. Maybe we can leave here.” Hoseok says all of a sudden, and Yoongi did not expect that at all. He thinks that maybe Hoseok likes to surprise him more than he likes to be surprised, but he can’t help a smile as he tilts his head to the side in a curious stare.

“Soon. I feel like soon we’ll both be ready to leave and live our life like we always wanted.” The other boy continues, once more like there’s only one easy solution to every question Yoongi has. And Yoongi doesn’t ask more, that’s all he needs for him to believe again that yes, they can make it out of there. .

.

.

 The forest starts scaring him less. He still likes sitting away from it more. .

.

.

Nothing cheers Yoongi up more than hearing Hoseok’s laugh, and it cheers him up even more when he’s the one to make it happen. Every time they meet it’s like time freezes over and speeds up at the same time, because thousands of sunsets could go by, and even more sunrises could fly past them, and Yoongi would want to spend every single one of them with Hoseok without ever getting bored of it. He is sure of it like he’s sure that the moon is going to shine, he’s sure of it like he’s sure of his love for Jung Hoseok. So he tells him.

“Yoongi, I…” Hoseok’s smile could obliterate the stars and Yoongi feels like he might get at least a first-degree burn from the blush on his own cheeks, so he fiddles with the grass strands – it’s a habit now –because Hoseok’s eyes on him suddenly became too much to handle. “… I love you too. I- I’ve known it for a long time, actually.”

The other boy’s hand finds Yoongi’s easily and it untangles his fingers just like the kiss they share melts the knots in Yoongi’s stomach. Once again, Yoongi can’t believe this is really happening to him, he can’t believe he’s really living this moment because it’s too perfect, too right, too everything. And yet, Yoongi feels like nothing could ruin it. .

.

. It happens one day when Hoseok is just a little late and Yoongi doesn’t really mind– he trusts him now; he knows he will be there soon. He’s sitting on the grass, the hill is peaceful, and he’s mindlessly counting down the minutes until Hoseok shows up.

Except a dog shows up instead.

It almost scares the lungs out of Yoongi, because he is absorbed in picking the grass around him as he usually does when waiting for Hoseok, and then he feels something nuzzling at his neck. He jumps up and almost falls over right after, but the dog is sitting there, looking up at him with big eyes and dangling tongue. It’s big, and white, and fluffy, and Yoongi would be cooing if it wasn’t for the minor heart attack he’s trying to recover from.

It barks softly at Yoongi after he has stared at him for maybe too long, and it starts nuzzling at the boy’s legs. Yoongi assumes he’s demanding pets, so he reaches out a hand and slowly pats the dog on its head, at first carefully, then the dog seems to get more excited as a chuckle escapes Yoongi, who crouches down and starts petting the dog with more confidence.

Then the dog gets up and barks at Yoongi again, still with the same energy, that demanding way that dogs have when they want attention. Yoongi doesn’t understand, he has been petting him for the longest time, and yet the dog doesn’t seem satisfied with that anymore. It’s looking at Yoongi like it has a secret that it wants to reveal and when Yoongi realises that he’s following the dog into the forest it’s too late. He’s right in front of it now, he could reach out a hand and caress the bark of the first tree, but the feeling in his stomach stops him. The dog is next to him, it barks once more, waking Yoongi from his thoughts.

“I can’t go in there, it’s too scary,” Yoongi tells the dog, feeling somehow it can understand his words despite the species barrier. “Hoseok will be here soon too, I can’t leave.”

The dog just nudges Yoongi’s leg again at that, and Yoongi throws it a worried look. When the dog nudges him and whimpers, Yoongi crouches down to caress a hand into its soft fur.

“I understand that you want me to go, but why?” Yoongi looks the dog in the eyes and really feels like it could speak back to him at any moment. “This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to it.” He murmurs, eyes trailing back to the deep coat of leaves. He can see between the trees, he can see the ground covered in leaves and rocks and bushes inside. He can see how the sunlight gets filtered through the branches and he can see the patterns that get formed by the shadows. He is in awe and he is terrified and he is doubting all of his fears and he feels them simmering inside him. Nothing will harm you. Hoseok’s words echo through his mind as he looks back to the patch of grass he was sitting on before. Maybe he can do it. Maybe he can take a few steps in and go back right away. Then Hoseok will be happy to know he managed to get close.

The dog barks again and this time it comes from in front of him. Yoongi eyes its white paws walking on the leafed path between the first trees and he’s suddenly scared for it. But the dog walks a bit further inside and then stops to look at Yoongi, expectant glint in its eyes.

The sun is setting and Hoseok isn’t there yet, but something is pulling Yoongi inside the forest now.

Just a few steps. He’ll take a stride until he reaches the dog and then he will walk back.

One last look behind his shoulder and then Yoongi takes a breath. Clenches his fists. The dog is still there, patiently observing his every movement.

And then, he’s walking past the first tree. Yoongi doesn’t return to the grass patch.

Every time Hoseok leaves the hospital there’s a part of him that stays there, his mind travelling back to how cold Yoongi’s hand seems, and how his heart accelerates when he sees him laying there, eyes closed and only a beeping monitor indicating that he’s still alive. He hates it and loves it, that beeping, that constant sound. It’s repetitive and static and Hoseok knows it’s the only thing guaranteeing him that Yoongi is there, he is right there. Yet, he wishes he could get some other response when he talks to him and not the cold, distant, beeping of the machine.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Hoseok tells him, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the forehead, like he always does when he leaves that cold room, the only thing to brighten it up are the flowers that he had brought him. Freesias wer– are his favourites.

Hoseok knows there might not be a tomorrow.

So he kisses his lips too this time, chastely, while holding back tears because he can’t let Yoongi see him cry, he won’t allow it.

Yoongi has been in a coma for two years and for two years Hoseok has been yearning for him, waiting for him to wake up, to reply to his calls, to open his eyes and hug him and tell him that it’s okay. It’s okay, they’re together, it’s okay. That they don’t have to hide anymore, Hoseok doesn’t have to pretend to be “his best friend” anymore, they can just leave and love each other and be who they want to be. Hoseok had a dream once, where all of that happened, and they were in a field and it was beautiful and perfect because there was no one but them, looking at the sunset like it was the most precious thing in the world after the embrace that they were sharing.

Hoseok knows that’s not happening anytime soon, because Yoongi’s parents told him they’ve been considering putting and end to it, and there’s nothing Hoseok can do to argue.

“He wouldn’t want to live like this.” Is the only reasoning they gave him. Hoseok wanted to yell, to argue that he would want them to believe in him, to believe that he can live at all, he would want so many things and he wouldn’t want them to give up. But he didn’t. He swallowed his tears like he learned to since he was a kid, and nodded.

“We know you care about him, and we appreciate all you’ve been doing so far. But we’re letting go and so should you.” Yoongi’s father had put a hand on his shoulder, a gentle look in his eyes, almost as if he knew. Yoongi’s parents have always been more understanding than Hoseok’s, they know and they accept their son for who he is, but Hoseok wishes they also understood how wrong wanting to make that decision is.

He cries when he gets home, and then cries some more, until his lungs feel sore, just like his heart has been feeling since Yoongi got rushed to the hospital. He curses, and yells, and he lets it all out until it’s the middle of the night and he realises he hasn’t had a proper meal yet. Hoseok doesn’t care, he’s not hungry.

He’s losing all hope, he’s losing everything, and he feels like he’s about to lose his mind too because he suddenly can’t believe his ears and eyes. His phone is ringing, and it’s Yoongi’s mother, and he’s scared.

“Y-yes? H-hello?” The words come out dragged, like he really doesn’t want to say them and instead there’s a small thread forcing them out from his throat until they fall out. “Is everything o-okay?”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi’s mother's voice seems just as tired as his, but he can’t decipher it, he can’t figure out if she’s about to say something incredibly beautiful or incredibly horrible.

“He’s- He is-“ She chokes up on her words and he still doesn’t understand. He is what? Awake? Alive? Or… no, Hoseok doesn’t want to think about it.

“Just get here.” This time is Yoongi’s father talking, and that’s all he needs. There’s hope in him again, he doesn’t know what has happened, but maybe it’s not bad news. The call is over before he can ask, and in his heart there’s fear and longing and anticipation and worry. But he runs, he runs out of the house, he runs to get a taxi, he runs to the hospital. He doesn’t care about what it is that the nurses are telling him, he doesn’t care about getting his name signed down, he doesn’t even care about his scarf getting lost somewhere along the way because all he cares about right now is Min Yoongi and whether he’s alive or not, whether he can hug him again or not, whether he can see him smile and hear him laugh and talk or not. It’s the middle of the night and Jung Hoseok can feel his heart thumping louder than his own thoughts, but when he reaches the door to Yoongi’s room, he needs to stop and catch his breath.

Every moment he’s ever spent with the other boy comes back to his mind. The first time they held hands, the first time they kissed, the first time they realised they were each other’s everything. Hoseok treasures every second he’s passed with Yoongi, even the bad ones, even the ones where they thought they hated each other and especially the ones where they were proved wrong. He can feel tears coming at the back of his throat, but he swallows them down.

Finally, Hoseok holds his breath and pushes the door open.

[senatorrorgana]

Just Like This

Summary: It's Spring Break and college kids all over are having the time of their lives no matter what beach they end up on; but when Jyn meets Cassian at a beach party, the two make the most of their connection and the few days time that they have left to spend together. 

A/N: It's a little late, but I finally have something to post again! I have my own spring break coming up and I just wanted to write a nice little one shot for these two, so thus we are here with a spring break au! Hope you guys enjoy it, comments are always appreciated, and there are more fics to come! <3 

Pairing: Rebelcaptain

Words: 2,511

Rating: M 

AO3: (x)

Jyn had set rules for herself before she went out on her spring break vacation with Leia and her brother; they should  always stick together, they shouldn’t drink so much that they forget their name, and they shouldn’t go off anywhere with someone they didn’t know - Jyn broke two out of three of those rules tonight. They were going out to some giant party on the beach, the week was almost over and everyone was more than ready to get some real partying done, even though Jyn would have preferred something quiet. Leia and Luke left her alone for a second, and it didn’t take long for Jyn to strike up a slightly drunken conversation with the hot guy she’d been checking out not too far from her most of the night. His name was Cassian, he lived there in Mexico his whole life up until he went off to college in Arizona last year; needless to say that when Luke and Leia returned they gave him the third degree before deeming him alight enough for Jyn to hang out with there at the party - the five beers in Jyn’s empty stomach had other plans.

The original plan was to go back to the hotel room Jyn shared with Leia, her and Luke would surely still be out for a while longer and if worse came to worse, at least Leia could hide in Luke’s room until they were done. But, again, the beer had other ideas for the both of them, and Cassian ended up guiding them to the backseat of his rental car. Stray sand left on the backseat of the car was now rubbing into Jyn’s back as she laid down, her legs keeping an iron grip around his waist while Cassian crawled on top of her.

“Do you have a towel or something?” Jyn asked once she parted from his kiss, panting to try and catch her breath. “There’s sand back here.”

“Oh, yeah.” Cassian replied quickly, nodding and grabbing the towel he had in the front seat and arranged it behind her, Jyn was thankful when she lied back to realize that it was sand free and dry. “Better?”

“Much better.” She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down to meet her lips again, this time her kiss was hungry and needy unlike the sloppy kisses she’d given him beforehand that were solely controlled by the beer.

He smelled like salt water, she realized, and his lips tasted as such; she wasn’t surprised when she tangled her fingers in his hair and felt that it was still slightly damp. She figured he must have actually been out in the water for a bit, despite it being the middle of the night and most of the people up on the beach partying rather than being in the ocean. Cassian gripped her sides tightly causing Jyn to yip, she’d gotten some sunburn from earlier in the day, it wasn’t atrocious, but it was enough to make her slightly uncomfortable and for her skin to feel warm to the touch.

“You should really keep up the sunscreen.” Cassian mumbled against her lips with a smirk, it made Jyn reconsider if her sunburn was actually that noticeable or not - she didn’t think so , but maybe it was.

“It’s difficult to remember when there’s so much to do in one week.” Jyn laughed, letting Cassian move down her neck and place feather light kisses as he went down along her jaw and neck.

Cassian loosened his grip on her waist, letting his hands skim up her sides before going behind her back, tugging at the tie that held her bikini top on. Jyn arched her back up ever so slightly to allow him to do what he wished, and he almost instantly took the opportunity and got the bow undone, the string cascading to the side and Jyn letting out a slight giggle. With another quick tug at the bow behind her neck, Jyn’s bikini top was easily cast aside, and if it hadn’t been for all the beer she consumed earlier, she would have been highly self conscious with Cassian staring at her the way he did, as if she were some beautiful and eternal being while Jyn thought of herself most of the time as simply being alright.

“You’re beautiful.” Cassian’s tone was barely above a whisper as he spoke now, his dark brown eyes locked onto her vibrant green ones to convey the sincerity of his statement.

What was she supposed to say back to that? What did it truly matter, though? It was only spring break, she’d never see Cassian again after this more than likely. Jyn settled for just biting her lower lip and giving a slight grin, her hands still tangled in his hair giving him a slight tug to get him back to business. Cassian obliged immediately, though his kisses were no longer to her jaw and neck, his lips and moved further south to her chest, one hand covering one breast while his mouth covered the other. Any words she wanted to say dissipated in an instant, turning into nothing but moans and groans that tumbled from her lips while her back arched upward again, seeking more of his mouth on her and more of his hands skimming over her sensitive skin. When he switched sides to give proper attention to her other breast, Jyn took the chance to grab ahold of his shirt, starting to undo the buttons with her nimble fingers just as quickly as she could.

With all the buttons undone, Jyn ran her fingers gently over his chest; when she let her fingers skim over his abdomen that was just above the waistline of his swim trunks, he moaned against her skin, the vibrations from it causing Jyn to let a moan escape herself. Cassian pulled away from her breasts, his lips seeking out hers again while his hands travelled to her hips, holding her down to keep her from causing anymore friction between them that he certainly didn’t need at this point. He had a beaming smile on his face when he slowly parted from her lips, Jyn couldn’t tell if it was because he knew he was about to get laid, if it was the alcohol he had himself, or if he was genuinely happy to be here. Though his expression quickly faded away when he looked at her, Jyn wondered what her face must have shown him in order to cause that smile to vanish.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cassian asked, the worry etched onto his features.

“I’m sure.” Jyn assured him, her hands moving to cup his face again and pulling him in for a long, slow, and tender kiss; one that sent a pool of heat down to her core when he looked at her so hungrily once they parted again.

Cassian’s hands snuck under the waist of her skirt and the bikini bottoms that were on underneath it. He ever so slowly inched them down her legs, pressing kisses to her exposed skin every inch of the way until he tossed the skirt and bottoms onto the floor with her bikini top. He wanted to take his time with her, that much Jyn could tell, he wanted to be able to make sure that she felt completely and utterly pleasured, but given the small confines of the car that wasn’t entirely possible or practical. Jyn didn’t care about that right in the moment, what she wanted to Cassian inside of her already, but he still had his damn trunks on. Jyn sat up and roughly tugged his trunks down, she was tired of waiting, and even though it was the best foreplay she’d ever gone through, she was tired of it, she wanted to get to the main event already.

“Somebody’s impatient.” Cassian laughed as he tried to maneuver to toss his opened shirt aside and get his trunks off all the way.

“I’m very impatient I’ll have you know.” Jyn smirked.

She felt a bit bold, she was almost certain that it was the alcohol still working through her system, and without hesitation she grabbed ahold of his hand and guided it right between her legs. Cassian didn’t hesitate either, a look of lust lingering in his eyes as he pushed one of his fingers up inside of her, moving it around ever so slowly to test the waters and having Jyn moaning and grinding down against his hand in seconds. Jyn tried to start with a kiss, but when he moved his finger to just the right spot, she bit down on his lip so hard she was scared she would draw blood on him, though Cassian didn’t seem to mind, perhaps too caught up in everything as well. Jyn slowly pulled away, only leaning back in to place light kisses wherever she could reach until she grabbed ahold of his hand and tried to pull him out of her.

“Something wrong?” Cassian asked sincerely.

“Yeah, I want you, right now.” Jyn’s voice came across far more demanding that she expected, but the way Cassian looked at her afterwards made it worth it.

Cassian reached his hand into the back seat pocket of the driver's seat, pulling out a condom and trying to rip it open as quickly as he could.

“You bring a lot of girls back here?” Jyn asked with a slight laugh.

“No, but better safe than sorry.” Cassian replied, quickly trying to get the condom on, Jyn relishing the way his face shifted when she reached down and assisted.

As soon as her hand pulled away, Cassian’s hands grabbed her waist again while his lips crashed against hers, guiding her to lay back  down on the towel-covered back seat. He kept their lips locked together as he sank himself slowly inside of her, Jyn letting out loud moans and being incredibly glad that everyone was too busy partying and weren’t heading back to their hotels anytime soon, getting one hell of a show from them if they walked by in the parking lot. He stayed inside of her for a minute when he’d filled her up, Jyn wiggling impatiently under him and trying to thrust upwards to get him moving.

“You are really impatient.” Cassian smirked.

“Less talking, more fucking.” Jyn demanded.

Cassian proceeded to start thrusting in and out, slowly at first, though with each passing moan he elicited from Jyn, he thrusted just a bit quicker.

“Cassian.” Jyn moaned out quietly this time, whispering his name for only them to hear while he kept himself busy kissing and nipping at the base of her throat, leaving marks that would surely show up tomorrow and show the world that he claimed her the night before.

When his mouth moved back to capture one of her breasts, Jyn’s cries became louder again, her moans containing his name becoming just mumbles of sound that only egged him on to go faster. Jyn grabbed one of his hands again and guided it right to her core again, this time Cassian acting without question and letting his thumb sink inside her and rubbing her clit while he kept up his thrusts. She was practically blinded with pleasure now, unsure of how much longer she’d be able to last with him going like this.

“Cassian!” Jyn screamed out this time, knowing full well if there was anyone nearby they’d be curious about the noise. “Cassian, please, I can’t.” She panted out, she couldn’t hold herself together much longer, and a satisfied hum came from Cassian against her skin sending her right over the edge then and there.

Every muscle in her body was exhausted, she felt like pure jello beneath him now, a constant warm glow of happiness lingering on her skin while a smile was etched permanently onto her face for the rest of the night. Jyn was trying to get her breathing regulated again though she was panting from the experience, her legs no longer able to keep themselves upright and fully parted for him. It took her a moment to realize that Cassian had stilled within her though he still hadn’t reached his climax. A more sober Jyn would have asked, argued the point when he’d say he was fine; but liquid courage was still burning through her veins and Jyn was determined to make sure that they both had a good time. She thrust her hips upward with what little energy she had left, Cassian snapping back into the reality of the situation and going right back to his thrusts, chasing his own pleasure this time. Jyn moaned, not only from her own pleasure because of how overly sensitive she now was to every twitch of his movement, but because she could tell her sounds got him off, she watched how his face would scrunch up trying to concentrate on his task whenever she moaned.

“Jyn!” Her name came harshly from his lips for the first time since they got into the car, and if Jyn hadn’t already exhausted her peak, she was sure that would have made her reach another climax. “Fuck, Jyn.”

“You already did that, I’m trying to fuck you right now.” Jyn boldly replied with a sly grin, thrusting her hips up again and getting a deep groan as a reply.

It didn’t take much longer after that for Cassian to reach his climax, a few more thrusts and a few more of Jyn’s moans had him finish with loud cries out of his own, slowly giving his final thrusts until he was still inside of her, Jyn pulling him down to lay on her knowing just how much their activities had drained her. The heat between them was nice, Jyn didn’t even care about the layers of sweat between them or her bangs clinging to her forehead, all she cared about was listening to Cassian’s steady breathing and the feel of his hands running down her side. She wasn't sure how long they just laid there in silence, but she knew eventually they’d have to move, though she wasn’t quite ready for her night with him to end just yet.

“Want to get to my place?” Jyn broke the silence with her question. “I’m more than sure my friends are still partying.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me. I can finally take my time with you with an actual bed.” Cassian smirked.

“And I get to take my time with you too.” Jyn smirked. “Help me get dressed, the quicker we get out of her, the more time we have.”

She was sure she hadn’t seen Cassian move this quickly the entire night, and some part of that gave her slight joy. All she knew was she didn’t want this night to end, she knew she’d more than likely never hear from him again after this week ended, but she was surely going to take advantage of every second with him that she possibly could.

[albanlakepublishing-blog]

February Alban Lake Spotlight

Mike Morgan, Author

For our very first interview, we have Mr. Mike Morgan, a prolific and excellent author. He was kind enough to take time to answer our questions; but first, a quick bio for Mike:

 Mike Morgan lives in Iowa with his wife, two children, and increasingly infirm cat. After careers in the UK, Japan, and Texas involving accountancy, freelance illustration, non-fiction writing, and teaching, Mike now does improbably complex things on computers for a living. When he's not worrying about the cat or tidying up his kids' toys, Mike gets overwrought about politics and attempts to write short stories. It's possible his two hobbies get muddled up from time to time. He has written for several publishers in the UK and the USA, with pieces in anthologies, comics, and magazines. Follow him on Twitter as @CultTVMike, where he posts about all things sci-fi. Oh, OK, it's mostly Doctor Who.

 My website is: https://perpetualstateofmildpanic.wordpress.com/

 My latest project is this month's Outposts of Beyond.

  And on to the interview . . .

 Q: When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

 A: I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I looked at book covers as a young child, maybe five or six, and thought, "I want my name on a book." When I got into comics with 2000AD and then Star Wars Weekly, this would be when I was 7, that desire spread to wanting to be in the credits boxes in comic books, too. Unfortunately, as I got older, it became apparent that selling work wasn't going to be as easy as I'd initially thought.

 I tried for a sustained period in my twenties to break into comics, but never got anywhere. At one comics convention in Bristol, while hauling my portfolio around, I got chatting with Matt Brooker, who was brutally honest with me. "Look," he said, "There's nothing particularly wrong with the way you draw, but there just aren't any openings. We hire on maybe one or two new freelancers a year and they have some quirk. You draw well, but there's nothing unique. To develop that style, you need to put in thousands of hours of practice, and you're not going to get paid for that. You don't strike me as independently wealthy, so I doubt you can afford to do it for free. So..."

 He was right. I was dirt poor. I got a job in accountancy, which I hated. But at least I could go back to affording food.

 Later, after years of doing things I loathed, and then teaching for several years in Japan, I immigrated here to the U.S. Starting a new career in Texas, I worked for seven years as a technical writer and editor, which helped me fine-tune my knowledge of English grammar and punctuation and gave me first-hand insight into how hard it is to express complex ideas in plain, no-nonsense sentences. I got enough feedback to sink a fleet of Titanics and developed a tough skin to criticism. I also learned how important it was not to treat my fellow writers the way I was treated, and I became a mentor to some of the newer team members. Although the working environment was hostile, I did love the act of writing and I found joy in helping others improve their written work.

 While all that was going on, I was continuing to put out one or two pieces of my own writing. Teaching in Japan gives you a lot of spare time, so I'd started floating a few things past publishers. Moving to Texas, I was determined to keep that up, but stuck in a car for three or four hours a day on a hellish commute, working tons of extra, unpaid hours, and starting a family didn't leave a lot of spare time. It was only with our move to Iowa, where I still am now, that I found a better work-life balance and was able to kick the writing into high gear. To my inordinate surprise, I discovered that publishers wanted to print my short stories. Not only that, but readers showed every sign of liking them. I was flabbergasted.

 I look back now and I see my name on a book cover and my name in a comic book credits box and I'm glad I never completely gave in. One of my best friends, Kath, said this to me years ago and it stuck with me: "What I like about you, Mike, is that you keep on trying." I'm sure she's forgotten ever saying that to me, but I remembered, and I've tried to stay that way.

  Q: What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

 A: Oh, a 'quirk'! I have yet to develop one with my drawing, but with my writing...? Editors have often told me, in withering tones, that I over-write. You only have to glance at the length of this interview...

 Also, as part of over-egging a box full of puddings in every story, I tend toward the proliferation of pleonasms. And uncalled-for alliteration.

 If you catch me doing it, slap me.

  Q: What do you like to do when you're not writing?

 A: I watch lots of science fiction and read comics. I really enjoy reading stories to my two kids at bedtime, too. Honestly, with two young kids in the house, I spend a lot of time taking endless delight in everything they say and do. I try to carve out a few moments every day to remind my wife how much I appreciate her.

  Q: How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?

 A: I've had 10 short stories published professionally, with two more coming out in the next couple of months. A couple of those were my Titanville stories, which were published together in an e-book by Nomadic Delirium Press, getting me my first solo front-cover credit. I have a dozen more stories in slush piles as we speak, so one or two more will probably work their ways through to acceptance this year – that seems to be the typical ratio of stories sent to stories accepted.

 I've also had a few stories in charity anthologies, and a couple of poems (one was about Star Trek and was printed by Iron Press in a collection sold throughout a major high-street chain of bookshops in the UK), a few non-fiction articles about the long-running BBC TV series Doctor Who in various tomes, and a comic strip script in the British small press comic Futurequake. Another comic script is being drawn now, as it happens, for Futurequake. We're hoping it'll be included in the Spring issue, but we'll see how that goes.

 Oh, and I worked for a short while at an online word mill, putting out articles about sci-fi. You can find them at WhatCulture.com. They accumulated about three million page-views, I think.

  Q: What inspires you to write?

 A: I am drawn to the act of wrenching something into existence through the blunt application of imagination and willpower. I am compelled to create. For better or worse, you guys are on the receiving end of that compulsion.

 When it comes down to deciding what I'm going to write about, I think there are some themes I keep returning to: the beauty in the world, the triumph of love and kindness over indifference and cruelty, the eternal fight against injustice, how any attempt to simplify the complexity of the real world down into stark black-and-white concepts will lead to hate and death...

Also, I love writing characters who are flat-out wrong. There's nothing more fun and more human than someone who is utterly convinced about the rightness of a cause, and that cause is based on an utter misunderstanding. Really, that type of thinking characterizes most of our species' history. People who are wrong deserve our sympathy, our help, our love, not our derision. Anyway, that's some entertaining stuff to write about.

One final thought – I don't want to be a downer but I do feel time pressing on me. Nothing like worrying I'll be dead in a few years to spur me to get some writing done.

 Q: Do you set a plot or prefer going wherever an idea takes you?

 A: I try to have a clear idea of what the story's about before I get too far down the rabbit hole of writing. Preferably, I have an end worked out as well, even if that ending changes by the time I get to it. Sometimes, I'll start the story with the end and work my way backward to the beginning. But there should always be a purpose to a story, even if that purpose is to have fun.

 Every time I carve a tale out of the disorganized mess of my thoughts, the process seems different. One time, the whole story will spill out of me in a rush. Other times, I have to sit down and think through what I'm trying to express.

 Every now and then, a neat idea will occur to me, but I can't find a way to get a coherent plot out of it. Then, a second, entirely different idea will come to me, and I find mashing the two disparate strands together into the same reality brings the whole thing into focus.

 For example, someone having giant spiders in her home and not being bothered by them because they're not in any way dangerous is a neat mental image, but it's not a story in itself. But, add a second strand: imagine there's a neighbor whose job is to twist facts to meet political dogma and that neighbor comes into contact with those spiders... what happens? Does she believe the objective truth that they're completely safe to be around, or does she react with emotion and twist reality to meet that baseless viewpoint? After all, that's her job.

 Boom – you have conflict. The wrong-headed, fact-denying neighbor suddenly at war with nice, harmless giant-sized arachnids. For no other reason than she can't see the truth in front of her face, which is a very common and very plausible failing. What's more, the story takes on a greater message: we shouldn't twist facts to meet our prejudices, no matter how tempted we'd be to do that if we were in the neighbor's shoes.

 That's where A Spider Queen in Every Home came from, the mingling of two ideas that, on the face of it, can't coexist in a single narrative; but, they can, and that story was picked up and published in More Alternative Truths by B-Cubed Press.

 Lastly, some publishers require that you pitch ideas. There, you have to submit a complete plot, along with character notes, up front. If a pitch is accepted, there's no scope for changing details along the way as you write the actual story. For all you know, by altering the agreed-upon tale without consultation, you might be encroaching upon territory occupied by another story in the same collection.

 When fleshing out a pitch, it can feel like you're working while wearing a straightjacket. But it's an opportunity to find ways of making the piece as entertaining as possible without venturing beyond the plan you gave your word on. I've written a couple of stories based on pitches. Unto His Final Breath in Uffda Press's King of Ages: A King Arthur Anthology was created that way, and it garnered some nice reviews. I really like the world building I got to do in that short story.

  Q: What types and forms of writing do you do? If you're also an editor, what is your niche?

 A: I mostly write short stories these days, but I toy with novels. I do have a novel I'm working on (doesn't every writer?) - but, it's the short stories that sell. I am sneakily putting together various stories that work as elements within a greater whole, so that by the time they're all published you'll find they're a novel-length narrative printed in discrete parts across multiple publishers, books, and media. That's the idea, anyway.

 For example, the Titanville stories stand alone as individual tales, but the intent is to have themes and sub-plots that build as time goes on, without requiring the reader to be familiar with every installment. The Age of Asmodeus stories have a similar approach; there's a history to that world, and each story explores a different sliver of it. As those stories go on, readers will see various characters moving in and out of segments of the series or they'll be referred to. Again, the readers won't need to read every story, but there'll be a sense of events moving forward for those who do.

 With the tales featuring Professor Lazarus, the cumulative narrative will unfold using text-based stories and comic strips. Again, that's the hope. Futurequake, a British comic, has printed one story so far and has another one being drawn at the moment. With the short stories, I've had some luck; Flame Tree Publishing printed Fishing Expedition a while ago. I've written a couple more Lazarus stories since then that I'm waiting to hear back on, so we'll see how that goes.

 But you were asking about types of writing. Occasionally, I have a poem published. More often, I'll get non-fiction pieces accepted. I contribute on a semi-regular basis to the range on media and culture put out by Watching Books. This year, they're printing a volume called You on Target about the Target series of Doctor Who novelizations, and I have two essays in that.

 With editing, I offer my services to small presses who print my stories, with regards to proofreading or checking formatting. I'm always willing to help put out the best publication possible.

  Q: What is your area(s) of subject matter expertise? How did you discover this niche? What intrigues you about it?

 A: With living in Japan for several years, I found writing stories set there pretty easy. Not much research required! There's a story of mine being printed soon by you fine people at Alban Lake Press set in Japan. Kuro no Ken (The Back Sword) is slated for the next issue of Outposts of Beyond. The scenes in Ise City take place twenty minutes down the road from where I lived for three years, and the part in the vast cemetery—I've visited that cemetery and it really is that creepy. I love Japan. Those were some of the happiest years of my life.

 Having said that, I lived for longer in Stoke-on-Trent in the UK, and that was the setting for Reverse Horror Story. Your fine company published that piece in Bloodbond just last year. I had way too much fun putting Stoke-themed jokes into that monster-mash-up. I guess, to answer your question, I'm an expert at shoe-horning places I've lived into my stories. I find having a deep knowledge of the settings makes them feel more authentic.

 But, to be clear, I've never lived on the enormous asteroid Ceres, the setting of The Library of Ice in this month's Outposts of Beyond. I'd be willing to give it a try, though.

 Being serious for a moment, I keep writing about people who are struggling because I've been through that. Want to be an expert on the poor? Try being unemployed for years on end, not having enough to eat and worrying about losing the room you're renting. That'll give you an understanding of what that life is like. Newsflash – it's really stressful and depressing.

  Q: How do you balance your creative and work time?

 A: I have yet to find any balance, but live in hope. I get the kids to bed in the evening and then try to write. Sometimes, I even succeed.

  Q: Where have you been published? Upcoming publications? Awards and other accolades?

 A: Other than the things I've already talked about, I'd like to mention Nomadic Delirium's Divided States series, which explores a post-USA North America. My contribution to this excellent range was The Wall Is Beautiful. I hope to finish a second story in this shared universe. I was also fortunate enough to have submissions accepted in their Martian Wave and Disharmony of the Spheres collections.

 One other project I'm very proud to have participated in was Metasaga's Futuristica anthology. I had Something to Watch Over Us included in that amazing collection. I can't heap enough praise on that spectacular book; if you like science fiction, you need to own it.

 As far as upcoming releases go, that I haven't already called attention to, I have a story called Buddy System accepted in Myriad Paradigm's upcoming Mind Candy anthology. The intent is for that book to be released in the next few months. I also have something in the editing pile with Red Ted Books, which should be advancing toward publication this year.

 And, yes, it's a fanzine, but I like fanzines, I'm working with the wonderful people who put out the Doctor Who-themed Fannuals to see what they might want from me for their next volume. I'm so in love with the Fannual project; it's incredible fun. It's actually what I'm starting work on after finishing this interview.

  Q: What are you working on now?

 A: Well, Alban Lake announced they were going to do something with ghost stories, so, you know, I thought I'd try to submit to that. *Grins*

 In the pipeline are more Age of Asmodeus tales, more Titanville, more Lazarus, more space opera antics, more of everything I'm obsessed with.

  Q: Who are your favorite characters to write? How did they come into being, and what do you love - or loathe - about them?

 A: I love writing about Professor Lazarus. She gives her life in every story, usually to save the world from some terrible fate. Then, next story, she's alive again, in a world that's transformed. It forces me to reinvent her and her milieu every time. And there's a point to all her deaths; it's leading to something.

 She came into being because I thought, "Hah – killing the lead character every time would be funny." Then I thought, "What if it's the same lead character every time, and there's a reason she keeps coming back?" How does knowledge of her deaths affect her? Where, at a character level, does that propel the over-arching storyline?

 Another fun character was Silas Smith in The Man Who Killed Computers (published in Disharmony of the Spheres). He's able to lie to computers and have them believe what he's saying. Once you realize how he's doing that, it's less amusing, because you also realize that he can manipulate the humans in the story. I love the ambiguity of his character. He tries so hard to convince everyone he's a hero—the story revolves around how others respond to his claims.

  Q: Any advice you would like to give to aspiring writers?

 A: If someone says you need to improve, he or she is probably right. Every writer needs to improve, every day. It's a process that never ends.

 Don't take rejection personally. It's the work that sucks, not you.

 Keep trying. Stories are only published if they're written and then submitted.

 Realize that even after you've had a pile of stories published there will still be more defeats than victories. And that it's OK.

 Anything else you’d like to add that I haven’t asked? For example, what would you like to see more of in your specific genre? In the publishing field?

 We all like to get things for free. But—! Readers: try to pay for that fiction you're consuming. The more the publishers earn, the more they can pay the writers. The more the writers earn, the more they can write. It's a virtuous feedback loop. If you can't find good fiction out there, it's because you won't pay for it.

 Or, you know, you haven't been to Alban Lake's store. There's lots of good writing there.

  Once again, we’d like to thank Mr. Mike Morgan for his time and to thank all of you for supporting Alban Lake and all of these awesome authors and artists.

[qiaobaifashion]

New Post has been published on http://www.qiaobaifashion.com/jewel-of-the-month-part-ii-abigails-engagement-ring/

Jewel of the Month, Part II: Abigail’s Engagement Ring

Every day, I get three or four emails in which someone claims to be a “big fan” of my blog and offers me $50 to publish a guest post (which often includes the dreaded “infographic”). Of course, anyone who truly is a big fan of this blog might have noticed that I haven’t had a sponsored post in my entire 10 years of blogging. But hope springs eternal, and spammers gotta spam in case I finally break down.

Now the writers of spammy emails are going to have new ammunition against me, because Part II of December 2017’s Jewel of the Month post has been guest-written by the recently engaged Abigail and I didn’t even ask her for the $50! Dang! This guest post came about because I like to interview my engagement-ring customers about everything from how they met, how they designed their rings, and how the proposal went. Then I write them up. Here are a few of the previous ones.

Olivia and John

Lori and Brian

Heather and Jeff

When I asked Abigail if she would answer a few questions about how she and fiancé Max wound up skipping down the path to marital bliss, she came back with an entire blog post COMPLETE WITH A MEME AND SCREENSHOTS that had me literally laughing out loud … and then ugly crying because I got so emotional. Without further ado, here’s Abigail and a story about a sapphire-halo engagement ring.

A post shared by Wendy Brandes Jewelry PR (@wendybrandesjewelry) on Nov 17, 2017 at 1:26pm PST

THE ABIGAIL AND MAX CHRONICLES BY ABIGAIL, IN HER OWN WORDS AND IMAGES (with very light editing by Wendy)

I’ll start out by saying my fiancé, Max, knew he wanted to marry me before I was sure what to think of him. And as awkward as that sounds now, it was actually potentially more embarrassing at the time — if, that is, Wendy hadn’t entered our lives.

My charming, optimistic guy decided just five short months into dating that I was the one for him, and he bought a diamond last January with his year-end bonus money. While we had talked about kids and marriage early on — because we met in our mid-30s and that’s what we both wanted — we hadn’t really planned that far ahead with each other. He wanted to surprise me, but he also wanted to make sure it was something I liked, so he recruited Wendy to help.

I really don’t know what he was thinking — though seeing how things worked out and how much we really love each other and fit together now, maybe he was ahead of the game — but at the time, I wasn’t picking up the signals. Instead, I started to fear the commitment of even moving in together. So when, after I got to know Wendy and her amazing husband over dinner early in the year, Wendy reached out and asked me to lunch, I never suspected she was a secret agent for my then-boyfriend trying to find out what type of engagement ring I wanted. [WENDY’S NOTE: I’m still convinced I asked Abigail to lunch just because I liked her and that the timing of the engagement-ring mission was a coincidence!]

I remember us having a great time talking, but when she casually dropped the question, “So come on, tell me, what type of ring are you looking for when you and Max get engaged,” I couldn’t even fathom an answer.

She unbeknownst to me reported this dilemma back to the now-starting-to-doubt, would-be groom. He dropped some hints later on, but I think the only thing I expressed to him over this time was that I really didn’t want someone to surprise me with a ring without consulting me (poor guy).

At this point, I was definitely giving him mixed signals. Sure, I was the one who had told him just two months into dating that we should move in together. It’s just that when he agreed in January (and secretly bought the diamond) … I became afraid. This meme pretty much described how I was feeling:

In May, the issue of moving in together came up again, and I postponed it a second time. Max reached his breaking point. Now it was his turn to take me to lunch. We had what I recall as our “are you in or out” conversation. He straight up told me he’d gotten the rock — but it was clear this wasn’t a proposal. This was him saying, “This is how serious I am about you and I don’t think you’re that serious about me.” I was overwhelmed! I had to think alone for a while. I then spoke with my friend Miriam, who was one of the first people to meet him and who knows me really well. She basically said, “What the hell are you waiting for!?”

That very weekend we found the apartment we’re now living in together. He put me in touch with Wendy shortly thereafter and told me that she had been holding this beautiful diamond all year. Haha! I had no clue! She was so crafty. Wendy and I soon starting working together to create my vision for the perfect engagement ring. I had fallen in love with the idea of an engagement ring with colored gems in a halo around the diamond. Once colored gems were on my mind, I thought of the gorgeous blue of the sapphire in Princess Kate’s ring.

Embed from Getty Imageswindow.gie=window.gie||function(c);gie(function()gie.widgets.load(id:'FCAlJTbjRKZqbuZJAZ4cHw',sig:'ALwqDvMLlozaQbZKhF4utlsaBg2R8mde-iCyQkbh-3U=',w:'453px',h:'594px',items:'106915582,150039461,106915538,151139997',caption: true ,tld:'com',is360: false ));

So that’s what we were shooting for, along with some elements of Wendy’s awesome style.

You know the wise words of George W. Bush, “Fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again”? Apparently, for me, that’s not true because after we agreed on the ring design early in the fall, Wendy told me it wouldn’t be ready until December. Now, instead of dragging my feet, I wanted everything done yesterday, which enabled Wendy and Max to have some fun at my expense while they worked to get the ring finished for November. They emailed each other:

That same day, this is Max texting with me.

The second-to-last Thursday in November — shortly before we were about to go on a romantic trip to Paris — I came home after a rough day to the lights turned low, music playing, flowers out, and a bunch of pictures of us laid out on the counter. I didn’t get the hint again! I thought Max was just being nice. He took out a couple of champagne flutes from the cabinet and said I should grab some bubbly from the fridge — where lo and behold the most beautiful ring I ever could have imagined was waiting, tied around the champagne!! I turned around and he was on one knee! I was so surprised and overwhelmed with joy, I said “Yes!” and burst into tears.

She was still wearing her scrubs! Glad they matched the ring.

The ring … I can’t say how amazing it turned out. It’s just gorgeous craft and designed to perfection. I’m so happy and grateful to Wendy for her guidance with my wonderful, prescient, (and sneaky) man.

This sweet couple will have a whole blog post coming soon. We had the honor of creating a one-of-a-kind, custom ring that perfectly fit this bride’s style. When the blog post is live, you’ll also learn about our sneaky side-gig: helping to plan the proposal itself!⠀ 💘💘💘 #WendyBrandesWedding #beplatinum #oneofakind #engagementring ⠀ -⠀ -⠀ -⠀ #engaged #congrats #platinum #roundcut #diamond #diamonds #sapphire #artdeco #artdecojewelry #vintage #halo #shesaidyes #proposal #alternativeengagementrings #alternativebride #offbeatbride #sapphirering #showmeyourrings #customjewelry #customengagementring #hautejoaillierie #unboxing #bridal #bride #engagement

A post shared by Wendy Brandes Jewelry PR (@wendybrandesjewelry) on Nov 17, 2017 at 10:30am PST

This is Wendy again. Thanks to Abigail and Max choosing me to make this important piece of jewelry for them, for sharing their story with us all, and providing yet more proof that you can ask a woman to help design her own engagement ring and still surprise her with it! I’m also delighted that Abigail used Kermit to explain her sudden-onset fear of commitment, an issue that I danced around in the engagement-ring video I posted yesterday AND in my back-in-the-day conversation with poor Max. I was like, “Um, dude, she’s just very distracted by work right now”!

Another ring photo!

If you missed yesterday’s video about Abigail, Max, and engagement-ring design in general, check it out now. Any questions about a custom engagement ring of your own? Send ’em to me at info at wendybrandes dot com.